[…] is there an objective viewpoint? We give things labels and language and lies, we draw divisions of meaning and we attach ourselves to ideas and notions of what it means to be a man.
What is the difference between a label and a lie? Libel and label, the vowel expands like the stretch of lungs beneath the ribs, the heart beats and it is a matter of survival. How long can you hold your breath? How long can you survive, in limbo, without the beating of your heart, with stillness in your ribs and only your memories, an increasingly distant man, to keep you going --
c!Wilbur centric limbo fic with more weird formatting 👍
I stg if part three of chasing shadows is Rayla headed back to Katolis to get dark magic shit out of the dungeon for Redfeather, I am going to LOSE my MIND.
like...imagine
incredibly guilty about having an ulterior motive for going home
edgefrazzled and nervous about seeing Callum again!!!!
a lot conflicted about knowing that this means she’ll have to leave again
maybe rushing to get there by his birthday??
most of all SO RELIEVED to be going home to her mage <3
Chapter Summary: Sam and Bucky have a conversation. Firebug settles in.
Content Warnings: PTSD, flashbacks, allusions to torture.
a/n: HI SORRY my life is insane but I hope this is okay and worth the wait!!!
***
It’s been a long time since Bucky had forced himself to remain this still and quiet.
Yes, that even counts the few Avengers missions he’d taken part in.
The quinjet is a smooth flight no matter what. Turbulence, storms, even during battle, it kept pretty steady for the most part. Any sort of movement feels like gliding. It’s consistent that way.
Usually, smoothness is something Bucky and the jet have in common. Even before…all of that…he’d been nothing but smooth. Suave, even. Even when his brain was at war with itself, his body maintained surety and control.
The only difference now is her.
She’d fallen asleep seconds after Banner gave her the injection. Bucky had seen her body tense, even more than it already was, when she saw the needle. His own muscles mimicked hers, unable to keep his visceral reaction to drugs and needles at bay.
Even still, that smoothness managed to stay in the pilot’s seat. He let his instincts take control, murmuring soft assurances to her as she let Banner stick her with a needle. Maybe he should’ve given her some space, but after those first few words seemed to calm her, he couldn’t stop.
Firebug had been fast asleep now for about an hour and a half. The quinjet cuts down flight time, so even with the long distance between New York and Colorado, they would be there in the next hour or two. Her head tilts toward him, his heightened senses hearing the soft snuffling noises she makes as she sleeps.
The circles under her eyes, the way her body droops when she’s standing…Bucky knows lack of sleep. He knows trauma. It’s why he won’t let himself move now, terrified he’ll disturb what’s probably the first good sleep she’s had in a minute.
The only movement he allows himself is slightly moving his head so he can look down at her. He checks her breathing, slightly nervous about her reaction to the drug, but mostly he’s drawn to her face.
She looks younger this way. Her features get softer in sleep, as opposed to the hard lines he’s only ever seen in the day he’s known her. With a pang, he realizes this might’ve been how she’d look all the time if she’d never met Hydra. If she’d had a chance at a normal life.
As his eyes trace her face, his body finally relaxes into the seat. Bucky might be smooth in a lot of ways, but he’s made up of sharp edges. Rigid to a fault. He’s still not sure how she does this to him, but after years of feeling unable to relax, he wants more. Needs more.
Bucky’s limbs tense right up again as he glances up and sees Steve in the cockpit. Natasha is the one actually piloting, but Steve hovers behind her like a sentinel. He’s got his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stares out the window.
His best friend hasn’t relaxed since they began this mission, and Bucky has the unwelcome urge to put himself between him and the slumbering girl next to him.
“Ignore him,” a deep voice mutters next to him.
Bucky jumps as he turns to see Sam had silently taken the seat next to him on his other side, pulling a laugh from the man.
“I’ve never been able to sneak up on you, not once,” he wheezes quietly, “and all I needed was some poor traumatized girl from the mountains?”
He settles for rolling his eyes, making sure Sam sees it. If it weren’t for Firebug, he’d be giving his friend a sharp dig to the gut with his elbow. The metal one.
“Shut up, she’s sleeping,” Bucky mutters darkly, eyes glancing down to make sure of it. Even with Sam’s chuckling laugh, her eyes stay closed.
“Please, she’s not waking up until we get there. You know how good Banner’s drugs are.”
“Still, don’t be such an ass.”
Sam laughs again in that stupid, knowing way of his.
“You just don’t like that I pulled one over on you--”
“No you did not,” he interjects, “you’re just taking advantage—”
“Of course I’m taking advantage. It’s called working smarter not harder—”
They’re interrupted by a little sound from Bucky’s other side. A soft rustle of fabric. They both look over to her quickly, falling completely silent.
They both let out an exhale of relief when they realize she’s just slumped farther over in her seat. Her eyes are still glued shut.
They settle in silence, the bickering forgotten as a sort of comfort stretching over the two friends as the jet flies on. Bucky lets Sam go on believing he’s won this round, and fuck, maybe he has. He’ll get him when he’s least expecting it.
“I’m happy the sedative worked,” Sam murmurs, breaking the silence.
Bucky turns slightly to face him, and sees him training his warm smile on her sleeping figure.
“Me too,” he responds, “I wasn’t sure if it would or not. Too many uncertainties.”
Sam hums in agreement, and the quiet settles in again. Bucky leans back in his seat again, trying to ignore the prickling feeling he gets whenever Steve’s eyes dart in their direction. He can feel Sam looking at him too every now and again, something clearly on his mind.
So, Bucky decides to confront the one friend he feels comfortable confronting at the moment.
“Out with it.”
“Huh?”
“I know you’re trying to think of how to say whatever it is you’re thinking about, so just say it.”
Sam sighs, knowing he’s been caught. He takes another minute before he speaks, but Bucky knows he’s not avoiding him. He’s not like that.
“Did you know her? From…from before?”
Bucky’s brow furrows in confusion.
“What?”
“Hey, I think it’s a fair question.”
It is. It absolutely is a fair question. Bucky felt the tug of familiarity himself when he looked into her eyes for the first time. But there’s no way. He was alone during his entire time as the Winter Soldier. Hydra saw to that.
“No, I didn’t know her. Today was my first time meeting her.”
“Hm,” Sam hums to himself.
“What’s the sound for?”
“What sound?”
“The ‘hm’.”
“What ‘hm’?”
“You made a ‘hm’.”
“I did not.”
“Yes you did.”
“I don’t ‘hm’ I have never made that sound in my life.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake—”
Their quiet argument is halted again. Only this time, Bucky falls silent in the middle of his frustrated outburst. He’s never one to give up on bickering, so Sam follows suit soon after.
It wasn’t a sound that interrupted them this time. It’s because a soft, warm weight had settled against Bucky’s shoulder.
He looks down slowly, full of shock and awe and he sees Firebug sleeping peacefully against his shoulder. Her body had finally slumped over to the point where it caved in on itself in his direction, leaning until she rested her weight against him. Bucky’s breath catches in his throat.
He’s touching her. She’s touching him.
He can’t breathe.
“This is why I asked if you knew her,” Sam whispers.
Bucky turns to look at him, trying to keep as still as possible for her, and finds his friend wearing the slightly sad version of a shit easting grin. He didn’t even know that was possible until now.
“What the fuck does that even mean? Being cryptic looks weird on you.”
“C’mon, don’t act like you don’t understand what I’m saying,” Sam huffs, shaking his head. That only served to frustrate Bucky even more.
“I don’t get it, and you’re really starting to piss me off,” Bucky growls. The only reason he hasn’t smacked Sam upside the head yet is because of his sheer luck in having Firebug sleep on his shoulder.
Sam must’ve heard the edge in his voice, because he looks at him and says, “I’ve never seen you like this before. Not over anything, or anyone.”
The confused wrinkle between Bucky’s eyes only gets deeper.
But Sam just keeps looking at him, full of calm insightfulness that makes Bucky want to toss him out the window. Let the bastard hitchhike his way back to the Compound.
“Sam, I have no clue—”
“Look man, I don’t really know how to explain it either,” Sam acquiesces, raising both of his hands, “but she brings out a side of you I’ve never seen. She’s clearly important to you.”
Bucky’s taken aback, mostly because Sam’s right. She is important to him. He knew that from the moment Steve and the others told them her story yesterday. That feeling became more pronounced when he saw her face in person for the first time, fire wreathing her trembling hands.
He wishes he could explain it away by saying it’s because of how similar their stories are, and hell, maybe that’s really all there is to it.
But as Bucky looks down at her again, her warmth seeping into his bones, he knows it’s more complicated than that. He just doesn’t know why, or even how to start finding out.
“It’s not a bad thing, you know.”
“I’m not sure Steve would agree with you,” Bucky murmurs in response, glancing up at the stiff figure of his friend up front.
“Leave him to me,” Sam whispers, “he just might need some time and a little extra help to get his head out of his ass.”
“Oh yeah? You specialize in that sort of thing?”
“Absolutely. Rectum surgery is my passion.”
Bucky can’t maintain his composure, letting out a sound somewhere between a honk and a snort. Still very aware of the soft, warm weight resting against him, he uses every ounce of self-control he has to clamp down on his laughter. Sam’s utter inability to chill the fuck out leaves his friend letting out tea kettle wheezes, which of course breaks down Bucky’s composure until he’s cackling as quietly and stilly as humanly possible.
It's a testament to the power of Banner’s sedative that she doesn’t even stir.
***
“Shouldn’t she be awake by now?”
“Give her a minute. We got to New York earlier than expected – the sedative is only just now wearing off.”
Clawing your way back to consciousness is a fight. The drug and it’s aftereffects add weight to your limbs. It would be easier to just surrender and let yourself fall back to sleep.
The urge vanishes just as quickly as it appears. You’ve become aware of the muffled sound of voices muttering around you. The slight chill from the air nips your exposed left arm, but the right one feels weirdly…warm?
You’re taken aback by the observation. Why on fucking earth would one side of your body be cold and one warm? Then you realize that your face is warm too – along with being slightly smushed. You try to peel open your eyelids, get an idea of what the situation is, but they still felt beyond heavy.
The feeling of helplessness is suffocating. You feel like you’re underwater, fighting to register every sound of muttered conversation happening right beside you.
Where even are you? How did you get here?
With your rising anxiety, the chill in the air lessens. Your skin heats up as you try to make yourself move. Speak. Blink. Anything.
“Well we can’t carry in an unconscious girl, there’s no telling who’s hanging out with a camera.”
“Stark, we can’t be worried about your reputation right now.”
“Actually I’m worried about all of our reputations you insufferable kale smoothie—”
“Guys, I think we need to get her—”
Your body suddenly starts responding to the shouting in your brain and you surge upward. Your eyes shoot open as you go, breath coming in great heaves and heart hammering as you take in the scene around you.
The small group standing watch around you had moved when you did, taking two big steps back and taking up defensive positions.
Unable to stand up due to the extreme shakiness in your legs, all you can do is look around you and try to get yourself oriented. Your eyes land on the one and only Tony Stark, and it all comes flooding back.
Hydra.
Debbie.
Your mountains.
The Avengers.
There’s more of them here now besides just Tony. Bruce Banner hovers near the back of the group, fingers twitching as he watches you apprehensively. Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff are a little closer. They both still look nervous but they’re at least trying to maintain some semblance of calm.
Then you remember the warmth to your right. The steady heat seeping into your body. You quickly look over to find the source, only to find Bucky. He’s the only one completely relaxed. Nonchalant, even, as he looks down at you with sweet concern in his eyes.
You get a little lost in them. Kind of hard not to. That shade of blue should frankly be illegal.
…then you smell the burning.
You look down at your lap only to realize that you’ve started singing little patches into your jeans where your hands have been resting.
“Shit,” you mutter, picking up your hands and curling them into fists immediately. Luckily, being more aware of your surroundings helps you to douse that fire pretty quickly. You can’t fix your pants with the same speed however, which sucks tremendously considering you don’t have that many options to begin with.
You must’ve made a face, because Stark chimes in with, “Don’t worry about it kid, I hear distressed is more of a trend than a mindset these days.”
Despite his lightheartedness, you still feel a little disoriented and uncomfortable. You aren’t used to sleeping that deeply. Your body feels weird and heavy, like it doesn’t quite belong to you. It brings you back to the all too familiar setting of that god forsaken lab, where that feeling was all you knew.
“Are we there?” You ask, tone gravelly with sleep.
“Yep,” Sam answers, an easy smile curling his mouth.
You like Sam. He’s easy to like. He has this easy going nature that could make anyone feel at home, even someone as prickly and mistrusting as you.
Then you remember how everyone is still watching you. You look around the small group, and suddenly feel very small with all the eyes trained on you. The last two days would be a lot for anyone, but especially when you’re so used to keeping yourself out of sight, it’s difficult being looked at by so many.
You look away and shake your head, trying to dispel the heaviness from the sedative. There’s not much you hate more than feeling powerless. Except maybe being aware that you’re powerless. Luckily, it’s wearing off relatively quickly. With each passing second the feeling gets less pronounced.
You look over to Dr. Banner, slightly in amazement at this drug he’s managed to create, and somehow he already knows what you’re thinking.
Shrugging bashfully, he says, “Drug technology has come a long way. That, and I’m guessing your metabolism is burning through it pretty quickly.”
“Ha, good one,” Stark quips, cracking a half smile.
Banner blanches a little, realizing his accidental pun. He looks at you, face full of embarrassment and apology.
“I just meant…not that you’re literally burning…I mean, we all wake up pretty quickly…”
He keeps trailing off from one thought into the next, clearly flustered. But you find you don’t really mind it. It’s just a figure of speech.
Besides…it was a good one.
“It’s okay,” you reassure him quietly, “Stark’s right. It was funny.”
Banner runs a hand through his somehow always disheveled hair. Even though you try to relax, with this handful of people watching you, you feel like you’re under a microscope.
Perhaps sensing your discomfort, most of the group steps back and starts doing other things. Nat goes back up to the cockpit to finish up whatever needed to be done to power down the jet completely. Banner cleans up his medical supplies in his corner. Stark and Sam pull out their phones and step away.
But Bucky stays right next to you. You don’t mind that.
You still focus on your lap instead of him. Your awareness of his presence still feels too intense.
“Sleep well?” He asks.
“Yeah,” you answer, eyes still locked on your hands in your lap, “I didn’t dream for once, so that was cool.”
You clamp your mouth shut. It’s not like he doesn’t know about your nightmares, you think you told them something about them yesterday. But despite how powerful your feelings are about him being so close, you feel a certain…ease with him. Ease that might allow you to say more than you want just yet.
“Guess I should get my bag,” you murmur, going to stand up quickly, but a wave of dizziness slows you down. You sway on your feet a little, the last remainders of the sedative still fighting with you.
A soft touch on your back steadies you, along with a quiet whisper of, “Easy there.”
Every particle of awareness goes to that touch on your back. It’s stabilizing, but even so, your heart starts racing.
Bucky doesn’t linger, but you feel the imprint of his hand long after he’s taken it away. You don’t even want to think about what that preoccupation means for you.
You take your time grabbing your bag, focusing on making sure each and every pocket is zipped as a distraction.
Yep, still good. Not much to do here. Shit.
You feel his eyes on you as he waits, so you decide enough is enough and get ready to go. As you swing your bag over your shoulder, you turn around and see that everyone is already on their way down the ramp and off the ship.
“Oh, sorry,” you mutter, “should we try to catch up?”
“Nah, we don’t need to. Stark and the others will meet us inside.”
Inside.
In the Compound.
The Avengers Compound.
Where you’ll be living for the foreseeable period.
Yeah, none of that is intimidating or anything.
Sensing your hesitation, Bucky murmurs, “It’ll be okay. We just want to make sure you get settled, then we’ll give you some space.”
You nod a little absentmindedly. Space could be nice. Could even help with this out-of-body feeling you’re having.
With Bucky right behind you, you gingerly make your way down the ramp and into the bright, New York sunshine.
You squint as the first rays hit your eyes. After the darkness from the interior of the jet and all your snoozing, you’re decidedly not ready for it. Then the air hits you. It’s hot, not unlike how Colorado can get this time of year, but the humidity is new. It settles over your skin like a clock and you’re not sure you like it.
At the bottom of the ramp, you stop for a minute and look around. The Compound looms just to your left. It’s an imposing structure, all modern architecture that exudes power. It’s incredibly fitting for the people that call this place home.
You’re relieved when you notice the sheer number of windows placed along the face of the building. Plenty of natural light should help the tightness in your chest.
Once you’ve taken in the Compound itself, you look at the landscape surrounding it. There are tress everywhere. If you really focus, searching past the loud humming of the insects all around, you can hear the wind rustling their leaves. To your right glitters the wide expanse of a river. The Hudson, you’re assuming. You can just barely see the lazy current from where you stand with Bucky.
He gives you all the time in the world to take everything in. You glance at him. He’s watching you with a soft, curious expression you can’t quite name.
“Ready to head in?”
You nod, letting him take the lead as you both start to meander toward the building. The white color of its walls is a little off putting. Bad memories dance in the very corners of your mind, threatening to come to the surface if you let down your guard just enough. So instead you continue to try and notice new things. There’s another building off in the distance. It’s flat and low to the ground, but still enormous in size. Maybe it hold other jets like the one you arrived on. As you look up at the windows, you can see people walking back and forth in the hallways, going about their busy days as normal. It’s kind of strange to imagine anything about today feeling normal for anyone. You’re glad they have that.
Just below the windows is a gigantic, Olympic size swimming pool. You and Bucky have ended up right next to it as you make your way inside. The bright blue water is vastly different than the dark, natural waters of the river, but it looks inviting nonetheless in the humid heat. You kind of wish you could jump in—
C’mon, honey! Jump in!
You stop in your tracks. Your skin grows cold despite the temperature of the air around you.
I’ll catch you!
“You okay?” Bucky asks. His voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away.
You did it, you’re so brave!
Your breath catches in your throat. Emotion sits heavy behind your eyes, threatening to spill over at any minute. The voice in your head is eerily familiar. You think you could identify it if you let yourself. Maybe you already know, and that’s why it hurts so much. It’s not often a kind memory like that comes through. Even so…it somehow hurts more than the memories from the Prison. Stabs a different part of you, unexpecting and vulnerable.
“You don’t have to go swimming if you don’t want to,” Bucky says awkwardly next to you, pulling you from your reverie.
Looking up at him in confusion, you remember he has no idea what happened in your head just now. He only sees you looking mournfully at a swimming pool, which, let’s be honest, could look a little strange without the context behind it.
You quickly brush at the dampness in your eyes before glancing over to him.
“No, I just…”
You started to speak. Started to explain. But looking into his eyes is like a trap for you. Your breath catches again for an entirely different, foreign reason. Your voice falls away like summer rain. Something crackles in the air between you. And maybe you’re dead wrong, but Bucky looks just as affected by whatever’s happening as you are.
The two of you settle into this potent trance. Your goal of getting inside is long forgotten.
His eyes stir something in you. Something long forgotten. Those eyes would be hard to forget, but somehow…maybe you did.
Looking down, you see his fingers reaching out toward yours. The movement is tentative, almost as if he’s not sure he should. So, as if on their own accord, you feel your fingers shift as they move ever so slightly to reach for him as well. It’s like you’re moving in slow motion.
It makes it all the more shocking when a crackle of electricity erupts from your fingertips to connect with his.
“What the fuck—”
“Oh my god—”
You both exclaim in bemusement at the same time. The two of you jump backward from each other, the surprise of it all ending the brief spell you had been under.
In all honesty, you forget that hint of a connection with Bucky as you stare at now unfamiliar fingers. You’re not quite sure what just happened.
Looking up, you see Bucky eyeing you warily. He angles his left arm, the metal one you presume, slightly away from you. It doesn’t surprise or even offend you; something like that must be sensitive to electricity.
“What was that?” He asks.
You can tell he’s trying to stay calm and keep his voice steady, but he’s rattled. It’s not hard to see that. You don’t blame him; he and the others prepared for flame, not fucking lightning.
“I don’t know,” you breathe, voice trembling.
“That’s never happened before?”
“Never.”
Looking at his expression, one eyebrow raised in what you read as skepticism, a wave of defensiveness overtakes you.
“Oh come on, what reason would I have for lying?”
“Uh, what the hell? I don’t think you’re lying—"
“Well you clearly don’t think I’m telling the truth.”
“I didn’t say anything—"
“Your face said it all, and I fucking swear that it’s never happened before—”
“I didn’t say anything—"
“Everything okay out here?”
You both turn and see Sam peeking his head out of the glass doors at the entrance. He’s taking in your stance, the way you’ve both kind of squared up, and raises his brows. You try to relax your stance, but the tension lingers in your arms and the hard set of your mouth. Your fingers curl into tight fists at your sides.
But you’re a good liar. You’ve stayed alive through lying.
“Bucky here just tried to grab my bag for me and it startled me, that’s all,” you jump in, covering his awkward pause, “I don’t do sudden movements.”
Sam only raises his brows higher but he doesn’t say anything. He just jerks his head behind him, telling you both to hurry it up before walking in himself.
As you and Bucky walk quickly inside, you mutter a tight, “I’m sorry, it just…it scared me.”
“S’okay,” Bucky reassures. Is he still a little tense, or is that your imagination? You’re not too sure.
“Please don’t say anything to them yet,” you say in a rush, right before he opens the door.
He pauses, looking back at your with trepidation in his gaze.
“They probably should know—”
“I know. And I’ll say something, I swear. Just give me the chance to, okay?”
Bucky nods after a second. He still seems unsure, but you think he’ll stick to his word. As long as you don’t wait for too long. Trying to avoid his eyes, you go through the door he holds open for you.
You step into a huge, airy room. Everything is modern and sleek. Looking up, you see walkways on different levels. In the backdrop are some more enormous windows. They allow bright afternoon sunshine to flood in, nearly erasing the feeling of being indoors.
And it doesn’t smell like a lab. You’re thankful for that.
“Did you take the scenic route or something, kid?”
Stark’s voice cuts through your observations. You look forward, finding him leaning casually against what you assume to be the front desk. An elegant woman stands straight next to him, her reddish blonde hair pulled back into a smooth ponytail. As you meet her eyes, you notice how warm and kind her smile is. It makes you feel safer.
“Hello,” she says, “It’s so nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.”
Then she comes at you quickly. Her hand is outstretched, her heels clicking loudly against the floor. You don’t mean to, but you flinch slightly. Stopping in your tracks, you step back one pace from her sudden movements.
She stops. Her smile falters slightly as she takes in your reaction. You flush in shame at yourself.
“I’m sorry,” she begins, “I didn’t—"
Stark jumps in, coming up to stand beside her and says, “Kid, this is my better half, Pepper Potts. She runs the show around here. Definition of a girlboss.”
“Girlboss?” Pepper asks with a sigh, looking over to Tony as he settles next to her. You let out a sigh of relief. Tony covered up your little moment.
“I don’t know,” he answers with a shrug, “I heard Parker say it once and it sounded good.”
“Please don’t call me that again,” she shoots back, but there’s a soft smile on her face.
She really loves him you think to yourself.
“Noted,” he says, then looks to you, “Okay, ready to head to your apartment?”
“My apartment?” You ask, slight confusion in your voice. You figured you’d be in a small room with a small bed, that kind of situation. But an entire apartment?
“After all of this, you’re blown away by the idea of an apartment? Really?”
“I don’t know,” you mutter defensively, “the word ‘compound’ kind of has a certain connotation I guess.”
“I knew we should’ve workshopped that more.”
He runs a hand through his brown hair, looking to the young man sitting behind the desk, who you’ve just now noticed.
“Boyd, write down that we need to workshop that,” Stark quips.
“I work for Ms. Potts, Mr. Stark,” he drawls with annoyance, “you write it down.”
You blink in surprise. It’s hard to believe that anyone outside of the Avengers would speak to Tony Stark like that. You look to Tony, expecting a harsh rebuke, but he only snorts with laughter.
“Shit, I always hope I’ll catch you off guard.”
“Not today, Mr. Stark.”
Tony turns back to you, saying, “Kid, this is Nathan Boyd. He’s Pep’s assistant, so by extension, he also runs the show.”
Nathan pushes up his round glasses and thankfully only waves at you, clearly understanding that you’re so not down to do the handshake thing right now.
“Let me know if you need anything,” he says with a half-smile.
“Oh, so you’ll offer help to a complete stranger but not me?” Tony asks with faux offense.
“Yep.”
“Sounds about right. Anyways kid, ready to rock and roll?”
You make yourself nod, then look to Bucky. You know you just snapped at him outside, but…you really want him to come. Tony is cool and everything, and Pepper seems nice enough, but you’re not sure about going somewhere with them yet. Everything is still too new.
“I’ll walk with you guys,” Bucky says as he meets your eyes, and then turns to Tony and Pepper, “It’s on my way to my own place anyway.”
Tony shrugs, then turns with Pepper and begins to walk down the large hallway to your right. You look up at Bucky and offer a small smile in thanks. He answers with one of his own. Then you make yourself put one foot in front of the other and follow the others.
“Stairs or elevator, kid?” Tony asks as you go.
“Stairs, please.”
Absolutely no closed spaces, thank you very much.
“Cool, gotta get that cardio in, am I right?”
He leads you all past a pair of sleek, shiny elevator doors to the stairwell door just to the right of it, and as you step in, you know you made the right choice. The corridor is narrow, but more windows open it up to the outside.
The four of you climb up to the fourth floor, Bucky’s steady presence right behind you as you try to keep up with the fast pace set by Stark and Pepper. Really just Pepper. She walks ridiculously fast for someone in stilettos.
Finally exiting the stairwell, you arrive in a quiet hallway with doors running down each side of the hall. It’s much quieter up here than it was down in the lobby, almost like the plush carpet is absorbing all the sound.
Pepper leads you down the long stretch of hallway until you arrive outside a door embossed with a golden 409. She presses her thumb to the reader on the outside, followed by a small click as the door unlocks.
“Welcome home,” she says with a smile as she looks back at you. She opens the door, stepping back to allow you to be the first one inside.
You step inside.
Your breath leaves you in the next instant.
White walls.
Blank white walls everywhere.
You try to take in the rest of the furniture to distract yourself. There’s a plush blue couch and set of chairs to your left, taking up that side of the main room. You notice a massive television taking up some of the wall space.
The white wall space.
Ignoring the violent swoop of your stomach, you turn toward the kitchen. It makes an “L” shape in the righthand corner of the room, made up of brand new silver appliances and white countertops.
More fucking white.
Swallowing hard, you skip over that and look to the far side of the room. Massive floor-to-ceiling windows take up the entire wall, no white to be found. You heave out a quiet sigh of relief and step toward it. This apartment as a view of the Hudson, and you admire the sparkle of sunlight off the dark water.
“We weren’t sure what you’d like as far as food and toiletries go,” Pepper explains as she flips on the kitchen lights, “so we got some frozen meals, stuff for sandwiches, things like that along with some popular brands for the toiletries.”
It was a good thing someone thought of those things. You were so used to dropping everything and going that you didn’t bring a whole lot, only your toothbrush and toothpaste.
“Anything you need you can order online. We have accounts with most of the popular retailers. I’ll ask Nathan to send you the information,” she finishes as she finally looks over to you.
You paste a smile on your face. It feels more like a grimace, but nothing on her own expression indicates that she can tell anything’s wrong.
“Thank you,” you say softly, and you find you truly mean it.
Nothing about this feels particularly normal. Everything that’s happened since they showed up yesterday has you feeling like a fish out of water. But you find you really mean it.
“I hope you like everything,” she replies, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth.
“I really do. This is definitely the nicest place I’ve ever stayed.”
She only smiles brighter. There’s no reason to tell her about how the white walls make you feel. What can she do? She didn’t know, and it’s not like she can do much about it now.
“Okay, so the bedroom is through that door on the left,” Pepper explains as she points to the door you saw earlier, “
“Set your bag down kid,” Tony snarks, “you look like you’re ready to bolt.”
Great. Of course he had to say something.
Pepper heaves an exasperated sigh, which makes you nervous, but luckily she turns it on Tony.
“She just walked in, give her a minute.”
“I’m just making a joke; I can’t make a joke?”
“You’re not joking you’re nagging—”
“I’m nagging?”
You tune out their bickering. Your gaze flits again to the walls. Biting your lip nervously, you make yourself look longer than you want to just to see if you can handle it. You’re going to have to handle it; this is your new living space.
But after just a few seconds, you have to avert your eyes. It just brings too much up. Too many painful and terrifying memories poke at the edge of your mind, and now just isn’t the fucking time for that.
Then you find yourself looking at Bucky. He’s already watching you, concern and questions filling his eyes. You look away as quickly as you can, hopefully without it seeming too suspicious. He must think you’re always on the edge of a breakdown at this point.
“Whatever,” you hear Tony say flippantly, and you force your attention back to him and Pepper. Nothing good can come from lingering on the walls.
The man looks at you again and says, “Okay, let’s talk shop. This place is huge, so you’re gonna need a tour at some point. Want to do that today?”
“No,” you say quickly, then try to cover by adding, “I mean, it’s just…it’s just been a long day.”
Tony shrugs, replying, “No skin off my back. Try not to get lost. But if you do, FRIDAY is always available to help.”
“FRIDAY?”
“The AI assistant for the Avengers. Mostly for me, but I’m good at sharing. Go ahead and introduce yourself, FRIDAY.”
You’re not sure what you’re expecting, but certainly not—
“Hello,” the disembodied voice echoes from all around you, “I’m here to help in any way I can.”
Okay, so maybe the disembodied voice would make sense, considering what she is. Still freaks you out. Still made you jump.
You kind of don’t like that she’s both nowhere and everywhere. Are they going to have her watch you? Are they going to be monitoring you?
The idea of that doesn’t sit well with you at all.
You clamp down on that line of thinking. You’re getting overwhelmed, and imagining being watched 24/7 isn’t helping in the slightest. Anything more, any new piece of information, and you might explode.
And you mean that literally. You’re particularly combustible.
Looking over to Tony, you see him watching you with a curious expression. Is that…concern? You’ve noticed that with him it’s very hard to tell.
“Okay,” he starts saying as you watch each other, “any more questions before we get out of your hair?”
“N-no,” you manage to stammer out.
And it’s true. You truly can’t think of anything. The only thing in your head right now is a constant stream of whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck—
“Groovy, then we’ll leave you to it. Make sure you ask FRIDAY any questions that come up. She’ll know the answer. On the off-chance she doesn’t, she’ll know to contact one of us.”
Tony turns to leave, and Pepper does too after she offers you a warm smile. You turn to look at Bucky, nerves starting to twist your stomach as the true reality of the situation sets in. He gives you a little half smile, then turns to leave as well.
I’ll just insert this IV now to get you started on the medication.
The panic really starts to set in as you realize all their backs are turned to you.
You’ll just stay in here for now. The doctor should be in shortly.
The sound of a lock clicks. Or is that just in your head?
The white walls fade to black, the darkness slowly creeping in along the corners of your vision--
“Wait”, you burst out.
Your voice echoes against those empty walls. All three of them turn around to face you in surprise. You’re a little surprised yourself.
The question bouncing around in your head sounds a little childish, and maybe it is. But you won’t be able to calm down until you get the reassurance you need.
“I can…I can leave, right?”
“What do you mean?” Pepper asks with a confused look, “You just got here. Don’t you want to at least give things a chance?”
“No, I-I mean – I just –”
You try to explain. The words just won’t come. You can’t seem to get past how stupid it sounds to the logical side of your brain. Your hands start to heat up with the fight or flight of it all, and you’re so damn scared you can’t think straight.
“She wants to make sure we’re not locking her in,” Bucky murmurs quietly.
You manage to make yourself look up. As you meet his eyes, the furious heat in your fingers lessens. Bucky was able to put this fear into words when it scared you too much to do even that.
“Oh,” Tony says. His tone is soft in a way you haven’t heard before from him
He runs a hand through his hair, something you’ve noticed is a habit of his, and sighs. You don’t think the sigh is directed at you. It’s heavier than that. Almost like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.
“Pep, Barnes, can we have the room?”
“That okay with you?”
It’s Bucky who asks the question. You’re not sure, but somehow…you trust Tony. He puts his foot in his mouth, but you think he means well. And it means a lot that Bucky defers to you on this.
You turn to him and offer a small smile, muttering, “It’s okay.”
He nods, then turns to go with Pepper. Tony waits until the door clicks behind them. When it does, he sighs again. This time he runs both hands over his face.
This time, you wonder if he actually is frustrated with you.
“I really am sorry, I just—”
“Kid,” he cuts you off, “you never have to apologize. Not for things like this. Clear?”
You nod nervously. You’re relieved at the reassurance, but the exhaustion and anger in his voice still throws you off. Silence fills the room as you wait for him to continue.
“Lemme show you how the locks work. I always feel better when I know how something works.”
He turns quickly back toward the front door, clearly assuming that you’ll follow. You finally set your bag down and scuttle along behind him. He opens it to the now empty hallway and waves a hand for you to come stand out there with him.
“At the Compound, we use fingerprint readers,” he explains, “much less hassle than with actual keys, and it helps reduce the security risk. Right now your door is set to Pep’s fingerprint, since she’s the one who set your apartment up. I think Boyd’s fingerprint works on it too.”
You nod, trying to keep up. It’s all more high tech than you’re used to.
“FRIDAY? You there?”
“Right here, Mr. Stark,” the AI’s voice comes through the hallway, right next to the door.
“Let’s reset the fingerprint reader and add the kid’s fingerprints.”
“Done. Miss, if you would, please place your thumb facedown on the reader for 10 seconds.”
Swallowing your nerves, you do exactly as she says. A bright line scans your thumb up and down for a few seconds, then blinks green.
“All set,” Tony confirms, “now you’re the only one who has access to your place. Wanna test it out?”
You nod, still unsure about this whole thing, but trying to trust the process. You’re not so great with the whole “trust” thing.
Tony closes the door, and you hear a faint “click” and the door locks. You assume FRIDAY’s behind that.
With shaking hands, you press your thumb to the reader. It scans for a few seconds like before, then blinks green as the door unlocks. You test the handle, finding it unlocked.
“Okay, now go inside and try to get out.”
“What?” You ask, voice as tremulous as your fingers.
“Isn’t that what you’re most worried about? Being locked in?”
“Well yeah—”
“Then let me prove to you that that’s not what we’re doing here,” he says in a rush, then adds in a quieter tone, “I promise you’ll be able to leave. You’re not a prisoner here, I promise.”
Swallowing your fear, you go inside and close the door. You decide to wait a few seconds, but in that short span, the heat begins to creep back into your hands. Before you have any more time to doubt, you reach out and fling open the door.
It opens. Your wide eyes meet Tony’s. A rush of air leaves your lungs. Your relief is overwhelming, and tears start to gather in your eyes. You turn away from Tony before he can see.
You hear the door close behind you. It seems as though he’s left, but then you hear his footsteps.
“You alright, kid?”
“Y-yeah,” you choke out, “it’s j-just a lot.”
“I get that. Do you want me to stay or do you want some space?”
“I-I think I n-need some sp-space,” you stutter.
“Say no more,” Tony says, not an ounce of judgement in his voice. You hear him turn and walk back toward the door.
You hear the door open, but just before he leaves, he adds, “You’re safe here, but if anyone or anything makes you feel unsafe, you tell me. I’ll make sure it gets fixed or goes away.”
An entirely different rush of warmth rushes into your chest, lifting you up and bringing fresh tears to your eyes. It means so much that someone is on your side and cares about how you feel. Someone who knows everything.
Silence settles over the empty room. You hate how the white walls pierce your vision no matter which way you turn.
Hoping to escape them, you quickly walk forward and grab your bag. You walk toward the room off to the left that Tony indicated earlier, only to find…
More white.
The bedroom is all white. White walls. White pillows. White comforter.
The warmth that you had just felt evaporates, replaced by a chill that settles in your bones. It drags you down until you’re sitting on the floor.
Burying your face in your hands, you cry.
***
tag list: @obsidianvibranium @dreamwritesimagines @valhalla-kristin
Character / Genre: Yoongi x reader | parenthood!au, angst
⤞ Word count: 7,714 words (well since this is no longer a drabble)
⤞ Originally made based on this request: Yoongi + “How could I ever forget about you" + Angst | for anon
⤞ Chapters: Part 1/Reflections ⇎ Part 2/Flashlights ⇎ Part 3/Pathways ⇎ Part 4/Shadows
⤞ Author’s Note: I have re-written this part so many times because I originally had two different ideas for the ending - one got people (my proofreaders) screaming at me, while the other had so many plot holes in it which made me unhappy with it. I finally wrote this version down after taking a nap this morning and got a much clear head. Sorry if it’s too sappy and sorry if I made some mistakes in it - I’ll probably come back to edit this later (let’s just hope I won’t change my mind once I do that and erase the whole thing to make an entirely different ending cause I did that once lol). Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think. I’m sorry for the long wait.
The sun is shining bright above you. The weather is quite warm, yet everything inside you feels so cold.
The sound of children’s laughter running around before you seems so distant yet so close by.
You only sit in silence, following Yoonjin’s every movement with your eyes as he runs about on the playground, screaming and laughing with his new friends. Which is an excuse, really. Because aside from the need of making sure that your son is safe while enjoying himself playing at the public area, you also need an excuse to keep your eyes away from turning to look at Yoongi who is sitting right beside you, even when you are not even sure that he is, in fact, paying attention to anything other than his son.
His son.
“I lied,” you finally speak after a long period of silence, breaking the tension that has been building between the both of you ever since he joined you on that bench.
“About what?” The depth of his voice sends shivers through your body, your aching heart, just how it used to do way back then. And you hate that feeling.
You release a sigh, blinking your eyes nervously while your mind works its way to find the right words to say. Revealing the truth is never easy, especially with this - “I didn’t really come back here because of work. I- uhm- I made sure that my work will open up a way for me to return, but I came back for another reason.”
You can feel Yoongi shifting on his seat, before turning slightly to face you. Yet you keep your eyes still facing at the playground, and you sit completely still at your seat, wanting no more than to keep avoiding his gaze and finish unfolding the truth to reduce the weight that you have been carrying on your shoulder.
“Then, what is your reason?” Yoongi asks you carefully, but from the tone of his voice, you already know that he is probably guessing at what reasons you might have.
“Yoonjin,” you sigh.
“What- What does-”
“It was Yoonjin who begged me to take him back.”
You bite at your lips right after you let the words slip out of you, gripping hard on the purse that you put on your lap to hold yourself from shaking out of anxiety. “Ever since Yoonjin was a toddler, and even as he started to understand things, I have never mentioned about his Father. I have never told him about who you are, about your existence, and I thought he would never question it - as long as he has me by his side.”
You stop talking to inhale a deep breath and Yoongi waits patiently to listen to what you are about to say. “He is a really smart boy. He only started speaking right before he reached the age of four but even when it was much later than the average children around him, he was able to speak fluently and was able to win so many hearts. And the first thing he ever asked about with complete sentence was his father.”
Yoongi blinks his eyes, smiling fondly at your story before glancing towards his child. But then he turns back to look at you, and the look in your eyes only makes him realize how hard it was for you.
“I always made excuses to not talk about his father, always avoid to answer him because I couldn't lie to him- even when my heart told me that perhaps it would be best to let him think that he had lost his father for eternally- but I couldn't lie. Until one day he accidentally heard someone talking about his Father, and he was ecstatic to find out that his father does exist, that you exist. And he made a vow to find you-”
Yoongi can feel his tears brimming at the corner of his eyes, his heart filled with warmth and pride over his son. “He- uhm- he approached me first that day. My heart almost stopped when he made me listen to the song in his Pod and it turns out to be my work.”
You nod your head, smiling at the thought of your little boy’s wits, silently applauding for how brave that child can be.
“You see-” You take a deep breath as your memory brings you back to the day of your labour, because the thought of reliving that day has always been too terrifying for you to do. “Yoonjin was born at the same day you released your mixtape-”
“What-”
“I was- I had been avoiding on listening to your music, and to any of your work because everything only reminded me of you and of us, and they only gave me nothing but pain. But that day- when I heard your music resonating from somewhere in the hospital I asked them to play your music for me. And I kept listening to it until the music and the sound your voice no longer gave me pain.”
Your fingers are starting to grip harder on your purse, your voice is shaking, as more of the past memories unfolds one at a time. “But baby Yoonjin was there. He also listened to those songs, and he remembered them differently. Every time he started a tantrum he would only calm down or stop crying when I played your songs. He wouldn’t sleep until he listened to your songs. So you probably can imagine how he reacted when somebody let him know that the voice that he had been listening to since he was a baby, the invisible man that had been singing to him his lullabies, was his own father.”
Yoongi raises his hand to reach you the moment he sees a drop of tear falls onto your cheek, yet he stops himself midway, unsure if he is allowed to even try to touch you even if it’s only to calm you down, when he knows that he is the reason you are breaking apart in front of him.
“I, uh- I wasn’t hiding him from you. But ever since the day we arrived in the city I have been always avoiding any chance of meeting you, I never contacted you even when I promised him I would. I did all that not because I wanted to hide him away and stop you from finding him.”
“Why?”
You turned around and look at Yoongi right through his eyes when you answer, “I did it- Because I was afraid of what it would affect me, of how I would react or feel- when I finally get to see you again.”
You can’t stop the tears from falling on your face or the sobs to take over your breath as you let go every hidden feeling and all the fears you’ve been keeping inside. Yoongi shifts on his seat, feeling himself crumbling with regrets the moment he looks into your eyes, the voices in his head are screaming at him to hold you.
“Y/N, I-”
“Mommy?”
You and Yoongi turn your heads simultaneously to see your child running towards you, his face is pale and full of worry, both of his hands are extended forward to immediately hug you. “Mommy, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Don’t cry-” He whines and begs, frowning as he stares at you with glossy eyes.
You catch his wrists and place his palms over your cheeks. “Mommy is alright, Yoonjin. I’m okay,” you say to him, leaning down to kiss his forehead before wiping away the remaining tears that are still streaming down your face.
“Y/N-”
You turn to look at Yoongi, who is staring at you worriedly with a face and expression that mirrors the look on your child’s face. He opens his lips to speak, yet he falters and nothing comes out, until he releases a sigh to get himself together and once again lifts his eyes to look at you. “I am sorry for everything that you had to go through because of me- I-”
“No, don’t blame yourself. You can’t- all of this would have never happened if- If only-” You stop yourself and sigh. “Yara was right. I could’ve tried to find out the truth instead of having such accusing thoughts about you and ran off. I did this to myself. It was all my fault.”
“No.” Yoongi shakes his head, lifting his hand as he leans towards you, wanting no more than to be able to touch you and hold you, but he once again stops himself because he knows that he has no right to. “It was me. None of this would’ve happened if I didn’t leave you in the first place. And your reaction was understandable, I mean- who wouldn’t react the way you did? I hurt you, so it would only be fair for you to think- God, if it was me I would’ve burned the whole building down if I ever saw you with another man right after we-”
Yoongi loses control of his voice and words. His body is now shaking with anger, at himself, at the whole event that led all three of you to walk on such paths. And he has no one to blame but himself. “Y/N, I know I can’t fix everything that had happened, I can’t change anything that I did- And I know that maybe I don’t deserve all of this. But- Please give me a chance to fix what is left. I will do my best to give you and Yoonjin everything, in exchange of everything I had caused you. I want to do everything to-”
“You are not obliged to do anything, Yoongi.”
“But I want to.”
You look at Yoongi to see how much he means every word he just said. There is a part of you that begs you to run away, now that you have fulfilled Yoonjin’s wish to be able to find his father. But then you look at your son and meet his pleading eyes, and you crumble underneath them.
You let out a sigh, kissing your child’s forehead once more before answering with, “Alright.”
Yoongi flinches at your answer. His eyes are lighted with hope and he sighs in relieved at the thought of being able to receive forgiveness.
“Are you- are you giving me a chance?”
You let out a sigh, smiling at Yoonjin to mirror the wide smile he is giving you, since he can understand what you meant by those words.
“I’m not asking you for anything, Yoongi. I just- ask for your time. I know Yoonjin would love spending time with you,” you smile at your son who is nodding his head, and completely thrilled by the thought of being able to see his Father more often. “I just need you to spare your time for Yoonjin. Because you are his Father.”
Yoongi gives you a sigh, smiling at his boy and turning to you. “But- what about-” He stops, gnawing at his lips before asking. “What about you? Will you give me a chance to make it up for you to?”
You kiss your child’s forehead, staying silent and not answering right away, contemplating the answer in your mind. Asking yourself.
Would you?
You let Yoonjin joins the both of you, sitting between you and Yoongi so he can join the conversation. And Yoongi takes the chance to ask him so many things, little things that he knows he can ask a child about themselves, and things to ask about you, only to keep up with the many years he had lost from not being able to be in Yoonjin’s life.
The long conversation lasts for hours, until suddenly the sky grows dark and Yoonjin starts leaning back towards you before yawning.
“Are you tired? Do you wanna go home?” You stroke your son’s hair while you settle him in front of you so he can lean back and sleep. Yoonjin shakes his head, whining - “Not yet,” while forcing his eyes to open. And you know the reason why he does that.
“Uhm- you know, my current apartment is nearby. Do you want to take Yoonjin there so he can rest?” Yoongi offers you, a bit hesitant since he can see through your eyes how much you had wanted to leave since hours ago.
“I think we-”
“I don’t want to go home,” you hear Yoonjin speaks, his voice is strained and dragged by sleep, not giving you a chance to refuse the offer. “Can we go with Daddy?”
You can feel the tears in your eyes threatening to show itself once more at how he refers to Yoongi, followed by the light pang in your heart, slicing through to remind you of the remaining pain. But what excuse can you give him if you refuse? What rights do you have to disappoint your child, after weeks and months of lying to him?
“Is- Is it okay? I don’t want to trouble you,” you ask Yoongi, looking at him hesitantly, hoping that he would let you go instead.
“It’s alright. I don’t mind,” Yoongi smiles at you reassuringly. “I would appreciate it if you let me stay with Yoonjin a bit longer.”
You glance towards your child who is already dozing off on your lap and the moment you look back at Yoongi you know you have no other way but to accept his offer.
You follow Yoongi as he walks ahead after stepping off the elevator in his building. Your fingers keep fidgeting the strap of your purse while you keep your eyes on Yoonjin who is fast asleep in Yoongi’s hold. The bittersweet feeling in your heart of seeing your child being reunited with his Father who is now carrying him gently is starting to overwhelm you. Although you still can’t really tell whether they are feelings of guilt or relieved.
Yoongi stops at the door to his apartment, reaching down into his pocket to carefully retrieve his keys without waking the sleeping child in his strong arms.
“Let me do it,” you step forward to offer your hand.
“No, that’s okay. I can handle this,” Yoongi smiles at you, before finally putting the key at the door and pressing down his passcode. “These things need practice. I should get used to this anyway.” He chuckles as the door opens, and he ushers you to walk in ahead before he follows behind. You stand in the entrance foyer, after taking off your shoes only to help Yoongi by supporting Yoonjin in his arms as he takes off his.
“Let’s lay him down on the bed, shall we?”
You return Yoongi’s smile with you own and nod your head, following him close behind as he continues to carry Yoonjin towards his bedroom. You help him settle your son on his cozy bed without saying any words. The peaceful face of your son captivates you, and you watch him with adoring eyes which is similar to the one Yoongi has currently as he stands beside you, staring at the child on his bed fondly.
“Come on, we should let him sleep. I’ll go make you something warm to drink.” The touch of Yoongi’s palm on your back grabs your attention back to him. You let him guide you to leave the bedroom, sighing at the restless thumping heartbeat that just won’t stop. “Go and sit down on the sofa. You can hear him if he awakes,” Yoongi ushers you to sit on the small sofa in the lounge right outside his bedroom.
Turning your head back to glance at the opened bedroom door, you sigh once more, before answering Yoongi with a smile when he makes his way to the kitchen.
“I’m sorry for troubling you. I guess we just lost track of time and tired the little boy,” you tell him once he comes back with two cups of warm tea, one which he passes right to your hands.
“I already told you that I don’t mind,” he flashes a smile at you. “I’d love to have some extra time with you- I mean, with Yoonjin too, of course.”
You sit there awkwardly, sipping on your tea slowly. “This is a nice place. Are you- um- do you live here with anyone?”
You catch a sight of his glance for a quick moment before he looks away. “No, I live here alone,” he sighs. “I chose a spacious place because the boys would sometimes come in and stay here.”
“Ah-” You exhale a sigh. Scolding at yourself silently when your head is filled with more questions, the curiosity of the things you don’t really want to know.
“Are you curious if there is someone else?”
His question startles you. You had not expected that he will bring up the topic that you are avoiding to speak up yourself.
“I- don’t think it’s really any of my business.”
“It’s okay if you really want to know. I already told you I don’t mind, and I will tell you anything you want to know about,” he answers you firmly. “Besides there isn’t anyone else for years- uhm, what about you?”
You shake your head. “No. It’s been only me and Yoonjin for years.”
Yoongi nods his head, looking away from you by keeping his eyes on his drink yet your eyes can still catch a glimpse of his smile appearing on his lips.
You look away, trying your best not to stare at his face by keeping your eyes on how your fingers are grazing the edge of your cup. The room becomes silent for a brief while. And suddenly you can feel goosebumps surging on your skin, having the feeling of his stare aimed towards you.
“I, uh-” He clears his throat, breaking the silence between you and catching your attention back to him. You turn your head to look at him hesitantly, preparing yourself to face the tension in his eyes once more. “We have been talking all day, but you haven’t really talked about yourself. How are you, Y/N? How are you holding up?”
You have spent years giving your attention fully on your child, that you have been putting yourself aside and have never really thought about your own personal matters or needs. Yoonjin’s presence has helped you keep your mind off of all your worries and pain, and you have considered him your medicine. You have thought that his presence alone would cure your wounds, and you are thriving in life. But now that you are being questioned about yourself, now that you are handed the chance to look into your wellbeing, you finally noticed that you have overlooked on fixing your wounds for so many years, and overlooked your own happiness. And you have no answer to his question.
“I’m just doing my best, I guess. Yoonjin has been my biggest strength, to be honest. And I’m blessed to have him by my side.”
“Yara told me that you mentioned about fighting for your life. Is that true?”
You take a deep breath. Regretting the day when you let your anger took control of you, that you spilt out the words you didn’t mean to say and even spilt the dark part of your life which you had never intended on letting anyone knows. Perhaps you will regret it once more after you let him know about that day, but you know that he will never stop asking about it until you tell him everything. So you start spilling the memory of that day.
“I had a problem when I was giving birth to Yoonjin. I was away from home, alone, with a high stress of moving to a new place and starting school. Yoonjin stopped developing in my womb at some point, so they- I had to undergo a surgery to give birth to him a few weeks ahead of time.”
You let out a deep breath, the heaviness in your chest that has been piling for years is now being laid out before him. “They said I had an infection and I bled a lot. That was when the hospital had to inform my family and Mark finally came to be by my side, until Yoonjin arrived in the world. I may have exaggerated things when I lashed out on Yara, I’m sorry for making you think that-”
“No,” Yoongi only shakes his head, the creases that are evident above his eyebrows shows his worries and by having no more anger inside your heart, you are now feeling guilty of filling his head with worries. “You were angry, and I get that. But Y/N, you shouldn’t have to endure that alone. I should’ve- I’m so sorry.” He rubs his palm over his lips, perhaps trying to imagine what you’ve had been going through after you were both apart. The troubled look on his face adds guilt inside you.
“It’s okay, I got through it really well. And I have Yoonjin. Worth every fight, because I will never trade having him in my life to anything else.” You give him a smile, only to stop him from worrying. “What about you, Yoongi? How are you holding up?”
Yoongi is flustered at your question, being lost in his own thoughts. He can’t seem rid the thought of you struggling by yourself many years ago, and he can’t stop blaming himself. “I’ve been focused on work. And, uh- I guess that's pretty much it,” he chuckles, earning a smile to appear from you but then he just falters the moment he looks into your eyes. “I'm terribly sorry, Y/N. Please- Please forgive me for letting you go through everything alone. I meant what I said about my intention of doing everything I can to make it up to you, to both of you.”
You only nod your head and look away. Giving a chance for another awkward silence to fill the room.
“So, uhm- What is your plan?” He asks you, after a while. The look in his eyes emitting hope, and truthfully, you have no answer.
“I’m not sure yet-”
“You are staying permanently in the city, right?” Yoongi leans on his seat. You can see how anxious he awaits for your answer by the way his fingers are gripping onto his cup.
“I haven't made any plans, but- If Yoonjin wants to stay here, then I would-”
“But what about you?” You meet his eyes, seeing the plea written faintly in his stare. “What do you want?”
“I, uh-” You look around the room only to avoid his gaze. You realize that once you look deep inside your heart to find that buried wishes, you might give a chance for the buried feelings to emerge. And you are too afraid to let that happen. “Look, Yoongi- I really appreciate this,” you answer hesitantly, placing the cup in your hand on top of the coffee table before you. “Thank you for giving Yoonjin your time and a chance for him to get to know you. I should probably call a cab and take Yoonjin home before dinner.”
Yoongi extends his hand to stop you from leaving your seat. “Please stay. Let him rest for more. I will fix you guys some dinner, just- Stay, just one night.”
“But Yoongi-”
“Y/N, I didn’t come to see you only for Yoonjin. Give me a chance to know more of you too. I just- Just stay. I will drive you both home later.”
There is a part in your heart that screams for you to just leave and run. But there is also a part of your heart that is too tired of running, tired of avoiding him. Perhaps you still miss him, that you also want more time to see him, or perhaps you need closure. At this moment you still have no clue what it is that keeps you from refusing and just take your son away. But you give in to that one little plea in your heart to stay.
“Okay, Yoongi. Just for one night. I don’t want to trouble you too much.”
He only shakes his head while leaving his seat. “It’s not troubling me at all, Y/N. I’m only taking care of my son, and you, of course. You are the mother of my child, after all.”
One night of dinner becomes two. And before you know it, it has been a week and you have been spending every night having dinner together, switching between Yoongi’s place and yours. All you keep in mind is how this makes Yoonjin happy, since he gets to see his father more often, and somehow along the way, it’s getting much easier for you as well to stay close to Yoongi.
From one week quickly passes into one month and onto the second. There are times when Yoongi would even spare his time to pick up your son from the kindergarten and takes him to work, and there are times when Yoonjin would spend a whole weekend with Yoongi.
Yoongi does everything he could to stay present in Yoonjin’s life, giving more and more space in his life for his son. While subtly makes his way into yours.
The third month comes in. You are sitting in your office one late afternoon, not worrying about picking up your son from his school since he is staying with his grandparents. You let yourself drown in the piles of works, which has been escalating since your company becomes partners with Yoongi’s company, and you have just finished designing the line specifically made for Yoongi and his group.
A soft knock on the door interrupts your concentration, just as the exhaustion is slowly building up.
You turn to look at the doorway, finding him standing there with a smile, a warm look in his eyes, a bouquet of flowers in one of his hands, and a cup of takeaway coffee in another.
“Yoongi- What are you doing here?”
His smile widens, “I was just passing by, and I thought I should bring you some coffee since I know you’ll be busy today.” He lifts his hand to show the paper cup in his hand with a chuckle. “Can I come in?”
You nod your head, giving him a smile before your eyes fall to the flowers in his hand as he walks closer to your desk. “And what are those flowers for?”
“Oh, uhm-” Yoongi chuckles, smiling sheepishly while swinging the flower in his hand before handing them to you. “I was- I saw them right after I got out of the coffee shop and, um- I thought it’ll be nice if you have some of these on your desk.”
“Well, thank you,” you stand up to take the coffee and flowers from his hands, gesturing your hand so he can take the seat at the opposite of your desk. “You don’t have to, really.”
Yoongi sits down on the chair, watching you as you place both things on the desk before sitting back down. “I want to,” he says. You look back at him, your heartbeat increasing rapidly as your eyes meet his stare.
“Yoongi, why are you here?”
He sighs, taking his time by fixing the front of his coat before he speaks. “I’m here to pick you up for dinner.”
“But- Yoonjin isn’t here.”
“I know. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t take you for dinner with me, right?”
You eyes widen at his words. “But why?”
“Why not?” He shrugs. “I already promised to make up for the time I lost in your lives. I’ve only been spending the times with Yoonjin. Can’t I include you too?”
You stand from your seat and walk away towards the back of your office, avoiding him and hiding your face as your mind is filled with questions and doubts.
“Why is it so hard for you to open up to me again, Y/N? Do you still hate me that much?”
You shake your head, looking down at your hands as they are rested on your thighs. “I don’t hate you, Yoongi.”
You don’t notice that he has been following and closing in on you, until you can feel his hands on your upper arms, before he turns your body gently to face him. “Then tell me what is wrong. It’s just a simple dinner. I mean, can’t I just have a chance to spend time with you without having Yoonjin around? Why do you keep avoiding me if you don’t hate me that much anymore?”
“I don’t-”
You know the reason why. It’s been a while since the anger inside your heart within you subsides, and you have feared about what would emerge inside you once that happens. That is why you have been avoiding him. But there is no way you can let him know.
It’s hard to keep your mind straight when he is now standing so close to you, his warmth and the scent of his cologne are filling your senses, and the look in Yoongi’s eyes isn’t helping you at all. But you can’t even look away. You can only hope that he won’t notice how your heart is beating fast at the sight of his beautiful face, how you are so close to crumbling to the floor just by his touch, and how your tears are threatening to fall from being overwhelmed at the feelings that are growing inside you. You want to push him away, but at the same time you want him closer, and your mind is now in a mess when you can’t decide which one would be best.
“Getting close to me again was not part of the deal, Yoongi.”
“We never made any deal in the first place. And I never made any promise for not trying,” he says to you, unwavering from where he stands. “I can’t lie to you. None of this wouldn’t even happen or ever begin with if I didn’t run back to you at the airport that day. And I didn’t come back to see him at first, I came back for you. I went back because I wanted to see you again, I wanted more time and more chance to talk to you. I have been searching for you and I only stopped because I thought you never wanted to see me again, but that day I couldn’t think of anything but to try and make my way back to you again. I have never stopped thinking about you for years, and I can’t stop thinking about you more ever since that day.”
His words hit you hard and you can no longer stop your tears from falling. All of the nights where your mind was filled with questions of ‘what if’ and ‘what could have’, all the sleepless nights of wondering the possibilities that might have happened if you had taken different decisions, comes through your mind. And you let the one question that has been carved in your memory to slip through your lips, “Then why did you leave me in the first place, Yoongi? Why did you turn your back away from me? Why did you let me go?”
“I was an idiot,” he sighs, raising one hand to caress your cheek and wipe the tears off your skin, while the other is resting on your shoulder. “My future and my career were still unclear, my life was hanging by a thread and every time I looked at you, I was afraid of what kind of future I could give you when you had everything and I didn’t have anything to offer you.”
He reaches for your hand and gives a light kiss over your knuckles. “I thought- Letting you go was the best for both of us. I thought I could give you a chance to go further and give me a chance to focus on chasing my dream. I was wrong-” He looks into your eyes, showing you how true his words are, and showing his guilt. “I’m so sorry. None of this would have happened if I didn’t chicken out and push you away. I regretted everything as soon as I lost you. And even after I couldn’t find you, I- you were the only one in my mind. Your image has been the only one I think about to motivate me into moving on and you are the only one I think about when I write my music.”
“Yoongi-”
“I meant what I said when I told you how much I want to make it up to both of you. And I mean it when I say I want to try again with you.”
You are practically sobbing right now, but you try your best to keep it together, taking deep breaths to help you speak. “We haven’t met each other for years, Yoongi. We are both completely different people now, so many things happened and I have changed. You changed. The person you sought for at the airport wasn’t me, but it was the memory of me. I’m not the same person anymore, Yoongi.”
“I know. I can see that.” He grips on your shoulder, while lifting your chin so you can meet his eyes. “But I want to know you, the person in front of me now. And I want you to know me as the person I am now. I’m willing to try, and I’m asking you to give me a chance to try it with me.”
“Yoongi, I don’t know-”
“Why? Can’t you at least tell me why?”
You open your lips to answer but you stop yourself. Because you have nothing to say, no answer to refuse. How can you find any words to say, when the only thing in your mind is how much you have missed him for so long. And when you realize that the only reason you have been avoiding him is that you don’t want your hidden feelings to grow once more.
TWO YEARS LATER
Yoongi takes a last look on the mirror while putting on his suit jacket. He double checks on his hair and tie before stepping out of his bedroom and makes his way to his son’s bedroom.
Yoonjin is in the middle of fumbling with his tie in front of the mirror, making a complete mess on the knots and not paying attention at his father as he walks closer.
“Need help, kiddo?” Yoongi chuckles from behind, stopping right behind his son and waits for his answer since he knows that the child hates it if he meddles with his effort.
Yoonjin pouts, keeping his eyes on the reflection of his tie on the mirror. “I can do it,” he groans. “I’m just confused.”
Yoongi chuckles at his son stubbornness, immediately comparing them to yours. “Come on, let me fix that for you, or at least let me show you how to do it, okay?”
The child lets out a huff, finally giving up and letting go of the tie, giving his father a chance to show him the right way to make the knots. Yoongi leans down to fix the tie, mumbling on the steps to teach his son as he does it for him. Once he is done, he raises his hands to fix the child’s still messy hair, reaching out for the comb next to the mirror to tidy them.
“There, now we are ready to go,” he smiles at the child through the mirror, which Yoonjin returns in the same way. “Are you excited to see Mommy? Do you miss her?”
Yoonjin nods his head while touching his tie. “I am. Do I look good enough, Dad? I wanna look good for Mommy.”
Yoongi only chuckles. “You look great,” he says, sighing at the reflection in the mirror, staring fondly at the child’s eyes and admiring how much they resemble yours. The flutter in his heart is close to bringing his tears to fall out, yet he takes a deep breath to keep the overwhelming feeling sealed to himself. “We should go now, she must be waiting.”
“Okay,” Yoonjin turns around, grabbing his jacket and his shoes, putting them on with the help of his father. Moments after, Yoongi walks ahead with his car keys in his hand, followed by his son, as they make their way out of the apartment together.
“Yoongi- I can’t-”
“Give me a reason why. Tell me that there is no more love for me and that I have no effect on you whatsoever, and I will let this go.”
But you didn’t want him to let it go. You wanted him closer. You have wanted him to since many nights ago, ever since you were able to laugh with his jokes freely, since you could end the night with glasses of wine with him comfortably while your son was fast asleep in his room, since you have let him stay in your apartment that one night when the weather was bad and he was too tired to drive home.
It was the remaining pain and the fear that he would let you go again that had been stopping you from asking for more of him in your life. And that fear was soon defeated by the fear of having him to take back his words and give up on you before you ever gave him a chance to enter your heart and your life fully once more.
“Tell me how to erase the pain, Yoongi.” Tears were starting to fall out of your eyes before you even noticed they were there. “Tell me how to not feel them, because I missed you so much, but I’m also scared that you will let me go again.”
Your sight were clouded by the tears that were flowing out, that you were unaware on how his eyes were glistening with tears. He released a deep sigh before pulling you gently so he could now rest his forehead on yours. “I was too afraid of the future and now I am not afraid of it anymore. You and Yoonjin are my future and now that I have you both in my life I am never letting go again. Ever.”
You didn’t know if you can trust him. You wanted to trust him. And with how close he was standing with you, how you could feel his heartbeat through the palm that you placed on his chest and how his thumbs were grazing on your skin, you couldn’t fight the rushing feeling inside you.
Yoongi parks the car, turning the machines off while glancing at his son that has his eyes on the bouquet of flowers in his hands, fidgeting on its ribbon with his fingers. Yoongi chuckles at the sight, lifting his hand to gently strokes on the boy’s hair. “What is it? Why are you nervous?”
The boy only shrugs. “I’m okay, Daddy.”
Yoongi raises his brows, and watches his son, admiring how much resembles both you and himself. The lines on the boy’s face are much similar to Yoongi, even how he pouts and smiles are remarkably the same as his. But that look in his eyes, the light that he emits through his stares, the soft strands of his hair, everything resembles you.
For the last two years, Yoongi has had a chance of getting to know more of the boy’s traits, his little habits, his emotions. Even the way he hides his thoughts and how he blocks away his emotions reminds him of you. Yoongi sits there next to the child, letting everything to sink in and putting him on the edge of tears from being so blessed with Yoonjin’s presence by his side. He can’t help but feel amazed at how you have taken such a good care of him for five years before Yoongi finally gets a chance to be in his life.
Yoongi lifts his hand and gently strokes on the child’s hair. “Are you sure?”
The boy nods his head before smiling at his father. “I’m ready.”
“You’re not the only one who’s been lying. But perhaps I was lying to myself more,” Yoongi sighed, and you turned your head to look at his face. He was staring at the ceiling and you could only look at the side of his face, yet you can still read his thoughts just by looking at the way he was keeping his eyes up and away from you. It might had been years for both of you to be apart from each other, and so much have changed, but ever since he started to open up to you again, you could finally learn how to read his emotions and thoughts.
“What do you mean?” You whispered to him. You turned your body slightly on the bed to face him, placing your palm on his bare chest hesitantly. You were about to pull away when he caught your hand and kiss your palm.
“I insisted to myself and to you, that I’m only doing this for Yoonjin. At first I thought, I can let go of our past and still be a good Father for Yoonjin. I can overlook how I feel for you, as long as I get to be his Father, and still stay close to you. But the more I see him, and see the reflection of you in him, the more I can’t see you not being with us, not being by my side to watch him grow up.” Yoongi released a sigh, keeping your hand in his and pressing your palm onto his chest once more, letting you feel the soft thumps of his heartbeat. “I tried to shake away all of my hopes, forcing me to believe that whatever it was we had in the past should just stay as a good memory. But whatever I do, it doesn’t stop me from falling in love with you all over again. I might sound selfish, but I want you both in my life just the same.”
You closed your eyes, admitting to yourself how you have been doing pretty much the same thing. You have been convincing yourself that you had only let him back into your life for Yoonjin’s sake, pushing your own feelings away. “I’m sorry that I keep pushing you away,” you whispered to him. “I was so afraid of going back to being the young girl that was so deep in love with you. I guess you were right, we have changed. But I guess there are certain things that can’t be changed after all.”
Yoongi turned to look at you, his hand were still playing with your fingers while the other hand that was resting beneath you wrapped itself around your shoulders to pull you closer. “No, I deserved it. It’s only fair because I did that to you back then. Do you trust me now?”
You only gave him a smile while scooting closer to share your warmth. No words were needed, because Yoongi could see everything from the look in your eyes and from the smile that you were giving him, and he knew that you were ready to give him your whole world.
Yoongi gives a few soft knocks on the door, catching the attention of the man that is sitting inside the room with his back facing the door. “Is she asleep?” Yoongi whispered to him, glancing over to the center of the room.
“Oh, you’re here. Yeah, she just fell asleep minutes ago,” the man stands up to welcome Yoongi as he walks in, followed by his curious son close behind.
Yoongi smiles at him. “Sorry I took so long, I had to stop by and finish dealing with some papers downstairs.”
“Ah, no worries. We had a good talk while waiting for you guys,” he grins. “Well now that you are here, I should get going.”
“Thanks for staying with her while I picked up Yoonjin,” Yoongi shakes his hand.
“No problem, good luck,” he says, tapping on Yoongi’s arms before making his way out quietly, stopping by only to ruffle Yoonjin’s hair as the boy is too busy keeping his eyes away from both men. “See you later, big guy.”
“Ow- Oh okay, Uncle Mark.”
Yoongi watches as your brother leaves the room before turning to look at you, just in time to see you shifting awake from your sleep. “Hello, beautiful,” he greets you with a smile while he takes the empty seat next to the bed.
You release a sleepy groan, frowning at the nickname he just gave you and scoff, “You must be referring to someone else, cause I probably look like a complete mess.”
He chuckles, leaning forward to leave a kiss on your temple while whispering, “No, you look absolutely beautiful. Both of you are.”
You follow his eyes as he turns his gaze towards the little crib attached to the bed, where your little baby girl is letting her fingers being teased and played by her older brother, who is grinning wide and staring at her fondly.
“I can’t believe she’s here,” you sigh, blinking away the sleep and tears that are covering your eyes.
“You did a great job,” Yoongi looks at you with a smile, removing the strand of hair that falls over your face.
You look at both of them and notice how they are both looking all dandy and all dressed up. “Why do you guys look so good when you’re only here to pick me up?”
Yoongi lets out a chuckle, “It was his idea. He wanted to show you how he can dress himself up. I had to change my outfit just so I won’t look like a slump compared to him.” You laugh along with him, feeling more than grateful for the warmth that is emitting in the room just by their presence. Yoongi sighs, rubbing your arms gently with his smile still appearing on his face. “Are you ready to go home?”
You return his warm gaze and his smile with your own, releasing a sigh as you sink down on the bed to rest your body before having to wake up.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
a/n: thank you for reading this series. This is where the series ends. I will not continue this, but I might post the other alternate endings one day *shrugs* but I hope you love this one as much as I do. Sorry for being sappy *sobs*. I also want to thank @ssconce for proofreading this (and my other friends who don’t have Tumblr blogs) I love you all^^
SCENARIOS MASTERLIST
Disclaimer: All works are written by myself. Any copyright infringement, reposting on any other social media or website, and any act of plagiarism will be dealt with legal action
Chapter Summary: How can you possibly say goodbye?
Content warnings: PTSD, flashbacks, panic, general trauma, physical pain
a/n: here's some food for ya sorry i can't make a commitment to a schedule. also i will not lie this is not proofread sorry
Chapter 6
***
The rest of the night passed in a blur.
Despite having thought you’d need every single nighttime hour to make a decision, one conversation with Natasha Romanoff had you agreeing to their proposal before 11pm. Definitely not something you’d expected.
Even now, as the anxious roiling of your stomach begs you to back out and stay right where you are, you can’t say that you think you made the wrong choice. You won’t know that for sure until you get there, and even then, you already decided to give this a try.
Besides…Hydra would come for you no matter what. Natasha said as much. It’s far safer to buy yourself time by being around other people, especially people who were actually capable of keeping you safe.
…Even still, it’s hard to turn off the sheer heartbreak you feel.
Admirably, Wanda came out of your bathroom after showering and didn’t even flinch at all of the new developments. She simply nodded, smiled at you kindly, and asked if you wanted to start packing.
So that led you to where you are now. Staring at the small stack of books in your trembling hands, you try in vain to get your mind to just focus. You’ve been compartmentalizing for years now. All you need to do is flip that switch, right?
A voice says your name softly nearby, but it only registers as white noise in your brain. You just keep staring down at your books, but you don’t really see them. All you see are the white walls. The white lab coats. The—
Then there’s your name again, more insistently than the first time. It drags you out of your head, causing you to look up.
There’s Wanda, dark red tresses still a little damp from her shower. She’s looking at you with a frustrating mix of kindness and pity. For as much as her expression makes you unreasonably mad, it also gives you a weird sense of comfort.
You’re not sure what to do with that.
“Natasha stepped outside to call Tony,” she explains. She looks down to your shaking hands holding your books, which you’d grabbed while Natasha quickly updated Wanda on what she’d missed. You’d thought you should get started on gathering your meager belongings, only to end up frozen.
“I should, um…” you start, only to have your voice fade away as you struggle to find the words. Your mouth remains slightly ajar as you try to wrestle yourself into the efficient survival mode you’d perfected over these years.
But you can’t. That mode, that prey animal’s instinct, it doesn’t fit anymore. Not like it used to.
The shaking gets more pronounced. Harder to control.
“Are these the books you’d like to bring?”
Wanda’s soothing lilt yanks you back from the precipice again. Looking up, you find that same kind patience.
“Y-yes,” you choke out, “they’re the only ones here that are m-mine—”
“Okay, so they’re coming,” Wanda interrupts you kindly but forcefully. She reaches out to take the stack from you, but without thinking, you only hold them tighter and jerk them closer to you.
To her credit, she doesn’t flinch or take offense. She just says your name again, lightly, nothing but understanding in her tone.
“Would you like to set them on the table over here? Or maybe tell me where your bag is so we can pack them?”
The words bounce around in your head like an echo chamber. You’re not used to this, this collaborative thing that’s been added to your process.
Usually, when you leave, you throw your shit in a bag and go. You never give yourself time to think about the particulars of what you’re doing or why. Never really perceived yourself having a choice in leaving – it was always the only choice.
Everything about this time was deliberate. Thought through. Emotional.
How the fuck are you supposed to navigate that?
“I don’t know how to do this,” you whisper, unaware you’ve spoken the words aloud until you hear them in your own ears.
A beat of silence passes. You’re scared Wanda has finally lost her patience with you, done with this bullshit of a day and done with you.
But she hasn’t. And she isn’t.
“You don’t have to know. None of us do. But we’ll help you, I promise.”
Looking at her, you see that she is holding her hands out, palms up. There’s no expectation there, just an offer.
Slowly, deliberately, you place your books in her hands. Your heart stutters as you let go of their worn and well-loved pages, but even still, you release them. Wanda’s elegant fingers close around them, holding them as reverently as you had.
“I’ll grab my duffle,” you mutter, finally able to turn and purposefully walk to your bedroom. Grabbing the canvas bag from your closet, you march right back out to where Wanda is waiting and set the duffle on the floor.
“You know,” Wanda says as she sets your books down on the table, “we have a lot of books at the compound.”
You don’t say anything, just sort of look at her, so she continues.
“You could read some of them. If you wanted.”
Blinking, you try to think about how many books could be available at the fucking Avengers Compound. With such limited resources and almost zero access to a good library, it’s hard for you to picture.
“Any of them?”
“Any of them,” she grins.
You watch her as she glides over to where you keep your shoes by the door. She bends and picks up your old pair of hiking boots that double as snow boots in the winter, bringing them over and carefully arranging them at the bottom of your bag. You notice she’s left your beat up pair of sneakers by the door, somehow knowing you’ll want to wear them tomorrow.
“I could put a list of recommendations together if you’re interested,” she offers, “the choices can be overwhelming, and I’ve read through a lot of them.”
It’s then, for the first time in the hour since you’ve decided to leave, you feel an emotion other than devastation.
“Sure,” you reply, “I would like that.”
***
It’s that very same night that Tony Stark decides he hates moths. Despises them. Loathes them.
Okay, so he knows they’re important. Pollinators and all that. But the violence in which these massive mountain motherfuckers are going after the dim light on his phone really isn’t all that groovy of them.
A little while after they’d arrived back at the jet, after he’d given Bruce the lowdown and conferred with Hill and Fury about next steps, Nat’s name had lit up his phone screen with an incoming call.
He just didn’t think he needed a shield to step outside and answer a call.
Normally, Tony would answer inside with the others. Put the damn thing on speaker and play Candy Crush or some shit during the conversation. But with the way Rogers was seething in the corner like a little broccoli floret, he didn’t really wanna invite his opinion on whatever was happening right away.
“Hello hello, my lovely little bowl of borscht,” Tony greets as he answers the call, “what’s new?”
“Fucking hell, Stark,” Natasha barks, “you know I hate the food thing. Especially since I hate borscht.”
“So sorry, what would you prefer sweet blini of mine?”
He knows this is important. Tony feels the weight of it, and had felt it since Nat and Steve approached him about Firebug the very first time. But goddamn it, he hates this feeling. He hates that everyone, including the new pal they were trying to recruit, felt it.
Hence…the nicknames. It’s like a compulsion. He has to.
“I don’t know, maybe my name?”
“Don’t you wanna spice up your life?”
“Ugh, fine,” she relents, talking in this quick way that says she’s beyond ready to move on from this, “at least ditch the borscht.”
“Sounds swell you delightful handle of vodka,” he quips back without missing a beat, “now stop wasting time and give me that update I know you called with.”
“I hate you so fucking much, you know that?”
“Clock’s a tickin’.”
“Fine,” she huffs, “anyways, she agreed. She’s coming back with us.”
Tony’s taken aback. He quickly checks his watch, seeing 11pm illuminated on the screen before having to swat away another dusty abomination.
“Damn, you guys work fast. I was convinced I wasn’t gonna hear anything until tomorrow morning. What did you say to her?”
“I can explain more when we get back,” she sighs, “let’s just say it was an emotional decision. She’s not gonna be okay for a long time, and this adjustment will be hard. Everyone’s gotta find some patience.”
“We’ll take care of her. Make sure you tell her that.”
“I will,” Natasha responds, voice far softer than it had been mere seconds ago, “Wanda’s in there with her now, I think she’s helping her pack.”
“Perfect. We can get outta here first thing in the morning.”
“Did Fury plant the false info for Hydra?”
“He’s getting it started,” Tony explains, “when I asked him for more details he told me to fuck off.”
“That tracks.”
“We’ll be fine,” Tony reassures her, “we’ll get her outta here and get her to safety, no problem.”
“Sure thing,” Nat sighs, then adds, “keep an eye on Rogers, would you?”
“Already ahead of you, I’ll make sure he keeps his shit together. At least until we get her back to the Compound.”
A lull in their conversation begins. Tony usually doesn’t pay attention to these sorts of things; he’s usually thinking too fast to notice anything beyond his own thoughts. Even so, he can feel the tension from the other side of the phone.
Natasha is worried. And more shocking than that, she’s letting it show.
“He’ll come around,” Tony says in what he hopes is a soothing, casual tone.
“What if he doesn’t?” She whispers back hoarsely.
“He’ll have to. Until she gives us a good reason to mistrust her or her intentions, we gotta lead with a little faith here.”
She huffs a laugh on the other line, retorting, “Thought you didn’t go by things like faith.”
“Yeah, well…”
It’s him who pauses this time, mind distracted by that poor girl’s terrified face. Distracted by all the awful things that were done to her. What could still be done to her if they didn’t get her to trust them.
But to get her to trust them, they needed to show that they trust her.
“Not always.”
***
It hadn’t taken long for you to pack up your meager belongings. Even less time than you thought once Natasha had come back inside and began helping. You told both of them they didn’t have to, but they insisted.
Nice of them. Still kind of wish they hadn’t so you could waste more time, but whatever. Win some, lose some.
By the time your books were settled on top of the last of your clothes, it was nearing 12am. You’d dragged your feet a little, but everything still hadn’t taken more than an hour. While you still felt wired, you could tell that Natasha and Wanda were exhausted. They tried to explain away their sleepy faces and yawns, but eventually you convinced them to try and get some sleep. They only listened if you promised you’d do the same.
As if that would happen.
You’re a chronic insomniac on your best nights. It didn’t take a genius to figure that tonight wouldn’t even come close to even being considered restful.
So you didn’t even try. You just curled up on top of the bed and stared at the wall, begging time to go by just a little faster.
And you’re still there. You check the clock on the bedside table, convinced it would be at least 3am or something, only to find—
12:30am.
Well fuck.
Releasing a heavy sigh, you roll onto your back to change views. Maybe staring at the dark ceiling would be more entertaining.
…definitely not the case. Not in the slightest. Because the more you stare, the more hyperaware you become of the fact that you might never see this ceiling again. Or these walls. Or this room. Or this house.
Before you know it, you’re sitting upright at the edge of the bed, fingers curled into the comforter as you try to ground yourself.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Who’s to say you’re making the right choice?
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Who’s to say Hydra would even find you way out here? Maybe they wouldn’t.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Even worse, what if they find you no matter where you run?
Breathe—
You go to take a deep breath, but your lungs constrict. They stutter. Your airway closes in on itself. No matter how hard you work, you can’t get that breath. The very nature of your respiratory system failing you feels symbolic, representative of the pitiful state of your life falling around you.
Suddenly, those walls flash white in your mind, erasing the darkness with the threat of a memory far worse.
Then you’re on your feet.
As quietly and quickly as you can, you flit to the door and slowly twist it open. Hoping beyond hope that your guests don’t hear you, you leave it cracked behind you and make your way to the backdoor and slip outside. You usually wouldn’t risk closing yourself off from safety by closing the door completely, but tonight you do.
It’s not lost on you that the presence of the Avengers makes you feel a little safer than usual.
Just like every other night before, the first inhale of fresh air helps your lungs expand. You feel clean again. You feel alive.
Taking your seat on the steps of the back porch, you lean back until your back rests against the worn wood.
Nothing in front of you but open sky. Millions of stars. The moon an old friend in the distance, providing the faintest light through the darkness.
Then you’re crying. You don’t even remember starting.
But the tears stream endlessly down your cheeks. Sobs rip themselves from your chest. You press both hands over your mouth to try and keep yourself from making any noise, knowing there’s actually people who could hear you this time.
It’s kind of like your reaction with the books earlier tonight. This forceful acknowledgement of the thing you’re giving up; this illusion of safety and home you’ve crafted for yourself.
For the first time since before you can really remember, you’re being allowed time to mourn something you’ve lost.
You don’t like it. You don’t want it.
You can’t take it.
This emptiness, this heaviness weighing down every part of you…it’s torment. It’s anguish.
Just from understanding what this feeling was, this grief, it’s cracked open the door you closed to everything else you’d lost. The endless list of things you can’t let yourself remember.
But if you open that door wider, if you actually let yourself remember…
You think you’d actually shatter.
So you focus on the stars, knowing tonight is your last night with this particular stretch of sky.
***
Bucky can feel his heart break as he watches her from the tree line. He sees the way her body crumples in on itself, her small hands trying in vain to keep her pain quiet.
It was his turn for patrol. Stark had assigned them all shifts after talking to Natasha, and this happened to be his hour.
There wasn’t much for him to do, not with all the other steps Stark, Fury, and the others had taken to keep Hydra at bay. Just walk around in the dark and try to keep from tripping. He was way too used to sidewalks now.
City boy. Old habits die hard.
Of course he wasn’t going to sleep anyway. He’s way too amped up and distracted, and that was before knowing she had decided to come back with them tomorrow. Now he can’t quite seem to settle that fluttering feeling in his stomach whenever he thinks about it, which was…every second.
He’d been hanging around the area by the cabin when she came outside, trying to listen for anyone else hanging around who shouldn’t be. She’d actually given him quite a scare when that back door opened.
Bucky actually thought about going over to talk to her when she first sat down. Get to know her more, whatever. It’s kind of pathetic, this weird pull he feels toward her.
But the second he heard the first sob, he knew he couldn’t. Not now. Not tonight.
He understands that she’s trying to fall apart quietly because of the people in her home.
It’s easy for him to understand that this, all of it, is pain beyond pain for her.
That she maybe doesn’t even know how to understand it herself just yet.
He remembers vividly those first few weeks away from Hydra. First in Romania, then in Wakanda, then finally at the Compound. Bouts of extreme emotion like this was all too common. He still has them, even now, though they’re far less frequent.
But because of that intimate experience he has with this brand of breakdown, he leaves her be, no matter how much he doesn’t want to.
So Bucky retreats further into the trees, taking extra care as not to alert her to someone witnessing this.
His heart breaks more with every step he takes away from her, as though he’s fighting instinct itself.
***
Wanda hadn’t slept well.
This isn’t anything new for her; she’s used to running on very little sleep. It had been that way ever since that bomb fell on her home in Romania. Ever since her parents died. Ever since Pietro.
Instead of sleeping through the approaching dawn, she found herself sitting up on the soft leather couch where she’d settled in for the night. Angling her eyes just so, she watched the sky gradually lighten in the morning hours.
It’s easy to see what Firebug saw in this place – why she’s so deeply attached to it. There’s a certain magic in every soft breeze, the quietness that coexists with the racket from nature itself. It reminds Wanda of early mornings in her village as a child. Those early hours where she listened to people rising early to begin their days, the crickets chirping and the frogs croaking.
It pulls at her heart. She knows it must pull at Firebug’s.
No…that isn’t her real name. Wanda silently but firmly reminds herself of it in her head.
This girl might like the nickname Stark had so easily assigned to her. Might even find a certain comfort in the affectionate way in which they all seemed to say it now. But she doesn’t know, not for certain anyway.
And besides, there’s a certain humanity that comes with using someone’s real name. She’s gone so, so long without hearing hers. Maybe she doesn’t want to, but until she says otherwise, Wanda wants her to know that it’s okay to step back into herself. If she wants to.
Late last night, she’d heard the quick stumbling of someone rushing to get outside. Having felt that sort of claustrophobic panic before herself, Wanda left her alone. The familiar sights and sounds around her would comfort the young woman better than she could.
Sighing deeply, the redhead peeks over Natasha, curled tightly in on herself on the laid back recliner. It seems as though she’s sleeping, at least a little. Her friend is way too good at pretending, so she hopes that’s not the case. Nat sleeps even less than she does.
Checking the time on her phone, Wanda sees that it’s nearly 5:30am. Stark and the others would want to get moving soon.
It would be better for everyone, especially her. The longer they linger, the worse it’ll be.
So she picks herself up from the sofa, stretching languidly in the weak morning light. She opens the curtains a little more, allowing the rising sun to rest on Natasha. She stirs a little, and Wanda continues over to the small kitchenette. She makes the decision to start a pot of coffee, hoping it doesn’t irritate their host. Wanda’s honestly just hoping that if she and Nat can keep things purposeful and efficient, it’ll make things easier for everyone.
As soon as the coffee maker starts groaning (how is that thing still functioning?) she pads over to Natasha to start waking her up.
Taking extra care not to touch her or get too close, Wanda murmurs her name to rouse her. Everyone on the team knew better than to try and wake each other up with loud noises or unexpected physical contact. There’s nothing worse than having slept badly then jumping awake because your trauma is telling you than someone’s trying to kill you.
It only takes two more verbal pokes for Nat to start stirring. She grumpily cracks open one eye to glare at her, but she doesn’t scare Wanda. This is the only time she can say that the ex-assassin is all bark and no bite.
“Coffee’s starting,” she smirks, knowing that’ll help speed up the process.
And it does. Natasha begrudgingly opens both eyes and starts to sit up, the old chair creaking at the movement.
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles.
As soon as Wanda’s convinced Nat is up for good, she heads back over to the kitchen and looks around for some mugs. After opening a few cabinets, she locates a few. She pulls out two for herself and Natasha, and then grabs the clean mug she saw sitting by the sink for the third member of their temporary trio. It’s probably the one she likes using most.
As Natasha gets up to start her morning stretches, she looks around before looking back at where Wanda leans against the counter.
“Where is she?” She asks.
“Back porch,” Wanda offers, glancing in that direction, “I heard her slip outside a few hours ago.”
Natasha nods and returns to her stretching, completely unbothered. And despite not having seen her for hours now, Wanda is fairly certain that when she walks outside in a few minutes, she’ll find her exactly where she expects she’ll be. The patrols would’ve seen if she’d tried to run, but more than that…Wanda just thinks she’s tired of running.
A glance at the clock reminds her of the time, and Wanda sighs.
Efficiency will make this easier she reminds herself again as she pushes off from the counter. As she walks down the hallway to get to the back, Wanda purposefully makes a little noise instead of her usual silent steps, not wanting to sneak up on her. Scaring her wouldn’t exactly be a great start to the day.
Wanda makes an entire process out of grabbing loudly (but not too aggressively she hopes) at the door handle and creaking it open. Maybe she was laying it on a little thick, but with these sorts of things, it’s so hard to know what the right thing is.
…and if she’s being honest, she wants this girl to like her. Be her friend.
Wanda loves the team; they’re the family she’s needed every since losing Pietro. Nat is like an older sister, and every single one of the guys act like her big brother. And she appreciates that. Loves it, even. But what she really wants is a friendship with someone that doesn’t feel like she’s being taken care of all the time. Something more equal.
Peeking her head out into the crisp morning air, Wanda sees her sitting on the porch steps. She’s sitting up, but her body seems to droop in on itself. Like every single limb is weighed down.
It’s impossible not to ache for her. She’s far too young to have been through as much as she has.
With a wry, humorless smile to herself, Wanda reminds herself that she’s cut from that exact same cloth.
“Good morning,” she murmurs.
To her credit, she doesn’t even flinch. But now that Wanda thinks about it, all of the noise she made probably helped. She makes a note to high five herself later.
Peter had explained about self-high fives to her. Said they were good for morale and self-confidence, which she has to agree with.
“Hello,” she whispers back hoarsely.
“Is it alright if I sit?”
A single nod. Wanda walks over to the steps and takes a seat next to Firebug.
No. Y/n.
After settling in, she takes a deep breath and looks around at the view. That magic she felt from inside? It’s even more potent out here. It’s not muted or dampened by walls or ceilings – nothing between her and the sky.
A sense of bittersweet euphoria rushes over her. She remembers the walls during her time as a Hydra experiment. She remembers how addictive the open sky became to her after getting out of there. It’s hard not to think of Pietro in times like this, and how much he would’ve loved this place.
It’s then, with the image of her brother fresh in her mind, that Wanda turns to look at her.
Her breath catches at how truly haggard she looks. Did she sleep at all?
It’s not even the physical things that worry Wanda the most. It’s the desperate, broken look so apparent in her eyes. She looks out at the grass and trees with a hunger that only comes hand in hand with grief; knowing that something or someone is here for the last time.
“I can feel you staring,” she bites out quietly, a hard glint a new addition to her expression.
Wanda fights the urge to look away and apologize. She knows that would be the polite, even kind, thing to do, but that doesn’t feel right.
“Not many people wear their expressions so openly.”
She’s not sure what made her say it, or even that she should’ve. But she does.
“Not many people get stared at on their back porch before 6am, yet here you are.”
Instead of being offended, all Wanda can do is chuckle to herself. She looks back out toward the mountainside. Neither of them speak for another minute or two, just breathing together.
“It’s okay,” Wanda reassures, “you don’t need to apologize for anything.”
More quiet. More thinking. Wanda feels pulled toward more peaceful emotions, but the torment and anguish from the young woman beside her is palpable. It’s hard to ignore, and despite what she might want, Wanda doesn’t want to pretend like her hurt isn’t happening.
She takes a breath before turning back to her, then says, “You could come back someday.”
Because she could. It might take some time, but it’s obvious to anyone how much she loves it here. How happy she would be if she could stay.
Wanda thought that might bring her some measure of comfort.
Instead, she shakes her head, pressing her mouth into a hard line. There’s something painfully hopeless about it.
“No,” she finally whispers, “I can’t put the people here at risk like that.”
“Maybe not while Hydra is still a threat, but they might not always be. Once they’re gone, then—”
Her words die in her throat as Y/n meets her eyes for the first time this morning. There’s nothing but despondency in her expression. She lifts one corner of her mouth in a humorless half smile.
“Not gonna bank on the impossible.”
Wanda’s heart breaks. It’s obvious that she believes that the threat of Hydra will never go away, and even worse, that she’ll never be safe on her own.
“You don’t know that,” she tries to say, even though she’s not sure she believes it herself.
Y/n scoffs. It’s a cold, sad sound, filled with an emotion that Wanda knows all too well. She looks away from her and back out to other mountains in the distance, the desperation reappearing on her exhausted features.
“It’s easier this way,” she mumbles, trying to shrug nonchalantly to hide the heaviness she feels, “it’s easier to forget.”
***
At this point, you’re shocked you haven’t burned a hole straight through your esophagus. It’s probably only due to your…abilities…that you hadn’t.
Because in trying (and failing) to ignore the churning of your stomach and all-consuming nervousness, you’re chugging your third hot cup of coffee. It gives you something to do with your hands, and the repetitive movements are kind of soothing.
But let’s be honest. It’s not working. For as high as your caffeine tolerance is, the jitteriness that comes with it for well adjusted people is starting to come on at full force.
…and you’re not exactly well adjusted.
You feel Wanda and Natasha’s eyes on you as your shaky hands lift the mug for another scalding sip, but you actively avoid acknowledging them. You’re not sure you can stand the expressions you might find there.
You’d finally made your way inside after those tension filled moments with Wanda outside. She was trying to help, you know that. And on some level you appreciate it. But after everything, especially after a sleepless night alone with your thoughts, every bit of it felt hollow.
Even your own optimism from yesterday feels naïve. It doesn’t make you change your mind about going with them; you’re not stupid, realistically it’s still the safest option.
At least that’s what you keep telling yourself as you washed your face, brushed your teeth, and went about getting ready to do something instinct was begging you not to.
As you were getting ready in your room, Wanda and Natasha got dressed in the living room and called Stark. When you came back out, they explained that he and the others wanted to wait for the all clear from someone named Fury (coolest name ever?). You asked why he thought you’d get jumped in an empty field, but they both just kind of looked at you like it was the stupidest thing you’d ever said.
Now that you think about it, that reaction is actually valid as fuck.
So you gulp your coffee and work on emptying your head of any and all conscious thought.
It’s not going well.
A sudden and shrill beeping sound breaks the silence. It startles you, and you only just manage not to pour the remains of your hot coffee all down your front. You look around in alarm, fully anticipating a bomb or some shit, but Natasha just pulls out her fancy looking smartphone.
In your defense, your flip phone has different sounds.
After reading the message on the screen, she looks up at you as she slides it back into her pocket.
“We’re clear. You ready?”
Your stomach falls out of your ass. You keep thinking this can’t feel more real than it’s already gotten, but here you are. You’re leaving.
With still trembling hands, you turn toward the sink and pour out the remainder of the coffee. It isn’t helping anyway. After washing out the mug, your favorite mug, you take care of the pot next. You’re thorough; every single thing in this cabin will be left immaculate.
The soft yet insistence utterance of your real name behind you can’t even pull you from this.
It comes again, pushier this time, followed by, “We can clean up if you—”
“I’ve got it.”
Your tone is clipped and final. Natasha and Wanda take the hint, and they hang back while you do these last few menial tasks.
Once the pot is back with the coffee maker, and the mug is lovingly set back in its place in the cabinet, you turn immediately and head to the couch. You’d already slipped on your shoes awhile ago. Now you focus every ounce of brain power into slipping your hands into the sleeves of your worn jacket, trying to ignore the warmth seeping into your bloodstream.
Now is not the fucking time.
As you sling your bag across your shoulder, you fight the urge to take one last look around the space.
This needs to feel casual.
Even though your heart is breaking.
“Did you want a minute?” Wanda asks kindly.
All you can do is shake your head fiercely, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself, as you make your way across the floor as quickly as you can. Before you know it, you’re pulling the door open and stepping into the brightness of the morning, leading the way outside.
Thank god the sight of their ship and all the Avengers in the field is as jarring as it is, or you would’ve had no choice but to look at the mountains.
Everyone turns as you clomp down the creaky stairs, the silent steps of the women behind you an embarrassing contrast. Though you feel the intensity from Captain Rodgers’ stare, you choose to not acknowledge it. Instead, you focus on a new figure you didn’t get the chance to meet last night.
Despite the particular abilities he had, Dr. Banner is very slight in person. He wrings his hands together in an all-too-familiar gesture as he glances around the area. The compulsive gesture seems to talk to the stabbing warmth under your skin. You try to ignore the urge to mirror his movements.
You don’t bother him in his nervousness, you just step forward to meet Stark, the warmth in his lined face so different from the painful heat under your skin. Turning your wince into a rueful smile, you stop in front of him.
“Ready to go?”
You nod, very grateful that he’s chosen to get to the point quickly for what you imagine is the first time in his life.
“Sounds good.”
He looks around and sets his focus on Dr. Banner, who jumps a little at the attention. Somehow, though you can’t know for sure, he looks like he knew this was coming. And he hates it.
“Step right up, you supersized kale smoothie,” Stark quips as he beckons Banner forward.
You’ve seen footage of the Hulk. It’s one of the first things that come up when searching for information on the Avengers. The shuffled gait and hunched shoulders Banner adopts right now is so vastly different from his alternate persona, it’s a wonder they come from the same place.
“Kid, this is Dr. Bruce Banner,” Stark introduces as the slightly shorter man comes up to stand next to him. Then you’re introduced by your full name, something you’ve heard more in the last 24 hours than you had in a decade. You can’t help but flinch a little at the sound of it, but you’re hoping you mask it well enough.
“Nice to meet you,” you mumble politely, the rageful pinpricks rearing in terror at the syllables that make up your government name.
It really was nice to meet him. Based on his history (what you know of it anyway) and his mannerisms, he seems like someone who could understand. Maybe could even talk to eventually.
“Did you plan on using Dr. Banner’s abilities against me, Stark?” You ask your question in what you hope is a teasing manner. But you are honestly curious; how far were they willing to go?
Banner, who had looked like he was bracing for something, relaxes a little as he realizes you won’t use the name of his other persona. For as much as the world has come to accept him, it seems like he’d rather ignore it all together.
Truly a trauma twin. Besides Bucky, that is.
You chance a glance at the imposing figure standing off to the side, leather glinting in the sunlight. You feel your cheeks warm in a not unpleasant way when you find he’s already gazing at you. He lifts his mouth in a comforting smile, his eyes soft as he looks at you. The fire under your skin wanes a little, dwindling to a soft flicker that matches the heat on your cheeks.
You smile back, trying to match the softness he gives you so openly, when Stark begins talking again. The moment ends with his sharp and assertive tone, pulling your attention back to him without issue.
But you wish you could’ve stayed in that moment with Bucky.
“Nah, we never intended to unleash the Jolly Green Giant—”
“--please don’t call him that—”
“—on you. And yes Bruce I will call him that it’s my favorite nickname I’ve ever come up with.”
Stark, weirdly enough, stops speaking for a minute to take a breath. It honestly seems like he forgets to breathe sometimes, working overtime to get all his thoughts out.
“Banner here ended up coming because—”
Stark’s voice falls away, his brows furrowing as his hand goes to his earpiece. He presses it further into his ear, cocking his head as he listens.
“Vis, wanna repeat that?”
The heat becomes scalding as nervous brown eyes flit to meet yours. You clench your hands together, trying not to be reactionary, but it’s becoming harder with each millisecond.
The air around you shifts as everyone tenses for whatever threat Stark is being warned about. You find your head turning slightly to the left, finding blue eyes staring back at you. Bucky’s mouth is set in a hard line as he searches your face. You slightly toward him, feeling the need to be closer to his imposing figure, when Stark’s harsh and grating command somehow pulls your attention back.
“I don’t care that Hydra wouldn’t drive an old blue pickup, because they would if it meant they wouldn’t get caught. Engage the target or we’re fucked.”
Sheer panic fills your stomach and before you know it you’re waving to get his attention.
“Tell him to stop,” you exclaim, and he responds to the urgency in your voice.
Because maybe Hydra would drive that kind of car. But you know someone else who would too.
“I know who it is,” you explain in a rush, “they’re not Hydra.”
How could you forget? How could you not call her?
“You don’t know shit, kid—”
“It’s my boss and my landlord and she comes to get me for work every morning and I forgot.”
Stark raises his brows to the point you’re convinced they’ll disappear into his hairline. While you can still see the tension in his jaw, he also lets out a breath and allows his shoulders to fall a little. The familiar weight of guilt settles over your shoulders. Looking down at your worn shoes, you wish with your whole heart that you could fall right into the earth.
“Didn’t think we needed a warning for that?”
A cold, cutting voice slices straight through your wallowing. As much as you want to ignore him, you make yourself pick your head up and look over toward Captain Rodgers.
“I’m sorry,” you say, and you genuinely mean it, “with everything going on—”
“Vision almost attacked this woman because we weren’t warned,” he continues, biting over your explanation with ferocity.
You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You have no idea what to say to make this better, help him understand that your brain is just like this sometimes. Everyone has to have these moments, right?
But with the way his gaze cuts you down to size, you’re halfway convinced you’re the only person on the planet who’s ever forgotten something. You can’t help but shrink and look down again. Captain America is excellent at guilt tripping people.
“C’mon Steve, nothing happened,” a mellow voice you recognize as Sam Wilson’s cuts through the heavy silence.
Even with Sam’s calm reassurance, it’s like a trigger for Rogers to keep coming at you.
“Sure,” he scoffs coldly, “nothing happened this time.”
He fixes that ice cold gaze on you again, and despite the warm sun on your skin, you freeze under the weight of it. As much as you’d love to look anywhere else, you can’t. He stalks closer to you. His stance is that of a trained killer – the only thing keeping you from cowering away from him is what remains of your pride.
“If you’re coming with us,” he bites out, “you can’t be so narrow minded and selfish. You can’t just think of yourself anymore. Got that?”
Oh, this is unfair. He’s being so unfair.
You felt small before, guilt rising inside of you. Now you’re furious at Rogers’ reaction, feeling targeted and singled out.
What the fuck is his problem?
You allow your eyes to finally reflect the harsh frustration and anger you feel at him to show as you glare at him, mouth pressing into a hard line as your nostrils flair. Righteous heat prickles at your fingertips as the long buried need to fight back rears up
“How dare you,” you force out through gritted teeth, “you have no idea—”
Your aggression was all the reason that Rogers needed. He stalked up to you, standing mere inches from your face as he loomed over your shorter frame. You felt like you should be scared, but you weren’t.
You just burned.
“Really? I have ‘no idea’? You’re the one who seems in the dark here—”
Your humorless snort of laughter cuts him off, an incredulous look on his features.
“Jokes on you,” you sneer, “they never let me turn the lights off in that room. Didn’t see that in your reports?”
That finally silences him. The heaviness settles over your group again, the rumble of Debbie’s truck engine growing ever closer.
Palms white hot, you roll your shoulders back and look Captain America straight in the face, refusing the shrink under his anger. You’re proud of the glimmer of doubt that’s now appeared in that expression. The words that came from such a bad memory had the desired effect.
Hey, you hadn’t lied.
“You came to me. I might not understand how all of this works, that’s fine. Whatever. But I’ve been living second to second trying to stay hidden for years. So fuck right off with your self-righteous attitude. I stand by what I said; you have no fucking idea what it’s been like.”
As your words settle in, you fight to control the fire longing to sputter to life as it rages beneath your skin with your volatile emotions. You hate saying the truth aloud, the truth about your life from the past decade. You hate how it legitimizes it all.
But it’s the truth. For as much as Rogers’ has probably looked into your life, he hasn’t been through this. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t have a fucking leg to stand on.
You won’t let him demean and judge you for what you’ve had to do to survive.
“Take a breather, Steve,” Natasha’s soothing voice cuts through the oppressive silence. It’s accompanied by the roar of the ancient engine of Debbie’s truck as it rounds the bend by the trees, finally coming into view. You turn your back to the imposing man behind you, trying to calm yourself so you can speak to your unexpected guest.
The group behind you retreats a little; you can hear them stepping away as you step forward. As you watch the truck, you see it stop for a second. You can’t help but grin a little to yourself as you imagine Debbie behind the wheel, absolutely shocked at what she’s seeing.
You’re pulled back into the confrontation behind you as the angry sound of Rogers’ muttering drifts over to you. Clenching your fists, you fight to ignore the prickling of heat stabbing into your nerve endings.
“Doin’ okay?”
A friendly voice asking a friendly question. The sound of it a soothing balm to your nerves, something you didn’t know you needed until you heard it.
Looking over to your right, you see Bucky standing next to you. He’s respecting your personal space, but he’s still close enough so that every single cell in your body is aware of it. His blue eyes, so different from Captain Rogers, look down at you. He brings his softness with him, so welcome after the confrontation you just had.
You consider his question. Are you okay? Like, actually okay?
“I don’t really know how to answer that,” you admit quietly, noticing Debbie’s truck finally moving forward again.
“Fair enough,” he admits, a wry grin pulling at his mouth as he looks away. You find yourself staring it the curl of it, fascinated in a way you can’t explain. As he turns back to you, you notice how the pain of fighting your power ebbs away.
He makes it better.
You acknowledge the realization in your head, not quite sure what to do with it. Why? Why is he so different from the others?
“How about this,” he says, “are you still functioning? Able to put one foot in front of the other?”
You tilt your head at him, considering the question. You love how he phrased it; it’s exactly what you’ve been doing for as long as you can remember.
“Yeah. Guess you could say that.”
Bucky nods, glancing away again. Even as he looks away, you notice how he shifts slightly closer to you. If he were anyone else, you’d feel threatened.
But…it’s him. You like him close.
“Listen, I’m—”
His words are cut off as you both notice the pale blue truck pulling to a stop in front of you. Debbie’s eyes are wide as saucers as she looks from you to the Bucky to the entire situation behind you. As she looks back at you, brows raised in apprehensive question, you nod to let her know it’s okay.
“I’ll give you some space,” Bucky mumbles as Debbie starts to step out of the truck, “I’ll be right back there, okay?”
Meeting his eyes once again, you give him a rare smile, hoping he can feel the gratitude there.
“Thank you.”
It’s simple, but he smiles back. As much as you’d like to stay in this moment with him, despite your confusion around him in general, you pull yourself back to the present. You turn forward and focus on Debbie, walking forward to meet her.
It’s hard, knowing you can’t be the person she knows. It’s even harder seeing the knowing look on her face as she looks at you, like she’s had a feeling about you this entire time that’s been proven correct.
“I’m guessin’ you’re not workin’ your shift this morning.”
You shake your head, smiling apologetically.
“And your name’s not really Allie?”
Damn. She doesn’t waste any time, does she.
Sighing, you take a moment before admitting, “No, it’s not.”
“Do I get to know what it really is?”
You frown, thinking about it for a minute. The frown continues to pull at your mouth as you realize the answer.
“No. Not right now, anyway. The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”
Debbie comes closer to you, settling in next to you as she takes in the insanity of the scene behind you. The Avengers and their ship, just casually sitting in front of her father’s old cabin.
“Hope they’re not flattening the grass,” she mutters grumpily.
“I’ll get them moving in a minute, maybe Stark has some weird invention that can fix it,” you force a laugh.
“I got just one question for you,” she mumbles, turning to pin you with her sharp eyes, “are you safe? Are they making you go?”
“I’m safer with them than I would be alone,” you answer honestly, “so I do need to go with them. But it’s my decision to make, so don’t worry about that.”
She makes a sound of acknowledgement, but then goes quiet again. You just keep looking at her, anxious about her reaction to everything. Debbie is protective to a fault; she’s the reason you were able to find a place here. She took you under her wing, gave you a chance to remember what home meant. You can tell that she wants to know more. She wants to understand who you are, what all this is.
It makes you sadder than you can explain, knowing you can’t tell her.
“I always wondered if you were runnin’ from something,” she mutters, “you never wanted to talk about it, but I suspected.”
“You were right on that one,” you admit, “right on quite a bit of it, I imagine.”
“Well, I’m guessin’ since Iron Man himself is here that somethin’ big is after you.”
“Debbie, I wish I could—”
“Now hold on,” she interrupts, not unkindly, and continues, “I know you can’t tell me. Makes sense. As much as I wish you could, I understand.”
It’s her trademark, simple kindness that makes your eyes prickle with tears again. You should’ve known she wouldn’t push. It’s just not who she is. Even now, after months of you living here and working for her, she’s never pushed you for more information than you’re willing to give.
She looks back at you, and noticing the tears gathering in your eyes, surprises you by reaching out and taking your hands.
You normally hate when people touch you, having not let anyone do so in years. But the motherly way in which Debbie holds your hands, so gentle and soft, it releases a torrent of emotion you didn’t know you still had.
You’re just thankful your skin isn’t heating up.
“C’mon now, don’t cry,” she says gruffly, her own emotion coming into it, “you’ll be okay, these guys will keep you safe.”
Your throat closes with the effort of keeping yourself from crying. Debbie has been the only consistent, kind presence in your life that you allow yourself to acknowledge.
You’re sure the Before has some people like that. But Debbie comes from the After, where the safe memories live.
“I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done,” you choke out, all the words you wish you could say getting lost before you could get them out.
But Debbie knows. She always knows.
She just pats your hands, and says, “Would it be okay if I hugged you?”
The fact that she asks, not an ounce of judgement on her lined face, makes you feel lighter than you have in a long time.
All you can do is nod, and then she’s pulling you in for the most comforting hug you can imagine. You briefly let yourself press your face into her shoulder, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and tobacco filling your nostrils.
She smells just like her dad. You wonder if she knows.
“You’re a good kid,” she murmurs, “you’re tough. You’ll be okay no matter what happens, you hear me?”
You nod again, letting yourself relax into her embrace. The feeling is familiar, causing memories to start pulling at your mind.
Where’s my goodnight hug?
A woman’s voice. A voice you feel tugging at the deepest strings of your heart, causing the tears to finally spill over your lashes.
And all at once, you’re not just hugging Debbie. You’re hugging her too, whoever she is.
As you pull away, frantically brushing away your tears, you can’t help but smile at Debbie. Then the smile fades a little, as you remember the severity of the situation.
“People might come looking for me,” you warn, “dangerous people. You need to tell them as little as possible, even nothing at all if you can help it.”
“Of course, we’ve got your back.”
You grip Debbie hands again, tighter than before, trying to impart how serious this is.
“Not for me. For you. For the town. For anyone here who I’ve ever spoken to. They will not hesitate to hurt you, or even kill you, if they think they can get a little more information.”
Debbie’s mouth hangs open as she looks at you in shock, fear finally entering her eyes.
Good. She needs to be scared.
“If they come, if anyone comes and asks questions, you have to lie. You need to tell everyone to lie. Do you understand?”
A brief moment passes as she looks at you, a newfound hesitation that you’ve never seen her wear before settling in. Guilt begins to prickle at your conscious again as you remember how it’s your fault.
Finally, she nods in understanding.
“Will they come? Do you know for sure?” She asks, her voice trembling slightly.
“I don’t know. I know Stark has people planting false trails, hopefully that helps.”
Your oh-so-casual use of Iron Man’s government last name hits her along with the rest of this insane situation, and she looks behind you to the superheroes, shaking her head in awe.
“…Stark’s laying…false trail…you gotta be shittin’ me…”
It’s then you get a glimpse of how she might look at you differently if she knew who, or what, you were. With the Allie persona practically dead and gone, things feel strangely tenuous with the woman. It could be even worse if she knew just how dangerous you could be for them.
You find yourself glancing back at the team along with Debbie. As you catch Stark’s eye, he raises an eyebrow at you and briefly lifts his watch-clad wrist, indicating that you needed to finish up.
It’s hard to begrudge the guy when goodbyes feel so foreign now. The raging emotion accompanying this one is too uncomfortable to bear, and you feel yourself needing to be done with it all.
…but Debbie, after everything she’s done for you, you have to make this count. You can’t just throw it away like every other time before.
Turning back, you find the older woman already looking at you. While there’s this undercurrent of awe that hadn’t been present before, there’s that all-knowing wisdom about her that’s always been there. Like she knows all your secrets before you do.
You both kind of just look at each other for a minute or two. She might just be enjoying the moment, but beneath your own silence, you’re frantically trying to grab at the right words to convey how much her generosity means to you.
You open and close your mouth several times, thinking you’ve thought of something just to forget it or get shy right at the last minute.
Another minute of you very clearly struggling, and Debbie’s chiming in, gruffly saying, “Kid, we don’t have to do the thing.”
“I—what?”
You’d been just about to force something out when her words settle over you. It sounded so Debbie yet so unlike Debbie all at the same time. The woman herself seems a little surprised at herself.
“Ethel’s daughter got her a boxed set of Grey’s Anatomy, and we—oh foot, we’re getting off subject here,” she rushes out gruffly. You bite back a laugh at the reference she never meant to make. It would only make her more embarrassed.
“The point is,” she continues, trying very hard to move past her little fan moment, “you don’t have to say anything. We don’t have to make this a big moment. Neither of us are big gesture kind of gals – no need to torture ourselves.”
“I just—I don’t know how—”
“I mean it,” she cuts off your stuttering again, any progress you make toward a heartfelt and eloquent goodbye monologue shut down once again by your landlord.
…your friend.
“C’mon,” you whine a little, “can’t I say—”
“Nope,” she huffs gruffly, trying to hide the faint shimmering in her eyes by turning away from you toward the peaks, “this ain’t forever, kid. I’m still expecting to see your ass here again.”
“I don’t know when that’ll be.”
You’re taken aback at how small and childlike your voice sounds. So scared. So unsure of herself. When was the last time you sounded like that?
“Good. Gives you plenty of time to plan out a better script for our next ‘see ya later’.”
She smooths over the grumpiness of her tone by giving you a small half smile, the laugh lines around her eyes crinkling as she looks at you. You smile back at her, hoping beyond hope that it conveys everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say this time around.
Before you know it, Debbie’s turning quickly back toward her old pickup, and the moment is over.
“Better hurry back or that Dorito is gonna shit himself.”
Debbie’s definitely thrown some weird sentences out there in the past, but this was at a whole new level. What the fuck?
When you don’t respond right away, she adds over her should, “The tall blonde man with the constipated, pinched face. Never seen shoulders so broad with such a skinny waist. Man must think he’s a god, but he’s just a corn chip.”
Genuine laughter bubbles up from your throat. Only Debbie could somehow pick out the Avenger’s biggest asshole and deliver the most scorching of burns, all for shits and giggles.
By the time you get a hold of yourself, Debbie’s too far away for you to really say anything else to her. Not without screaming it, anyway. And the things you want to say aren’t for the entirety of Superhero Monthly. For someone who complains so often about her creaky joints, Debbie scuttles faster than any person you’d ever met.
You settle for just watching contentedly until she finally makes it to her truck, waving when she settles herself in the driver’s seat once again. Your throat seizes with emotion as she waves back.
Despite wanting to watch her drive down the winding road back toward town, you make yourself turn and walk back toward the main group. You don’t even let yourself look at the cabin again as you pass it, knowing it would just be another burst of painful emotion if you did.
If there’s one thing the past 24 hours have taught you, it’s that emotions are fucking annoying as shit.
As you shuffle to a halt in front of the waiting Avengers, Tony Stark claps his hands and says, “Did the diner accept your resignation?”
“I uh, I guess so?”
“Love it,” he says, “then let’s rock and roll.”
“It’s a good thing Parker isn’t here right now,” Sam mutters from a little ways away, “he’d be roasting your ass for that.”
“Fuck off Woodstock.”
Sam and Bucky snort with giggles, only quieting down when Stark turns around and fixes them with what you know is the coldest of Dad Stares he has in his arsenal.
“Okay, moving on,” Stark turns back to face you, “how’s that fire of yours react to small spaces?”
The small smile you’d had with Sam and Bucky’s antics falls away.
“Probably not the biggest fan in the world, if I’m being honest,” you mutter.
“Let me put it this way; is there a chance the jet turns into an open flame grill if things go wrong?”
You don’t want to admit it, but yeah, probably. Controlling it is hard even on a good day, and that’s when you don’t have to worry about walls or anything. There’s a very good chance this goes badly within the first five minutes of taking flight.
Your fingers start to heat up like the fire knows it’s being talked about. Bitch.
“Honesty is the best policy here, kid,” Stark’s addition interrupts your panicked thoughts, “not gonna toss you out over the Mississippi or anything. You gonna light it up?”
“Good chance of it, yeah,” you admit begrudgingly, stubbornly ignoring the stabbing pinpricks of heat arching over your shoulders.
“Lucky for us, I plan ahead sometimes,” he turns back toward the open ramp to the ship, calling, “You’re up, Banner.”
Dr. Banner comes forward again, his face already apologetic as you meet his gaze.
“We have two options here to keep you and everyone on board safe,” he says, his voice surprisingly authoritative compared to his demeanor.
“O-okay,” you stutter, then release a shaky breath to try and ease some tension.
“Number one, Tony and I developed some fireproof restraints that would cover your hands completely. Even if your powers start getting out of control, everything will be contained.”
The clamp of cold metal, so at odds against the white hot of your skin. Sparks sputter out intermittently, wanting to fight a battle you were barely conscious of.
“What’s the other option?” You ask, jaw clenched against the unwanted memory. The other option has to be better. There’s no way you would let someone restrain you again.
Banner gives you an understanding nod, then continues, “Working with enhanced folks over the years, we’ve been able to concoct a short-term sedative that would put you under for the duration of the flight.”
More needles. More restraints. More drugs. The options weren’t great, no matter how you slice it. You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting the endless flashes of the sensations and the terror and the cold—
“Hey, you’re safe. You’re okay.”
There’s that softness again, coming to rest over your senses. It’s different enough from the rest that you can’t help but focus on it.
Focus on him.
You manage to open your eyes again. Looking to your right, you see Bucky. He’s looking down at you with nothing but reassurance and calm.
“This isn’t like it was with them. You’re safe with us.”
“I-I ju-just—”
Your voice seems to vibrate as panic takes hold. The heat is there again, centering around your spine this time, making you want to curve in on yourself.
“Look at me, focus on me,” he murmurs.
Turning so that you face him head on, you try to hone in on the different shades of blue in his eyes. You vaguely notice that the rest of the group has stepped away, giving you a minute.
“I know neither option is great,” he says quietly, “but neither is the pressure you would put on yourself trying to keep it in.”
You nod along with what he says, the logic making sense to you even through the fog.
“Which one seems like the least amount of stress for you?”
Thinking, you try to compare the two in your mind. If you were to choose the restraints, you’d be conscious of it the entire time. Somehow, knowing you were trapped, being painfully aware of being so enclosed…the idea alone is enough to make you shatter.
“I need to be out,” you whisper, “I’m not—I just don’t think I can—”
“It’s okay, you don’t need to explain it,” he whispers, stepping closer. You let him, choosing to allow that softness to be your primary sensation rather than the fire burning you from the inside.
“I know this is the better option,” you choke out, “but I still hate needles. I had being drugged like this.”
“I do too.”
Looking up at him, you see nothing but genuine pain and honesty. He understands. For his sake, you wish he didn’t.
“I’ll stay right next to you the entire time,” he promises, “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
All you can do is nod, every minute more overwhelming than the next since you walked back down from the mountain yesterday.
You allow Bucky to lead you back toward the ship, Dr. Banner and Stark standing outside as the rest start to file in.
“Ready to go, lava lamp?”
“Yeah,” you mumble, wringing your hands together, “could…could you guys just sedate me? I know it might be a hassle, but—”
“Not a hassle at all kiddo, promise,” Stark gently cuts you off, “and besides, as a rule we like to not be set on fire. Kind of a comfort thing.”
Banner looks at Stark in shock at his joke about the threat you pose, but you let out a little giggle. It’s nice for it to be the subject of something funny, rather than every other bad thing it is.
The two scientists lead you onto the ship, your legs trembling with every step against the metallic floor. The only thing keeping you steady is Bucky trailing behind you.
They lead you to some seats near the back of the jet, a little separate from the rest. Good; some space from the others might help.
You get your things stowed away with Bucky’s help before sitting down. Natasha’s intelligent green eyes meet yours from across the ship, and her kind smile only adds to your feeling of safety.
She’s the one who convinced you to do this. She’s what made you believe they can be trusted. You can do this.
After getting yourself strapped in, Dr. Banner steps in front of you. You can tell he’s trying to make himself as nonthreatening as possible. Even so, it’s kind of hard not to feel terrified as he holds up the glinting needle in the shadows.
Your breath catches. Hazy flashes explode from behind your eyes, erupting in a storm of pure panic as your body tries to remind you why you stay away from them.
“You’re safe, I promise.”
Bucky’s warm words break through the fear as the needle pierces your arm. You feel a prick for the briefest of seconds before it’s out again, Dr. Banner already having plunged the sedative into your veins.
“Damn, you’re good at that,” you mumble, words slurring a little as the drug starts to take effect.
“Years of practice,” he chuckles.
The last thing you hear is Bucky, murmuring something again to you, so quiet only you can hear.
Content warnings: PTSD, allusions to su*cidal thoughts, discussions around captivity, anxiety, panic attacks, flashbacks.
a/n: wow okay it's been like 4 months I AM SO SORRY anyways here it is <3
Chapter 5
***
There you are, trying to feel good about your decisions in the dying light of day, sitting with the most powerful people on the planet on your front porch of all places. Soon they’ll go to their ship for the night, but Natasha and Wanda are spending staying with you.
Overnight.
In your cabin.
You’re having something like a…sleepover? Can something meant to help you decide something so momentous be called something so innocent?
As you sit on the stairs of your front porch, it feels as though you’re existing outside of your body. Nothing feels real; not this situation, not the present company, not even your own skin.
Nothing in the past nine years has felt normal, not by any standard. You’re not in so much denial that you can’t see that. That being said, you’ve exerted a lot of energy trying to shove those memories and feelings down. Now they’re staring you right in the face.
Natasha and Wanda have gone back to the jet to grab a few essentials. You’re still incredibly wary of having two complete strangers under your roof, but it’s not like you sleep much anyway. At least you can figure out what their deal is.
Whatever it is, they have to be better than the alternative. Not that that’s exactly difficult.
In the back of your mind, you always knew you would never be safe from Hydra, but it’s different knowing they’re in your fucking backyard. As much as you’d rather stay on your own, there’s something to be said about pack life. If you’re thinking in terms of survival, then you don’t need to look any further than the natural setting around you to understand. Animals that live and work together in groups stand a much better chance at living to see another day; it’s the loners that get picked off. Only top predators get the luxury of going it alone.
You aren’t the top predator. Hydra would always be right behind you, and you’d die before being dragged back into that hell.
A shiver wracks your body as another wave of dread surges through you. There’s a reason you try not to acknowledge what those monsters did to you, and now it’s like everything has been dragged right to the surface. Why couldn’t your memories be a pal and stay buried? Rude.
Shaking your head, you look around at your visitors, trying to force yourself to take each second as it comes. Falling apart in front of them wouldn’t do you any favors, not with how badly it went not even an hour before. Definitely not a great first impression for some of them. But you can’t exactly say “don’t worry guys I’m actually super adjusted and absolutely fine” because that would be a big fucking lie.
Speaking of bad first impressions…
Without thinking, you feel your gaze dart over to Captain Rogers for what feels like the hundredth time. Standing tall in his dark blue tactical suit, his eyes hold nothing but suspicion as he watches you. You catch his eyes every time you glance over, but it does nothing to ease his attention. If anything his gaze gets more intense. Almost like he’s challenging you.
What exactly are you gonna do about it?
That’s what it feels like he’s trying to convey, anyway. With his large frame and tightly crossed arms, it feels as though you’re under guard. Like he’s just waiting for you to step out of line.
“So what d’you do?” Tony asks, breaking the silence with his question.
“Huh?” You swivel your head to look up at him.
“Like, for a living. With your days. I don’t know, however you wanna take it,” he explains. He’s still tapping away at the smartphone he somehow had room for (apparently the Iron Man suit has pockets?), and is standing without a care in the world in the clothes he wears under the suit. You focus on his Queen tee shirt as you work to formulate an answer.
“I, uh…I guess I just work,” you mumble.
“D’you like it? The waitressing gig?”
Of course Stark knows what you do for work. They all probably do. You have to say, you hate that they know so much about you, and you didn’t even know some of their names a few hours ago. What’s a girl gotta do to stay mysterious these days?
“It’s better than others I’ve had,” you shrug.
“I didn’t ask you to compare,” he scoffs, “I asked if you like it. Bit of a difference, kid.”
You grit your teeth at the question. Do you “like” it? Sure, you got lucky with Debbie as your boss. You know you did. But even if she were a real bitch to work for, you don’t get to choose based on that. Kind of hard to be picky when you don’t have a birth certificate, let alone go by your real name.
“Never really thought about it,” you say quickly, wanting him to stop talking to you.
Out of your peripherals, you see Stark lower his phone to look at you. Before he can open his big mouth to respond, you both notice the others arrive back. While Wanda and the others keep coming toward the house, Natasha stays back to talk with Rogers.
Maybe she can convince him to not act like such a sack of crap.
You get why he doesn’t trust you. It’s pretty easy why someone like him, who’s seen so much, would be mistrustful of the human epitome of a bomb.
But he didn’t have to be such an asshat about it.
Wanda doesn’t stop until she reaches you and Stark. She smiles warmly at you before starting to chat aimlessly with him, leaving you to decide if you want to join or not.
Okay, so maybe a few of them know you a little. Or at least can sympathize.
You sigh again, exhaling slowly and silently. Crossing your arms over yourself, you wonder how long Rogers and Natasha will take. Being around this many people makes you feel all sorts of unsafe.
Without thinking, almost as if you’re drawn to the feeling of security he exudes, you shift your body ever so slightly toward the man standing a little ways off to the side. He’s talking to the Falcon, whose name you just learned was Sam Wilson. They’re teasing each other, having their own conversation, but you feel Bucky’s eyes on you every now and then.
After introducing himself, he’d left you to talk with Stark as the other group trekked back to the ‘jet’ or whatever they called it. You were glad of it, honestly. Not because you didn’t like talking to him, but you definitely shook his hand for longer than necessary, and everything about him had you feeling…you weren’t sure how to describe it. Still don’t. Out of control was the closest, but it was nothing like the crazed panic from that first confrontation.
You don’t mind this kind, and you don’t like that you don’t mind it.
This feels more dangerous somehow.
Your attention is once again diverted from your thoughts as you take notice of the tense conversation happening between Rogers and Natasha. You can’t hear what they’re saying exactly, but they both look angry. Frustrated. Natasha’s focused on him, practically imploring him to listen to what she has to say, but he focuses on you every now and then. That tells you all you need to know about what the subject of their argument is.
Unable to stomach looking at the hatred in his eyes any longer, you look down and twist your fingers together. Your brain feels frayed and overloaded. Not exactly a great way to start tonight, which will absolutely test your limits as it is. On socialization and information.
There’s a growing feeling of guilt as you think about the argument happening just feet from where you’re sitting. Natasha and Rogers are close; anyone with a brain can see it, especially with the way he tries to protect her. You don’t want to come between them. Any of them.
After a few more minutes, the rustling of grass, accompanied by two sets of footsteps, finally announces the arrival of Natasha and Captain Rogers. You stand up, your sudden movement causing Rogers’ eyes to snap to you once again. Instead of shrinking away, make yourself smaller like your instincts are begging you to, you roll your shoulders back and meet his eyes.
You understand his fear. It makes sense. But he came to your home. He made that choice. He and the others made the choice to track you, find you, come ask you to go with them. You despise the thought of allowing him to make you feel cowed in the one place that gives you any semblance of happiness.
As Rogers stares you down, Natasha leaves his side to come stand next to you and Wanda, asserting what her stance is. He looks at her, then at you once more, before looking away.
“Alright gang,” Stark calls out, “I texted Hill, updated her on the situation and how we’re going forward with things. She said she’d contact Fury so they can get a head start on trying to lure Hydra away, give us as much time as we need.”
He looks at you as he says that last bit, his eyes warm and kind despite the hard set of his mouth. Stark could be irritating, absolutely, but he…he makes you feel like a little kid again. Like the adults would take care of you, get you what you needed to be at your best.
Warm eyes from a lifetime ago, surrounded by laugh lines.
You blink at the sudden image in your mind. Looking around surreptitiously, you see that no one’s noticed you having a little moment. Stark’s moved on, explaining the finer points of how they were going to try and get Hydra looking elsewhere.
There’s a certain familiarity that goes with those eyes. You can’t place them, and you’re honestly scared to try, afraid of digging too deep. All you know is that Tony Stark reminds you of whoever that person is.
You force your attention out of your head and back to Stark, trying to pay attention. They were doing this to help you focus on yourself; you weren’t expected to understand the intricacies of it all. But you also want to know every single thing that will go into this mission. Knowledge is power, after all.
“When it comes to those two agents down in Denver, Hill thinks they’ll most likely be asked to stay where they are for now,” Stark explains, “they’ll wanna verify any new information before moving them.”
“Is Maria still gonna tail them?” Natasha asks.
“Sure is, specifically told Fury to fuck off when he wanted to get another agent out there. Doesn’t want any gaps in surveillance.”
Stark turns back to you, pulling you to the focus of everyone’s attention once again, making you want to hide. You try to ignore it.
“Still good with Wanda and Natasha staying with you?”
“Yeah,” you mumble with a nod.
“Groovy, then the rest of us will head out and leave you to it. We’ll probably have someone scan the area a couple of times during the night so we’ve got our bases covered, and Hill already knows to alert us immediately if they move.”
The rest of the team starts to walk away without much fanfare, leaving the three of you to whatever this little hangout of yours was. Calling it a sleepover still feels weird as hell, so you’re actively choosing not to.
Stark lingers for a minute, taking a step closer to you, before he says quietly, “If the Denver agents move, or if we get word others are coming, there’s nothing we can do. You’ll have to decide.”
All you can manage is a short nod and avoid looking at him.
You just hope they decide you’re worth all this trouble in the end.
***
For the entire walk back to the jet, Bucky’s not sure he’s even there.
Even with the clomping footsteps of his teammates around him, he can’t focus on anything. He can barely get his mind to cooperate enough to put one foot in front of the other. The sun is descending faster and faster in the sky, and despite the wealth of light still around him, he really should be paying more attention.
He battles the urge to keep looking back over his shoulder. The cabin isn’t even visible through the trees anymore, so really it would be pointless, but the want is there nonetheless. The more he fixates on that weird desire, the more he wants to do it. What the hell?
The day’s been weird as shit. Bucky’s fucking exhausted and drained beyond belief. Ever since he shot up in his bed so early this morning, everything has been nonstop. One trigger after another, smacking him in the face over and over again. Even now, hours later, he still feels like everyone’s waiting for him to lose his shit in a PTSD episode. Even he’s waiting for it to happen at this point.
Then there’s her.
Why can’t he stop thinking about her? Fucking bizarre, if you ask him. Usually he can’t ever focus on people for too long; Bucky spent too long in isolation with a robot’s instinct. But her face keeps flickering in his mind. Over and over again. He can’t stop thinking about the picture of her from so long ago, back when she was just a teenager. She’d been going through shit at the time, but she…god, she still looked hopeful. She had that kind of youthful optimism that kids seem to scrounge up from somewhere inside of themselves.
Bucky remembers feeling like that. Even when it was hard trying to keep food on the table and Steve out of trouble, he still figured there had to be better times ahead.
Then there’s the woman who’d stood in front of him today. Now that he’d had more time to let his adrenaline settle since that near miss this afternoon, Bucky keeps finding new things about her to worry about. Behind all the fear today, her eyes were just…dead. There wasn’t any sort of life beyond her drive to stay out of Hydra’s hands. There was just hopelessness.
Bucky knows what that feels like, too. Maybe not in the same exact way, but he can definitely empathize. And now that she’s being hunted again, it’s bound to be even worse. He’s glad she’s not by herself tonight.
His surroundings come rushing back into focus as he trips over a rock he didn’t see, only just barely righting himself before he falls flat on his face. Bucky’s near the back of the group, so not too many people notice.
But Steve does.
Steve’s looking back at him with the strangest expression on his features. Bucky can’t quite put a name to it. It’s a mix of a lot of things, all under whatever mask Steve is trying to hide it with. It makes him a little…nervous? Is that even the right word to use with his best friend?
“Keep up, Buck,” he only mutters before turning back around to continue following everyone else.
Bucky narrows his eyes at the back of Steve’s blond head in slight confusion and wariness. Something about Firebug set him off. Ever since their confrontation in the field in front of her house, he hasn’t been all there. He gets that it was a tense situation, but they’ve all been in worse.
The urge to turn back around returns, but by the time he notices it, the quinjet looms into focus. Quite literally too, since Tony switched off the cloaking mechanism that had kept it hidden. The ramp descends, and Bruce’s slight figure comes rushing out toward them. He’s pasted on what Bucky assumes is supposed to be a nonthreatening, welcoming smile, but it honestly just looks like a very nervous grimace.
It takes him a minute, but eventually Bruce realizes that she’s not with them. His slightly terrifying expression relaxes into a confused frown as he looks at the returning group more closely.
“Uh…where’s the girl?” He looks a little more, then adds in a slightly panicked tone, “where’s any girl? Where’s Nat and Wanda?”
“Relax, Lettuce Wrap. Everyone’s fine,” Tony sighs. Bucky can see his narrow shoulders slump forward in the growing shadows. Today wore more on him than he’d let show before.
“Is the mission a bust?”
“No, mission is not a bust—”
“Not a rousing success though, is it?” Sam quips, but with a light sort of sarcasm that Bucky’s familiar with. He’s teasing more than anything.
“Quit squawking, don’t freak the poor doctor out,” Tony adds, more exasperation leaking into his voice, “let’s all get on the jet, I’ll explain what’s happening.”
Everyone starts filing onto the ship, Tony starting to let Bruce know what the state of play is. Bucky moves to follow them, but Steve stops suddenly in front of him and throws an arm out to stop him from going any further.
“Whoa, what the—”
“You’ve gotta keep your head on straight, Buck,” Steve mutters quickly, “this girl has you and everyone else distracted as hell, and we can’t have that.”
Bucky goes silent, turning his head to look at Steve. He’s taken aback by…whatever the fuck this statement is. Mostly because if Steve has any sort of issues on a mission, he brings them up in front of everyone.
And really, even though he knows it’s fair for Steve to want to check in on him during this particular effort, he’s a little hurt he’s chosen to call him out like this.
“Well, uh,” Bucky starts tensely, “I think my therapist, which you made me talk to by the way, would agree that it’s more than normal for me to be distracted right now—”
“I’m serious,” Steve grits out, effectively cutting him off, “you don’t know her, none of us do. The better we remember that, the better off we’ll be.”
Before Bucky can even begin to process what just happened, his friend is already stalking after the rest of the group. He just stares after him for a minute, trying to figure out what exactly about her has Steve so fucking riled up.
But that question feels like absolutely too much right now. There’s a lot of layers to the situation, and it’s bringing up a lot of shit for a good number of them. Bucky obviously included. Maybe it’s the same for Steve? Especially since Hydra is one of his oldest adversaries, and all he’s done for the past few years is take a close, long look at the kind of damage they can do to innocent people.
He shakes his head as he finally gets his feet to move, following Steve into the jet. The bright lights have already been switched on inside, and the sound of their conversation gets louder as he moves farther in.
Bucky stops for a minute, right before he’s get just high enough on the ramp to be visible. Her face floods his head once again. Right next to Steve’s cold warning from mere seconds ago.
Maybe she does have him distracted. It’s usually a lot easier for him to turn off his personal thoughts and feelings, especially when a mission is at stake. But at the same time, it’s also because of his personal feelings that he was able to get her to stand down. Get her to listen to them. Get her to even consider their proposition.
Can those two things coexist? Bucky thinks so, because there they are. Coexisting.
Steve will come around. She’s unpredictable, and she’s scared; both of those factors are enough to make her lash out. If she decides to give them a chance, and Bucky’s hoping she will, Steve will get to know her. He’ll understand.
A swooping feeling takes hold of his gut as he realizes hopelessness hadn’t been the only emotion on her face today, even if it was for the briefest of moments.
It had been when he’d introduced himself. When he’d had her small hand enclosed in his, when it felt like her eyes were going to drown him. Bucky’s not sure exactly what to call it, the expression she wore. Part of him is even hesitant to think about it too long. He knows one thing for sure though.
It was the only time today he saw her come even close to smiling.
***
In a day full of some of the weirdest shit you’ve ever experienced, seeing two of the most powerful women in the world sitting on your couch had to be at the top of the list.
Despite your assurances that it wasn’t necessary, they had both taken their sturdy tactical boots off by the front door. They set their bags down as well, maintaining an air of friendliness even in a bonfire’s home. Natasha zeroed in on the bookshelves across the room, while Wanda looked at the pictures lining the wall. You feel a little frayed as she steps closer to them.
“They’re not mine,” you burst out, making her turn her soft green eyes back toward you, “they, uh…they were here when I moved in.”
She nods, simply accepting the information before she turns back around to keep looking at them. She seems to linger on the family pictures, but only smiles at the photos containing only wildlife. You’re not sure what to do with yourself as they investigate their own perspective corners, so you decide to grab the water bottle you used today and rinse it out. It’s what you’d been planning to do before the goddamn Avengers showed up, so might as well do it now.
It takes waiting for the water to heat up, rinsing it out with soap and water a few times, and finally setting it out to try on a towel for someone to say something again.
“Who’s house was this?” Wanda asks quietly, still turned toward the pictures.
“My, uh, my boss’ father. He died a couple of years ago.”
“They must’ve been close,” Wanda muses, “she wouldn’t have kept it like this if they weren’t.”
Silence falls again. You’re not sure exactly what to say to that kind of statement. It’s true; Debbie talked about her dad often, and always very fondly. It’s just something so deeply personal, and you don’t like opening the door to things like that. Family isn’t your favorite subject.
You don’t give your brain time to settle on it. You turn back to the kitchen cabinets, making a show of opening them and going through what kind of ingredients you have, forcing yourself to repeat the name of every single one before moving onto the next. You do the same thing with the fridge, hiding yourself from them with the door of the clunky old appliance. For what felt like the hundredth time today, you can’t help but try to figure out how the day went so fucking wrong. Not for the first time since you heard the knock at the door, you wonder why you didn’t just run while you had the chance.
“These look interesting,” Natasha says after a few more minutes, “have you read any of them?”
“A couple,” you answer, “when I can.”
She hums in response, continuing to scan the bookshelf. You look between the two women, both still taking in your home. Neither are looking at you. The ball of anxiety in your stomach is only getting bigger. You’d gotten kind of numb after that big confrontation, but now it’s coming back in full force. Turning back to your fridge, you try to ignore it.
Even so, your body is getting warm.
“You don’t have to feed us,” Wanda’s voice breaks through the heavy silence, startling you, “we don’t want to impose like that.”
“I have food—” you reply, a little icily at what you think her potential implications, but she cuts you off.
“I know,” she reassures kindly, “but we’re imposing enough already.”
So she’s still being nice. Warm. Open. It’s something you, unsurprisingly, aren’t used to. Even so, you don’t want to just leave them out here without giving them at least something to eat. That would be the nice thing to do, right?
“I have stuff to make sandwiches,” you offer hesitantly after a moment, “if you both want something.”
You focus on pulling things out as both of them mumble their thanks, shuffling over to your little kitchenette. Unfortunately for you, it’s situated in the corner. Survival instincts screaming, you try to rush through getting plates and cups out for them instead of focusing on the prickles of painful heat traveling along your shoulders.
Setting everything out with shaking hands, you skirt around Natasha before they could both box you in. She gives you an odd look, but it thankfully doesn’t linger long. You just keep looking at your feet as they look at what you have.
You agreed to them being here. You said it was okay. Yet even still, you can’t quite wrap your head around everything that’s happened. It’s overwhelming, and your body and mind are responding in their own broken ways.
“’m gonna take a shower,” you mutter hurriedly, “take whatever you want.”
You’re out of there before they can even respond, getting inside your bedroom to quickly gather some clean clothes, all before half-jogging to the bathroom.
Locking the door behind you doesn’t offer a single iota of relief. The heat continues to build, now once again traveling down your back and into your hips as you force it away from your fingertips. You toss the clothes haphazardly on the counter before stripping as fast as you can.
The pain that comes with fighting the fire gets more intense every time. After pushing it down so much today, after fighting it for so many years, your body is exhausted. It’s taking everything in you to not just give in and let the sparks catch.
But you don’t. You won’t.
Instead, you manage to get yourself in the shower. You start the water, setting it on cold, before slinking down to sit on the floor. The icy stream hits your boiling skin, and you shudder in relief. The heat doesn’t go away immediately, but it slowly starts to retreat under the constant barrage of cold water on your skin.
Steam rises around you as the water hits your skin, the two extreme temperatures clashing. You can’t even really try to process that, or what it means.
You’re just really fucking tired. And there’s still a massive decision to be made.
Maybe it would be better to let the fire burn you from the inside out. That treacherous thought slams against your skull over and over again.
Even still, you sit. You let the cold stifle the sparks. You breathe.
***
If there’s one thing anyone needed to know about Maria Hill, it’s that she fucking loves surveillance work.
Everyone she works with thinks she’s crazy for that. Fury, Natasha, Clint, everyone. Even her girlfriend, Sharon, can’t quite believe Maria prefers this silent idleness rather than being in the action.
A younger version of Maria would prefer that. But ever since she transferred to working intelligence with the Avengers a few years ago, it feels like her life is nonstop action. The demands and risks that come with her job never really stop.
So when she can take time and let her mind and senses do the work for once, it’s a treat.
Maria just wishes this mission were under better circumstances. For everyone involved.
She wasn’t unused to working cases like this, especially when it comes to Hydra. It had been like that with SHIELD, and it’s like that now. The list of lives they’ve destroyed only gets longer and longer.
Her phone lights up beside her on the hotel bed, and she reads the notification quickly. Just Natasha, wanting an update. So she runs through her checklist of tools for what felt like the hundredth time that night.
Nothing on the security footage from the hotel and the street outside show the Hydra agents. She has FRIDAY run through it too just in case, but all clear. Nothing from the drone camera set up inconspicuously on the building across the street, perfect angle for seeing into their room. The agents were still in their room, sweatpants on, lounging and watching television. No sort of rushed activity. Hydra clearly hadn’t given them any kind of signal yet. Fury had begun the process of planting the false trail only about thirty minutes before, so it would take time for things to start moving.
Maria heaves out a sigh and flops back on the bed, sending a quick “all clear” to Nat before tossing her phone on the mattress beside her.
Because as much as she loves this kind of work, she hates the mission itself. She hates the necessity of it. Despises that Hydra couldn’t just stay buried.
The girl’s weary face kept flashing in Maria’s mind. She’d been polite when she’d met her just yesterday; closed off, but polite. And she worked her ass off, anyone could see it. Even so, despite her every effort to keep the customer service façade up, there was absolutely no way she could’ve hidden the dark bruises under her eyes that indicated how tired she was.
Knowing her history, Maria knows why. It seemed like the poor thing hadn’t stopped running for a long time now, always looking over her shoulder, always moving. It was no wonder she didn’t take well to strangers. And if she’s being honest, Maria wishes they could just leave her be. Let her live her life as best she can.
But as soon as her laptop picked up the heat signatures coming from her hands, she understands that wish is impossible. If they didn’t act on it, if the team didn’t at least try to bring her in, Hydra would take her. There was no doubt in her mind. The agents staying in the same building only confirm it.
Remembering the way she’d glared at those scumbags in the diner yesterday, the way her hands started glowing hotter and hotter on the monitor, Maria can’t help but wonder what kind of fighter she could be. If she could only harness her power and channel it, she could really be an asset.
If she wants to be. If all she wants is peace and quiet, no one could begrudge her that. She’d been through enough in her life already.
Maria only hopes the team can pull it off. Firebug, as Tony called her in his most recent text, deserves some peace.
***
You’d stayed in the shower, just sitting under the cold water, for nearly thirty minutes. You’re kind of shocked you didn’t turn into an icicle.
Usually you bathed at lightning speed; who can afford a fucking water bill these days, anyway? But tonight, you really took your time. Didn’t really have a choice. With two people under your roof, you kind of have to keep a lid on things, and it really took that long to get yourself together.
And despite your secret longing to let the flames consume you, the threatening simmer just under your skin gets more painful by the hour. Every time you make it stay inside of you, it revolts and burns you instead. Your instincts refuse to sit and let that happen.
So, in response, cold showers are becoming more and more of a thing along with your nightly sits outside.
Once that burning sensation in your skin finally receded, you picked yourself up to quickly wash up. You just kept going through the motions – wash up, dry off, get dressed, until you ended up here.
Sitting on one of the worn couches in the front room of the cabin. Fingernails digging into your palms. Actively and determinedly avoiding the eyes of the two women sitting across from you. All you really wanted was to go hide in the bedroom, but it’s the single place in this small home that makes you feel less than secure. Probably has to do with how sleep is a battle or some shit. In any case, here you are, lack of social skills and all.
They aren’t staring at you outright, but you can feel their gazes flick over to you every few seconds. The tension keepings coiling tighter and tighter. The air is thick with it. You’ve spent the past four years trying not to speak, at least when you can help it. So really, you’re the last person anyone should expect to make this sort of situation better.
Wanda’s soft voice breaks through the heavy silence as she says, “Is it alright if I use your shower?”
Your determination in avoiding their faces disappears, your eyes darting to look over to the redhead in slight shock. In your head, you assumed they would sit here and stare at you until you broke down and begged them to take you with them. Or something.
“Oh, um, sure.”
As she turns to go, you think maybe you should’ve offered her your toiletries or something. What does a good host do? Do you even need to worry about being a good host in a situation like this?
Before you can even decide, Wanda’s willowy form has disappeared, the click of the bathroom door echoing behind her. The water turns on a few seconds later. You can only hope she finds the extra towels under the sink.
With Wanda’s mundane and very human request, your guard has let down a little. You realize this when you turn back around and find Natasha’s sharp green gaze trained intently on you. You want to turn away, but you can’t. There’s too much haunted understanding gleaming there. You’ve never seen anything like it.
“I guess I should probably ask you something, huh,” you mumble, voice coming out more uncertain and more timid than you’d ever heard it.
She gives you a tired half smile. Taking a deep breath, she looks out the front window. The sun had mostly set by now, bright blue sky giving way to deep indigo, the first few stars blinking to life.
“You can. If you want.”
“If I want?”
“This is about you, remember?”
There’s no malice in her voice. No frustration or anger. Just simple patience.
She’s still looking out the window, chin resting on her fist. She looks smaller like this. It’s easy to feel like she’s larger than life with how she holds herself, straight backed and powerful. This Natasha in front of you makes her seem more human somehow.
“I just…part of me doesn’t even know what to ask,” you admit, “I don’t know where to start.”
“How about this,” she replies, turning to face you once more, “what scares you the most about coming with us?”
“Not being able to get out once I’m there.”
Your response comes quick, voice trembling as you utter that last word. Despite being so unsure about where to begin, the answer came immediately. You don’t bother pretending to be shocked about it. Because it’s true.
Pity trickles into her expression. It’s not even all that noticeable; Natasha still has her face trained into a kind sort of neutral. Maybe it’s not even there, but you still see it all the same.
“You’d always have that option if you wanted it,” she nearly whispers, “we’d never keep you held against your will.”
“Never thought they would either,” you reply, “they still did it all the same.”
Natasha looks slightly wounded by that statement despite the fact your words held no accusations. You can’t bring yourself to alter your words in any way. You don’t know these people; that was true a few hours ago, it’s true now.
She swallows, looking out the window again. Her body is full of tension, in harsh contrast to the relaxed posture she had mere moments before.
“You mentioned you kept track of us,” she murmurs after another minute, still looking out the window, “did you ever look into our backgrounds?”
“Not extensively,” you answer hesitantly, “never really had the time.”
That was true. You also didn’t want to bring anything else up from your own past, but you didn’t want to have to explain that.
She sighs again, one that felt so familiar and heavy that it was a wonder it wasn’t one of your own. Without her speaking any words, you feel familiar with the sound, understanding it as intimately as your own thoughts. It surprises you.
“Look, I don’t wanna get into my own shit. And it’s not my place to explain anyone else’s either.”
Natasha looks away from the window, but instead of looking at you, she looks down at her legs folded under her. With slender fingers, she picks at a loose thread on the leggings she’d changed into while you had been in the shower.
“But, you should know that because of the things we’ve dealt with, we would never, ever lock you up. Make you do things you don’t want to do.”
She ends it there. Doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t look at you, waiting for you to ask further questions. It’s clear from her body language that she doesn’t want to talk about it, so you don’t ask. A part of you believes in her sincerity, believing her when she promises that they won’t keep you in a cell.
Your survival instinct believes she very well could be lying.
“Besides,” she says with a dry laugh after your moment of hesitation, “if we tried, I have zero doubt in my mind you could beat us and get away. Kick all of our asses for even trying.”
You look down, unsure of what to say to that. She’s right, but…still.
“We made some offers out there,” she reminds you, “promises if you came with us. We didn’t ask what you would want, though.”
Your brow wrinkles in uncertainty. You open your mouth to respond, but instead it’s left agape as you struggle to find an answer. What do you want out of this?
Fuck, there’s that stupid fire again. You had been resting comfortably, but now the heat starts to come back slowly. The room feels stuffy and small, getting more constricting by the minute.
“C-can we talk outside?” You stutter out in a rush, breath coming harshly, “We can leave the door open, just go out to the back porch—”
“Sure, we can do that,” Natasha answers steadily as she rises to her feet. “lead the way.”
Lurching to your feet in a much less graceful fashion than she had, you quickly lead her out to your habitual place of safety. Out into the open air. You leave the door cracked as promised, but you shut the storm door to keep the moths out. Nothing ruins anything faster than one of those fat fuckers at 1am after a nightmare.
Taking a moment, you take your time sitting down, taking deep breaths of the crisp air. It does exactly what you need it to; grounding your senses, steadying your mind.
She waits a few minutes for you to get yourself back together, slowly sitting down next to you, but still leaving plenty of space between. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her tilt her head back to take in the broad expanse of sky above you. Her breath whooshes from her lungs as she’s rendered awestruck by the sight.
“I can see why you’d never want to leave,” she whispers.
Smiling again, you lean back and look with her. For the past few months, you’d looked at the night sky alone. You hadn’t realized how nice it would feel to share this with someone else. Someone who might even understand why this wide open space meant so much to you.
The reminder hits you all too quickly, akin to a punch in the gut. Your smile fades, your eyes drifting down from the sky as your mouth turns down as well.
“I’ll have to leave though, won’t I?” You mumble, “Even if I don’t go with you, I’d have to.”
Even with your eyes fixed to the grass in front of the wooden steps, you feel Natasha shift as she turns to look at you.
“Yes,” she answers sadly, “if you wanted to stay out of Hydra’s hands, you wouldn’t have a choice.”
You close your eyes against the pain of her confirmation, but the blow comes nonetheless. The fire is gone, replaced by the cold acceptance you’d felt earlier that day when Bucky confirmed your worst fear.
“I’ll never be able to stop running,” you breathe, “they’ll never stop.”
“I doubt they will.”
Huffing a humorless laugh, you retort, “I figured this would be the moment you start really trying to convince me.”
“I could,” she muses, “but you’re still here and you’re already grieving. Seems kind of cruel to add my own bullshit in there.”
You nod, unseeing eyes still focusing on the ground below you. Painfully familiar emptiness yawns inside of you, consuming anything and everything like a black hole.
Then it comes to you. Your answer to her earlier question.
“What if what I wanted,” you whisper shakily, “would be to take it away?”
A beat passes. Then two.
“Take what away?”
“The fire. The power. Whatever you want to call it.”
She sighs, a heartbroken rush of air that cuts you down to your core. You already know what she’ll say.
“I don’t think we can do that,” she admits quietly, “Bruce, the man who’s the Hulk? He’s been trying for years. He still can’t figure it out.”
Hot tears prickle at your eyes. Because if anyone knew how to solve this, how to take away this fucking curse, it would be them. The Avengers. The most powerful people in the world.
But they can’t cure you. They can’t turn back time to when you were normal. No one can.
“So I’ll just be hunted for the rest of my life then,” you force a laugh through the tightness in your throat, “looking forward to it. At least I know for sure.”
You try to close your eyes tightly against the wave of emotion, but it doesn’t stop the sobs from bubbling up in your throat. Or the tears running unbroken down your cheeks. You bury your face in your hands.
“No, as long as Hydra is around, they’ll never stop trying to bring you in.”
You hadn’t known Natasha long, but somehow her brand of honesty doesn’t make it worse. Just speaks that fear aloud, much like Bucky did.
“But this power, whatever it is, it doesn’t have to lead to only bad things,” she offers.
“Oh really?” You counter harshly.
“Really. I used to think that way. So did Wanda. So did Bruce. So did Bucky. So did most of us, actually.”
The tears still come, but you try to quiet your breathing. So you can listen.
“Our abilities, yours included, make us targets. People see us as tools they can use instead of human beings. It’s all too easy for anyone in our position to drown under the weight of it. I should know; I’ve seen it over and over since taking this job.”
The stubborn and tired part of you wants to cut her off, send her and Wanda away. Send them all away. Be done with them.
…but you listen.
“But as corny as it sounds, and I want to cringe just saying it, but having these abilities? These curses we didn’t ask for? It gives us a chance no one else has.”
“Chance?”
Chance. A concept so unfamiliar to you it might as well be a different language.
“Yes, a chance,” she confirms with a surety you’ve never known, “we have this ability to make a real difference. Stop bad things from happening to innocent people. Innocent like how we used to be.”
You look over to her then. You can’t help it. Something about that resonates within the deepest parts of you, even down to your soul. If you still have one, after everything.
“Be the person that could’ve stopped them from taking you,” she whispers, “it’s what I tell myself when all of this seems too much. If I can give one little girl somewhere a chance to be a child, grow up carefree, then all of this will be worth it.”
Two pairs of eyes, glimmering in the moonlight, stare at each other in the darkness. Emotion overwhelms you, but for once, the fire doesn’t spark with it.
Because what you want, more than anything in this world, more than keeping whatever semblance of freedom this is, is to make sure Hydra never takes someone again. Protect someone the way you needed someone to protect you.
You didn’t know that. Not until now.
It’s the first time you’ve ever let yourself begin to acknowledge the pain that came from being alone in that. Even as the flash of light against the needle pops into your mind, you force yourself to stay here in the present with Natasha.
“Promise you won’t lock me up?”
It feels childish to ask. Sounds even more so when you hear it out loud. There’s no way to hold her to that, no way to know their true intentions. But you have to ask. For your own sake.
“I promise. If anyone tries, I’ll help break you out myself.”
More silence, but the heaviness doesn’t come with it. Because you already know.
“Okay,” you finally say, “I’ll come.”
***
series taglist: @obsidianvibranium @dreamwritesimagines @valhalla-kristin
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Chapter Summary: Firebug meets the team. Bucky has a moment to shine. Steve starts to have doubts.
Content warnings: Discussions around long-term captivity, PTSD, depression, anxiety, flashbacks
a/n: thank you all beyond words for your patience!! I'm now back in retail, and as many of you can probably guess, the holidays are the craziest time of the year. Now that we've mostly gotten past our exposition portion and the holidays, I'm hoping it's easier to push out updates. Love you guys!
Chapter 4
***
“Was this your plan?” You force out as you hurriedly get your back to the wall of the house, “Get me relaxed, get me talking, then ambush me? Are you for fucking real?”
Vaguely, you register the worn wood of the cabin pressing against your back. Your instincts are absolutely screaming at you to get low to the ground, to run, anything to get away from them. Your logical mind, however, urges you to stand your ground. Just as you concluded before, outrunning them probably isn’t possible, especially with some of them having flight capabilities. All you can do is press harder against the wood, try to keep every single one in your sights.
Even with the fire dancing along your fingers, you can’t hide the tremors wracking them as you hold your hands defensively in front of you. It only gets worse as the previously hidden Avengers reveal themselves, melting from the hidden shadows of the trees and into the open. There’s more of them than you thought there would be, and the sheer number of potential opponents is daunting. They linger by the tree line, holding a defensive position as they watch every move you make.
“Our plan was never to ambush you,” Natasha says in a gentle voice, pulling your attention back to her, “I told you they were hanging around. You might think it’s stupid, but we really did think it would help to—”
“I didn’t think you meant they’d be watching us from the fucking trees,” you exclaim, voice rising in pitch from panic. The fire flares with your volume and tone, and despite wanting to be ready to fight, you try to will yourself into a steadier place. Showing a lack of control would do you no favors now.
Movement pulls your eyes from Natasha back to the group of men, and you jump when you see they’ve moved closer to the house. There’s no way you can hide your shaking now; the flames nearly vibrate from it.
As Natasha and Wanda utter some useless nonsense in soothing voices, you tune them out and try to count. How many altogether? Looks like…seven? No, there’s another one lingering near the back, so eight. That’s without accounting for any others who might still be hidden.
Eight. Eight enhanced individuals. Eight of the most skilled and powerful people on the planet.
You maybe, maybe could have gotten away if it were just Wanda and Natasha. Despite your gravitas about the situation, two is definitely a bit more manageable than eight.
As the new additions continue to come closer from the trees, moving faster now with your eyes on them, you continue to tune out your initial visitors to try and figure out who’s present. Keeping tabs on the Avengers had to be good for something, right?
Right in the front there, shoulder to shoulder, are Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. Rogers has his shield slightly up, and his eyes are constantly bouncing between you and the women just in front of you. Stark has his mask down, but those intimidating yellow lights he has for eyes are trained directly on you. Along for the ride is Sam Wilson, wings stowed for now, but looking ready to take off at a moment’s notice. Another man is decked out in a red, white, and blue version of the Iron Man suit. God, what was his name? Fuck your defunct brain. You can’t even begin to process the red humanoid floating over the ground. He’s rarely done press for the Avengers, but you’ve seen him in pictures. Then there, trailing in the back…who is that? Digging through your brain, you try to place him, but—
Fingers snap close to your face, and you jump as you tear your attention from the advancing heroes back to Wanda and Natasha. The flames spark again, and you take several heaving breaths, trying to keep that last bit of control you still have over them. There’s a burning sensation beginning to spread just under the skin of your hands, trickling back along your arms. It gets worse the harder you fight the flames, but…Jesus, you really have no other option. You have to fight it.
“You need to put your hands down,” Wanda murmurs to you, wide green eyes imploring, “we know you don’t mean it, you never do, but this looks a certain way to them.”
“Oh yeah?” You grind out, “You really expect me to just…trust you?”
“Yes,” Wanda says simply, “you have too.”
You can’t even control the dark chuckle that bubbles from your mouth. If you don’t laugh, you’ll scream. You’ll cry. You’ll absolutely lose it.
That can’t happen.
“Did neither of you pick up on the clear and ever-present trust issues? Or the complete absence of control over this?”
“We know this is hard. It’s unimaginable. But if a fight starts, if your power flares and hurts someone on our team, you won’t like the outcome.” Natasha responds.
Of course you won’t. Because you don’t want to lose control again; it’s the last thing you want. Not only is burning this mountainside physically painful for you, but the idea of hurting one of them with your fire? Arguably the best defense Earth has? The one team to fight against your captors and win?
You turn your eyes to the stuttering flames in your trembling hands and try to will it away. When that doesn’t work, you clench your fingers into the tightest fists you can, trying to physically suffocate the fire. Even still, they burn on. They even flicker along the backs of your hands, so even if you could snuff them out, that’s one spot your fingers can’t reach.
Ever so slowly, the burning sensation gets sharper and travels farther under your skin. It’s near your shoulders now. It feels like your very insides are being assaulted by it.
“Hey, kiddo.”
A deep and annoyingly familiar voice pulls your gaze up once again, and you look right into the face of Iron Man himself. He and the others are standing right in front of your porch. When you see how close they’ve come, you instinctively try to lurch away from them. Your body only hits wood, and a thunk sounds with the force of your attempt to put more distance between yourself and them.
“Let’s put down the tiny weapons of mass destruction, yeah?”
One of his own deadly hands is trained on you, energy gathered in his palm and on standby should he choose to use it against you.
“You first” you retort, frustrated when you hear that the shaking has traveled to your voice as well now.
“Mine aren’t ‘tiny’ per say,” he shoots back quickly, “so it doesn’t really apply.”
You don’t respond right away, just send a small smirk his way despite the quakes wracking your body and the growing discomfort inside your skin. Just let the infamous Tony Stark sit for a second, make him doubt himself.
“If they’re not ‘tiny’, then what’s with the small army? Scared your big guns can’t take me on?”
“I’d be stupid not to. Gotta hold the bigger stick, honey. You understand.”
You hold his gaze for another moment, willing ice into your eyes despite the heat of your skin and the scream lodged in your throat. Stark is known for being unflappable, but it’s clear you at least make him a little nervous. You need to capitalize on that while you think.
Right when he shifts just slightly, you tilt your head and say, “Then it seems neither of us is going to get what we want.”
“Then let’s make a deal. You put yours down, so do we. Then we’re square.”
You don’t want to hurt anyone. You don’t want to cause any damage. You don’t want to set fire to every blade of dry grass in the vicinity, knowing that until the monsoon season comes, the tiniest spark could spell disaster for thousands of acres of land.
You look at your hands again, willing the fire away again, because you need time to talk. To think. When that doesn’t work, which should surprise absolutely no one, you begin to slowly lower your arms. Maybe it just needs some sort of physical trigger?
But, to your absolute panic and astonishment, the fire only seems to burn hotter and bigger the lower your hands get. The tops of the flames stay right where they started, only growing in length to stay connected with your hands. That’s to say nothing of the sharp sensation that’s arced over your shoulders, now spreading down your back. Frustrated tears spring into your eyes, and you try desperately to blink them away.
Everything about this situation makes you feel weak. Out of control. Pathetic.
Unhinged. You feel unhinged more than anything.
“We told you to put the fire out,” a harsher voice speaks, and you look up to see Captain Rogers glaring at you, “we don’t wanna have to use force, but we will. Make no mistake.”
“Back off, Rogers,” Natasha murmurs harshly, pulling your attention back to her in confusion. She’s…she’s backing you up. Against her own team?
“She’s pointing bombs at us and you’re telling meto calm down?” Rogers quietly questions. You look back toward the men, and even though he’s talking to Natasha, those famous blue eyes of his are still glued to you.
“Eyes on me, kid,” Stark calls to you, much gentler than either Natasha or Rogers.
It surprises you. ‘Gentle’ is, perhaps, the last word you’d think to use when it comes to Tony Stark. Though your hands have had to stay up and facing them, you’re able to focus on Stark once again, who shocks you once again when he meets your eyes without the mask this time.
“We just want to help you. I get that it’s hard to believe, I do. But—”
“It’s not just hard. It’s impossible,” you say without even thinking about it, “how the fuck am I supposed to believe that I have a choice in this?”
Because people all over the world have kind faces. They can train their voices to be soft. Friendly. Even inviting. Behaviors and desires are all too easy to read on another person. If the Avengers know everything about you, which is safe to assume they do, of course it would be simple to predict what could make you trust them enough to go with them.
You know this better than anyone.
Because someone read you nine years ago.
And they took you.
It’s then you decide.
“I—”
“Two messengers implies a choice in this. Maybe. I was actually starting to lean toward going with Natasha and Wanda before your little soda can of a suit caught the sunlight--”
“Hey, take it easy on the suit—"
“—I actually asked them if they would leave me alone if I said no to your little proposition,” you keep talking over him, “fully intending to decide right then and there based on what they said. Answers from questions like that can usually say a lot about a person. At least, that’s what I thought.”
Your body isn’t shaking as much. You pull steadiness from your growing conviction and certainty that nothing about this is right. You were right to be suspicious.
“Natasha promised me that she and Wanda would leave. That you all would leave. I would never have to hear from you again, not if I didn’t want to.”
“That’s still true, I promise—”
Ignoring Natasha’s impassioned pleas, you continue, “But you know what, Stark? You actually did me a favor with that little gaffe of yours.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that?”
Despite the very negative direction your conversation seems to be going, his face remains completely unbothered. Almost bored.
That does nothing more than piss you the fuck off.
So you stand up straight once again, refusing to let the house that has kept you safe take your weight any longer. Planting your feet into the wooden planks of the porch, you find that you’ve stopped shaking.
“Now I know that I never had that choice.”
Stark’s mask flies back down to cover his face. Natasha and Wanda drift backward to rejoin the bigger group. They know they didn’t convince you through words, now they plan to take you by force.
As if you were going to be taken again.
If they wanted to take you, they’d have to kill you first. You’d go down fighting before becoming a prisoner again.
Pressing your lips into a hard line, you raise your hands higher, ready to fight, and then—
“Hydra is coming for you.”
Another voice calls from the back of the group. Not as deep as Stark’s voice, or even Roger’s. It stops you in your tracks, makes the heat boiling up inside of you retreat for a moment. The flames get smaller, inside and out. But really…it’s the words that halt you.
Anger is hot, but dread…dread is ice cold.
With wide, terrified eyes, you slowly look over to the source of the voice. A man with cropped, dark brown hair has stepped forward. You can’t even focus on the details of his face, only his impossibly blue eyes as you try to comprehend what he’s just said.
A beat of silence passes, then two. You just stare at him, blinking every now and then, mouth agape with shock and fear. Your hands are still held high, still on fire, but the intensity of those flames isn’t what it was a few moments ago.
“What…what did you say?”
You feel as though you have to wrench the words from your mouth, and even still, they come out as a hoarse whisper. The strong tone you’d built up to has been completely destroyed with those words of his, the way he spoke your deepest fear out loud.
“Hydra is coming for you,” he says again.
You flinch as he finishes the last syllable, the flames on your fingers growing smaller by the second. Blinking rapidly, you take a few steps backward until your back is once again against the wall. You begin experiencing full body shakes, somehow even more violent than the ones before. The trembling makes holding your hands aloft even more difficult. Looking away from the man, you try to get your emotions under control before you spiral.
Because going with the Avengers is one thing.
Hydra forcing you back underground again…becoming their prisoner…their weapon…
You can’t.
You can’t.
White walls. Bright white light that never shuts off. Freezing, hard floors. Cold eyes watching you from the other side of the door. Piercing sounds that force you to clamp your hands over your ears as your head threatens to burst.
The man says your name, the once familiar sound being said so softly draws your attention again. Shaking your head, you try to ground yourself in the present moment. On him. He’s stepped a little closer to you than before, startling you. You lift your hands even higher and stretch them out toward him. The weak flames startle and terrify you. How could you ever hope to fight them like this?
As you try to focus on his figure, flashes pull at the edges of your vision. You shake your head again, a little more forcefully in an effort to keep the memories away.
Eyes shielded by a drugged induced haze loom above you, lacking any ounce of empathy or kindness.
“C’mon, sweetheart. Focus on me.”
You blink again in the much softer light of your home to find that the man has come closer to you. He looks at you, his eyes lacking the ice and emptiness of your captors, as he holsters his weapon and raises his gloved hands in the air.
“Stay back,” you whisper, flinching at his movements, which makes him stop in his tracks.
“I won’t hurt you,” he murmurs, talking as though he were speaking to a scared animal, “none of us will. But you need to come with us; we don’t know how long we have before they find you.”
Before they find you. Somehow you always knew they’d come. Doesn’t make it any easier.
And what if he’s lying? What if this is just another read on you?
“Why should I believe anything you say? How do I know you’re not just pulling something out of your ass to get me to cooperate?”
He looks disappointed that you’d think that, but…somehow not surprised. As though he knew exactly what you’d say before you said it. It doesn’t seem to shake him in the slightest.
“They’ve been tracking you, just like we have. We have no idea when they started, but it had to have been at least a couple of months after May 2014. That’s when you escaped, right?”
An image from that convenience store…the date on the newspaper…it flashes in your mind. You dip your head once in confirmation, remembering all too well the day you broke out despite your best efforts to forget.
“It would have taken them time to regroup, at least a few months, before they could use their resources. Even so, it took them less time than our team to get to almost the same place.”
“What do you mean?” You ask quietly, words coming before you could stop them, interrupting his concise explanation.
His face takes on an almost apologetic expression, empathy and remorse clear in his eyes, as if he knows what he says next is going to break you. You try to steel yourself, but deep down you know it’s in vain.
“Based on surveillance footage from the Denver Airport, we’ve identified two known Hydra operatives arriving yesterday. They were still staying in the city as of an hour ago.”
Denver. Denver is a mere four hours from here.
“Prove it.”
Because before you accept defeat, you have to know for certain. You have to be sure.
Natasha wordlessly pulls a smartphone from one of the pockets on her tactical suit. She taps a couple of times on it before walking a few steps closer. Bucky reaches back, still looking at you, and she hands it to him. Finally, he holds it out to you, angling it and zooming in so you can see.
The footage cycles through the same few seconds of the men walking through one of the terminals. Furrowing your brow, you try to place them in your mind. You can’t deny that they seem familiar; they elicit the same drop in your stomach you feel whenever something or someone associated with your captors pops into your head.
“If you swipe through, you’ll see close up images and a summary of the information we have on them,” Natasha adds, sensing that you need more to be convinced.
So the man swipes through, pausing for a moment on each image so you can absorb the information.
The close ups of their faces have a more visceral effect on you. It’s easier to see their eyes that way. All at once, it’s like you’re behind that impenetrable door again, thick glass obscuring all but the coldness in each expression that looks at you.
Flinching again, you scrunch your eyes tight at the surprise memory, as though you’re trying to recoil from the hurt they always brought. It’s enough for you, even without looking at the summarized information. As much as you wish it weren’t the case, your memories from the Prison are usually your clearest, no matter how hard you try to push them down.
Suddenly, the cold emptiness inside of you is all encompassing. The heat goes away in an instant. Your body grows numb to anything and everything around it. Your gaze drifts away from the man with the kind eyes, right to the horizon, eyes locking in to where the peaks meet open air. You try to stand up straighter, but your legs only fail you. Your knees hit the ground.
The fire in your hands goes out.
You should’ve known. You should’ve known your time under the sky was always numbered.
They spent countless resources and time making a weapon. You could never just walk away and never hear from them again, absolutely not.
“I know this is terrifying, but—”
“What are my options?”
“—but—huh?”
He was trying to calm you down again, likely not understanding you’ve gotten to the point of grim acceptance of the situation. Or at least pretending you have. Survival has been your goal for years; that doesn’t just go away.
“Lay it out for me,” you repeat, “what are my choices, here? Is it just the two? Go with you or wait for them?”
He didn’t beat around the bush before. That’s what you need now; someone telling it to you straight. You wish Natasha had just started with this information to begin with. It’s possible you didn’t give her much of a chance to get it out, but…god, if you’d known…
He pauses, looks at you for a moment, then asks, “What do you want?”
“You and I both know it’s not that simple.”
“You’re right, it’s not,” he agrees. He comes closer to you, but unlike before, you don’t feel threatened by it this time. Even less so when you think about how the others made you feel when they got too close. In fact, unless you actively consider them, it feels like the others aren’t even there.
It’s just you and him.
Familiar, somehow.
“So what’s it matter what I want?” You question as he kneels down to your level.
“It’s everything. That’s what you’ve fought for this whole time, yeah? The right to make your own choices?”
“If it’s between your team and…and them…it’s not much of a choice,” you choke out, the tears finally breaking past your lash line. You look away from him then, furiously brushing them away, embarrassed at showing that bit of weakness.
A beat of silence passes, then two.
“Nat,” he calls out, “how long could we give her?”
Your gaze shoots back to focus on him, shock momentarily crowding out the fear. He’s still focused on you even as he questions his teammate. Despite his intensity, you find you can’t look away.
“I’m not sure,” she answers quietly, coming forward a few paces as she looks between you and him, “we can try to plant a false trail, get them running in another direction. There’s just…there’s no guarantee they’ll follow it.”
He looks back at Natasha, the spell between you having broken for long enough for the meaning of their words to fully sink in.
You could…you could stay free?
“Enough time for her to get clear of Colorado? Erase any trace of her being here?”
“Maybe. We can try.”
He turns back to you, pulling you back into his gaze. A corner of his mouth pulls up in a sort of half smile.
“So, looks like you’ve got a choice to make.”
It seems impossible. A choice? After everything that’s just happened? A handful of very tense Avengers pointing their weapons at you?
But here he is. Looking at you so earnestly.
Trusting him seems stupid. It seems blind. You know what happens when you trust people; you end up a prisoner for five years.
…so why is he the one person you feel like you cantrust?
“Why?” The whispered question slips past your lips.
Sighing, he looks away for a second, then admits, “Because they had me too. They had me for seventy years.”
***
She stares back at him in shock as she processes his admission.
Despite Bucky’s growing discomfort as the silence stretches on, he finds he can’t look away from her. Her head tilts and her brows narrow slightly as she peers closer at his face, as if taking his features in for the first time. It seems as though panic had her so tightly that she didn’t truly see him before.
“Well, clearly you’re not 90 years old, so what’s the deal?” She asks, a sharp edge to her tone again.
“Being on ice for the better part of seven decades does wonders for your complexion,” he responds. Bucky fights to keep his face open and friendly, even while touching on the source of all his trauma.
He’d tried his best to stay out of the media since he became an Avenger, and it looks like he managed to do a good enough job so that she doesn’t immediately recognize him, even while keeping tabs on all of them.
Beyond her furrowed brow and clenched jaw, he sees a storm of questions brewing behind those eyes of hers. Probably a lot of the same questions he has for her since he learned she even existed. She probably won’t ask any now, not with the threat of Hydra so close to becoming a reality again. She needs to think, and she can’t do that if she’s trying to understand his experiences along with her own.
“Look, we both know Hydra is capable of way more than anyone ever thought possible. I can prove it to you another time, or you can do a little research on your own. Doesn’t change the fact that time is a luxury we don’t have,” he adds, trying to speed her along. They’d get a warning from Maria if the agents left Denver, even if they so much as walk down the street to get a burger. But if she decides to take her chances out there by herself, they’ll need every minute they can get to try and buy her time.
She arches a brow at him. He can see that she’s a little disgruntled at being rushed, but beyond that Bucky can see the ever-present fear that’s lingered on her features ever since he saw her for the first time. He recognizes it all too well, having seen it in his own reflection.
Bucky can also see the indecision, surprisingly enough. He thought she’d absolutely jump at the chance to stay on her own, especially with everything that just went to shit.
He wants her to come. That’s not a surprise to him, not in the slightest, but even he’s a little taken aback at the intensity of that want. It doesn’t take a genius to see just how badly she’s still hurting, even after all these years out on her own.
And for his own selfish reasons, there’s still so much he doesn’t understand about his time as the Soldier. If Bucky could finally talk to someone who truly appreciates what that was like, it might help. Maybe help both of them.
That, and…he can’t stand the idea of them hurting her again. If they could keep an eye on her, keep her behind the walls of Tony’s tech and superior security, it’d be so much easier to keep her safe.
“Tell you what, kid,” Tony speaks up, making them both jump with the suddenness of it, “take the night. Sleep on it.”
Bucky looks over his shoulder at the man, pleasantly surprised at the leeway he was willing to give her. Somehow understanding that this wasn’t easy for her, especially asking her to make such a big decision so soon. Despite not being sure how they could make this work, she needs this.
Steve’s shocked too, and Bucky can tell there’s a big dose of agitation growing right along with it.
“The night? Tony, you can’t be serious—”
“Nat and Wanda can stay with you, or we can just hang out in these trees over here like the creeps you know we are. Maybe both, like that fun little taco shell commercial. That little girl had a point. Either way, you won’t be unprotected.”
“We don’t have the time—”
Steve’s protests are cut off again as Wanda says, “Sure we do. We can make the time for her to do this. Besides, I’m sure she might have more questions. For us and for herself.”
Bucky turns back to find her expression morphing into surprise and confusion once again, eyes going wide with the hurricane force of feeling all those emotions at once. He hurts for her, understanding intimately how hard it is to believe people can be capable of doing kind things to help. Her eyes dart to meet his, and he can see the unspoken question swimming in them. He nods, just barely, but that seems to be enough for her. She nods back to him, gaze softening a little, just as Tony begins speaking again.
“Did you want to be left alone or would you feel better if someone stayed with you?”
Pressing her mouth into a thin line, she looks down at the wooden planks of the front porch. Her fingers, while thankfully not on fire anymore, dig into her palms as she tries to figure out what she wants.
It’s likely, now that Bucky thinks about it, everything about this situation is new for her. She probably hasn’t had this much social interaction at once, at least with people who know her background and real name, in a long time. Let alone the fact she’s being asked to make a lot of decisions at once, plus the looming threat of Hydra.
That’s a lot. Goddamn, is that a lot.
He’s about to say something, volunteer, when Natasha and Wanda slightly step forward again. She looks up at their movements, but her expression doesn’t hold the same aggression it did just a few minutes ago. Their efforts to make this happen for her didn’t go unnoticed.
“Got a couch we can crash on? Maybe a rug or something?” Nat asks, slightly smiling at her.
“We don’t have to stay with you, and you can always change your mind while we’re there,” Wanda adds quietly, “but…we can tell you about life at the compound. Maybe tell you how we ended up here, your options.”
Bucky feels a pleasant warmth fill his chest as he takes in how kind they’re being. With how everything just went, with how scary they saw her get, her sheer amount of power…they didn’t have to. They could’ve called it. Steve wanted to call it.
“I…um…”
Bucky turns around as she tries to get her words together. Her nails are still digging into her palm, and he has the very un-Bucky like urge to reach toward her and unfurl those tiny fingers of hers.
He’s a little taken aback by that. He hasn’t willingly initiated physical contact with a stranger since…god, it would have to be the 40s.
This is different. New. She’s different.
“I don’t sleep well,” she admits, still avoiding eye contact, “or very quietly.”
“Sounds familiar,” he says before he can stop himself, laughing dryly.
“Me too,” Nat adds with a smile in her direction.
“Kid, every single person on this team has had a nightmare once or twice. We’re screamers, and not in the fun way—"
“—Jesus fuck Tony—”
“—so you’ll fit right in. If you decide to come, that is.”
“Oh. Uh, okay. Then,” she looks at Wanda and Nat, “I definitely have a couch. Or a rug. Or blankets, if you decide you like warmth.”
Tony claps his hands, ready to set everything in motion. Bucky is absolutely thrilled when he notices that Firebug’s jump is a little smaller this time around with the loud noise. He’ll have to talk to Tony about keeping that to a minimum, at least until she feels more comfortable.
If she chooses to come with them.
He hopes she does. More than anything.
“Alrighty. Now that that’s finally decided, ladies, go grab your shit from my jet. If I have to bunk with these bitches, I need all the room I can get. I’m a stretcher.”
As he continues to issue orders, Bucky stands up. She looks over to him with his movement, and, on a whim, he extends his hand to her to help her to her feet. Though she looks surprised by the gesture, she reaches up and slides her small hand into his.
Small. Dry. Warm. Those three words shout in his mind as he easily pulls her up. Even when they’re both on their feet again, her eyes stay locked on his, even as everyone starts moving around them. She could’ve pulled her hand away by now, but she hasn’t. Bucky doesn’t want her to.
“You never told me your name,” she finally says.
Bucky’s taken aback. Really? This whole time? He never said?
“Well shit, sorry about that,” he says with a breathy laugh.
“You know mine already, only fair if you tell me yours,” she adds. Bucky’s still extremely aware of her hand still enclosed in his.
“Bucky. My name’s Bucky.”
***
Steve lingers near the porch, watching the girl as she exchanges a few words with Tony. She’s gotten a little friendlier since their first interaction, but something about her sets Steve on edge.
She’s jittery.
Scared.
Combative.
Unpredictable.
Steve doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it in the slightest.
He and a few others have been waiting by the house while Wanda and Natasha gather their things for this impromptu “sleepover” they’re doing. Nothing like sending two of his teammates in a bomb’s cabin to spend the night, that’s for sure.
Let alone the fact that he’s in love with one of them.
Steve heaves out a harsh breath, pacing in the shadows of the cabin as they wait. He knows the girl can see him, maybe even feel his restless energy as he moves. Her eyes flit over to him every now and then, and he can feel her tension rise when they do, but he can’t help it.
He doesn’t trust her.
It’s not her fault she is the way she is. Logically, he knows that. He’s spent more time pouring over the files and her history than almost anyone else on the team. It makes even more sense now that he’s met her. Even so, he couldn’t contain his reactive aggression to her fear. No matter how hard he tried.
Tony had kept him back with the cabin group rather than go with Nat and Wanda. Steve grated against that, but he has to admit, it was probably good if he cooled down a bit before talking to Nat.
Because he had to at least tell her about his reservations, right?
“All this time, and you still can’t learn to pay attention to your surroundings,” Nat’s voice sounded from behind him, jolting him from his hurried thoughts and frantic movements.
Rather than scare him, her tone only serves to soothe him, pulling a small grin from him as he turns to see her leaning against a tree. Her red hair glows in the dying light of the sun as she grins at him. Looking around, Steve sees that Wanda has already gone ahead, going toward the cabin with Bucky and some of the others a little ways away.
“The biggest threat is over there,” he quips, angling his head toward where the girl and Tony were still talking.
“Nah, she’s fine,” Natasha murmurs as she strolls over to stand next to him, close enough that her arm brushes his. The heat of it sears Steve through his suit, and it’s all he can do not to lean into it.
“Is she, though?” He asks, unable to tear his mind away from what he perceives as a damn big threat.
“I think so. Don’t you trust me?”
Nat turns her sharp green eyes on him. He can feel them piercing the side of his face, but he doesn’t look toward her, not yet. Just keeps his eyes on the girl.
“Of course I do. It’s her I don’t trust,” Steve admits with a sigh.
Natasha releases her own sigh, and he can feel the exasperation in it. At him.
“C’mon, Steve—”
“You’re really telling me I don’t have reason to feel nervous about this? After the encounter we all just had with her? After she almost started tossing fireballs at our heads?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Nat retorts, tossing her braid over her shoulder, “we’ve been looking at her case for years now. After everything she’s been through, this kind of outcome was more than expected. She’s not going to trust us right away, you know. It was never going to be easy. We’re lucky she’s even considering it.”
“I know that, but—”
“Do you, Steve? Do you really? Because you certainly didn’t give her any reason to trust us, not with your ‘I’m Captain America’ voice trying to cut her into submission.”
“That’s not fair, Natasha—”
“Oh don’t you Natasha me,” she shoots back, and he can’t help but turn and face her now, “this is the best result we could’ve hoped for, especially with how badly everything went. You can’t expect her to just come with us, not without resistance. Not with everything she’s gone through.”
“We’re not Hydra! C’mon, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”
“Maybe from where you’re standing. We’re strangers to her. We found her based on her power, and that’s the only reason we’re here in the first place. Her history tells her we’re a threat.”
Steve’s silent for a minute, clenching his jaw as he looks at her, trying desperately to find the words to explain. He’s not so cold as to completely disregard her experiences and her trauma; he knows her reaction was fair. He had known going in that he should expect some sort of hostility. Doesn’t change the fact that he can’t turn off his fierce protectiveness over his team, over Natasha, in the face of someone as dangerous as her.
“I don’t want you in there with her,” he finally grounds out, and Nat’s eyes go hard as flint. It was the wrong thing to say, and he instantly knows it.
“What? Think I can’t handle myself, Rogers? Hate to break it to you, but this is my job. We didn’t track her for four years, go through all of this to help her, just to give her an ultimatum and then fight her if she chooses something different. Just like you said; We’re not Hydra.”
“You don’t have to sleep at her house, for fuck’s sake,” he says, feeling defensive at her comparison to his decades long adversary.
“If it helps make this decision easier for her, then I’ll absolutely do it. Happily. She’s bound to have questions, not to mention more than a few reservations. I’m not about to send Wanda in by herself, and we both know Firebug wouldn’t be comfortable with any of you taking my place.”
“Her name is Y/n. She’s a stranger, just like we are to her.”
Natasha tips her head back as she lets out a huff. Steve can see her roll her eyes as she lets out a humorless chuckle, getting ready to walk away angry for the night.
“Fine, have it your way. Y/n needs us to give her a chance. I don’t know what your deal is, but you need to use tonight to figure your shit out. I’m not about to let you intimidate her away from the possibility of a better life.”
She rolls her shoulders back. Just as she’s about to step out from the shelter of the trees, Steve can’t stop himself as he reaches for her delicate hand. He holds it softly, allowing her every opportunity to keep going if she doesn’t want to do this right now. She’ll always have a choice with him; no amount of fighting is going to change that.
Steve’s slightly shocked as her hand remains resting in his. She stayed.
“I’m sorry,” he offers simply. No excuses, nothing. Just his apology.
Silence fills the air for a minute. Then two. All the while, crickets begin chirping around them in the growing shadows. The girl is looking around, probably growing suspicious the longer he and Natasha remain absent.
“I know,” Natasha murmurs, turning back around to face him, her face far softer than it had been moments ago. She laces their fingers together.
“I just…so much could happen. I just don’t know if this is the right move anymore. There are so many ways this could go wrong, and we’re—I’m—not even there to help if she loses control, or if Hydra shows up unexpected—”
“Steve,” Nat interrupts with the gentle curve of her lips, her other hand reaching up to brush through his hair, “you’ve gotta trust Y/n on this. She’s trusting us, it’s the least we can do in return.”
“I don’t know her, there’s no way—”
“Trust Wanda, then. Trust me.”
She doesn’t push him to respond, just continues to affectionately run her fingers through his hair in a way that makes him want to melt. Steve thinks, and really thinks. He actively avoids looking at Natasha, because one look at the woman he loves, and he’s gone. He needs to make sure he’s making a decision he can live with.
“We can’t let Hydra get her,” Natasha finally whispers, and it’s then Steve looks into her imploring features, “if they catch her again, she’ll be a prisoner for the rest of her life. They’ll use her until she breaks. And she will break, Steve.”
The word ‘break’ catches him off guard, though it really shouldn’t. He’s all too familiar with what long-term captivity and torture does to a person. It happened to his best friend.
Steve looks over Natasha’s head toward Bucky, who’s a little ways off to the side as Wanda, Tony, and Y/n chat idly as they wait. It’s impossible to miss the way he’s watching her, like she means something to him, though he just met her. It’s also hard not to notice the way her body is angled toward Bucky, like he…
Like he makes her feel safe.
Like Natasha makes Steve feel.
It’s that realization that makes him slump his shoulders in defeat, bringing Nat’s hand up to his mouth for a brief kiss to her knuckles. A rare show of just how much he cares about her.
“You be careful, you hear me?” Steve mumbles as he pulls her to him in a tight embrace.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll call you in a few hours and read you a bedtime story,” she laughs into his chest.
Steve rolls his eyes, but kisses the top of her head anyway. It’s been nearly four years since he realized just how bad he had it for Natasha, just a little after they started tracking Y/n. He hasn’t said anything since then, and neither had she.
Doesn’t change the fact that he can’t lose her.
He looks over to Y/n again, trying to reconcile her youthful features with the unrestrained and untested power she holds in her small hands. It’d be harder to do if he hadn’t seen just how far she was willing to go to stay in her own version of freedom, who she was willing to hurt to keep it.
It’s in that moment that Steve resolves to stop at nothing to take her down if she so much at hints at being a threat to his family. To Bucky. To Natasha.
