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kaynothanks · 1 month

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On His Collar | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Wilson!Reader

Warnings: bucky’s one jealous boi, lil bit of violence, no smut which (for me) really is surprising, smooching, being caught

Summary: Bucky can't keep his hands off you and your brother notices

Word-Count: 12.3K

With a nervous gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you were only half-aware of your leg's relentless fidgeting. Your eyes remained affixed to the world beyond the car window, the landscape blurring as the vehicle, courtesy of Zemo's orchestration, sped on. Vague details of the city drawing closer had filtered through to you via documents and whispers; the scant knowledge of its shadowy dealings enough to stir an unsettling churn within your chest. From a distance, Madripoor was breathtaking, its myriad lights flickering through the rain's swift descent, captured momentarily on the glass before you.

This fleeting illumination conjured memories of a night several months prior, when a call in the deep, silent hours had pierced your tranquility. Urged by his voice, laced with an unspoken desperation, you hadn't hesitated. Your car had cut through the sleeping city of New York, a beacon in the dark, drawn to alleviate his turmoil. The lights of that night, though bearing a resemblance to the ones now stretched before you, held a beauty tinged with a personal touch, perhaps making them appear even more enchanting.

You released a breath tinged with anxiety, your fingers idly tracing the edge of the scant dress that, for reasons unknown, Zemo had at his disposal. The material, with its thinness and the overlay of silver glitter, chafed against your skin, a constant reminder of its presence. However, the knowledge of Zemo's opulent wealth lent you the perspective that this barely-there garment might indeed possess a value surpassing the collective worth of your entire wardrobe.

"You good?" came your brother's voice, close enough to stir the air by your ear, pulling your attention sharply towards him.

For a fleeting moment, you found yourself studying him, ensnared in your own whirlpool of anxiety. The furrow of worry etching deep between his brows sent a sharp pang through your heart. Witnessing this, a desperate plea bubbled within you, a silent yearning for him to cease his endless vigil over you—to halt his attempts at shielding you from every conceivable harm, to stop viewing you through the lens of perpetual childhood, to simply cease the worry that seemed to etch itself into his very being. The thought of being the source of such profound distress, such tangible sorrow for him, was more than you could bear. Heaven knows, the troubles you'd landed yourself in, the predicaments from which he'd extricated you time and again, were countless, far beyond what your fingers could tally.

Sam was the epitome of the brother everyone should be blessed with. From the tender years of your childhood, he had been the figure you looked up to, the beacon that guided many of the choices that had shaped your life. And in the wake of your father's passing, his protective instincts didn't just increase; they surged, enveloping you in a steadfast, unwavering care. He was your rock, your constant, in a world that seemed all too ready to shift beneath your feet. Always there, without fail.

Your decisions often found themselves at odds with his views, sparking debates that seemed as endless as they were passionate. A vivid memory that stood out was when you announced your intention to follow in his footsteps and join the Marines. What ensued was a marathon two-hour discourse, laden with reasons he believed painted a vivid picture of why the military was a mismatch for someone like you. You had absorbed every word, every concern, yet your resolve had remained unshaken. In hindsight, the wisdom woven into his admonitions might have merited deeper consideration, a realization that dawned on you with greater clarity once you found yourself deployed to the turbulent south.

It was there, amidst the chaos and the distance from home, that you began to truly comprehend the depth of Sam's anxiety for your well-being—a sentiment that became reciprocal as concern for your family gnawed at you. Sarah, battling to keep the family business afloat while nurturing two young boys in Sam's absence, became a focal point of your worries. Meanwhile, Sam's life, veiled in the secrecy of countless missions, left a chasm between your shared experiences. Often, he returned with stories he couldn't share, silences that spoke louder than words, deepening your understanding of the burdens he carried and the protective shield he tried to extend over you from miles away.

Had you heeded his words, the tapestry of your life might have been woven with different threads, perhaps even brighter hues. Imagine a reality where you had chosen to stand by Sarah's side, absorbing the tranquility of domestic life rather than the chaos of battle. In that alternate existence, your path would never have intersected with the harrowing battlefield against Thanos. Your presence in the thick of that fight was nothing short of serendipitous, a stark coincidence born from a casual visit to him just as the alarm bells of invasion clanged their ominous toll.

The details of your unexpected journey to Wakanda are shrouded in the mists of adrenaline-fueled urgency, a memory blurred at the edges by the sheer intensity of facing an extraterrestrial threat for the first time. It was an initiation by fire into a reality far removed from anything you had ever known or imagined.

Yet, amidst the whirlwind of chaos and the blur of combat, one memory stands etched with crystal clarity—the visceral sensation of teetering on the brink of oblivion. The cold brush with death is an experience that lingers, a stark reminder of mortality that paints every moment with a sharper contrast, a memory that forever shapes your understanding of life, resilience, and the fragility of existence.

You had weathered the storms of human conflict, battles steeped in the folly and hubris of mankind, but never before had you faced a legion from beyond the stars, intent on culling half of all life in the universe. In the shadow of such an unfathomable threat, your own mortality had seemed inconsequential, dwarfed by the incalculable lives teetering on the edge of annihilation. Driven by a newfound recklessness, a fiery resolve to make a difference, you had abandoned the post Sam had painstakingly chosen for you. You had forsaken safety, charging headlong towards Thanos, the architect of doom.

To him, you were but a speck, a mere human too insignificant to warrant attention, and he had dismissed you with the ease of one swatting away an irritating fly. Yet, with your firearm spent, desperation had lent you audacity. You had launched yourself onto his colossal frame, a knife clutched in your fist, the last vestige of your defiance. You were acutely aware of the invincibility that his skin professed, an armor no earthly might had pierced with lasting effect. But ambition—or perhaps the raw edge of survival—drove you to attempt the impossible: to excise one of the gleaming Infinity Stones from its gauntlet perch.

And in that breathless moment, as your blade kissed the surface of the gauntlet, Thanos's fingers curled into a fateful snap.

The universe hung in the balance, suspended on the cusp of his action and your audacious defiance. Time itself seemed to stand still, awaiting the outcome of a confrontation that had spiraled far beyond the realms of imagination.

When consciousness reclaimed you, five years had vanished into the ether, and you awoke to a world that had moved on without you. The sight that greeted you was your own veins, pulsating with an uncanny luminescence, casting a ghostly glow over the skin they webbed. Your body, once a familiar vessel, now refused the basic command to rise, leaving you sprawled and powerless on the ground. If only you had heeded Sam's directive, you mused bitterly, you might have remained untouched by this curse, spared the constant, gnawing anxiety that now made a den in your heart. Fear had become your unwelcome shadow, looming over you with endless "what ifs." The thought of unintentionally unleashing harm, of your very essence becoming a cataclysmic force capable of leveling cities, was a nightmare that played on an endless loop in your mind.

Through it all, Sam had been your anchor in the tempest, steadfast even as you spiraled into a mire of self-distrust. For three agonizing months, he had nursed you through the turmoil of accepting this altered existence, an existence marked by an estrangement from your own being. Comfort in your own skin had become a foreign concept, an elusive state that you feared might elude you indefinitely. Nowadays, every flicker of your fingers was accompanied by a torrent of anxiety, a silent battle waged between mind and heart. With each throb of your pulse, a cacophony of fears whispered the possibility of harming the one constant in your life—your brother. This new reality was a labyrinth with no visible exit, a path you tread with trepidation, haunted by the potential havoc you could wreak with a mere gesture, a thought, a slip of control.

You took a deep breath, your fingers nervously adjusting the sleek black leather gloves that now served as a barrier between your touch and the world, a precaution against the inadvertent destruction your mere contact could cause. For a fleeting moment, your gaze drifted to him, taking in the precise way his ebony locks were coifed, a style so meticulously arranged atop his head. The shortness of his hair, a detail so starkly different from before, still felt alien to your eyes. Catching his gaze already fixed on you, a silent exchange that spoke volumes, you redirected your attention back to your brother, mustering a smile tinged with awkwardness. "Of course. Stop worrying," you whispered, attempting to lace your voice with reassurance, even as your heart wrestled with its own tempest of concerns.

"I'm your big brother," he reminded you, his tone carrying a hint of playfulness as if introducing a fact that might have somehow slipped your mind. "That's my job," he added, a declaration of his unwavering role in your life.

Gotta be a real thankless job, you mused silently, the thought echoing wryly within the confines of your mind. "How haven't I fired you yet?" you quipped back, a teasing lilt in your voice as you nudged him gently with your elbow, inviting a moment of light-hearted banter between the gravity of your shared experiences.

His response was an exaggerated gasp, a playful act that drew a slight, amused smile across your face. Without missing a beat, he turned to the conspicuously silent super-soldier beside him. "Ey, Bucky," he called out, seemingly plucking his next words from thin air with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Did I tell you about that one time, when Y/n was seven and she peed—"

"Oh my god, Sam, stop!" The words flew from your lips as you reached out to silence him, your hand slapping his shoulder before trying to cover his mouth, a futile attempt to stem the flow of embarrassing tales. Your cheeks flushed with a warmth that radiated from the deep-seated embarrassment of the memory, vivid as if it had happened just yesterday, rather than years ago.

"I apologize for interrupting your camaraderie," Zemo's voice, laced with a hint of formality, cut through the air from the front seat. His eyes found yours in the rearview mirror, carrying a mix of apology and inevitability. "Unfortunately, my driver can proceed no further."

Zemo was the first to emerge from the vehicle, setting the tone for a swift exit. Sam was quick on his heels, nearly leaping from the car at the sight of Bucky preparing to disembark. The super-soldier merely rolled his eyes at the urgency, a silent testament to his annoyance, before he too followed suit, stepping into the open air.

Left alone for a brief moment, you lingered in the cocoon of the car's interior, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. The unease knotted in your stomach, a familiar harbinger of doom, seemed to grip tighter with each passing second. Yet, as you prepared to step out into the uncertain world beyond the car's confines, a flicker of hope dared to whisper through your thoughts. Perhaps, just this once, the ominous premonition that twisted your insides would prove false. Maybe, after a stretch of relentless storms, a moment of calm awaited you. With that fragile hope cradled in your chest, you ventured forth, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Navigating the bustling streets of the city, your senses were on high alert, eyes darting left and right in a mix of wariness and awe. Every sound, every blur of movement was cataloged, an overwhelming flood of stimuli as you endeavored to absorb the essence of the place. Ahead of you, the three men moved with a purposeful stride, seemingly indifferent to the sensory overload that ensnared you. Or so it appeared, until a momentary glance to the side caught Bucky mid-observation, his head subtly angled in your direction. The instant he realized he'd been noticed, his gaze snapped forward, a silent admission of his watchfulness.

A small, knowing smile played on your lips as you continued your exploration, your attention now on the eclectic mix of individuals that populated the streets. Their attire was a vivid tapestry of the city's culture and complexity, each person a unique thread woven into the larger fabric. In this context, Zemo's insistence on changing your clothing became crystal clear. Clad in your usual cargo pants and top, you would have stood out starkly, a beacon of foreignness in this richly diverse crowd. It would have been akin to parading around with a neon sign branded "idiot," announcing your outsider status to every discerning eye. His foresight, though begrudgingly acknowledged, spared you that unwitting declaration of naivety.

In the mosaic of your life, Bucky Barnes occupied a space that was both vivid and complex, interwoven with threads of intimacy and shared secrets, away from the prying eyes of your overprotective brother, Sam. Your connection with Bucky had evolved, nurtured by the clandestine moments and deep conversations that unfolded in the quiet corners of New York's bustling cityscape.

It began with chance encounters, two souls adrift in the vastness of the city, finding solace in the understanding gaze of the other. These meetings grew in frequency and depth, transitioning from fleeting to intentional, as you both sought the comfort and understanding that seemed to elude you elsewhere. The shared experience of navigating a world that often felt too constricting, too demanding, became the foundation of your bond.

Your relationship with Bucky was a tapestry of silent understandings and whispered confidences. There were evenings spent in his modest apartment, where the glow of the city lights barely filtered through the curtains, casting the room in a soft luminescence. Here, amidst the shadows, you shared parts of yourselves that had been carefully guarded from the rest of the world. Bucky, with his guarded heart and weary eyes, found in you a kindred spirit, someone who could see beyond the Winter Soldier to the man who was still standing beneath.

These moments of vulnerability were your secret, a world built for two, where words were often unnecessary. You had memorized the layout of his apartment, the contents of each cupboard and drawer, not through any explicit intention but through the natural intimacy that comes from shared spaces and shared silences. It was in the way you could wordlessly hand him a glass of water from his kitchen without having to ask where he kept his glasses, or how the two of you could sit in comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts yet together.

Yet, this closeness was kept hidden, a chapter of your life unread by Sam. Not out of deceit but from a desire to protect this fragile connection from external judgments or expectations. With Sam's protective instincts, your relationship with Bucky was a delicate balance, a treasure trove of moments and memories that you both guarded fiercely.

The complexity of your relationship with Bucky was not defined by labels or expectations but by the depth of connection and mutual understanding. It was a testament to the fact that sometimes, the most profound relationships are those that exist in the spaces between words, in the comfort of silence, and in the shared experiences of two souls navigating the world side by side.

The inexplicable flutter in your heart whenever Bucky was near often left you questioning your own sanity, yet there was something undeniably captivating about the way he made you feel. The warmth that crept into your cheeks as you reminisced about a lazy afternoon spent in the park was a testament to this. It was a simple moment, really—Bucky's admission of his aversion to text messaging because he preferred the sound of your voice had somehow managed to send your heart into a delightful somersault. In that instant, you understood the unspoken pact between you two: to keep the depth of your connection hidden from your brother.

This secret camaraderie you shared with Bucky was treasured quietly, a series of moments and feelings kept just between the two of you. Bucky, too, found solace in your presence. The way you looked at him, with eyes filled with genuine affection and understanding, offered him a tranquility he had long thought was beyond his grasp. Your smile was like a beacon to him, urging him to open up about his past, his fears, and his dreams, despite the darkness that shadowed much of his history. Yet, of all the things that drew him closer, it was your laughter that he cherished most.

Your laughter wasn't restrained or demure; it was the kind that bubbled up from deep within, unfiltered and infectious. Those moments when you would laugh so heartily, throwing your head back without a care in the world, were the ones that Bucky held dear. It was in these bursts of genuine joy that he saw the lightness of being, a stark contrast to the battles and burdens he carried. Your laughter, free and unabashed, symbolized a purity of happiness that Bucky admired. It reminded him that amidst the complexities of life, there existed simple, unguarded moments of joy worth cherishing.

In the twilight of Bucky's life, where happiness seemed more a memory than a possibility, the moments he shared with you illuminated his world with an unexpected joy. Time and again, he teetered on the brink of asking you to intertwine your lives officially, to step beyond the unspoken boundaries of your secret affinity and declare it openly. Yet, each time the words perched on the edge of his tongue, ready to leap into the abyss of possibilities, the thought of Sam cast a long shadow over his resolve.

Sam, the steadfast pillar of your family, was a friend to Bucky in every sense except in name, for their camaraderie was too complex and layered for simple labels. Bucky was acutely aware of the fierce love Sam harbored for you, a protective and encompassing love that was both admirable and intimidating. He knew of the cherished photograph Sam carried in his wallet—a tangible reminder of the bond shared between you, your sister, and his beloved nephews, a snapshot of the life Sam fought so valiantly to protect.

And it was the thought of Sam, with his unwavering loyalty and brotherly love, that stayed Bucky's confession. He was painfully aware of the turmoil that would ensue should Sam discover the depth of his feelings for you. Bucky could almost feel the weight of Sam's betrayal and anger, for in his heart, he knew that his affection for you crossed lines that Sam might never forgive. This tension, this fear of fracturing the fragile truce they had built, kept Bucky silent, trapped in a limbo of longing and loyalty, where his desire to claim your heart battled with his respect for the brother who would view such a confession as the ultimate treachery.

As Zemo led the way, weaving through a throng of onlookers whose eyes darted with a mix of curiosity and caution, the air buzzed with hushed whispers that all seemed to echo the same question: "Is that the Winter Soldier?" Yet, if only they could see beyond the infamy and the scars of war, they'd find Bucky. This was the same Bucky who had once called you in a panic, deep into the night, baffled by the modern conundrum of ordering a television online. The same Bucky who shared with you his playlist of favorite songs, tunes you never expected to enjoy, yet found yourself playing on repeat. And this was the Bucky who, in an earnest attempt to teach you to dance, ended up with you standing on his feet, both of you moving in a clumsy but heartwarming harmony across the floor.

Arriving at the bar, you edged closer to Zemo and Bucky, the latter noticing your approach and subtly shifting to grant you more space. "Good evening," greeted the bartender with a nod towards Sam, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger."

The effort to suppress a grin was Herculean as the nickname filled the air. Your brother, Sam, for all his bravery and skill, was many things, but a master thespian he was not. Tonight, he was to embody Conrad Mack, or "Smiling Tiger," a persona draped in notoriety and whispered about in the darkest corners of the criminal underworld. Knowing Sam's theatrical limits, the anticipation of watching him navigate the guise of an African gangster tinged your apprehension with a thread of amusement, painting the night ahead with the promise of unforgettable moments.

"Plans have shifted," Zemo interjected smoothly, answering on behalf of Sam, who tightened his lips in an attempt at solemnity. The sight was almost comical; Sam's expression ventured into the realms of absurdity. "We have business with Selby tonight."

A cloak of skepticism draped over the bartender's demeanor, his eyes—a mix of inquiry and caution—peered from behind the substantial frames of his glasses. His visage, half-obscured by a beard, seemed out of place in this den of shadows and whispered secrets. One could easily mistake him for a tech wizard from the polished corridors of Stark Industries rather than a keeper of this clandestine establishment.

"The usual, then?" the bartender queried. Sam, lips still tightly sealed, offered a single, determined nod, his posture shifting slightly with unease. With practiced ease, the bartender turned to retrieve a jar housing a deceased equatorial spitting cobra, laying it out with a certain reverence on the cutting board before you. He wielded a knife, expertly slicing the serpent open to extract its heart. This he placed in a shot glass, to which he added a dash of Triple sec, a measure of gin, and a squeeze of finger lime, concocting a drink that teetered on the edge of the exotic and the macabre. Sliding the glass towards Sam, the air was momentarily thick with anticipation.

"Ahh," Zemo exhaled, a chuckle threatening to breach his composure. "The Smiling Tiger, your favorite." The room hung in a momentary suspense, the bizarre ritual highlighting the lengths to which one might go to blend into the shadows of this underworld.

As you reluctantly redirected your attention away from the unsavory scene, your eyes found solace in Bucky's gaze. The moment of eye contact with the super-soldier was like a silent pact, conveying volumes in the briefest exchange. “I think the next part’s worth watching.” His suggestion was delivered in a hush, his voice a soft, enticing caress against the delicate skin of your neck, sparking a cascade of warmth that pooled in the pit of your stomach. You darted a quick look around, half-expecting the assembled throng to notice this intimate exchange. Yet, their attention remained steadfastly on the notorious figure of the Winter Soldier, allowing you a sliver of privacy in the crowded space.

Turning back towards your brother, you endeavored to steady your racing heart, to cloak the fluttering butterflies that Bucky's nearness had unfurled within you. But it was akin to trying to calm a storm with whispered words; Bucky's heat enveloped you, a comforting yet unnerving presence. Then, almost imperceptibly, he edged closer, a mere shift that breached the scant distance between you. His chest hovered just shy of touching your back, a whisper of contact that electrified your senses.

Your body responded before your mind could catch up, muscles tensing, heart thundering against your ribcage as if seeking escape. The air seemed to thicken, each breath a labor through the heightened tension that his proximity wrought. The warmth from his body seeped through the fabric of your clothes, branding your skin with a heat that was both foreign and intoxicating. A shiver coursed through you, unbidden, as you fought the urge to lean back into him, to seek solace in the strength of his embrace. His presence, so close and yet so restrained, left you teetering on the edge of something profound, a precipice overlooking a maelstrom of uncharted emotions and desires.

The atmosphere in the dimly lit, cramped space was charged with an uneasy anticipation as Sam steeled himself to down the concoction before him – the alcohol mingling with the snake's heart in a display of grit and resolve. Standing beside him, you could almost taste the bile rising in your own throat at the thought, empathy for Sam's predicament tangling with your own visceral reaction. It was in this moment of vicarious revulsion that you felt it—a touch so light, so fleeting on your arm that it could have been mistaken for a trick of the air, save for the deep, intrinsic knowledge that it was Bucky. His touch, though minimal, carried with it a warmth and a reassurance that seemed to cut through the tension of the moment, grounding you.

This gentle caress, lost to anyone else's perception, was like a beacon to your heightened senses, which seemed to come alive with a fervor that only Bucky's presence could ignite. It was a silent communication, a shared moment amidst the chaos, confirming that his attention was riveted not on the grotesque spectacle unfolding with your brother but on you. And then, without need for visual confirmation, you sensed the subtle shift in his posture, the lean of his body just close enough for you to catch the light inhale as he discreetly breathed in the scent of your hair. The intimacy of the action, hidden in plain sight, had your eyelids fluttering close, teetering on the edge of surrender to the sensation.

But the moment was shattered by the intrusion of a new, deep voice, unfamiliar and brusque, pulling Bucky's gaze away from you for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The voice belonged to a tattooed biker who had sidled up beside Zemo, breaking the spell that had cocooned you and Bucky in your private world. Yet, even as Bucky's eyes momentarily flicked to the newcomer, assessing and then dismissing him as a threat, his hand lingered on your arm, a silent vow of protection and an unwillingness to completely sever the thread of connection between you.

When the biker had disappeared back into the throng of the bar's patrons, Bucky's voice, low and resonant, brushed your cheek, "A Power Broker, really?" His breath was a warm caress, a contrast to the cool air of the bar and the cold reality of their mission.

Zemo's response was a shrug, nonchalant yet laden with the weight of their precarious position within this den of intrigue and danger. "Every kingdom needs its king. Let's just pray we stay under his radar." The words were a stark reminder of the peril that shadowed their every step, yet, for a fleeting moment, the only truth that seemed to matter was the connection between you and Bucky, a silent acknowledgment of a bond that thrived even in the heart of danger.

As your brother subtly leaned in, distancing himself from the ears of the surrounding strangers, his voice carried a note of quiet inquiry, "Do you know him?" His gaze was sharp, the weight of leadership and concern pressing upon his features, a look you knew all too well.

Zemo, ever the enigmatic figure, glanced briefly over his shoulder, his gaze sweeping across the teeming masses of Madripoor's underworld. "Only by reputation," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of wariness. He continued, his tone lowering to match the gravity of his words, "He is judge, jury, and executioner in Madripoor." The way Zemo articulated the roles imbued them with a sense of dread, painting a picture of a figure wielding absolute power over life and death in this lawless land.

As Sam prepared to step back, blending once more into the crowded backdrop of the bar, his gaze inadvertently fell upon Bucky's hand, a subtle yet intimate gesture resting gently on your arm. The silent question was evident in the arch of his brow, a wordless probe into the nature of the connection he had just witnessed. Despite the many shared battles and secrets between you, this particular nuance of your relationship with Bucky remained veiled from Sam's knowledge. He knew of the camaraderie, the shared jokes, and the mutual respect; what he had yet to grasp was the depth that lay beneath those surface interactions.

Caught under the weight of your brother's scrutiny, you felt a compelling urge to divert, to shield the budding complexity of your relationship with Bucky from any further inquiry. With a practiced nonchalance, you reached for the glass that had mysteriously found its way before you—its contents unknown but suddenly invaluable as a means of distraction. The glass felt cool against your fingertips, a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through your chest, fueled by Bucky's proximity and the intensity of your brother's gaze.

Without granting Sam the acknowledgment he sought, you lifted the glass, the liquid inside catching the dim light of the bar in a fleeting dance of shadows. With a resolve born of necessity, you downed the contents in one swift motion, the liquid tracing a burning path down your throat, a physical manifestation of the turmoil swirling within. In that moment, the intricacies of your heart's desires, the silent yearnings, and the whispered dreams shared in the quiet with Bucky were drowned in the sharp bite of the drink. There was no love life to dissect, you reasoned, at least not one that could be neatly explained or openly acknowledged under the watchful eyes of your brother. This was a complexity you were not yet ready to unravel, preferring instead the sanctity of ambiguity and the solace found in the unspoken.

From the periphery of your vision, the subtle yet unmistakable shift of the crowd's focus toward your group sent a ripple of tension through the air. Zemo, breaking the mounting silence, uttered something in Russian, his voice a sharp command that instantly put Bucky, who loomed protectively behind you, on high alert. Your grasp of Russian might have been rudimentary at best, but the gravity carried by the word "attack" pierced through any language barrier, sending a shiver down your spine. Your gaze darted anxiously between Bucky and Zemo, then to the increasingly hostile encirclement of men.

In a moment driven by instinct more than thought, your hand found Bucky's arm, a silent plea for restraint, an acknowledgment of the heavy burdens he bore and the battles you wished he wouldn't have to fight again. Yet, as the hand of an adversary reached for Zemo, intent on aggression, Bucky's protective instincts overrode any hesitations. The mission's success, the preservation of your collective guise, demanded action.

With a fluidity born of countless battles, Bucky intercepted the stranger's hand, wrenching it into a grim contortion of pain before hoisting him by the collar. The air was punctuated by the thud of the man's body crashing to the ground, a clear signal to the onlookers who, rather than stepping in, recoiled to the safety of the crowd's edges. Their initial shock quickly gave way to the modern reflex of capturing chaos on their smartphones, eager to document the return of the Winter Soldier.

Another assailant lunged forward, driven either by bravado or foolishness, only to meet Bucky's calculated fury. A swift strike to the chest paired with a debilitating kick to the shin sent the man staggering, a prelude to the crushing force of Bucky's elbow against his back. But Bucky was far from done; he delivered a final, forceful kick to the assailant's stomach with such power that the man was propelled backward, colliding with another would-be attacker and sending them both sprawling to the ground.

In those tense moments, Bucky transformed the immediate vicinity into a no-man's land, a clear warning to any who still harbored thoughts of joining the fray. The message was unambiguous: the Winter Soldier, though cloaked in the guise of Bucky Barnes, remained a formidable force, his actions a blend of precision and power that left no room for doubt or defiance.

The melee unfolded with relentless ferocity, each blow landing with a chilling finality. Amidst the chaos, Zemo's unexpected touch on your waist snapped your attention sharply to him, an unwelcome distraction amidst the turmoil. His fingers were cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the skirmish that raged a mere breath away. Holding a shot glass, with another stationed invitingly before him on the bar's counter, Zemo seemed almost nonchalant, as if the violent ballet unfolding around you two was mere background noise.

You could only hope that Sam's gaze was entirely consumed by the spectacle of the fight, lest Zemo's audacity earn him a swift and severe reprimand—the kind that involved a painful reconfiguration of his hand's anatomy. And, should Sam's protective instincts flare up, your carefully maintained cover would be shattered in an instant.

"So," Zemo initiated casually, offering you the glass while securing his own. His demeanor was eerily calm, a man unfazed by the chaos, his curiosity piqued by personal intrigues rather than the potential dangers that lurked in your immediate vicinity. "How long have you and James been seeing each other?"

His question caught you off guard, a blunt intrusion that left you momentarily flustered. "Excuse you?" you retorted, the sharpness in your voice mirroring your surprise.

He downed his shot in one fluid motion, a satisfied exhale following the liquid's descent. "Oh," he dismissed with a nonchalant wave of his hand, a gesture that belied the keen observation behind his words. "Your brother might be wearing blinders, but I certainly do not. It's been quite evident that Barnes has scarcely glanced away from you all evening."

You found yourself grappling for a response, the unexpected scrutiny leaving you unsettled. "Well, uh," you stumbled over your words, grappling for composure. "It's just what he does—staring." Your gaze dropped to the shot glass cradled in your palm, its contents suddenly more appealing than the conversation. With a swift tilt of your hand, you emptied the glass, the liquid courage coursing through you. Instinctively, you braced yourself for whatever probing questions Zemo might pose next, bolstered now by a fleeting rush of boldness from the alcohol.

Zemo's attention subtly shifted behind you, a prelude to his hand sneaking once more to your waist. A wry smirk played at the corner of his lips as he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear with a whispered directive, "Get ready." Immobilized by a sudden rush of surprise, you found yourself momentarily unable to react, your mind racing to process the unwelcome proximity.

As you regained your composure, indignation fueling your resolve, your hands began to rise, intent on removing his intrusion. Yet, before you could act, a familiar and comforting warmth enveloped your back. A sharp intake of breath caught in your throat as a low, protective growl resonated from behind you, a primal sound that spoke volumes of the tension filling the air.

In the blink of an eye, Zemo's hand was forcibly removed from you, Bucky's intervention swift and silent. The warning in Bucky's eyes was unmistakable, a clear message that brooked no argument. His grip on Zemo's hand tightened, a silent demonstration of his protective instincts. The strain was evident as Zemo's face flushed, a crimson wave ascending his neck in stark contrast to his paling face, a vivid testament to the discomfort and possibly fear induced by Bucky's ironclad hold.

Observing the intensity of the moment, you placed your hand gently atop Bucky's, seeking to diffuse the tension. "It's okay," you whispered soothingly, a plea for peace. "Let him go." Your voice, though soft, carried the weight of your concern, hoping to coax Bucky back from the brink of further conflict.

With a grudging release of pressure, Bucky acquiesced to your request, albeit with a distasteful grunt. He allowed Zemo the mercy of an unbroken hand, a testament to his respect for your wishes. The moment, charged with silent confrontations and unspoken bonds, highlighted the deep connection between you and Bucky, a bond that transcended mere words, resonating with loyalty, protection, and an unyielding sense of unity.

The tension in the air was palpable, a heavy cloud that seemed to weigh down every breath, until the bartender's voice sliced through the silence with the precision of a well-honed blade. "Selby will see you now," he announced, effectively diffusing the charged atmosphere. As you were ushered down the dimly lit corridor by a group of stern-faced men, the arrangement was strategic: Zemo leading, followed by Sam, with you nestled securely in the middle, and Bucky bringing up the rear, his vigilant gaze ensuring no threat would find its way to you unnoticed.

In a fluid motion born of protective instinct, Bucky's fingers found your wrist, gently but firmly pulling you aside into the seclusion of the shadowed alcove. The dim light played across his features, casting deep shadows that sculpted his face with an intensity that was almost breathtaking. His rugged attractiveness, framed in the half-light, struck you with a force that made your heart flutter. "Are you okay?" you found yourself asking, drawn into the complexity of emotions that danced within his eyes. It was clear he was wrestling with his own turmoil, yet his proximity to you, so near that the soft flutter of your eyelashes could have brushed against his cheek, seemed to both unsettle and anchor him.

“Next time he grabs you like that—” He cut himself of, jaw clenching.

As you laid your hand against the solid warmth of his chest in a comforting gesture, a ripple of tension eased from his frame. "It's okay," your whisper broke the intimate silence between you, your gaze lifting to meet his. "I'm okay, promise. He was just trying to get under your skin."

His eyes, a mirror to his soul, roamed over your features with an intensity that felt as though he was memorizing every detail, every curve, and contour, before finally settling back into your gaze. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" His voice, soft yet filled with an emotion that resonated deep within your chest, enveloped you in a warmth that went beyond the physical closeness. In that moment, amidst the shadows and whispers of danger, a connection forged in the crucible of shared experiences and unspoken understanding deepened, transcending the chaos of the world outside.

Your smile, blossoming in response to Bucky's unexpected compliment, was abruptly cut short by Zemo's call for the Winter Soldier, reverberating ominously off the walls. A mutual sigh of resignation passed between you and Bucky. With a bite to your lip, signaling the gravity of the interruption, you took a hesitant step back, murmuring, "We should go."

Bucky's response was a tight nod, the muscles along his jawline tensing visibly as he too made the difficult choice to distance himself. The atmosphere shifted palpably as you entered Selby's domain. She was ensconced regally in an armchair, her fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm against its worn fabric, embodying the calm before the storm. "You should know, Baron," she began, her voice cool and measured, "people don’t just come into my bar and make demands."

Zemo, unfazed, countered with equal calmness, "Not a demand, an offer."

Selby's demeanor hinted at a mix of curiosity and caution as she observed the changes in her domain and the players within it. "A lot has changed since you were here last," she remarked, her gaze sliding over Bucky with undisguised interest. "By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?"

Zemo, settling himself before Selby with a nonchalance born of confidence, merely shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "People like us always find a way, don’t we? I'm sure you've already figured out what I am here for."

Selby, her attention never straying from Zemo, extended a languid finger toward your brother, her voice taking on a teasing, almost flirtatious tone. "You're taller than I'd heard, Smiling Tiger," she purred, her grin sharp as a knife's edge, before shifting her focus back to Zemo. "What's the offer?"

"Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum." Zemo's command hung in the air, heavy with implication. He rose, his movements deliberate, as he made his way to where Bucky and you stood in a silent vigil. The audacity of his next offer sliced through the tension like a cold blade. "And I give you him," Zemo gestured towards Bucky with a chilling casualness, "along with the code words that control him, of course." His fingers dared to trace a path along Bucky's jawline, a presumptuous gesture that hinted at possession. "He will do anything you want." You moved your hand to brush against his, blocking the view with your body, not wanting your cover to blow, also not wanting Bucky to blow up because of the over-the-top trade Zemo was talking about, which he hadn’t disclosed with you "Now, that’s the Zemo I remember," Selby's voice curled with a mix of admiration and threat, her lips twisting into a grin that was as dangerous as it was pleased. "I'm glad I decided not to kill you immediately." She mused aloud, nodding to herself as if affirming her own wisdom. "Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right." Zemo, with a nod acknowledging the compliment veiled as a critique, moved back to his chair, rejoining the precarious dance of conversation.

"The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor," Selby continued, her revelation hanging in the smoky air like a veiled threat. "Doctor Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank, or…" Her voice trailed off as she tilted her head, her gaze sharp, "Or condemn, depending on what side you're on."

"Is Nagel still in Madripoor?" Zemo's question cut through the tension, his inquiry pointed and loaded with unspoken implications.

Selby stood, her movement fluid as a shadow, drifting behind Zemo. She was about to divulge the answer, a secret that could tip the scales, when the moment was shattered by the unexpected vibration of a cell phone. Sam's cell phone, ingeniously hidden within the confines of your bra, the only place deemed secure given the impracticality of the suit's tiny pockets. The room froze, a tableau of anticipation and dread, as all eyes darted towards you. The vibration continued, a silent herald of impending chaos, until, with a steadiness you hardly felt, you retrieved the phone. The caller ID flashed "Mom jr." — a code name for your older sister, Sarah, that now felt like a harbinger of disaster.

"Go on," Selby's voice was a command laced with curiosity and a hint of menace, her henchman already looming ominously behind her. "Answer it. On speaker."

With a nod, terse and devoid of any option but compliance, you swiped the screen, the green circle heralding a connection fraught with risk. Clearing your throat, an attempt to mask the torrent of nerves, you answered with a voice feigning confidence, "Smiling Tiger."

"...Okay." The brief silence that followed was thick with confusion, Sarah's voice betraying her bewilderment. "Why do you have his phone? Is he there?"

"Uh, yeah, yes, he is."

"Could I speak to him? It's urgent."

"Sure." You navigated the tense atmosphere with caution, aware of the danger that lurked in every corner. Approaching Sam, you offered the phone with a discreet, "Sir."

Sam accepted the phone, his throat clearing a precursor to the conversation. "Hello?"

"Hey, uhm, we need to talk about this situation. It's been driving me nuts."

"What situation are you talking about exactly?"

"Are you high? You know the situation. It’s the only situation me and you have."

"What situation, Sarah? Say it."

"The damn boat. And watch your tone, okay? I let you slide at the bank."

Sam's scoff was almost audible, a mixture of disbelief and humor. "The bank, yeah. Laundered so much money," he chuckled. "Yeah, they'll come around."

"If that’s the case, then why'd they dog you out, Big Time?"

"Yeah, you damn right I'm Big Time. You'll see when I have that banker killed." Your gaze flickered to Bucky, dreading the potential fallout from this precarious bluff.

"Cass! What did I tell you about the Cheerios? I don’t have time for this!" Sarah's exasperated outburst was unexpected, yet somehow, it underscored the normalcy of life's chaos — even when worlds apart, Cheerios could cause turmoil. "Sam, I'm sorry, let me call you back."

"Sam?" Selby's voice, sharp with suspicion, cut through the room. "Who's Sam?" Her eyes scanned the room, landing on one of her men as she gave the lethal order, "Kill them!" No sooner had the command left her lips than a bullet from an unseen sniper found its mark, sailing through the window to claim Selby's life with unerring precision.

As Selby's men, jolted by the sudden turn of events, scrambled to retaliate, the trio leapt into action, their movements a blend of desperation and determination, ready to confront the chaos unleashed by a single, ill-timed phone call.

Sam's movements were swift and precise, his elbow connecting with the gut of the assailant beside him with a force that spoke of urgency and desperation. In a fluid motion, he seized the man's weapon, leveraging his strength to send his adversary crumbling to the floor. Nearby, Bucky confronted another threat, an opponent armed with an automatic firearm. The bullets, however, were no match for Bucky's metallic arm. With an almost serene calmness, he raised his arm, the bullets ricocheting off the vibranium and falling harmlessly to the ground, their lethal intent nullified. With a swift, decisive movement, Bucky disarmed the gunman, the heavy thud of the weapon striking the assailant's head a grim punctuation to the confrontation.

Zemo, meanwhile, exhibited a different kind of strategy. He glided to the side, a ballet of avoidance, demonstrating a preference to remain on the fringes of the physical altercation. His demeanor suggested disinterest, a calculated decision to avoid the fray, yet you knew the truth. Zemo possessed skills honed by experience, a dangerous combatant by any measure, choosing discretion over engagement.

As for yourself, standing on the precipice of engagement, you too could have dismantled any adversary with ease, mirroring Zemo's restraint. Yet, it wasn't the fear of the fight that stilled your hand, nor the dread of physical harm. It was a deeper, more insidious kind of fear that gnawed at your resolve — the fear of responsibility. Sam had seen the toll it took on you, the anxiety that came with wielding your powers. He reassured you, time and again, that it was okay to hold back, understanding the weight that came with such immense power.

You had mastered control over your abilities, a feat that was as much for those around you as it was for your peace of mind. But control was a fragile thing, a constant battle against the possibility of a catastrophic slip. The echoes of the past haunted you, a stark reminder of the chaos unleashed during the battle against Thanos. The risk you had posed to your brother's life was a memory etched in the recesses of your mind, a harrowing reminder of the potential consequences of your powers. The burden of that day weighed heavily on your shoulders, a silent vow to never relive that helplessness, that guilt, again. Control could temper the power, but it could never erase the memories, the fears, or the haunting possibility of what could happen should it ever falter.

The moment unfolded before you with a surreal clarity, as if time itself had bent to accommodate the gravity of what was about to transpire. There stood Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme, his figure exuding an aura of solemnity. With a hand stretched towards you, his voice cut through the chaos of your thoughts, delivering the harrowing message that Thanos was on the precipice of ushering in another war.

The ground beneath you felt unsteady, as if it too, shared in your tumult of emotions. Your body was a tempest of sensations, akin to being engulfed in invisible flames, an internal inferno that threatened to consume your very essence. Your hands, held out in front of you, became the focal point of your bewildered gaze. They glowed with an ethereal green luminescence, transforming your eyes into beacons of an otherworldly force. In that moment, you were a stranger even to yourself, your identity obscured by the overwhelming power that surged within you. You feared that even your brother, upon witnessing this transformation, would find himself staring at an unfamiliar figure, your familiar visage masked by an alien force.

It was during this maelstrom of confusion and fear that Stephen Strange recognized the tumultuous energy you were channeling. With a wisdom borne of his experiences with the mystic arts, he extended not just his hand but an offer of guidance and mastery over the forces that now threatened to unravel you.

Amidst this turmoil, a familiar voice pierced the veil of your disorientation. Bucky's voice, imbued with urgency and concern, reached out to you, grounding you back to reality. "We gotta go." His words, simple yet laden with an unspoken promise of safety, beckoned you. As your gaze snapped towards him, you were met with the sight of his outstretched hand, a lifeline in the chaos.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you placed your palm against his, the warmth of his grip a stark contrast to the cold uncertainty that had gripped your heart. Led by Bucky, you began to make your way out of the building, each step away from the epicenter of your crisis a step towards reclaiming the self that had been momentarily lost in the eye of the storm.

As Zemo's directive to abandon their firearms behind echoed in your mind, a profound vulnerability washed over you, intensifying the uncertainty that already clouded your heart. The decision to venture into the unknown without the familiar weight of a weapon at your side left you feeling starkly exposed, each step on the pavement echoing your apprehension.

Amidst the chaos, the glow of countless phone screens caught your attention, their omnipresence a stark reminder of the digital eyes that followed your every move. Your grip on Bucky's hand tightened, a help in centering you amidst the swirling uncertainty, your fingers intertwined with his in a silent plea for reassurance. Bucky, feeling the tremor of your grasp, was confronted with an overwhelming pressure in his chest—a sensation so intense, it seemed as though his heart might shatter through his ribcage. The logical part of his mind suggested that releasing your trembling hand might alleviate some of his distress, disconnecting him from the tangible evidence of your fear. Yet, the thought of pulling you even closer overpowered him, a testament to the protective instinct that surged within him, despite the presence of his partner in crime at his side, equally eager to escape the impending peril and shield you from harm.

Out of the corner of your eye, a figure detached from the crowd caught your attention—a woman, standing apart with her hands mimicking the shape of a gun, playfully ‘shooting’ at your group. This macabre pantomime, juxtaposed against the sea of illuminated screens, shed light on the grim realization that you and your companions had been reduced to mere targets in a deadly game, surrounded by a multitude of unseen adversaries, each one thirsting for blood and the lure of a reward.

In the fraction of a second before you could advance another step, the air was pierced by the unmistakable sound of gunfire. An instinctive fear gripped you, catalyzing a reaction that tore you away from Bucky's grasp. You spun around, just as a barrage of bullets threatened to engulf your group in a lethal storm. Driven by a deep-seated impulse to protect, you extended your hands, your eyes instinctively closing as you tapped into a wellspring of power that had lain dormant within you for far too long. The air around you charged with anticipation, as if the very essence of your being had awakened to confront the danger head-on.

Upon daring to open your eyes, fearing the aftermath of your instinctual reaction, you were confronted with a surreal tableau: bullets suspended mid-air, frozen in time and space, an arm's length away, creating an eerie stillness in the midst of chaos. The sheer number of projectiles, hovering ominously close, sent a shiver down your spine, yet it was the sight of your own fingers, aglow with a radiant green luminance, that truly captivated you. It was a strange juxtaposition—how could something so ethereally beautiful harbor the potential for immense destruction?

Your fascination gave way to action as you turned your palm, the bullets beginning to dissolve into nothingness, disintegrating into a fine mist just before reaching your skin. The urgency to locate your assailant led your eyes to a figure, scant meters away, wielding a machine gun braced against a makeshift stand in the bustling market. With a focused gesture, you manipulated the now-liquefied metal, directing it with lethal precision towards the gunman. He recoiled, anticipating pain or perhaps even death, but instead, you targeted his weapon. The metal swarm enveloped the gun, rendering it inoperable, parts of its mechanism dissolving into oblivion.

The surrounding crowd, momentarily taken aback by the display of power, quickly regrouped, their initial shock transforming into twisted smiles as they once again raised their weapons. It was then that your brother intervened, his hand clasping yours with determined strength, pulling you back into the frenetic escape. The concept of a leisurely retreat was a luxury far removed from reality as you both dashed through the dense throngs of Madripoor, a city now teeming with adversaries drawn by the allure of a bounty. The streets, alive with danger, became a labyrinth as you navigated through the relentless pursuit, the weight of potential violence pressing against you from all sides.

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam's grumble about his unsuitable footwear for their frenzied escape almost halted you in your tracks, the urge to chastise him for his complaint bubbling up fiercely.

"I'm wearing six-inch heels, you idiot!" you retorted, your voice slicing through the tension as you were half-dragged, half-ran, your form almost seeming to bounce off the pavement with each step.

Just then, the distinct growl of motorbikes escalated behind you, a clear sign that your pursuers were closing in with alarming speed. Instinctively, you twisted around, freeing one arm from your brother's firm grasp. A brilliant emerald glow enveloped your hand as you unleashed a force resembling a sonic boom towards your chasers. Glancing back, you witnessed the bikers caught in a surreal slow-motion, ensnared within the temporal anomaly you'd unwittingly summoned.

The urgency of your flight tapered off as your brother gradually decelerated, releasing your hand to take in the quietude that had enveloped the scene. Zemo, ever the observer, couldn't hide his admiration, stepping closer with a sly grin. "Quite impressive, if I may say so myself."

“You may not.” His commendation was met with a mutter from Bucky, barely audible yet brimming with protectiveness. Bucky positioned himself squarely between you and Zemo, effectively shielding you from the latter's view. Sam, meanwhile, appeared utterly bemused, hands perched on his hips as he oscillated his gaze between you and Bucky, bewildered by the sudden shift in dynamics.

"Okay, what—?" Sam began, only to be cut off as the moment teetered on the brink of unraveling.

"Well, isn’t this just perfect," a voice chimed from the enveloping shadows, laced with a mix of amusement and disbelief. Emerging into the dim light, a blonde woman approached with her gun poised, her stance radiating confidence and danger. Recognition flickered through your mind, delayed by the surreal context. Sharon Carter, the name finally clicked, associated with tales of Steve Rogers and his erstwhile entanglements. Sam's anecdotes, usually shared with a mix of reverence and jest, painted her in the light of a past fraught with complex allegiances, especially during the so-called Civil War—a term you found overly dramatic for what essentially amounted to a highly publicized skirmish among comrades at an airport.

"Sharon?" Bucky's voice cut through your thoughts, tinged with a blend of surprise and uncertainty. The Sharon Carter you'd heard of through scattered stories seemed far removed from the woman who now stood before you, gun in hand, in the underbelly of Madripoor. It was a reflection, perhaps, of how life's unpredictable currents could sweep anyone into unforeseen harbors.

Her gaze, sharp and unyielding, locked onto Zemo, the intensity of her scorn palpable. "You cost me everything," she accused, the words heavy with resentment. Sam attempted to interject, offering explanations that seemed to dissipate before they could reach her, lost in the void of her grievance. "I stole Steve's shield, remember?" she reminded, her resolve steel-hard, the weapon unwavering in her grasp. "I also took the wings for your ass," she directed at Sam, causing a ripple of tension to pass through you. The mention of sacrifices made—her actions for their benefit—underscored the gravity of her fall from grace. Her focus shifted momentarily to Bucky, implicating him in the web of consequences, before returning to Zemo with a disdainful flick. Finally, her eyes found you, registering your presence with a flicker of surprise. "No idea who you are," she stated, an admission that underscored the complexity of alliances and identities in this shadowy world.

With a determined stride, Bucky advanced towards Sharon, his every step a testament to his intent to defuse the tension that crackled in the air. He engaged her with words, his tone both pleading and firm, navigating through the storm of her fury. Eventually, her grip on the gun loosened, the weapon tucked away after an exasperated sigh, a silent concession to his efforts. Sharon then proposed an unexpected truce, inviting you all back to her sanctuary. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on you; moments before, the cold metal of her gun had promised anything but hospitality.

Crossing the threshold into Sharon's abode, you were immediately struck by an array of art that adorned every wall and surface. The collection was staggering, a visual feast of masterpieces that seemed too authentic, too valuable to be merely decorative. You half-joked to yourself about the possibility of the Mona Lisa being tucked away in a corner, marveling at the fortune that surrounded you, captured in oil and canvas.

The offer of a change of attire came next, with Sharon presenting an array of elegant garments that seemed to glide into the room on a valet rod. The promise of shedding your current attire, particularly the torturous heels that had been your nemesis throughout the evening, was a relief. Barefoot, you approached the selection with eagerness, only to have your enthusiasm dimmed by the realization that the options available were far removed from your comfort zone. Accustomed to the simple reliability of sneakers and boots, the sight of such finery felt daunting, alien.

Facing Sharon, a hint of disappointment lacing your expression, you ventured a request, hoping for something more aligned with your sense of style. "Don't you have anything less... that?" The words hung between you, a polite plea for normalcy amidst the opulence that defined her world.

"Like what?" Sharon's question cut through the tension in the room, her gaze drifting momentarily over Bucky and his shirtless state alongside Zemo. The moment made your skin crawl slightly, an unwelcome distraction in the midst of the unfolding scenario.

"Jeans?" you ventured hopefully, trying to steer the conversation back to a more comfortable topic, despite the circumstances.

"We are going to a club in Madripoor," Sharon pointed out, as if the venue demanded a specific dress code that was far from your preference.

"Yes?" you responded, not fully grasping why your suggested attire wouldn't be suitable, your tone a mixture of confusion and mild annoyance.

After a brief pause, during which Sharon seemed to consider her response, she chose to bypass your suggestion entirely, moving past you as if you had become part of the room's extravagant background. Your frustration evident, you rolled your eyes at her dismissive attitude and turned back to the daunting task of selecting an outfit from the array provided. Among the lavish options, you managed to find flared leather leggings and a high-neck crop top with a singular sleeve—a rebellious choice that echoed your own style while avoiding the discomfort of another glitter-infested dress. As you began the awkward dance of changing into the leather pants without first removing your current dress, a subtle commotion caught your attention.

Bucky, ever the protector, had taken it upon himself to ensure your privacy. His large hand found Zemo's neck, not harshly but with enough insistence to pivot the man's attention away from you. However, it wasn't just Zemo's attention he was diverting; his own gaze, filled with an intensity you couldn't quite decipher, kept flickering back to you. Each look seemed to linger a moment too long, filled with an emotion he seemed to struggle to define, let alone express. With a visible effort, Bucky tore his gaze away, a stern resolve setting in as he forced himself to focus on anything but you.

Your brother went to lift his whiskey glass off the table when he spotted what was inside of it. A shiver ran down his as he fished out the little snake part and stood to throw it out the window. The expression on his face made you throw your head back laughing. He raised his brow at you in question. You lifted your hands. "I didn’t do it."

"Then why are you laughing?"

"Because whoever did, is a genius." You were about to pull the top over your head when Sam pinched you in the side. "Ow, what the hell, Sam!" With furrowed brows, and the tight top stuck on your shoulders, you tried to kick him in the shin, though he moved back just in time; a broad grin rested on his face. "Too slow, sista," Sam teased, his playful nudge against your head causing your already precarious balance to falter further. With a grunt of mock indignation, you surged forward, aiming a determined chest-bump at your brother, eager to see him mirror your momentary imbalance. Your efforts were rewarded with a triumphant laugh as Sam was forced to step back, the shared moment of childish glee lighting up your features with a wide grin. This brief interlude of sibling rivalry whisked you back to those carefree days of your youth, where even the simplest acts of brotherly teasing felt like the grandest adventures. Back then, Sam could do no wrong in your eyes, the epitome of an older brother in the most magnificent form.

In the midst of your playful scuffle, you were secretly relieved that Sharon had exited the room. Her presence might have added a layer of self-consciousness to the innocent chaos. Although the antics might seem juvenile to an outsider, to you, they were a rare slice of normalcy—a cherished reminder of a life untouched by cosmic wars or Thanos' dread shadow.

As Sam busied himself with selecting an outfit, your struggle with the unyielding fabric of your top grew increasingly frustrating. The material, devoid of any give, clung stubbornly in all the wrong places. With your back to Bucky, a soft sigh of exasperation escaped you. "Buck?" The quiet call for assistance was barely above a whisper, yet it summoned his attention instantly.

"Need a hand?" His voice was close, filled with a gentle concern that made your heart flutter slightly.

"Yes, please," came your subdued reply, the momentary vulnerability feeling strangely intimate. Then, you felt it—his touch. The slight graze of Bucky's skin against yours as his fingers traced a path up your side, his touch delicate yet assured. He navigated the fabric with a tender precision, his fingers briefly pausing at the edge of your top before guiding it smoothly into place. The fleeting caress that followed lingered just long enough to ignite a shiver of anticipation, a warmth blossoming within you that craved the closeness of his embrace. His breath, a warm whisper against the nape of your neck, sent a thrilling chill down your spine.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, the compliment hanging in the air between you, charged with an unspoken emotion that seemed to draw you even closer, tethering your heart to his with an invisible thread of affection and longing.

"I absolutely agree," Zemo's voice cut through the tension, drawing an involuntary growl of annoyance from Bucky. With a gesture of mock surrender, Zemo backed away, his steps carrying him to the bar where three glasses of whiskey awaited their silent call to be savored. Bucky, feeling the palpable shift in the room's dynamics, reluctantly distanced himself from you, his departure leaving a subtle chill in the wake of his warmth. He reclaimed his seat on the sofa, a move you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment over.

Sharon chose that moment to grace the room with her presence, her arrival marked by the lively bounce of her blonde waves. She exuded a casual confidence, her tone light, yet probing. "So," she hummed, curiosity lacing her words, "How's the new Cap doing?"

Before Sam had the chance to form a response, Bucky's voice, laced with a mixture of disdain and resignation, filled the room. "Don’t get me started." His hands found each other, intertwining in an awkward dance as his gaze inadvertently met yours. Even in the simplicity of his all-black ensemble, accentuated by a blazer that lent an air of sophistication, Bucky looked effortlessly handsome, commanding the space around him with an understated elegance.

Sharon, undeterred by the tense atmosphere, pressed on, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "Oh, please. You buy into all that stars and striped bullshit." Her pointed gaze shifted to Zemo. "Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap's best friend." With a fluid motion, she sank into the space beside Bucky, a deliberate bite of her lip following her words.

The action did not go unnoticed, drawing a frown from you, a silent testament to the unfolding dynamics. Bucky, catching Sam's eye, shared a moment of mutual understanding, tinged with a hint of disbelief. "Wow," he uttered, the word heavy with implication. "She's kind of awful now." His observation, though softly spoken, resonated with a mix of humor and a poignant undercurrent of nostalgia for times and alliances past.

As you momentarily extracted yourself from the animated discussion unfurling within the living room, your attention was ensnared by the relentless buzzing of your phone, a beacon of unchecked notifications. A myriad of messages from your sister painted your screen, a digital mosaic of concern and updates. "I'll be right back," you announced, your voice threading through the dense air of conversation that was currently monopolized by debates over the Flag Smashers. The name itself, a moniker you found both laughably juvenile and misleadingly innocuous, echoed in your thoughts as you distanced yourself from the discourse, finding solace in the quietude of the hallway.

Leaning against the cool, indifferent wall, you began the arduous task of sifting through the digital deluge, your fingers scrolling with practiced ease. It was then, amidst the solitude of your temporary retreat, that the ambiance subtly shifted, heralding the approach of another. The door opened with a hushed creak, and there he was—Bucky, his presence alone commanding your undivided attention.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice a gentle intrusion, as he navigated the space around you to claim his own against the wall opposite. His casual demeanor belied the concern etched into the furrows of his brow.

"Hey," you echoed, a mirror of his own greeting, yet laden with an unspoken acknowledgment of the weight he carried in his gaze.

"You alright?" His inquiry was simple, yet laden with layers of unvoiced thoughts and concerns. There was a palpable hesitation in his words, a reluctance to tread upon the terrain of your powers—a subject he knew stirred a tempest of emotions within you. “You used your powers.”

"I did," came your affirmation, your response punctuated with a grin that sought to mask the undercurrent of apprehension that had long shadowed your relationship with your own abilities. "I'm alright, though, really." Your attempt to reassure him—and perhaps yourself—was sincere. "It felt weirdly freeing to use them. To see how well I can actually keep control. They are still kind of scary, though."

As the words tumbled from your lips, Bucky bridged the gap between you, each step he took charged with an unspoken intensity. Suddenly, the world seemed to narrow down to the space that separated you, every detail of his approach etched into your memory—the way the light danced in his eyes, the barely perceptible tension in his jaw, the silent communication of his body language that spoke volumes of his concern and his undeniable pull towards you.

The proximity between you dwindled to a mere breath, a distance so trivial yet laden with a myriad of unspoken possibilities. The air around you thickened, charged with a palpable tension that sent your heart racing, your breaths shallow. The notion of closing the distance, of yielding to the gravitational pull that seemed to draw you inexorably towards him, flickered through your mind like a tantalizing promise. It was an effort to maintain your composure, to anchor yourself to the moment without succumbing to the overwhelming urge to bridge the final vestiges of space with a kiss that threatened to unravel both of you.

Pressed against the cool, unyielding surface of the wall, the intensity of the moment had magnified as Bucky's hands found their way to your waist, his grip tightening with a hunger that sent waves of anticipation coursing through your veins. His large, calloused hands, battle-hardened yet gentle, conveyed a sense of urgency as they dug into your flesh, pulling you impossibly closer into his embrace. The strength in his touch was paradoxically comforting, each finger imprinting a promise of protection and desire onto your skin.

The world around you had faded into a distant murmur, his presence engulfing you, drowning out everything else. Bucky's body molded against yours, his chest to your chest, his hips locked with yours in a dance as old as time. The pressure of his hands on your waist was both a claim and a caress, a testament to the depth of his longing. It was as if he was trying to merge two separate existences into one, to erase any space that still lingered between you.

As his lips moved with a tender ferocity against yours, you could feel the raw power of his emotions, restrained yet palpable. The sensation of being wholly desired, of being pulled into someone's orbit with such intensity, was both exhilarating and terrifying. His touch spoke volumes, whispered of need and want that had been simmering beneath the surface, now unleashed in the privacy of this shared moment.

The hunger in his grasp was matched only by the passion of your response, your own hands exploring the expanse of his back, tracing the lines of muscle and scars that told the story of his past. Together, you were adrift in a sea of heightened sensations, every caress, every kiss, every breath amplifying the connection that had been quietly growing between you. In that moment, with Bucky's hands anchoring you to him, you weren't just touching; you were speaking a language of longing, of mutual understanding and unspoken promises made in the quietude of hearts beating in unison.

A voice unexpectedly cut through the thick haze of the moment shared between you and Bucky. The abrupt sound of Sam’s voice, laced with surprise and a hint of disbelief, acted like a cold splash of reality.

“Someone care to explain what’s going on here?” he demanded, his tone piercing the bubble that had enveloped you and Bucky. The shock of being discovered, especially by your brother, sent a jolt through you, compelling you to break the kiss.

Oh, no.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes series #bucky x you #winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

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The Lonely Souls Club 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as stalking, loneliness, noncon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Two lost souls cross, but not all those are lost, want to be found.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Idk, something a bit different.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky

She doesn’t see him but he sees her. He’s not hiding. He’s right there. If she just looked up, he’d be caught. But she doesn’t so he remains.

The pointed led scratches over the thick paper. Beside the open sketchpad is a plate of orange chicken and lo mein. He hasn’t touched either. His appetite has wandered away like his mind.

Carefully he etches the line of her nose. She carries a lot of her character there, as she scrunches it at whatever she’s reading then wiggles it as she reaches to sooth an itch. She never quite stops moving, like a hummingbird, she’s aflutter.

Mrs. Zhao comes by her table to deliver her food. A plate of dumplings steaming amid a bed of bean sprouts and broccoli. A quiet thank you is uttered but her eyes don’t meet the elder woman’s gaze. He notices how she can hardly look anywhere but the pages beneath her fingers. Her shield against the world around her.

She closes the book and slides it to the edge of the narrow table for two. She grabs the chopsticks and slides off the paper sleeve. She pulls, struggling to pry them apart only for the left one to break in two, still stuck to the other. Disappointment shadows her features and she lays the chopsticks down mournfully.

He scribbles, trying to capture her expression. He has several crowded onto the page; her pensive stare, her scowling focus, and the shadow of a smile that dimples her cheeks. She takes the fork and pokes at a dumpling. The sharp tines release a small plume of steam.

She uses the side to cut into the tender shell of the dumpling. She blows over a small morsel before tasting it. Her delight is plain as she chews slowly, savouring the taste. As he watches, he recalls his own frigid food.

He lets the notebook close on its own. He leaves it by his elbow, setting the pencil down to roll against its spine. He pulls his plate close, twirling a knot of noodles around his fork. He takes a bite and peeks over at her.

He pretends that they sit together, that they’re eating at the same table. In some other world, they would be. This would be a sweet date he surprised her with and she would thank him with a smile. Her real smile, the one she chews on but doesn’t let free.

But this isn’t that world. This is reality and he’s just a stranger. She doesn’t know him. She hasn’t even noticed him sitting right there. He puts the fork down and sits back. His appetite curdles to hot bile.

The loneliness is what he hates the most about this new world. The people around him move too fast, they’re all lost in themselves, they’re looking with seeing, talking without listening. It’s like they don’t even speak the same language.

He asks Mrs. Zhao for a to-go box. Another pile of leftovers to go with the rest. It’s habit. He hates to see a meal go wasted. He remembers the days of mustard sandwiches, when his mother scraped every grain of flour to make a loaf. Nearly a century. A hundred years lost, a life stolen. From him.

He packs up the noodles and the saucy chicken and snaps the lid shut. He doesn’t leave yet. She’s still eating. Just as deliberately as before. Her careful bites are self-conscious as she dabs a napkin to her lips now and again. She doesn’t finish hers either.

She accepts a box and a fresh set of chopsticks to take with her. She slides the remnants of her meal into the container and closes it, fingers squeezing the edges as she checks to make certain it’s secure. She doesn’t leave either. She lingers as she resumes her reading, just a few pages before she finishes the chapter.

She counts out a tip on the table top and stacks it by her empty plate. He tilts his head. She’s a creature out of time. Sort of like him. He always sees the plastic swiping or the tap of a watch that has the machine chirping. She’s old-fashioned, he likes that.

She uses the table to leverage herself to her feet. Her hips are slightly crooked as she stands and pulls on her light baby blue jacket. It’s long and belted at the waist but she leaves it open. She slips her book into her canvas bag and hangs it over her shoulder. She cradles the container in her arm, leaning on the chair before she takes her first step.

He noted that before. One leg seems longer than the other as she limps across the quiet restaurant. She doesn’t seem bothered by her uneven gait, she simply goes on. She stops by the door and looks at the little figurine; a smiling cat waving an arm.

He puts his head down and listens to her departure. He looks down at his gloves hands, turning over his left as a glint of metal peeks out below the sleeve. Someone like him can be fixed but she’s there, with her small steps, forgotten.

He gets up so quickly, he hits his leg on the table. He hurriedly gathers up his sketchbook and clutches it against his leftovers. He waves to Mrs. Zhao as he marches out but can’t untangle his voice from his chest. He doesn’t want to lose her. He can’t lose another thing.

In the street, he catches sight of her blue coat. She’s not very quick as it is. He can easily keep up but he doesn’t want to meet her pace. She can’t see him. Not yet.

He rounds the corner nearly a block back from her. He pauses to feign interest in a window as she clutches her hip and slows. She stops not much further down as a bearded man sits against the brick with a cup jingling in his hand. She speaks so quietly, even the man on the pavement has to lean in. If it wasn’t for the laboratory torture, Bucky wouldn’t hear her either.

She’s sorry that she spent all her change but he can have the food. At first, the man’s face twists, he doesn’t seem happy with that. Then he accepts as if he can’t bear to deny her. Who could?

“Thanks, lady,” the man sounds like a buzzard.

She nods and wishes him a good day, as good as it can be, she adds. Then she’s off again.

As Bucky trails her, he’s reminded of someone else. Of someone who once needed him. His protection and care. Just another person who abandoned him. The one person who could’ve understood him. Gone, just like everything else.

He tucks his chin down, eyes narrowing on the woman. Target acquired. He shakes off that thought, that worrying echo of the past. He’s not the machine they made him. He’s still a man. Alone and broken, just like they left him.

Like her.

Her

Just along the crooked and cracked walk, behind the overgrown bush, there lays the peeling door behind the creaky metal grate. It’s a grim scene but sometimes you pretend it’s a hidden entrance and that you’re unlocking the passage to some fantastical world. You twist the key, wiggling it before it catches, and you pull as hard as you can.

The wrought iron is heavy and one of the bars juts out enough to catch your sleeve. You use your shoulder to hold the outer door open as you unlock the second. You stumble inside, your hip achy and overworked. You close both doors tight, cranking the deadbolts back into place.

The rain will come soon. It’s why you wore your jacket. You expected it to come earlier but you’re glad it didn’t. The change in pressure always wracks your bones.

You hang the baby blue coat as you put your canvas bag on the worn wicker seat of the chair beside the door. The apartment is small but it’s all yours. The single room is a kitchen, bedroom, and everything else but the bathroom. That is barely more than a closet.

There’s a thump from above. Several as the neighbours’ toddler barrels around. You should’ve waited until after nap time to leave.

You leave your boots on the woven mat and fish out the novel from your bag. You limp across to the folding couch, still a bed as you hadn’t bothered to roll away the flimsy mattress. You lower yourself onto it, pulling a pillow behind you as you recline.

Your pelvis is sore. The chair in the restaurant wasn’t very comfortable, though the food was good for the cost. You don’t eat out very often. Not really at all but it’s your birthday and you wanted to do something special.

You open the pages and quickly dive back into another life. A world where magic can weave miracles but tempts a dangerous darkness in its use. No good thing comes without a price.

You slump down as you read. The sunlight slowly fades as the clouds shift and the din deepens. You close the book as you look across the room at the floor lamp. The small distance across the room seems akin to Tolkien’s infamous trek. You don’t want to get up, you just want to sleep in the damp afternoon.

You sigh and put the book beside you. You rub your eyes and forehead and bend one leg, then the other. Your muscles are taut and protest with a dull burn. You can’t read in the dark, you’ll get another headache.

You groan and push yourself to sit on the edge of the mattress. The slender frame echoes you sharply as you stand. Your right foot comes down heavier than the left as you cross the space. You flick on the light and flinch as a storm cloud seems to pass over your very window.

You turn to face the gap between the curtains. How strange. You near the pane as rain speckles on the outside. You peer up at the slat of sky visible between the rooftops.

You twitch again as you hear something mulch. You whip your head to the side as you look towards the bush. It could be a critter hiding in the bin, no time to find their nest as the storm rises.

You back away, puffing out your fright. Living alone makes you paranoid, even if you prefer it. You live by your own rules, your own schedule, your own whims. The problem is, you’re finding it difficult to figure all those out. You don’t know what you want.

You sit again and rub your lower back. The only thing you can name, you can’t have. The pain is your eternal companion. The looks you get when you venture out are just as persistent. You felt those curious, somewhat dejecting, glances today. You don’t care if they think you walk a bit oddly, you just don’t like to be looked at.

You turn your head to gaze longingly at the kettle. It’s the perfect weather for tea and you forgot to get a cup of green at the restaurant. Yet, it’s a very far way to go, then back again to wait for the water to steam.

You relent. You stand up and go to the small counter set into the wall. You flip on the electric kettle and lean on the chipped laminate. The toddler’s footsteps rumble like thunder overhead and the shadows once more stir behind you.

You turn to face the apartment, hands curled around the counter’s edge. The steady drip of the eaves form a tempo as the rain spatters harder against the window, rattling it in the wooden frame. The doors quiver too as the tempest blows into the alley.

You used to like rainstorms, before they made you hurt so much. Before they seemed so dark. You used to like a lot of things before you were broken. Those days seem very far behind you. Sometimes, you wonder if they ever were.

#bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #the lonely souls club #falcon and the winter soldier #captain america #avengers #mcu #marvel #dark!fic #winter soldier #series

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petertingle-yipyip · 3 months

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SIN MIEDO - BUCKY BARNES

episode five - truth

tags: n/a // four // SM masterlist // what, it’s back? yeah, i’ve been thinking about it alot so i figured it’s time to come finish it

Pairing: stark!reader x bucky

Word Count: 7,209

Summary: After a near death battle with John Walker, Y/N decides to take a step back. But the desire to live up to her father’s legacy both weighs her down and purges her forward.

“We have to take her to a hospital.” Sam insisted.

“I know.” Barnes agreed, his hold on you tightening just to ensure you wouldn’t slip.

“What was she thinking?” Sam said worriedly. He couldn’t understand why you would take on John by yourself. He knew you were a smart fighter, skilled and powerful. But John had lost it. He took the serum and was off his rocker seeing Lemar killed.

“She wasn’t.” Barnes said simply. Barnes’ brain was running a million miles an hour. He wondered why you would be so stupid, but he also understood you weren’t one to play it safe. “We need to take care of her first, then we find Walker.”

“God, you’re unbelievable.” Sam scoffed. “How can you still be worried about that?”

“We need to get that shield. You saw what he’s capable of.”

“She needs to be the top priority!”

Without you knowing, or at least assuming you didn’t know, you’d been his priority the whole time.

“I don’t care about the shield right now!”

“You think she’d want to forget about the shield?” Barnes countered, watching his volume as if you were simply asleep in his arms. “That's what got her like this. Because she wanted to take that shield from him. We can’t let this go.”

“Is that what you think is right or is it because you have a crush on her?” Sam challenged.

You stirred in Barnes’ grip, slowly coming back. You felt the cool stream of water still working to heal you, the damp feeling of your suit’s material paired with the wet spot in your hair at the back of your head. You felt the cold vibranium arm under your knees, the warmth of Barnes’ chest against your cheek. Your eyes slowly opened to a completely different part of the city than you remember.

“Put me down.” You said hoarsely, pulling your hand and the water out of your suit and zipping it back up. You rubbed your eyes and the bridge of your nose to quickly heal that swelling and tenderness before flicking away the excess water from your hand and pulling the absorbed water out of your suit’s fabric.

You weren’t fully healed, but it was good enough. Your chest didn’t ache with every breath and your spine didn’t sting with every movement. You felt considerably stronger than before with clearer vision and the absence of pounding in your head.

The only thing in your head now were your dad’s words. You didn’t know if it was a dream or if you had really crossed the threshold between living and the dead. You didn’t care. All you knew was that he was right. You weren’t done yet.

“No.” Barnes answered. You turned and saw he wasn’t looking at you. Instead, he kept his eyes focused ahead. “You need a hospital.”

“I’m fine.” You struggled in his grip. “Put me down, Barnes.”

“No.”

“Fine.” You replied simply. Using your arms for momentum, you flipped backwards out of Barnes’ arms and landed wobbly on your feet. After quickly regaining your balance, you stood tall. “Where’s Walker?”

“Y/N..” Sam tried gently. “You took a hell of a beating, alright? Just take it easy and we’ll find him later. We’ll get the shield back.”

“You guys don’t get it…I have to do everything myself.” You muttered, turning your hand to see the inside of your wrist. You tapped the screen connected to FRIDAY and had her take the tracking information from Sam’s suit. “Thanks for the tracker.” You saluted Sam before quickly making an air ball and riding it to find Walker.

You had to stop him. You had to get the shield back. If not for Sam, then for your grandfather. He made that shield for Steve, and it should be with the man Steve gave it to. It was Steve’s legacy but it was also Howard’s favorite accomplishment. You couldn’t let it stay in the wrong hands and continue to cause people pain. To take lives.

You heard the footfalls of the boys behind you, but you weren’t stopping. You figured they knew that. All they could do now was follow and fight beside you. All they could do was help you so you didn’t die. You had a feeling that if you went down this time, you weren’t getting back up.

You all found Walker off some old train tracks. He was distraught, likely over losing Lemar. You didn’t blame him for flying off the handle, but you couldn’t excuse taking a man’s life. A man who wasn’t responsible. And to do it so publicly made you sick.

“Are you insane?” Barnes asked you quietly as the three of you approached Walker.

“I’ve been called worse.” You shrugged.

“Walker.” Sam began, as if in warning.

“You guys should see a medic. You don’t look so good.” Walker replied. “And I’m surprised you’re still standing.” He nodded to you.

“I’ll admit, you got a mean swing… If you wanted me to stay down, you should’ve put me down.” You said simply, weaving a flame between your fingers on either hand. You felt the wind dancing around your ankles at the same time, maybe even small tremors in the ground. “This ends now.”

“You saw what happened.” He defended loudly. “You know what I had to do! I killed him because he killed Lemar!”

“He didn’t kill Lemar, John.” Barnes countered.

“Regardless, we don’t trade lives.” You added tensely. Every word between you four wound your muscles tighter. The flames at your hands grew hotter. The air at your feet moved in faster, tighter circles.

“You go down that road, it won’t end well.” Barnes continued.

“I’m not like you.” Walker countered angrily. There was an accusation in his tone, that that's who Barnes still was. He insinuated that he was better than Barnes, but that just showed he didn’t really know who Barnes was outside of his Winter Soldier stories.

You instantly turned your attention to Barnes. His eyes were down, as if he was processing what Walker had said. He looked like someone kicked his puppy and you didn’t know why that expression hurt you as well.

Without really thinking, your hand had reached for his, flame extinguished. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, as if to say that everything was okay. He looked up at you and offered a tight smile before gently squeezing your hand in return. You didn’t know it but that gesture meant a lot in that moment. You hoped your eyes conveyed the sincerity you intended.

“It was the heat of battle, alright?” Sam tried reasoning with him. But the look in his eyes, the way he eyed you all like you were dinner, showed you he was well past reasoning with. You slowly pulled your hand back and the flame danced through your digits again. “If you explain what happened, maybe they’ll consider your record. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt…”

“You have to give us the shield.” You tried calmly. Even though every muscle in your body was wound tight and every nerve was alive with adrenaline, you followed Sam’s lead. You tried to talk to him, same way you tried with Karli.

“So that’s what this is?” He answered darkly. “You almost had me..”

“You made a mistake. A very public one.” You said simply.

“You don’t want to do this.” He threatened.

“Yeah, we do.” Barnes answered with a nod. He glanced at you, who met his eyes and added a quick nod in return.

Barnes moved in first and Sam was quick to follow. You hesitated just a moment, letting Sam and Barnes make the first move. You had to be smarter and more calculated than the last time, otherwise you’d likely be returning to the States in a body bag. At the first opening you got, you stomped to raise a slab of rock and you kicked it at Walker.i

Walker kicked Sam away and tried to take on Barnes. You quickly took Sam’s place and created a fire blade in your hand. While Barnes had Walker by the shield, you slashed the flame across his back, burning through his suit and his flesh. You choked on the smell momentarily before dropping the flame and creating a rock gauntlet. You slammed your stone covered fist into the burning wound and forced him to the ground.

Walker elbowed you in the jaw and spun to land a solid right hook on Barnes. The contact sent both of you reeling back and gave Walker time to capitalize. He moved to swipe the shield in a direction that could take you both but Sam came through just in time.

The two went hand to hand while Barnes came around to get you. You could feel the bruise forming already as you moved your mouth around, trying to break up the pain.

“Come on.” He said when he got to your side, hauling you to your feet. “Fight’s not over yet.”

“After you, Sarge.” You gestured for him to go.

“Ladies first.” He shrugged.

You chuckled slightly before moving back into the fight. You moved quickly, throwing flame after flame at him. He ducked behind the shield and Barnes came from behind you. Walker countered most of your attacks but you saw a perfect opening. He pulled back to slam the shield against Sam so you yanked up a rock column to connect with his chin. The impact sent him wobbling back and gave Barnes a chance to apply more pressure. After ducking a heavy blow from Barnes, he threw the shield and sent Barnes flying across the room.

Walker was running after the shield as soon as it left his hand, you and Sam moving in right behind him. Walker had Barnes pinned against an old crate, the two fighting for the disk.

“Why are you making me do this?” Walker screamed, a desperate rage in his voice. He launched Barnes again once the sentence left his mouth.

“Bucky.” You muttered when you realized he didn’t get up right away. While Sam took on Walker again, you ran to Barnes’ side.

“You gotta get up.” You told him, kneeling at his side. You watched the electricity crackling around his arm. He winced as he tried to lift his Vibranium arm. “Here, let me just...” You said gently, focusing on redirecting the extra voltage away from his arm.

What you didn’t see was the way Barnes was looking at you. He watched the intent focus your eyes held, the precise movements of your hands, the careful direction of your fingers. The lightning travelled the path of your arms like a road, seeming soaking into your spine and exiting out the other hand. He was in awe.

He was partly surprised you had focused on helping him. You didn’t have to. It would’ve gone away within a minute, but you took the time to help him. He realized that you actually were his friend. And more than that, he liked that you stopped to help him.

The electricity crackled up one arm and to your spine. You turned and focused on Walker, carefully handling the power in your body. Electricity was a tricky thing. One slip of control and you could hurt yourself. You learned that the hard way. You shot it at Walker, your aim slightly off so you hit right near his feet, and caught him just before he tried to land a devastating blow on Sam.

“Come on, James.” You sighed as you pulled him off the ground to sit up. He groaned and leaned against a nearby pillar. You realized you used his first name and you tensed slightly. It felt too intimate to use in those moments.

“We gotta finish this.” Barnes muttered, to which you could only nod. You relaxed slightly when it didn’t seem like he noticed. But he did.

“Did you have a plan or should we just try and tire him out?” You tried to joke.

“You want to be the bait?” He offered and you couldn’t fully tell if he was joking or not.

“Make him go after me?” You asked with raised brows. “Promise you won’t let him kill me.”

“Cross my heart.” He nodded.

“Worth a shot.” You shrugged, jumping back into the fight.

Walker had just yanked Sam out of the air and lost hold of the shield. You threw a blast of air to push the shield further for everyone and slammed a fist to the ground. You used the rock to snag Walker’s ankles and cause him to fall on his face. By the time you caught up to him, he was top of Sam and was ripping his wings apart.

You called a flame to cover the entirety of both hands and ran. You tackled Walker off Sam, your hands moving to his neck as you two rolled and you tried to bury your fingers into the soft tissue. The smell of burnt flesh invaded your lungs and you felt the smoke burning your eyes.

He screamed out from the burns and once your momentum stopped, he had you pinned with a knee on your chest. You coughed from the burnt smell and the increasing pressure. He pulled your hands away easily and squeezed. You cried out as you heard the bone break in your left arm.

“We could’ve been a team.” He sneered ferally.

“I don’t play nice with others.” You commented, trying to buy yourself and Barnes some time. Turning your head to come up with something, you realized you had landed right next to the shield. But so did Walker.

“I am Captain. America.” He practically snarled.

“Yeah?” You asked as an idea came to mind. “You look like a cheap knock off to me.”

He quickly reached for the shield and raised it above his head. As he screamed, you lifted your right hand and flicked a quick bolt of lightning at his chest. He winced inwardly but didn’t budge. In a last ditch effort, you did your best to take control of his blood.

With one hand and the pressure on your sternum, it was impossible to gain complete control. He was fighting you the whole time, pushing the shield with all his strength. You knew once your control slipped, that disk was headed straight for your chest. You groaned as you tried adding your other hand, but the pain was too much. You stomped a foot instead, sending deep vibrations through the concrete foundation. Walker faltered but wouldn’t move.

You thought that was it. Your time was truly up this time. But maybe that would be enough to get that shield back to Sam, back to the man it was supposed to be with. You were about to accept your fate and let him kill you when Barnes made good on his promise. He tackled Walker off of you and handled the fight himself.

You turned on your side and coughed violently, trying to open your airways enough to breathe properly. They traded blows for a minute until Walker managed the upper hand. Sam moved in for the rescue, so he and Barnes were able to get control of the situation. Him and Barnes were turning Walker’s arm outward and you saw an opening.

You pushed yourself to stand and slammed your foot to break loose a piece of the concrete floor. You kicked it forward and heard the sickly pop of his bone dislocating. The pop turned Sam’s pressure into action and he went flying in a separate direction. You almost felt bad for dislocating his arm in such a violent manner, but the shooting pain in your own arm quickly erased that thought.

“It’s mine.” Walker growled as Sam stood with the shield in his hands and Barnes came to stand with you.

“It’s over, Walker.” You answered through heavy breaths, clutching your arm to your chest.

“It’s mine!” He repeated, pulling back to swing on you.

You ducked his arm and the punch was blocked by Barnes. He landed a hard shot against Walker’s jaw and you swiped your leg to knock him over. Barnes lifted Walker and swung him like a baseball bat into Sam, who was moving in hard with the shield. The impact sent the three of them in different directions, the shield landing between them all.

You quickly moved to grab it while the boys groaned and tried to get up. You held the shield in your hands, staring at the dried blood on it. The sight disgusted you. You moved and shoved it into Sam’s chest once he stood.

“You give this away again, I’m keeping it.” You said plainly before pushing off and walking away with Barnes.

“You’re going to the hospital.” Barnes said simply once you caught up with him.

“I can fix myself.” You defended, picking up a stream of water from a nearby puddle and focused on the returning pain in your chest.

“It wasn’t a request.”

“You can’t order me around.”

“I’m pulling rank. I’m a Sergeant, you’re not.”

“Alright, you got me there.” You answered, too tired to really argue with him. “Can we get something to eat first?”

The next day, you three waited in the same room you had talked to Karli in. You did basic healing on your arm so the hospital left it in a sling rather than a hard cast. They said they may have to put pins in your sternum if it didn’t right itself, but that would take a bit of time before they knew.

Sam caught you up on the Karli situation and his buddy, who you learned to be called Torres, came in. You followed Barnes out after he ignored Sam asking about Zemo.

Later or maybe even the next day - things had really blurred together - you and Barnes found Zemo at the Sokovia memorial, exactly where you expected to.

“Thought you’d come sooner.” Zemo said when you two approached.

“Had something else to take care of first.” You shrugged.

“And don’t worry. I’ve decided I’m not going to kill you.”

“You’d never get the chance.” You said easily as Barnes said “Imagine my relief.”

“The girl… She’s radicalized beyond salvation.” He began as if he was just waiting for a chance to give his speech. “I warned Sam, but he didn’t listen to me. As stubborn as Steve Rogers before him. But you- Both of you, can do what needs to be done. Karli has people everywhere and there’s only one way to ensure she cannot carry out her mission.”

“I appreciate the advice.” Barnes answered flatly. “But we’re gonna do it our own way.”

“I was afraid you would say that.” Zemo chuckled.

You stood beside Barnes as he lifted the gun to Zemo. You watched what seemed like relief come across Zemo’s features. You weren’t necessarily surprised to see that expression, given that he had lost everyone. He was willing to take his own life in Siberia all those years ago, so of course he wasn’t afraid to die now. But part of it may have been relief to see Barnes being the one to hold the gun. Part of him likely wanted Barnes to be the killer HYDRA made him.

When Barnes pulled the trigger and the gun was empty, Zemo’s relief shifted to disappointment. You opened your palm and moved the bullets in a circle above your hand. You held your hand up with a small smirk as Zemo stared at the bullets in disbelief. You smiled as the Dora approached.

You let the bullets fall to the ground and tucked your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels. “Told you I’d deliver him myself.” You nodded in greeting.

“I took the liberty of crossing off my name in your book.” Zemo added. “I hold no grudges for what you thought you had to do.. Goodbye, James. Goodbye, Y/N.”

Ayo talked to Barnes for a minute while you looked at the memorial again. So many lives lost.. It still blew your mind how quickly that situation had gotten out of control.

You left before Barnes did. He was still talking to Ayo when you slipped away. Part of you knew you should’ve stayed and explained where you were going. But the bigger part of you just wanted to go. You headed to the airport where the Stark jet was waiting for you.

First, you went to your shared apartment. You quickly packed all your things and left no trace of yourself in the apartment. You thought about leaving a note, something simple that said ‘Heading back to my family. Thanks for the place to crash.’ but even that didn’t feel right. You decided it was best to say nothing so left about two months worth of rent in cash and walked out. You hailed a cab and headed to the lake house.

You spent the last couple days getting to know your half-sister, and she was such a sweet kid. You saw a lot of resemblance to your dad so the first day with her was rough. But you gave her a chance and you were glad you did.

The two of you spent most of the time near the lake. You showed her different tricks you could do with the water. You used the air to blow her hair around and make the leaves fly. You made little Avenger figures from the rocks below. You used your powers for parlor tricks instead of fighting, and the calm felt nice.

When you got the call from Sam, you ignored it. You assumed it was a lead on Karli and at the moment, you wanted nothing to do with it. You did your part and got the shield away from Walker. You couldn’t save that Flag Smasher but you saved Sam and Barnes. You put Zemo back in prison. All your boxes were checked. You could rest… So why didn’t you feel at peace?

It was another couple days before you were contacted by Sam and Barnes again.

You were with Morgan at the shoreline when the car pulled up. You assumed it was someone for Pepper, probably Happy. You were making a crown from the water for Morgan, freezing it above her head before placing it in its place. You spun the air around you two for dramatic effect.

“I now crown thee, Princess Morgan!” You announced theatrically, pushing a wave across the lake that made her giggle. “Sovereign ruler of this great body of water! What is your first decree, your Highness?” You bowed dramatically.

“Trespassers!” She announced, pointing behind you. “Defend our shores!”

“I shall give my life to serve!” You laughed before turning to see who was coming. You saw Sam and Barnes stepping out of the car and you froze momentarily. “Alas, fair Princess, it’s only visitors from another kingdom.”

“Trespassers!” She yelled again with a wide smile. “Get them!”

“I live to serve thee.” You chuckled and shook your head before heading to the boys.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding?” Barnes asked simply.

“Better than fighting.” You shrugged. “Besides, I never rescheduled my apartment walkthroughs… You guys could’ve just called, yknow.”

“It’s not really the kind of thing you say over the phone.” Sam reasoned. “And last time I called, you didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, cause I thought you were gonna ask what I’m guessing you’re gonna ask me now.” You sighed and turned to check on Morgan. She was playing with the rock Avengers you made her, creating a fight scene of her own. You watched as she held the figure of yourself in one hand and threw a rock at one of the other Avengers.

“I’ll set the table for two more.. You don’t talk shop in front of the kid, you can stay for lunch.” You sighed, walking backwards and motioning for them to follow. “Pepper usually makes too much food anyways.”

“Morgan!” You called, heading towards the house with the boys following behind. “Chow time! Come get some lunch!” You waited at the porch for her to catch up.

“What is it?” She asked when she met up with you. “Who are these guys?” She whispered.

“Just some friends..” You dismissed her concerns with a smile as you took her hand while she jumped up the stairs. “Let’s go wash up.”

“Everyone washes their hands before we eat.” You said over your shoulder. “Morgan will show you to the bathroom.” She shot you an accusing look. “I’ll wash my hands in the kitchen so I can reset the table.” You put your hands up in surrender before heading to the kitchen.

“You invited people over?” Pepper asked as you pulled two more plates from the cabinet.

“More like they invited themselves..” You shrugged. “I figured there’d be enough anyway.”

“What do they want?” She eyed you carefully.

“Hopefully just to check in.”

“I didn’t know you were friends with those two.” Her tone betrayed something of disapproval.

“With all the family I’ve lost, I could use a few friends.” You answered sharply. “Oh, and I told them not to talk about anything in front of her so lunch should be pleasant. You’re welcome.”

“Y/N!” Morgan came running into the kitchen while laughing. “You are relieved of your knighthood.”

“I- Huh?” You laughed in disbelief while you pulled her chair out for her and your own chair from beside her. Pepper hid her giggle while bringing the food from the kitchen. “And who will take my place? Who can defend this great land better than me? The prodigy of Earth’s greatest defender, himself?”

“Him!” She pointed to Barnes -who offered a look of confusion- as he and Sam sat on the opposite side of the table. She grabbed your arm and pulled you close so she could whisper her next sentence. “He has a metal arm!” Her jaw dropped to mimic her earlier shock.

“Unfortunately, he won’t be staying long enough to protect your waters.” You said, feigning disappointment. “Sadly, Sir James is only visiting… Besides, I’m stronger than him anyway.”

You felt Barnes’ eyes on you but you ignored them. You didn’t call him James often. Really, that only came to mind as the third time. In Madripoor, taking the shield from Walker, and now. You weren’t sure why you said it but it felt better than calling him ‘Barnes’ when talking to Morgan. But maybe ‘Bucky’ would’ve been better.

“It’s true. I’ve seen it.” Sam added with a chuckle. Barnes simply rolled his eyes with an amused smile. You were relieved that he stepped in and dissipated the tension.

Lunch was surprisingly pleasant. The boys talked to Pepper about how the company was doing and the plans - if any - for rebuilding the Avengers compound. She asked about Zemo and if they knew anything about his escape. You all made jokes and told stories, which made the reunion rather fun.

Once the table was cleared, you took the boys outside while Pepper kept Morgan in the kitchen. You all stood around by the lake. You skipped rocks while Sam and Barnes started their proposition.

“We’re pretty sure Karli is going to attack the GRC vote.” Sam explained.

“Pretty sure isn’t enough to be here, Wilson.” You shook your head. “You’ll need to do something better than that.”

“There’s no guarantee but I bet we’re right.”

“Right… You really think she’s going to be able to travel to New York without someone snatching her up first?” You scoffed. “That move would make sense, I guess. If you can’t change the vote, you stop the vote. Probably kill the Council as a whole and get someone else in there.”

“So you’re in?”

“Am I in?” You laughed. “I did my due diligence. Walker doesn’t have the shield and Zemo is locked up. My hands are clean.”

“So you’re comfortable with quitting on this?” Barnes challenged.

“Why do you care?” You turned on him. “Why do you really care? Let me ask you something, Barnes. Why did you let me stay with you when you didn’t know me?”

“What are you getting at?” He avoided your question. The accusations in your tone hit him deep. It sounded like you were accusing him of ulterior motives, but he just wanted to do the right thing. He was glad for it, being that he quickly got used to having you around. To the point where he even liked having you around.

“I’ve seen my name in your book.” You said simply. “You think you have to make amends because you killed my grandparents. That’s all it’s been about, right? Cause I’m the only Stark left that can forgive you?”

“No.” He shook his head and tried to continue, but you interrupted. He had to admit that it might’ve started like that, a chance to right a wrong from so long ago. A wrong that was the final nail in the coffin of Tony and Steve’s friendship. But the fire in your eyes made it hard for him to admit that to you.

“You didn’t actually care that I was on my own, and that’s fine. I don’t need you to. But you don’t get to stand here and pretend that I was more than just a personal assignment.”

“It wasn’t like that!” He shouted. Barnes was wondering why he couldn’t tell you the full story. Maybe since he couldn’t even admit it to himself.

“What was it like then?” You snapped in return.

“Let’s just take a step back.” Sam tried carefully. You noticed the way he looked at Barnes, as if he was trying to help him.

“Do you see Howard when you look at me?” You pushed Barnes. A vicious heat was sprouting in your chest, inching up your throat and creeping down your arms. “Howard in his youth, believing that you and Steve were some- some unstoppable duo that HYDRA didn’t have a chance against. Or when I had blood on my face, did you see Howard before you killed him?”

“That’s enough!” Sam announced. The firmness of his tone cleared the red from your vision. You realized you had stepped closer to Barnes, almost in challenge. You chuckled in disbelief, stepping back with your hands up in surrender as you chewed the inside of your cheek.

“Y/N, we could really use your help.” Sam’s tone was gentler, bordering pleading.

“Please.” Barnes murmured, so quietly that you weren’t sure you had actually heard it.

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome, boys.” You replied simply, taking a couple steps backwards. “You’ll get an email when the Compound’s up and running again.”

“Y/N.” Sam tried again but you ignored him.

“This isn’t the kid Steve thought you were.” Barnes called out. “Doesn’t seem like the kid your dad thought you were either!”

“Bucky.” Sam scolded. He knew that wouldn’t convince you to help. If anything, it would push you further away.

You turned on your heel and pulled water up from the lake. In a swift movement, you threw it at Barnes and froze him against a nearby tree.

“You don’t get to tell me who my dad thought I was.” You warned as you stepped closer. “You barely knew him. Both of you barely knew him… And you barely know me.”

“I know you’re not a quitter.” Barnes continued.

“I’m not quitting.” You shrugged, dropping the ice. “Like I said, I did my part. You want a fighter? See if Walker will answer your calls. Maybe call on Sharon for another favor. I’m done. My part in this fight is over, Soldier.”

“We’re a team.” Sam offered. “We can’t do it without you.”

“I think you’ll manage.”

“Did you bring it?” Sam asked Barnes as you walked away.

“You think it’ll make a difference?” Barnes scoffed.

“Just give it to her, dumbass.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Stark!” Barnes called.

Your hand was on the stair railing but you froze. You turned but didn’t leave your position from the steps. You sighed and leaned against the house as Barnes came up to you with a case in hand.

“What is that?” You asked with a brow quirked in interest.

“I called in a favor.” He said causally as he held the case out to you.

“Again, what is it?”

“Will you stop being so stubborn for one minute?”

“No.”

“Consider it a gift.”

Cautiously, you took the case from his hands. You ignored the brushing of your fingers, though it made your heart stutter.

“Am I going to regret taking this?” You tried to lighten the air around you. There was still a tension lingering from your interaction only a few minutes earlier.

“Do you regret any of it?” He countered sincerely.

“Yeah.” You looked over at the lake. “We’ve lost good people doing this type of work… Can you really blame me for wanting to keep my peace?”

“We really need your help here, Y/N.” He stepped closer, placing a hand near yours on the railing.

“Tell me the truth then.”

“It doesn’t change anything..” He sighed. “You-“

“I want to hear you say it.” You said with a nod, more to convince yourself you were sure. “Is my name in your book?”

“Yeah… It was.” He confessed. “That’s what it was at first but..”

“But what? You saved my life so it balances out?”

“Wha- No. You know, you’re insufferable sometimes.” He groaned.

“Well, I guess that’s settled.” You sighed. “Thanks for this. I’ll send a ‘thank-you’ basket to Sam’s place for you.” You turned and went inside, dismissing your mom and Morgan while you went straight to your room.

You dropped the case on your bed and sat on the ground, back against the wall and knees to your chest while you stared at the so-called gift. It was light but there was weight to it. You had purposefully knocked it against the railing on your way in and felt a different reverberation from it, something you’d felt before but not often.

If you had to guess, you would’ve said Vibranium.

You folded your arms over your raised knees and dropped your chin on top. The case was taunting you and you let it. Your fingers itched to flip the latches, your brain creating possibilities for the contents. With a sudden movement, an all at once action that didn’t allow you to reconsider, you moved to it and pressed your thumb against the scanner.

There was a slight hiss of air as the seal between the two halves broke. There was almost a light coming from the contents and it only tempted you more. You drummed your fingers over the top, closing your eyes to register the reverb. It was Vibranium, but not completely. Not a solid piece, more flexible and bending. Fibers, maybe, or woven between.

You opened your eyes and held your breath while you lifted the top. The case sat open for a few more seconds, just until your chest was burning for air. Then you let out the breath and opened your eyes, seeing a flooded bunch of dark fabric sitting before you. Your fingers grazed the material, tracing the overlapping red and gold lines.

The colors matched your dad’s first suit perfectly. So perfectly it brought tears to your eyes.

“Dad…” You said softly. “I wish you were here right now, give me some advice.”

You gave a broken smile before shutting the case and shifting it out the way so you could sit. Hunched over, elbows on your knees and hands clasped while the tears welled to a point you had to close your eyes.

“You’d know the right thing to do, always did… Me on the other hand, I’m flailing. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be or where I’m supposed to be. I just wanted to be like you, Dad…”

A light knock at your door stole your attention. After a second of silence, Pepper walked in with a small smile on her face. She looked between you and the case before she settled on the bed next to you.

“You already are a lot like Tony.” She said softly and you sniffled. “He hit this kind of point too, where he thought he needed to stop because too many people were hurting.”

“But he didn’t.” You finished her thought and sat up, letting out a heavy sigh. “Pepper, I’m not my dad. I know that. I’ve always known that, but I just thought I could be like him.”

“You are.” She insisted gently. “I see him in everything you do. The way you are with Morgan. The way you talk. The way you carry yourself. Even the way you lose.”

“He’d want me to see this through.” You said quietly. Your voice felt far away, like it wasn’t coming from your body but from someplace else. From the lake maybe, where you and Pepper floated your dad’s first Arc Reactor. “I know that, but I don’t know if I can.”

“Your dad was wrong about a lot of things, Y/N.” She nodded before nudging you slightly. “But he was never, never wrong about you… You’re Tony Stark’s daughter. I don’t think your dad ever found a fight too big. Neither should you.”

“Karli’s threatened you and Morgan already. Sam’s nephews. If we can’t stop her, everyone we care about is in trouble.” You rambled, desperate for some sort of assurance that backing down was the right thing to do.

“Loki threatened you when he came to New York.” She shrugged. “Didn’t stop Tony.”

“Morgan is all the family you have, Pep. I can’t let that get taken away. You said it yourself. I don’t know how to do this. I can’t clean up my own mess. ”

“I’m gonna say this once, kiddo. Your dad didn’t know how to clean up his mess until he was standing in the middle of it.” She chuckled sadly. “But he found a way. And you are Y/N Stark, just as smart and capable as your father. Morgan thinks so, too.”

“You really think it’ll all be okay?”

“I do. After this is done, if you’re still done with it, then you can rest.”

You offered a small smile and she gave the same in return. You threw your arms around her and she laughed in surprise before returning the embrace. You weren’t sure where the path to Karli would leave, but you knew Pepper and your dad’s ghost was right.

You had to finish what you had started.

You packed a bag, separate from the suit Barnes gave you, and called up your family’s pilot. The jet was ready within the hour and you gave Morgan one last hug on the way out. She clung to your leg for a few minutes and you felt the little tear puddles on your pants. She muttered that you had to promise to come back, to protect Stark Waters, and you did just that.

Your flight was relatively quick and you hailed a cab to take you the rest of the way. The driver was chatty, especially when you told him where you were headed. Sam’s family was well-loved in his community and you liked to hear it. You kept your head down and signature Stark glasses on your face as you walked the few blocks to Sam’s sister’s place.

You hesitated to knock, worried you wouldn’t be welcomed. Or maybe you were worried you’d be too welcomed. Either way, you turned away from the door. You called another cab and had them take you to the pier, this driver also knew Sam’s family and directed you to the right boat.

You stepped aboard and left your suitcases up top before you headed down to the engine room. You remembered hearing from the drivers that Sam was trying to fix it up and you decided to help with the hard parts. You activated your glasses and the AI showed you where there were issues.

You were working quietly on your own, ordering parts as you went, when someone else showed up. Sam first, then Barnes soon after. You were startled and looked at them with wide eyes, but when they gave you knowing smiles - the type that said they knew you would show up - you turned back to your work.

Later that morning, you three had the water pump pulled apart. Sam and Barnes were talking about whether or not a certain bolt existed in a big gear and you ignored them, examining the gear itself. You rolled your eyes in amusement as they went back and forth until Sam’s sister Sarah came up.

“The water pump is not the problem.” She instead. “I don’t come up into the sky and tell you how to barrel roll or whatever so don’t come down here and start messing with things you clearly don’t understand.”

“It’s not the problem but it will be soon.” You said, lifting the propeller shaped gear. “The corrosion’s gonna lead to this thing not bringing in enough water and it’s gonna overheat. And the impeller is cracking. Don’t worry though. I ordered new ones and they should be here by end of day. Easy fix.”

“Stark.” She nodded.

“I thought about a whole new pump but…” You shrugged. “She’s still got some kick in her. Just needed a few add-ons.”

“Alright, off.” She shooed you three away. “Off, bye. Thank you so much.”

You stayed around the boat for a while longer while Sam and Barnes went off to do something you didn’t care to join in on. Instead, you waited around for your parts to arrive and you put them in place. By the time Sam got back, you had finished your portion of the rebuild. You were tightening a few last bolts while Sam and Sarah talked, though you caught the end of their conversation.

“What would be the point of all the pain and sacrifice if I wasn’t willing to stand up and keep fighting?” Sam said simply, as if he truly understood his place in the fight.

And at the same time, you seemed to understand yours.

After hanging around and training for a few days with Sam, he got a call. His friend Torres caught a cell ping that matched the same pings from across Europe, just before the Flag Smashers went through. The ping was set in New York.

You were quick to set up travel plans to New York. Sam said he would get in touch with Barnes while you did your end. After the calls were made and a time table was set, you found Sam opening his case.

“Looks good.” You said as you went in, peering over to see it. “It’ll suit you.”

“How’d yours look?” He asked.

“Stylish, easy to move in, and a little homage to my dad… Pretty much perfect.”

“Pretty much?”

“Depends if it’s fireproof.”

At that, Sam laughed.

“You ready for this, Captain?” You gave him a small nudge with your elbow.

“Are you, Stark?”

“Yeah.” You nodded with a small smile. “I think I am.”