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epicrainbowsheep · 7 days ago

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Remember Me Now? - Part 1

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Your relationship with Bucky Barnes is strange. He seems to know more about you than you know about yourself. It, truthfully, freaked you out. You could never figure out how he knew the smallest details, or why he treated you with a certain hesitancy even during his Winter Soldier days. Then you get sent back to the 1940s.

Word Count: 13.9k

Warnings/Tags: Fighting, Choking (not like that), Reader does not speak Russian or Romanian, Google Translated Russian and Romanian, Reader can kinda fight but general backstory on how they learned is kept vague, Flashbacks, The year jumps around a lot, LOTS OF EXPOSITION, Time Travel

A/N: Feel free to correct me on any of the Russian and Romanian! My first series for Bucky. It’s kinda slow in the beginning but give it a chance this is the first chapter I gotta set stuff up. I hope you guys enjoy!

Masterlist

2014

The Winter Soldier.

You had heard the name before, but you knew nothing substantial about him. One thing you knew for certain, however, was that he was dangerous.

You didn’t know how dangerous until your first encounter with him.

You had been running after Natasha. You saw her take cover after taking a shot to the shoulder. Breathing heavily, you force yourself to run after her. She desperately needed backup; you had never seen her afraid before.

You weren’t sure where Steve was, but you could’ve really used his help. You watched helplessly as she leaned against the car, her body pressed up against the wheel.

“Shit.” Cursing, you pulled out a pistol, ready to defend her. Then you saw him.

He jumped up on a car, aiming his gun in her direction. Raising your pistol, you took a shot at him. She wasn’t in a good position right now. You needed to distract him from her.

The bullet hit his gun, causing him to fumble. His focus immediately snapped to you. You were wide open, an easy shot. You dove for cover behind a car. Glancing to where you had been standing, you catch a glimpse of bullets shooting at the spot you previously stood with unparalleled accuracy.

You looked in every direction frantically. He could appear from anywhere, and you knew if you left your cover, he’d take the opportunity to shoot you.

Suddenly, the car you leaned against bounced, and you looked up to see the Winter Soldier standing up on top of it, his gun pointed at you.

He shot the pistol out of your hand, and you frantically attempted to reach into a pocket to grab any weapon. He never gave you the chance, as he threw himself on top of you, effectively pinning you to the ground. Back against the street, his eyes leered at your own. Your throat seized as his metal hand constricted your airway.

You desperately attempted to get air, but you only ended up coughing, releasing what little air you had. You gazed into his cold, rigid stare. This was it. This was where you would die, looking at the man HYDRA had turned into a weapon.

Then he stopped.

He didn’t let you go, no, but he stopped choking you. You took in every gulp of air you could, your chest rising and falling. Eventually, your breathing slowed, but the cold metal of his hand still lay on your neck.

You didn’t dare to speak. You didn’t dare to move. Body frozen, you remained on the ground, taking deep breaths, staring up at him. You blinked slowly, and to your surprise, he mirrored the action.

Breath hitching, you tilted your head to the side, and as a result, he tilted his head too. Lowering his weapon, he leaned closer to your face. Unable to move under his unyielding grasp, you watched as he approached.

“Почему я тебя знаю?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper. It didn’t help that he wore a mask, muffling what few words you could hear.

You didn't respond. You couldn’t. Frozen in your spot, you stared at him. You had no idea what he said. Attempting to formulate a response, you moved your lips, but no words came out.

Suddenly, Steve’s shield threw him off of you, sending the Soldier sprawling on a van’s door. Gasping, you immediately moved your hand to your throat. Feeling the beginnings of a bruise, you had let out a shaky breath. You’re alive. You turned your head back to where the Soldier landed, only to find he had already recovered.

You expected his attention to be on Steve, after all, Steve was the biggest threat to him.

You felt a chill move up your spine when you realized he was staring at you, almost as if his gaze never left.

You felt somebody attempt to pull you up. “Shit, we gotta get you out of here. Did he get you?” Natasha pulled you up, and you shook your head. Focus, you aren’t even that injured.

As you walked with Natasha to better cover, you turned back to the fight.

Why didn’t he kill you?

You weren’t sure if you should tell anybody about that incident.

You weren’t exactly sure what happened. Perhaps you weren’t his main target?

Bucky.

That’s the name Steve said belonged to the man. You remember briefly seeing his name at the Smithsonian. Apparently, he was a part of the Howling Commandos, the unit Steve had led during World War II. Steve had insisted that he watched Bucky fall off a train, and that one of his biggest regrets was failing to save him.

You looked up the name “Bucky Barnes” on Google. Opening the images, you withheld your gasp at seeing the older photos.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe Steve, you’ve always had faith in the man. It was just hard to imagine that the Winter Soldier is just a Google search away. Tapping on one of the photos, you noticed that his hair was shorter back then. He looked lighter back then.

“What are you doing?” Natasha leaned on the couch you were sitting on.

The instant you heard her voice, you shut the phone off. “Nothing.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Sure, of course.” She walked around the couch to sit next to you. “Did he do something to you?” She whispered, her voice almost sounding concerned.

Your eyes widened slightly, “Sorry?”

“The Soldier. You looked shaken after I pulled you away.” She leaned against the back of the couch. “Did he do something? Say Something?”

“Well, he almost choked me to death.” You deflected dryly.

“No, I’ve seen you almost die. That wasn’t it. You froze.” Natasha pushed, before sighing. “Look, it’s none of my business, I know. Just,” she stood up, looking down at you, “don’t let him get in your head. We can’t let him win, even if he is the long-lost friend of Steve.” She placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it slightly before walking away.

“He said something.” The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

Natasha stopped, turning back around to face you. “What’d he say?”

You shook your head, “I don’t know. It was in Russian.”

Natasha cursed, “Any context clues?”

You tapped your phone absentmindedly, “He almost killed me, I was right there under his arm. I thought that that was it. Then he stopped. He let me breathe.” You brought your hand up to your throat, still remembering the feeling of the cold metal tightening around your airways.

“I remember looking up at him, scared that any movement would cause him to choke me again.” You shook your head, chuckling. “Then he started mirroring my movement. I blinked slowly, he blinked slowly. I tilted my head, he tilted his head.” You threw your phone down onto the couch. “Then he spoke, and before I had a chance to ask what the hell he just said, he got knocked off of me, courtesy of Steve.” You looked up at Natasha. “When I sat up, I turned toward him, only to find him staring at me.”

Natasha gave you a conflicted look. “You didn’t tell anybody?” She asked.

You shake your head, “I didn’t know what to say. What can we even do with that information?”

Natasha walked back over to the couch. “He spared you.”

“I mean, yes, he did, but he was distracted. Perhaps, I just wasn’t his target. He might not care about collateral damage.” You shrugged, but Natasha shook her head.

“No, you don’t understand. The Soldier eliminates any collateral. He doesn’t spare people close to his targets. You should’ve died there…” Natasha looked straight forward, contemplative.

“Gee, thanks.” You chuckled humorlessly.

“And you didn’t say anything to him?” Natasha asked, turning towards you.

“No, I was a little busy getting choked to death.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Seriously, Nat, just drop it. I’m not going to question it, I’m just glad I made it out.”

She looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn't. She stood up slowly. She sighed, giving you an indecipherable look. “Fine, but if it happens again…”

“I’m not exactly searching for him, Nat. I doubt it’d happen again.” You smiled, shaking your head, and grabbing your phone.

She gave a small smirk, “Your search history says otherwise.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but she’s already halfway out of the room.

“You’re taking that out of context.” You mumbled to yourself, unlocking your phone, which reflects Bucky’s face.

You never found out if Steve knew about your little encounter with the Soldier (Bucky?). You considered telling him, but he was already stressed out with everything else going on. Everybody was. There was no point in telling him useless information like that.

Shortly after HYDRA fell, you decided to work with Sam and Steve in order to track down Bucky. You still remember the look Natasha gave you after she handed Steve his file. She didn’t even have to say anything, for you decided to walk over to her anyway.

“I know what you’re going to say.” You sighed. “Then why search for him? You even said it yourself, it could’ve been nothing.” She said, the two of you turning away from Fury’s “grave.”

You shook your head, “I don’t know.” You whispered.

She stopped, turning to face you. You matched her movement. “I can’t stop you, can I?”

You offered her a remorseful smile, mouthing the word “No.”

She sighed, “Be safe, okay?”

You grinned at her, “I’ll be with Steve and Sam. I’ll be fine.” You waved a hand back towards them.

“That’s what worries me.” She looked back towards them before turning back to you.

“I’ll see you around.” She nodded at you.

You returned the gesture, “See you around.” You watched as she walked out of the graveyard.

You walked back over to Steve and Sam, “When do we start?”

2016

“Sam, I really don’t think it’s a good idea for me to get involved. This sounds like an actual Avengers issue.” You rubbed your temples, phone still held up to your ear.

“You’re an Avenger.” You scoffed, Avenger adjacent maybe. “Come on, we need all the help we can get,” Sam begged.

“Look, there was a reason I dropped the search for him, and seeing as he is speculated to have killed the King of Wakanda, I might have made the right decision!” You paced around the room.

You heard Sam sigh from the other side of the phone. “Look, we’re desperate. Please at least come over to check out the situation. You don’t have all the facts. Bucky did not kill King T’Chaka.” You remained silent at his words. “I won’t pretend to know your reasons for dropping the search. It’s none of my business, I know. I won’t make you interact with him, but we need help.” Sam pleaded.

You huffed, “You’re really this desperate?”

“Yes,” Sam emphasized. “Look, I will send you the location where and when we will be meeting up. Please consider it.” Sam reiterated.

You paused, damn it. Sam has always been good at persuading you. “I’ll consider it…”

You could practically see his shoulders relax in relief. “Thank you.”

2014, Bucharest

“I will let you guys know if I run into anything, don’t worry.” You rolled your eyes as Steve frowned at you.

“Are you sure you’re okay doing this alone?” Steve asked.

“My answer hasn’t changed since the last time you asked.” You replied confidently.

“Okay, good luck out there.” Steve clasps your shoulder, a strained smile on his face.

“You too.” You nodded at him and Sam before exiting the Quinjet. Stepping out into the sunlight, you took a deep breath before walking into the forest. You turned around one last time as the wind picked up. Hoping Steve and Sam could see you, you waved as the Quinjet took off.

You sighed before starting your long trek towards the city.

Truthfully, it didn’t take long. Steve and Sam had given you a quick rundown. It was one of the five cities they narrowed Bucky’s location down to: Bucharest, Florence, Moscow, Athens, or Prague.

You didn’t particularly care where they sent you out to, so you just let them drop you off wherever they thought was right.

For weeks, you had ambled around the city, looking for any sort of clues. Newspapers were unhelpful, showing no signs of any activity by the Winter Soldier. Nothing on television helped either.

Eventually, a month went by. Frustrated, you almost contacted Steve, saying this place had nothing useful.

Then you heard it.

“Mama! I want a metal arm too!”

Your head never whipped around so fast. A young boy, no older than six, had his hand latched onto his mother’s long skirt. You watched them pass you by as the young boy proceeded to ask his mom if he could have one.

You immediately felt your heart pound. The three of you had been living off scraps of information for months now. Ever since HYDRA went down, there’s been no sign of him. The only lead you had was the file Natasha gave you.

“Uh, scuze,” You apologized to the mother, turns out learning basic phrases comes in handy. She turned toward you, questioning. “Did you happen to run into a man with a metal arm? We’re old friends, trying to reconnect.” You asked, giving the woman an innocent smile.

Immediately, the boy's eyes lit up, “Yes! It was so cool.” He gasps, “Do you have a metal arm too, ma’am?” The young boy asked.

The mother muttered something to her kid in Romanian, seemingly scolding him for asking such a question. “I’m sorry about him, yes, we saw him down the street by the clothing store.” She turned to point you in the direction.

You nodded thankfully, “I see, mulţumesc mult.” You gave her a small smile, then waved at the kid as he walked away with his mother.

You turned around, slowly heading down the way the mother told you. A lead. A real lead. Of course, it could always just be a coincidence, but this felt right. Metal arms can’t be that common anyway.

You approached the small clothing store. “Buna ziua!” You greet the shopowner, an older woman. She nods in acknowledgement. You slowly approach her, “I am sorry to bother, but have you seen a man with a metal arm recently?” You asked her, giving her your best innocent smile.

She seemed to hesitate, “Can’t say that I have.”

You frowned, “Look, I’m looking for a friend of mine. I’ve been searching for him for months now—”

“I know why you’re here.” The lady shook her head. You raise an eyebrow at her words. “Ruining a good man’s life like that,” she scoffed.

You blinked, shaking your head. “What? I think there’s been a misunderstanding, ma’am. I don’t want to ruin his life or anything. I just want to talk to him.”

She chuckled, “Talk to him?” She repeats the words as if they left a foul taste in her mouth.

You moved closer to the stand, placing your arms onto it. “Look, I know this sounds suspicious, but I’m part of the good guys here. I don’t want to hurt him.”

She shook her head disapprovingly, “But you will if you have to.”

You quickly shook your head, “Woah, I never said that.”

“You implied it.” The woman glared at you. Apparently, she was insistent that you had malicious intentions. Great.

“I did no-” You took a deep breath, looking down at your hands. “Okay, I’m sorry. Look, we only want to help him. Trust me, that man is very capable of defending himself. The situation is very confusing, but I promise.” You looked up at her, pleading, “We only want to help him.”

The woman looked you up and down, her eyes judging your every movement. Resisting the urge to squirm, you met her cold eyes with your pleading ones.

The woman turned away slightly before saying what was probably some curse, muttering a few more phrases in Romanian. “Do not hurt him.” She placed a hand on the counter you’re standing next to.

You nodded eagerly, “I promise.”

She sighed, “A couple of blocks down, there’ll be a fountain. Somewhere near it is a small alley. There should be an abandoned building somewhere in that area.” You nodded at the end of each sentence, eagerly absorbing the information.

“I’d move quickly, from what he’s told me, he moves around often. He won’t like being followed.” She added on.

“Got it, multumesc.” You thank her frantically before opening your map and attempting to find this fountain.

“Remember! Do not harm him.” The lady repeated, a stern tone in her voice.

You turned around, smiling, “Yes, ma’am!” You waved at her (a gesture which wasn’t returned), before making your way to the fountain. Eventually, you found it. It was not a very large fountain, but it was pretty cute. You smile as you watch some children chase birds around it. You scanned the area searching for any alleys. After walking in circles a few times, you eventually found one that was hidden by the entrance to a building.

You slowed down a bit, taking in your location and any potential exits there may be, just in case you need to run. As you walked further and further down, you began to wonder if there were any abandoned buildings here. The alleyway seemed to consist of the back of restaurants and stores. Eventually, however, you stumbled onto a barricaded door.

You hesitated before approaching it. Is this it? Should you have texted Steve? It could still be a false alarm, but with how suspicious the woman was, you doubt it. You tried to peep through the window, but it was impossible to see through.

Just as you thought all hope was lost, you notice another window, albeit much higher up, that’s open. Yeah, you could fit through that. The problem was getting up to reach it. You looked around for anything to stand on. Finding some boxes from the restaurant next door, you pile them up to create a tower you can climb on.

“Come on,” you muttered to yourself, reaching up for the small window. You decided to risk it all, jumping up.

“Yes!” You whispered as you hoisted your upper body through the window, groaning. You looked around the room. There was an inflatable mattress on the floor, and next to it lay a small backpack. You pushed your full body through the window, attempting to quietly make your way through the room.

Cluttered trash lay in every corner, and you tiptoed to avoid it. A coffee table, oldened and scratched up, sits next to a worn-out leather couch. You walked over to it, wincing as the floorboards creaked under each step. A lightly creased newspaper lay upon the coffee table, and next to it, a cup of coffee on a coaster. You uncrumple the newspaper, and your heart drops.

AVENGERS DESTROY GOVERNMENT INTELLIGENCE AGENCY, ARE THESE TRULY THE HEROES WE WANT PROTECTING US?

You read the date: May 23, 2014

May 23rd, 2014

You looked toward the cup of coffee, still steaming. Shit.

“You could’ve knocked.” An unfamiliar voice echoed across the space.

You jumped, immediately throwing the newspaper away and grabbing your pocket knife. As you jumped, you nudged the coffee table, causing the mug on top of it to spill.

Both of your eyes flickered toward the mug. “Sorry,” you cleared your throat awkwardly, keeping your eyes on Bucky.

Bucky barely reacted, but his eyes glanced at you in what almost feels like amusement.

“Don’t worry about it.” He spoke a little louder, his eyes still on you. “Why didn’t you knock?” He repeated.

You slowly lowered your knife. “Sorry?”

He tilted his head to the barricaded door. “The door.”

You narrowed your eyes in confusion, “It was barricaded?”

He shrugged, “I would’ve let you in had you knocked.”

Your knife, essentially forgotten, lay in your hand at your side. “We’ve been searching for you…” You stated, watching as he casually walked over to you. He gives a hum as if to say “Is that so?”

“Steve’s been trying to pull every favor he has just to catch a lead on you.” You openly gaped as the Winter Soldier anticlimatically sat down on the couch.

He scoffed, “I’m sure he did.” He had a fond smile on his face, small but present.

You blatantly stared at him as he casually shrugged off a leather jacket from his shoulders, as if this was a normal occurrence. “Who am I talking to right now?”

“James Buchanan Barnes.” He answered.

“Do you always tell everybody your full legal name when they ask?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I read it in a museum.” He ignored your question. You can’t help the laughter that emerges from your chest. It’s such an absurd sentence.

“You found out your name from a museum?” You placed your hands on your hips.

“Well, Steve told me. I just did a background check on myself.” He shrugged.

“Okay, do you remember anything outside of what Google can tell you?” You asked, putting your knife away as you crossed your arms facing him.

“Here and there,” he picked off lint from the couch, “do you?” He asked, meeting your stare head-on.

You frowned, “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”

He looked into your eyes for a bit longer before a disappointed smile crossed his face. “Hm,” he hummed, looking away.

“To answer your question, yes, I remember meeting you. Sorry about choking you by the way.” He looked genuinely upset, a contrite frown on his face. Is this really the same guy who almost killed you?

“It’s okay,” you responded hesitantly, tapping your foot.

His eyes fell to your feet. “You seem confused, perhaps anxious.” He gives you a look. “I know you well enough to know that.” He whispered to himself, chuckling. His eyes didn’t look up at you. He continued to stare at the ground, contemplative.

Despite how soft his words were, the room was quiet. You took a slow deep breath, “What do you mean you know me well enough? How could you possibly know me?” You asked him, beginning to feel uneasy about the situation.

He sat up straighter, tapping his finger on his leg. Sighing, he averted his gaze. He said your name softly before looking back at you. “You really don’t remember?” He whispered. His voice was a low whisper. You almost wonder if you imagined the words.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, attempting to hide your growing panic. Is this some kind of test?

As if sensing your unease, he paused. “I’ve been slowly remembering stuff, you know?” He suddenly changed the subject. He rubbed his thumbs over his hands, looking down. His eyes snapped up to your own, “I believe I figured out what triggered it.”

“I knew I’d see you again.” He sounded so sure of himself that you began to wonder if you truly had met him before this. “You always said we’d meet again one day.” He gave you a pained, tired smile.

You felt your heart drop, “I never said anything like that.” Perhaps he is still under HYDRA’s control? There’s bound to be some members still lurking. Perhaps they drugged him?

His smile faltered, “I vaguely remember when HYDRA first took me in.” Despite your unease, your heart somehow still managed to ache for him. “I remember thinking that I never wanted to forget you. You had said that we’d meet again, and I wanted to ensure that. You sounded like you knew it would happen, that we’d meet again.” He gave you a soft smile. “I just didn’t expect like this.”

“Bucky,” you began slowly, “did you run into a HYDRA agent before this?” You weren’t sure if they drugged him, but with all this nonsense he was saying, it made sense.

“What?” He sounded angry, perhaps bewildered for the first time. Familiar. It reminds you of his tone the first time he spoke to you (Почему я тебя знаю?). Cautiously, you watched his every move.

“I swear, I know who I am. I am aware. I am not him. I’ve been trying not to be him.” His hand reached out to you, and you flinched back. Immediately, you stood up, creating distance between you two.

You weren’t sure how to describe what his expression was. On the surface, it looked stoic, calm, unbothered. However, you could see the hurt in his eyes. His eyes seemed to attempt to communicate a silent question, one you couldn’t deduce. You didn’t remember him? Why didn’t you remember him?

He said your name softly, standing up in order to try and go over to you. How does he know your name?

“I… I got to go.” You slowly walked to any exit you could find. Once you got out, you attempted to put as much distance between you two as you could. Bucky didn’t attempt to approach you again, only giving you the look of what almost resembled a lost puppy. That made no sense. This is the Winter Soldier, an assassin who’d been active for decades. Sure, he may not be killing anymore, but that doesn’t make him a cuddle buddy. Even years after this incident, you still can’t burn the image of his expression from your brain.

You ran like a coward. Steve and Sam had been searching for Bucky for months, and you ran.

Emerging out of the alleyway, you pulled your phone out. You turned around once you reached the fountain, dialing Steve’s number.

“Steve,” You were out of breath, checking each direction as if Bucky would magically appear. He didn’t.

“I’m done.” You shook your head, sitting at a bench near the fountain.

“What- Did something happen? Did you find him? Are you hurt?” He asked with growing concern.

“No,” you smacked your lips, still breathing heavily, “no. I just, I just can’t do this mission anymore. I’m sorry.” You leaned over from your seating position.

“Okay, okay, we’ll finish up here and be there within the day. You think you’ll be okay until then?” You heard him picking up the pace of whatever he was doing.

“Yeah,” you exhale, “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you then, thank you.” You said your goodbyes before hanging up.

2016

You never told anybody that you found Bucky. You weren’t sure how to. Neither Sam nor Steve questioned why you suddenly dropped “Operation: Search for Barnes.” They were curious, no doubt, but they didn’t pry. All you told them was that some personal information came to light about him, and you couldn’t continue the mission.

After you had time to reflect on the incident, you thought that maybe you overreacted a little bit. Your thoughts were conflicting. On one hand, he didn’t seem to be malicious to any extent. In fact, he seemed quite amiable even though you broke into his residence. On the other hand, he knew your name and had your quirks down to a T. He looked at you as if he knew you better than you knew yourself.

When you got back, you had even done a quick background check on yourself. Yes, on yourself. Perhaps you were missing something. Perhaps you had met him somewhere in the past, but nothing added up to any places he had been. You two, hypothetically, should never have known each other prior to the whole HYDRA incident a couple of years back.

When Sam called, you knew you’d have to face him. The fact that you were able to walk away for two years was a luxury. What made things worse is that you heard things from Steve after Sam contacted you. Steve put his full trust in Bucky. He wasn’t a bad person.

He just happened to know an eerie amount about you.

Really, you should’ve told somebody. Steve definitely should’ve known. You essentially turned his manhunt for Bucky into a two-year dead end. The only reason he had been found was because he’d been falsely accused of terrorism.

Even though you didn’t know him, you didn’t. Somehow, you immediately knew Sam was right. Bucky didn’t blow up the United Nations center in Vienna.

Perhaps it was guilt you felt? After all, maybe Bucky was drugged, and he was lying. Maybe it was a misunderstanding. You didn’t know.

And that’s just the problem, isn’t it?

You. Didn’t. Know.

Packing your bags, you set out for Germany. Apparently, they wanted to meet at an airport in Leipzig? You didn’t question it. The Avengers were always extra, but airport meetups were a new thing.

The flight was long and boring, but eventually you landed. As you exited the airport, you took out your phone to get an Uber when a white van pulled up. You took a step back, thinking it was for another person. The window rolled down.

“Hey,” Clint nodded at you, Wanda seated next to him. She offered you a small smile.

Mouth dropped in awe, you blinked at Clint and Wanda. You don’t know when the last time you saw Clint was. You had met Wanda once or twice in the past, but you never got to know her that well.

“They rope you two into this as well?” You asked, as you slid the van door open, revealing a man who you had definitely not met.

“Oh- Who… Who is this?” You asked, closing the door and stepping into the back of the van, avoiding the unconscious stranger sprawled comfortably on the two seats in the middle.

“Back up.” Clint looked down at him. “Sam said he could like shrink or something? I dunno. His name is Scott.” He shrugged.

“Oh,” you nod slowly, “Alright, I guess. He did sound desperate. Who are we up against anyway?” You leaned against the side of the car as you felt the car move.

“Well,” he paused, “at minimum Tony, Nat, Rhodey, and probably Vision.” He looked toward Wanda, who nodded solemnly.

“So, hypothetically, we should outnumber them?” You asked hopefully.

“We hope so, but I’m sure Tony has some tricks up his sleeve.” Clint sighed.

The rest of the car ride consisted of casual conversation. It wasn’t very long until you all pulled up to the location. Clint parked the car, waiting a bit before you saw another car approach. “You stay here with him, make sure he’s still alive. I’ll go talk to Steve first.” He shut the door, going over to greet Steve, Wanda following him.

You unbuckled your seat belt, attempting to maneuver your way to the window. As you passed by Scott, you heard him snore softly. Perfect, he’s still alive. You crawled your way up to the passenger seat, trying to look through the window. From what you could see, it was Steve, Sam, and him in the back. As if sensing you were watching him, Bucky’s eyes fell onto you, his posture immediately straightening once your eyes both met.

Eyes widening and frantically trying to hide, you pushed yourself back, landing awkwardly on the ground with an “Oof!” You attempted to push yourself back up, but there was not much space in the van, and Scott was still asleep on the seats. You tried shifting in a way you could get up without disturbing him, but it was becoming more impossible by the minute.

Then the door slid open.

“He should be good—” Clint turned to look inside the van, “—What are you doing?” Scott jumped awake, and you watched in horror as everybody laid eyes on you two. “Woah, when did you get here? I don’t think we’ve met.” Scott groggily sat up, gesturing at you sprawled beneath him. “Why are you on the floor?” He gives an amused smile at you.

You pushed yourself up, now having the room to stand, “Technical difficulties.” You muttered.

He nodded sympathetically, “Been there.”

Steve gave you a wide-eyed look, his mouth parting in surprise. He turned to Sam, who gave him the most smug smirk imaginable. “I thought you were done with these kinds of missions.” Steve walked over to help you out of the van, giving you a pat on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” you gave him a small smile, “I thought so too.” You gave a pointed look to Sam, shaking your head. He returned it with a smirk and smug nod. You purposefully ignored Bucky’s eyes on you.

Steve pulled you to the side as Scott greeted Sam. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Sam did tell you Bucky would be involved, right?” Steve frowned, crossing his arms.

You nodded slowly, “Yeah, I had time to think about it.” You looked up at him, “It’s okay, Steve. I’m here to help you and Sam. You two have done a lot for me over the years.” You glanced back at Sam before turning back to Steve, “I should return the favor.” You smiled at him.

Steve exhaled with a smile on his face, “Alright, I appreciate it, really, but if you want to drop it now, this is your last chance—”

You turned to face him, “Absolutely not. I am not taking it back, come on.” You walk past him, patting his arm and tilting your head to Scott. “You gotta meet the whole team.”

Steve gave you a small smile, walking up to Scott. You followed closely behind Steve, giving Sam a small nod. Hesitantly, you turned your gaze toward Bucky. His attention was focused on Scott fawning over Steve. He looked almost casual, leaning against the car like that.

He met your eyes, catching you staring, and you both stared at each other for a moment before you offered a slow nod in acknowledgement. He straightened his posture, taking his arm off the car as if ready to move, when an announcement blared over the parking garage. He paused his movement, his eyes still resting on you. “They’re evacuating the airport.” His eyes flicker toward Steve.

“Stark.” Sam looked toward Steve, his arms crossed.

“Stark?” Scott repeated incredulously.

Steve shifted, looking between Clint, Wanda, Scott, and you. “Suit up.” His nods, his tone calm and authoritative.

As the team began to suit up, you approached Sam separately, “Hey, so I couldn’t bring any of my weapons cause you know… TSA.” You offered him a sheepish grin. He held up his finger, telling you to wait, before he went to the trunk of his car and pulled out your gear. “Boom.” He dropped your gear into your arms.

“You brought all of this just in case I was coming?” You chuckled, looking up at him.

“I knew you were gonna show.” He smirked, patting you on the back. “Now, suit up.”

The team decided to send in Steve first, more as a distraction than anything. The main goal was to get Bucky to the Quinjet. Steve decided to split up the team. Wanda and Clint would keep their distance as back up for Steve or Barnes, keeping their main focus on Steve, but easily being able to divert it to Bucky if needed. As Steve talked to Tony, Sam would send Redwing to try to find the optimal path to the Quinjet.

Of course, you ended up with Sam and Bucky.

You would be used as a backup specifically for Bucky and Sam. You positioned yourself so that you could trail them easily without being seen. As Steve was telling the others their mission, you felt Bucky brush up from beside you.

“You never told them, did you?” He whispered to you, unbeknownst to the others.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, slowly shaking your head. “No,”

He continued to look at you, “Why?” He asked incredulously. “You said it yourself, Steve was still looking for me at the time. You probably thought I was crazy, too. Why did you not say anything?” His voice was still a low whisper.

You finally turned to face him, and he looked confused. He looked desperate, as if he wanted to understand, but couldn’t.

“I don’t know.” You eventually whispered back.

He sighed, weary, “I’m sorry for that day. It wasn’t my intention to make you comfortable.” He shook his head. “I truly didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with anything I said…”

You looked at him, his eyes downcast. You slowly reached a hand to put on his shoulder, and he looked startled by the touch, but didn’t move away from it. He stared at your hand as if it would disappear at any moment. “It’s okay, Bucky. Really. I can’t imagine what you were going through. I don’t blame you for any of that. I mean, I probably didn’t look great either. It must have been startling to see a random person creep into your room.” You offered him a small smile.

You knew that going into this, you’d have to eventually talk to Bucky. He didn’t hold anything against you, and you did not hold anything against him. Sure, you were disconcerted by your first meeting, but you had this gut feeling that you should give him another chance. After all, like you said, he was only starting to live as a regular person again after seventy years. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Plus, Steve vouched for him.

He stared at you before blinking away his surprise. “It was a little off-putting.” His lips turned up in amusement.

Out of the corner of your eye, you realized that Steve was watching you two. You nodded at Bucky, who watched as you walked over to Steve. “You two good?” Steve asked softly.

You nod, “Yeah,” you smile, “better than ever. You ready to execute this plan?” You smiled at him.

He smiled, “Let’s get into positions.”

Despite how anxious you felt, you thought you did pretty well. The plan, while not perfect, was satisfactory. You can’t say that you weren’t expecting Tony to bring some new recruits, but the abilities they demonstrated definitely weren’t expected. Dealing with a Spider-person (Spiderman, you think he said) wasn’t exactly in your top three guesses for possible obstacles, but you eventually dealt with him. You managed to distract him for a bit before Redwing was able to carry him out of the building. You looked toward Sam and Bucky, giving them a nod of encouragement.

The team eventually realized that in order for Bucky to have a chance to leave, some of you would have to stay back. You figured it would come to that, and didn’t object to staying behind. Despite running into multiple obstacles, eventually Steve and Bucky were able to escape.

After the whole Zeno situation, you hadn’t interacted with Bucky. Steve offhandedly mentioned that after everything, Bucky ended up staying in Wakanda. From what you heard, the main goal was to remove the Winter Soldier programming. You were glad he was accepting help after running from Steve for two years.

All things considered, you thought you two parted on decent terms. Friends might have been a bit of a stretch, but you supposed that is the word that fits your partnership.

You didn’t ever consider that you’d meet Bucky again, after all, you were kind of done with the whole “Avengers” thing. You wanted to just move on from that part of your life, and you were ready for something different.

Perhaps you could find somebody? Maybe get a dog or a cat? You could finally have peace.

Obviously, that didn’t happen.

2023, Present time

There are no words you can use to explain how you feel.

After Thanos wiped out half of the universe’s population, you felt defeated. Everyone who remained did. You were one of the lucky few who were left behind. If you consider that “lucky.”

You truly thought all hope was lost, but then Tony came up with the device to go back in time without getting lost in the Quantum Realm. It was brilliant. You had faith in Tony, but you were also afraid of being disappointed. You missed everyone. You missed a time when everyone was alive.

When everything worked out in humanity’s favor, you couldn’t believe it. It was nothing short of a miracle. You could’ve cried when everybody returned. Optimistically, you thought that maybe everyone could make it by the end of this whole ordeal.

You were proven wrong. Both Natasha's and Tony’s deaths left you heartbroken. You knew that their deaths weren’t in vain. After all, their actions led to humanity persevering, but you couldn’t help but wish you could have your friends back.

After everything that went down, especially Tony’s funeral, you truthfully forgot about the stones.

Steve volunteered to go back, and nobody countered it. Hell, initially, you didn’t plan on going back. You didn’t think much of it as you watched him prepare for another trip to the past. It makes sense that he’d do it. Steve is a responsible man. He’s Captain America. He knows what he’s doing. Nobody questioned it as he started setting up the suit's internal GPS.

“Hey, can we talk?” Nick Fury approaches him. Steve looks down at the suit in his hands before placing it down. His eyes meet yours, and you give a small smile and tilt your head towards Fury. Returning the nod, he follows Fury.

Slowly, you make your way to the platform, nodding at Bucky and Sam, who are already waiting there. “Where did he go?” Sam asks as you approach, and you shrug.

“Fury wanted to talk to him. Not sure why.” You shake your head, looking to where he left the suit.

“Well, make sure he doesn’t just leave the suit there. I don’t exactly like the idea that anybody here can just casually grab it.” Bruce comments from behind his computer. Figuring Steve will eventually return, you grab the suit and bring it back, dropping it onto Bruce’s workspace.

The four of you stand there in silence, waiting for Steve to return. “So… He didn’t say anything?” Sam breaks the silence.

You shake your head, pursing your lips, “Not a word.”

“Well, he'd better get back soon, I can’t keep powering this for very long.” Bruce gestures toward the platform. “If he doesn’t come back, I might just do it myself.”

“So is he just returning the stones to the moment they left or their location before we stole them?” You ask, crossing your arms and turning to Bruce.

“He will be returning to the moment they left that point in time, but the circumstances of how the stone was acquired determine where it should be returned to. If Tony grabbed the Tesseract during the 70s at Camp Lehigh, then it’d be odd if there was just a briefcase with the Tesseract sitting out in the open. Additionally, he probably won’t appear at the exact spot it disappeared, just at the same time it disappeared and in the general vicinity.” Bruce explains, tapping the desk.

“Will it really have that big of an effect if it’s left in the wrong spot?” Sam asks, copying your pose. You raise an eyebrow at him, and he returns the gesture.

“Probably not, but it’s best to try and return them close to their original spot. I know that may be a little difficult for some stones, so he’ll just have to try and get as close to the original location as possible.” Bruce gestures in a so-so motion.

“Yeah, if he even shows up at this point.” Sam huffs, causing the four of you to turn toward where he left.

“Okay, yeah, I’m calling it. He is talking too long, I don’t know the next time I’ll have enough power to do this again. Who wants to volunteer?” Bruce turns towards the three of you. You look towards Sam, who is looking towards Bucky, who is looking directly at you.

“I don’t mind doing it if you guys don’t want to.” Sam places a hand on his chest.

“I don’t mind doing it either, I’ve already done it once.” You shrug.

The three of you turn toward Bucky, “You gonna offer yourself too?” Bruce asks jokingly.

Bucky shakes his head, “Nah, you two can have this one.” He doesn’t take his eyes off you. His eyes brighten in understanding as he continues to stare at you, almost as if he’s realizing something at this moment.

“What are we gonna settle it with rock, paper, scissors?” Sam jokes, turning towards you.

Smiling, you raise your hands, “I’m down.”

“Hey, don't take too long, remember the power won’t last forever before we have to find a new source.” Bruce gestures to the machine.

Waving a hand at the machine, you shrug, “Eh, can’t take longer than Steve.”

Sam snaps his fingers at you, “True.”

“Alright, ready? Winner goes back in time.” You put your hands into position.

“Born ready.” Sam mirrors you.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” The two of you chorus.

Scissors lay in his palm.

Rock lies in yours. From the corner of your eye, you see Bucky shift.

“Whew,” Sam pats you on the back. “Congrats on winning.” He grins at you.

You roll your eyes, nudging his hand off of you, “It almost sounds like you didn’t want to go.”

He puts a hand on his chest in mock offense, “I would never. I’ll have it be known that I volunteered first.”

Shaking your head in amusement, you roll your eyes before grabbing the suit that Steve left behind. “Whatever you say.” You mumble as you link the suit to your mind.

Stepping onto the platform, you allow it to materialize over your current clothing. You turn around to look at the group.

Sam gives you a small smile, making you feel more brave than you actually do about this whole idea. At least when you time travelled in the past the first time you weren’t alone. If you mess up now, you will be alone. Bucky crosses his arms, smiling at you before looking down and laughing softly to himself.

You tilt your head at him, “What’s so funny?”

He shakes his head, the smile stuck onto his face, “Nothing.”

You raise an eyebrow, but you doubt he can see it through the mask covering your face. “Alright, be cryptic like that.” You shake your head at him, smiling.

Bucky returns the smile, “Don’t get stuck anywhere.” He remarks obscurely. “But if you do happen to get stuck in… I dunno… the 40s?” He walks closer to you. “Steve and I will always be there.”

You chuckle at him, slightly concerned, “Why does that sound vaguely threatening?”

He shakes his head, “Think of it as more of a safety net. Just in case.” His eyes meet yours, twinkling with playful amusement.

You shake your head at them before turning toward Bruce. “Ready?” He asks, you nod. “Going quantum in three,” the machine begins powering up, “two,” you look back towards Sam, “one,” you look at Bucky.

Going quantum is a strange feeling. It’s not particularly one you enjoy, but it’s not painful. It feels as if you have a chill running through your spine simultaneously as your body falls asleep. As you traverse the Quantum Realm, you realize that you don’t know the order Steve set it to.

Stumbling around as you resize back up to normal, you take a look around your surroundings. If you had to guess, this must be Vormir. In the distance, a mountain pans into view. There is nothing else nearby.

“Oh,” you mutter, looking up at the giant mountain. Nobody mentioned you’d be scaling a mountain to return the stone. Slowly, you make your way over to begin your long hike. While you are sure it takes hours to climb up the mountain, there is no sign of time passing. The sun doesn’t rise or set. About halfway through, you begin to wish you had brought water.

Eventually, you climb the last step, reaching the top of the mountain. Hesitantly, you walk forward. From the corner of your eye, you see a cloaked figure.

Eyes freezing on the figure, you slowly look around. “I assume you’re the one Clint mentioned? The stonekeeper?”

Kneeling, you slowly open the briefcase. They don’t respond, but you open the case anyway. Hopefully, this is the right guy, but he seems to fit Clint’s description. Grabbing the Soul Stone, you hold it out in front of you.

With one blink, it disappears from your hand. The figure stares down at you for a moment longer, before turning around and vanishing.

“Bye, I guess.” You sigh before materializing the suit. You click the button, going quantum once again. The next place you land in is Asgard. Honestly, it was the one you were most excited for. After all, how many people can say they’ve been to Asgard?

That excitement was quickly diminished. You don’t even get a chance to remove the mask from your face before you see about half a dozen guards standing maybe twenty feet away from you.

Immediately diving for cover, you hide behind one of the pillars. You hear one of the guards ask, “Did you hear that?” Breathing hitching, you cover your mouth.

Once their conversation quiets down, you open the briefcase. Fishing out the Reality Stone, you close the briefcase, looking around for a safe place to leave it. Maybe on the throne?

Before you even get the chance to make a move, a loud voice booms across the hall. “I found one of the intruders!” You pick up the briefcase, immediately running down the hall. You don’t bother to turn around and check if they’re following you; you know they are. Making turns whenever you feel like it, you eventually reach a dead end.

“Well, that’s not great.” You look up at the painting on the wall, out of breath. Turning around, you see a large horde of guards charging at you.

“Uh, well, I was gonna place it nicely for you, but I guess this works.” You roll your eyes, sliding the stone over. A small group of guards circles the stone, pointing their spears at it as if it’ll explode, but the rest continue to pursue you.

Reluctantly, you raise your hands in surrender as they point their spears at you. “Got you now, intruder.” One guard sneers at you.

You smile, “Did you?” You push the button down, going quantum. You chuckle to yourself as they vanish from your view.

The next time you open your eyes, you’re on Morag (at least you think this is Morag, you’ve never actually been there). Stumbling over the uneven terrain, you open the briefcase and grab the Power Stone. It was the only stone that was encapsulated by something. Bruce said it was dangerous to touch it directly.

Jumping over cracks, you vaguely recall that Nebula said that she said the stone was protected by some sort of laser. You aren’t sure if you can place it back in there without burning your arm off, which isn’t ideal.

In the distance, you see an oddly human-shaped object. Cautiously, you approach it, quickly realizing that it is a seemingly unconscious person, before quickly dropping all suspicion.

“Damn, Quill.” You huff, kneeling to slide the stone into his satchel, giving it a few pats. “Better wake up soon, buddy.” You lightly place the bag on top of him. Chuckling to yourself, you press the button once more.

The moment you take in your surroundings, you know exactly where you are: New York. You decide to return the Mind Stone first. As you step into the tower, you immediately feel eyes on you. It probably isn’t a good idea to run into anybody you actively know, so you try and avoid the ruckus in the hallway. As you walk by, you notice a random agent. You aren’t sure if they’re all HYDRA agents, but you do know that the stone ends up in HYDRA’s hands after the Battle of New York.

Finding a room without cameras, you take the stone out of the briefcase. As you exit the room, you bump into a random agent. Both of you immediately stop walking, and their eyes zero in on your hand, which looks like it’s glowing.

“Is that–”

“Upper management made a mistake. Here, take the stone back.” You shove the stone into the agent's hand. They blink in surprise, sputtering.

“Where’s the staff?” They ask.

“I dunno. I was just given the stone.” You shrug, picking up the briefcase and adjusting your clothing. “Thanks again.” You walk out of the building, leaving it in the agent's hands. That should be close enough.

Exiting the tower, you make your way to find the Ancient One. From what you heard, Bruce found her on the roof? Eventually, you find the New York Sanctum, just as you’re about to knock, the door opens.

Blinking, you peep inside before slowly entering. “Hello? I’m here to return the Time Stone. Bruce– Er… the Hulk sent me.”

Looking up, you see the Ancient One staring down at you from the top of the stairs. You watch as she slowly descends. Once she reaches the bottom, she looks at you expectantly.

“Oh,” you snap yourself out of the daze, “here.” You open the briefcase, handing her the Time Stone. She looks at you amused, “Thank you.” She nods at you.

Returning the smile, you nod, “Thank you. We couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“I guess Strange did have a plan.” She mutters to herself.

You chuckle, “Always seems like he does.”

She smiles softly, looking down at the stone, “That he does. Good luck on the rest of your journey.”

“Thanks.” You smile at her, activating the suit. “It’s almost over, though,” you let her see the briefcase with only the Space Stone glimmering.

Her eyes snap up to your own, and she gives you a knowing smile. “Oh, it has only just begun.” She places a hand on your shoulder before brushing past you. Mouth parted in confusion, you watch as she opens a portal and walks through it. That was odd.

Shrugging it off, you press the button before landing in your final destination. Letting the suit vanish, you straighten your posture before making a move.

From what Steve had said, Tony had met his father when they were picking up the Space Stone (and the Pym Particles). You aren’t sure where exactly the Stone was located, so that leaves you with two options. Peggy Carter and Hank Pym. As long as you can leave the Stone in one of their offices, you figure that’s close enough. They’re both important people, so it wouldn’t be outlandish to think that they ran into the stone at some point in their lives.

As you enter the building, you check every door as you pass by. Eventually, you stumble onto Carter’s door first. Attempting to peep in, you notice that somebody is definitely in there, so there goes that idea.

Continuing down the hall, you avoid eye contact with all soldiers that pass you by. Eventually, you reach a door that reads Pym’s name. Looking through the blinds, you see that the room is empty. Thank goodness that makes your job easy.

You slowly open the door, making sure it is silent as you slide inside the room. Casually, you walk over to his desk, placing the stone underneath his notes, before walking out.

Just as you walk out, you run into a scientist. They look at you, instantly suspicious, “What are you doing in here?”

“Carter’s orders. Looking for an old file. Came to see if it was in here.” You blatantly lie.

They raise an eyebrow, “File? We don’t have any files in here, Pym’s orders.” The scientist narrows his eyes at you.

Sweating, you shrug, “I don’t know. She just said to check everywhere, so I did.”

“Who was the file for?” They press.

Think of something!

“Barnes?” You blurt.

“Barnes?” They repeat, matching your tone. “I don’t think I’ve heard that name. What’s their first name?”

“Look,” you rub your temples to make it seem like you’re annoyed, “it’s not my job to ask questions. I was doing as Carter told me to do.” You frown at them.

After a moment of silence, they make room for you to walk by them. “Thank you.” You smile at them before making a beeline toward the exit.

The moment you exit, you let out an exhale of relief before finding a good spot to vanish. Finally, you press the button.

You hum softly as you feel yourself moving throughout the Quantum Realm. Mission complete, a successful mission at that.

“And that should be,” you open your eyes, feeling your feet hit the ground, “it…” You blink, slowly adjusting to your surroundings. This is not the platform you left off at. You don’t see Bruce, Sam, or Bucky either.

It’s a tent, seemingly for military purposes. You walk around the space, noting the map on the table. The map seems to picture Europe. You sit down in the chair before leaning over to observe it. A year is scrawled on the bottom right corner, 1945. There seems to be a specific spot in Austria circled, the word “HYDRA” in red ink next to it.

“Alright, let’s see…” Reaching into your pocket, you pull out your remaining Pym Particle. Okay, at least you have an extra. You set it down on the table before checking to see if there’s any left in the suit. To your surprise, you didn’t run out. You had assumed the random time period was a result of running out mid quantum jump.

“That’s odd.” You rest your thumb on the button. Right as you’re about to grab the Pym Particle you left on the table, somebody storms into the room, causing you to jump and accidentally press down slightly on the button.

Not even having time to process the horror of what just occurred, you feel yourself move throughout the Quantum Realm before stumbling into a wall. You don’t move. Staring blankly at the wall, you don’t dare to look down at your most certainly Pym Particle empty hand. You fucked up. You really fucked up.

Taking in your surroundings, it appears as if you’re in some dingy alleyway, on your right is a large dumpster filled with trash. Wincing at the smell, you attempt to press the suit’s button, hoping that maybe there’s a backup Pym Particle stored in it somewhere.

There is not. You try, multiple times, to tap the button before accepting your fate. You’re stuck, and you don’t even know what time you’re stuck in. Maybe you’re in a time where it’s already invented? You pull up the GPS coordinates on the suit, the numbers displaying themself on the screen. You frown, you aren’t sure how to read time coordinates, but you know for a fact Steve did not set them back to 2023. Was he planning on taking an extra trip?

After you retract the suit, you make your way to the main street. Feeling your eyes widen, you watch as a woman with a cloche and shirtwaist dress walks by you, her heels clicking with each step. You see a few older Cadillac models driving down the street.

“What the…” You mutter to yourself, ignoring some of the odd looks people give as they pass you.

An old crumpled-up newspaper blows past you. You stomp your foot on it, preventing it from going any further.

You pick it up, immediately scanning it for the date.

February 22, 1943

Your grip on the newspaper loosens, allowing it to blow out of your hands. 1943. You stare ahead of yourself, disbelieving. Steve was planning on taking a trip down memory lane. Damn him. Now you’re stuck.

“Shit.” You whisper, feeling a growing pit of horror in your stomach.

You’re stuck in the 1940s.

Wait, no, the date on that map said 1945. The Pym Particle should be sitting on it sometime in 1945.

Okay, modifying your previous statement: You’re stuck in the 1940s until 1945 (probably).

If you weren’t horrified, you’d laugh. Isn’t this the one thing Bucky warned you not to do? You lean against a wall, sitting down. You probably look homeless to these people, but you can’t bring yourself to try and look presentable. You basically are homeless.

People pass by you, but you barely register it. You aren’t even sure if time passes as you sit there. Maybe this is all one bad dream. Maybe you’ll wake up?

You sit there looking down for what feels like eternity before you look up to scan your surroundings. What are you doing? You’re from the future. You can use that to your advantage. Perhaps you can find somebody you know—

“But if you do happen to get stuck in… I dunno… the 40s? Steve and I will always be there.”

Bucky’s voice rings in your ears, and you repeat the memory in your head. Damn, he really jinxed you. He’s here, though. They’re here. Steve and Bucky were alive during this time. You aren’t sure exactly when HYDRA decided to take Bucky, but you pray it hasn’t happened yet. You haven’t seen any advertisements with Captain America, so you take that as a good sign for now.

Judging by your surroundings, you were definitely in New York. The problem is finding Steve or Bucky. Realistically, you’ll have a better chance of finding Steve. You don’t know when exactly Bucky was sent out to Europe. Steve, though, was only sent after he became Captain America. Where do you even start? You know he was from Brooklyn, that’s about it. Damn, now you regret not asking Steve more about his life during the 40s.

You decide to start moving, you will need shelter before nightfall. Perhaps you can just camp outside of one of the registration sites. Maybe you’ll just happen to find Steve.

You also need new clothes, you stick out like a sore thumb here. It’s not like you can buy any. Any money you have is made way past this time. You feel a little self-conscious walking by as people very obviously judge you. You try to offer a small smile to anybody who passes you by, but in return, you just receive more stares.

Eventually, you stumble onto a more up-to-date newspaper. You aren’t sure if February 24th is the exact date, but it’s the latest one you’ve seen. The headline reads “BATTLE OF KASSERINE PASS ENDS.” You skim over the article. It was a battle that started on the 19th and ended on the 24th. It was the Allies' first major battle in Africa. In the beginning, the battle wasn’t looking very promising, with both the Americans and British being pushed back. However, once reinforcements came, the Allies finally put up a real fight. While the battle was a victory for the Allies, the casualty count was devastating, with an estimated loss of ten thousand troops.

You slowly put the newspaper down in horror. Reading that made this situation feel very real.

You decide to keep the newspaper just in case you need to read any info later. You continue to walk further and further down the street until eventually you come across a run-down building. You can’t tell what it used to be, but beggars can’t be choosers. Looking around to make sure nobody is observing you, you head toward the double doors at the entrance. The rickety doors squeak as you pull on them, but other than that, they don’t budge.

Frowning, you turn around to see if there’s a different entrance. You walk around to the back of the building, finding another door. It looks less sturdy than the ones up front. You gently push it to test its integrity before stepping back and kicking it open. It immediately bursts open, and a cloud of dust puffs up in the room. Waving the dust away from your face, you walk in.

It’s definitely abandoned. Cobwebs cover the ceiling of the room. Some floorboards are broken. A layer of dust covers every surface of the room.

You did need shelter, though. You sigh as you begin to explore the building. First, you check the kitchen, not having much hope of finding anything edible. There are no plates or utensils (not that you exactly planned on using them). On the brink of giving up, you open a cabinet to find some canned beans.

You slowly pick one up, checking for an expiration date. The can doesn’t feel damaged, maybe dusty, but it is unopened. Eventually, you find the expiration date. The exact date is rubbed off, but it says “1946” on it. You kneel to see the rest of the cabinet. Reaching your hand in for more of the cans, you grimace as cobwebs cover your hands.

Eventually, you pull out all the cans, shaking your hands free of any webs. Guess the food problem is temporarily solved. You decide to check upstairs. Maybe you might be able to find some cash lying around.

As you walk upstairs, the stairs creak under you. Eventually, you get to the top. There are a few doors left ajar. You decide to check out the biggest one first. You stumble onto abandoned desks, shelves, and nightstands all filled with nothing.

You search room after room as your disappointment grows. Discouraged, you go back downstairs, finding a somewhat clean spot to lie down on. You walk back over and notice one floorboard in particular is extra creaky. You press your foot on it to test it, and it moves. Kneeling, you slowly move it up. There’s a small bundle of cash there. It’s not more than a few dollars, but it’s cash. You were hoping that maybe you’d be lucky and find some coins strewn around. Actual cash is a blessing.

You look outside the window, noticing the sun is no longer visible. Soon it will be dark, and you don’t feel comfortable enough in this era to roam around at night.

You decide to save the beans for tomorrow, you don’t want to eat all your food just cause you found a few dollars. It’s best to save it for tomorrow. Shrugging off your jacket, you place it on the floor, using it as a makeshift pillow.

You lie down, pulling out the newspaper. It’s probably worthwhile to catch up on current events.

After you reread it a few times, folding some of the corners of the page out of boredom, you eventually doze off.

The following morning, the sun shines through the fogged-up window, and the newspaper lies flat on your face. You move it off before instantly regretting the decision, the sun’s light directly hits your face. Groaning, you sit up.

You rub your eyes, forgetting where exactly you were for a moment (and when). You pick your jacket off the ground, dusting any dirt off of it that it may have picked up on the ground. You aren’t sure what time it is, but you can’t imagine it’s late. The sun would’ve woken you up earlier if that were the case.

You crack open one of the cans of beans. It leaves a lot to be desired, but it’s food. Slowly, you watch as the sun continues to rise with a can of beans in hand.

Today you’re going to try and find Steve. Combing your hair with your fingers, you try to make yourself look somewhat presentable before you leave the building.

Walking out, you see that the sun has barely risen. There is some chatter from across the street, but nowhere near as much as you heard yesterday. Adjusting your jacket, you set off with a mission in mind.

First Objective: Find Steve

Truly, you expected this to be simple. Perhaps you lie to a few locals about him being a distant relative, you thank them, and move on.

Apparently, Steve was, quite literally, a nobody.

You aren’t sure if he ever mentioned it to you. That’s not exactly something you flaunt, but it would’ve explained the sheer lack of people who had no idea who he was.

Of course, New York isn’t exactly small, so maybe your expectations were too high. However, that doesn’t make you feel better since you’re actively feeling every ounce of hope evaporate from your body at an increasing rate.

So yeah, everything is going great.

Every shop owner you asked had not recognized the name. The few who did would say something along the lines of “Steve? I haven’t heard that name in years.” It felt like every time something seemed to go in your favor, the universe would find a way to turn it right back around.

You take a deep breath. This is day one. You can’t lose it on day one. Maybe you are not the luckiest person, but you will find him eventually. Worse case scenario, you wait until he becomes Captain America to find him.

The sun is setting by the time you decide it’s time to wrap things up for the day, beginning your slow trek back to your little home. You are about halfway back when you hear commotion down an alley. You pause blinking, eh, not your circus, not your monkeys. You don’t want to make enemies in a time you don’t belong.

About to walk past it, you, being nosy, turn to see what is going on. A scrawny man is getting cornered by three guys. You can’t see what the smaller guy’s face looks like, his face angled away from you. You notice his hair is blonde. It might have been neatly combed at one point, but he has a few strands out of place. One of the thugs punches him in the face, causing the smaller guy to lurch to the side. You wince, that looked like it hurt. The smaller guy looks up, and you feel your heart stop as you see his face.

Holy shit, YOUR circus, YOUR monkeys.

Immediately, you run into the alley. “HEY!” You yell out, jumping in front of who you now recognize as Steve Rogers.

One of the thugs, presumably the “leader,” spits on the ground. You grimace, not breaking eye contact with them.

“Oh? Little lady thinks she can—”

You punch him in the face.

From your peripherals, you notice how one of his sidekicks attempts to tackle you to the ground. Swiftly, you pivot backwards and watch as he ends up tackling his buddy instead. They both yell out, struggling to get up.

The leader, now recovered, glares down at you. He is definitely bigger than you, but that doesn’t mean defeat. That just means you have to play smarter.

The taller man attempts to punch you again, but you redirect his punch. You may not be able to take a punch from him, but you can certainly guide him in the wrong direction.

Frustrated, he starts punching more and more without reason. He is tiring himself out. You take a quick look toward his rookies, both of which are standing up again. Grabbing a brick from the ground, you launch it at one of their heads, before tripping the other.

With two of them down, and one of them panting like a dog, you rush toward Steve. “Hey, man, think you can run?”

He looks at you in awe, nodding immediately.

“Great!” You help him up with ease (something that was not easy to do with the Steve you know). “Let’s run before they recover.” You pat his shoulder before leading him out of the alley. He trails behind you, noticeably slower. Not wanting to leave him behind, you stay with him the whole time.

Eventually, once you deem the two of you far enough, you stop running. You hear Steve sigh in relief, catching his breath. “Bend over, it helps you catch your breath.” You suggest. Steve immediately follows the advice.

Glancing down at him, you try not to show your anxiousness. You can’t screw this up. If you mess things up here now, it might make things more difficult later on.

“Sorry about that.” You wince at Steve, who is nearly wheezing at this point.

He waves a hand, still looking down, before holding up his index finger as if to say, “Give me a minute!”

Patiently, you wait next to him before he pushes himself up. “Thanks,” he huffs, “for fighting them off.”

You snort, “I wouldn’t call it much of a fight. I ran with you.”

He looks at you, dusting off his sleeve, “You stood up to them though, even if you thought the odds were against you.”

You smile softly, “I don’t like bullies.” You quote the future version of himself. You remember him saying that once. Even before becoming Captain America, he despised bullying.

He tilts his head slowly, “Haven’t seen you around here.” He comments.

You shake your head, “Doubt you would, just got here yesterday.”

He hums, “How’s that going for you?”

You shrug, “Eh, struggled finding a place to stay and almost got beat up by some thug.”

He holds his ribs, standing up straighter. “Ah sounds great.” He offers you a small smile.

You chuckle softly, “Couldn’t be better.”

He sticks his hand out, “Steve. Steve Rogers.” He introduces himself. You take his hand, introducing yourself to him.

As he takes his hand back, he inhales deeply, wincing as he holds his ribs tighter. “Aw, did they get your ribs?” You wince.

“Eh, it’s fine. I’ll recover.” He grimaces, hunched over.

You frown, “They might be broken. You live near here?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off, “don’t worry. I got it.”

You roll your eyes, still stubborn, “I’ll believe it when you stop wincing every time you move. Come on, I’ll walk you. You never know if those guys will return.” You walk next to him.

“And what are we gonna do? Run away from them?” He asks, and you roll your eyes.

“I hold them off while you escape.” You smile, patting him on the shoulder. He winces as you pat him, and you immediately whisper a soft apology, forgetting about the injury.

Now, did you offer to walk him back because you thought it’d be vital to know where he lives? Absolutely. You aren’t going to tell him that, though; you don’t mean it in a creepy way.

The walk to his place is short. Barely ten minutes go by before you’re pulling up to his door. The apartments look run down, but you aren’t in a place to judge. You’re not exactly living a life of luxury at the moment. After watching him fail to find his key for a minute, you speak up, “You got a spare?”

He pauses before nodding, “Under the brick.” He gestures towards the sole brick lying on the ground. Not very inconspicuous. You kick it slightly, revealing the key. Grabbing it, you head towards the door and unlock it.

Opening the door, you gesture for him to head in first, following behind him. The apartment looks, well, lived in. It wasn’t very clean, but it wasn’t filthy or anything. It looks like he hadn’t been expecting guests, based on the way he is frantically moving about, attempting to clear dishes.

“Live with anybody?” You ask, offhandedly wondering if you should remove your shoes before walking around. He’s walking with shoes on, so you guess it’s fine?

“Not anymore.” He mutters.

Damn, way to create conversation. “I’m sorry.”

He offers you a small smile, but there’s no joy in it. “Don’t be,” he shrugs, grabbing a first aid kit. “A friend of mine offered for me to stay with him, but…” he pauses, “I dunno… I just couldn’t bring myself to leave this place.”

You assume the “friend” he’s talking about is Bucky. Nodding in understanding, you walk over to him. “I get it.” Should you change the subject? You just met him (or so he thinks). Is odd to continue that line of conversation with somebody you just knew?

“So how’ve you dealt with broken ribs?” He changes the subject for you.

You laugh, shaking your head, “I haven’t broken my ribs before. I just know a lot of people who have. Good news, though, I doubt you’ve actually broken them. You’d be in a lot more pain.”

He frowns, “I am in a lot of pain.”

“Well,” you shrug, “a lot lot more. Like ‘Every time I breathe it feels like my ribs are getting stabbed’ more.” You smile at him.

“That makes me feel so much better.” He responds dryly.

Laughing, you open his freezer, trying to find something suitable for an ice pack. Grabbing a small bag of mixed vegetables, you give it to him. “Apply for like twenty minutes. Don’t leave it on too long.” You offer him the mixed vegetables.

“Thanks.” He mutters.

You wash your hands before grabbing a clean cloth. “Got any scratches?” He rolls up his sleeve, revealing a couple of cuts on his arm. “Okay, well, run that under water for a little bit.” You direct him, and he nods following your instruction. If current Steve could see you now. After a few minutes, he takes the cloth from you and dries the wounds.

Walking over to the first aid kit, you open it to see if there’s any ointment. Finding nothing of the sort, you turn towards him. “Have any ointment? Antibiotics?”

He blinks at you slowly, “What?”

“Taking that as a no.” You mutter to yourself.

“I have honey?” He gestures to a jar next to the fridge.

You look at him, then at the jar, “Alright, I guess.” You grab a couple of Band-Aids before grabbing the jar. Opening the jar, you make your way to him, gesturing for him to roll up his sleeves.

“I’m gonna apply the honey, and then the bandages. Try not to get the band-aid dir–”

Three loud knocks bang on the door.

Both of you jump, and the honey drips along his arm. “Uh, sorry…Expecting a guest?” You ask.

Steve shakes his head, “No… Not today.”

“Want me to answer it?” You offer.

He nods, “Yeah, if you could. I can apply the honey.” You nod before standing up to answer the door.

“Hey Steve, I know you’re in there! The key under the brick is gone.” The voice sounds familiar, but there’s something different about it.

Opening the door, it is exactly who you think it is, but nothing could’ve prepared you for how he looks.

“You aren’t Steve.” Bucky blinks at you, suddenly smirking. “Didn’t realize he had company.”

“I am not.” You confirm dryly. He looks like he belongs in this time. Which sounds kinda stupid when you say it like that, but it’s so unlike how he dresses now. His hair is neatly combed, and he has a suit on. You’ve never seen the Bucky you know in a suit. You dare say he looks dashing. “Don’t mistake this for anything. He got beat up, decided to help him out.”

“Ah,” he nods understandingly, allowing himself into the apartment. “You know if all it took for you to bring a girl home was to get beat up, I’d have let it happen a lot more.” Bucky chuckles, looking towards Steve. You’re about to close the door when he puts his hand on the handle. “I got it, doll. Don’t worry.” He winks at you.

You can only stare blankly as he smoothly moves you away from the door, closing it behind him, offering you a charming smile. You guess it makes sense. He was raised in the 40s, and chivalry was important during this time. Perhaps Current Bucky acted like this too, and you just didn’t realize it. If he does, he definitely doesn’t act like this with you.

“So,” Bucky begins as you both walk over to Steve, who puts the honey down. Steve introduces the two of you to each other, and Bucky offers you a small smile, repeating your name. You pretend not to know who he is, offering a small smile in return.

“Alright, what’s the damage?” Bucky asks, looking down at Steve.

“Bruised ribs, couple cuts.” You sneak a glance at Bucky, who has his hands casually placed in his pockets.

He nods, “Ah, so the regular.”

You chuckle, “This is normal?”

“Yep.” Bucky watches as Steve tries to grab the Band-Aids. After watching him fail to peel the backing off of it, Bucky decides to help him, placing them on the scratches.

“You from Brooklyn? Haven’t seen ya around here.” Bucky looks over to you.

You shake your head, “Nope. First time around here.”

“Visiting or moving?” He asks, grabbing the “ice pack” that Steve left on the counter.

“Uhh, visiting?” You watch as he gives Steve the mixed vegetables.

“Uh huh, and where’re you staying?” He asks, walking back over to you. Both Steve and Bucky are looking at you.

“Uh, down the street.” You respond vaguely, gesturing in the vague direction of your current residence, but both Bucky and Steve frown.

“‘Down the street?’” Bucky repeats. “There’s nothing but construction and abandoned buildings to be torn down over there.”

Oh. You turn to Steve, about to say something, when Bucky shoves Steve lightly. Steve winces, glaring up at Bucky. “You were gonna let the lady go homeless?”

“In my defense, I didn’t know until just now,” Steve grumbles.

“Also in his defense, I just told him I ‘struggled to find a place.’” You add on. Steve looks at you gratefully.

“You know, if I knew, I would’ve offered. You’re free to stay.” Steve looks up at you from his spot on the dining table.

Your mouth parts in surprise, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You helped me escape from getting beaten up,” you and Bucky both look down at the vegetables on his ribs, “well, more beaten up. It’s the least I can offer.” He offers you a gracious smile.

You look towards Bucky, and you don’t know why. It’s not like you need his approval. “You can stay with me too, if you’d prefer.” He smirks suggestively at you. You blink slowly at him, unsure whether to be flattered or appalled.

Steve rolls his eyes, “Ignore him. Please, let me do this. It’s the least I can offer.”

You look between the two of them. Steve is looking up at you, a soft smile on his face. Bucky is looking at you as well, a less innocent smile on his face, but you can’t help but smile at them in return.

“Okay.” You sigh, smiling. Bucky nudges Steve softly, a victorious smile on his face.

“Why’re you so happy?” You look at Bucky as you decide to put the first aid kit away.

“Well, now I get to see your face every day, sweetheart.” He smirks at you.

You and Steve both groan.

Translations: Почему я тебя знаю? - Why do I know you? Scuze - Sorry Mulţumesc mult - Thank you very much Buna ziua - Hello

If you made it to the end, thank you, I love you. I plan on making this series around three MAYBE four parts total. I do have the big idea of the story down, I just need to actually write it. That being said, I did not intend for this part to be this long. Do not expect future chapters to be this long lol. They probably won't... probably. Also, are you proud of me for not making another miscommunication trope fic? It really wasn’t my intention to make so many. I have a lot of ideas in my drafts right now and those just happened to be the ones I tackled first. Anyway, I’ll shut up lol, thank you for any likes, reblogs, comments, and follows. I genuinely can’t believe the support I’ve gotten with JUST three fics posted prior to this. Thank you so much for the support <3.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #self insert

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epicrainbowsheep · 9 days ago

Text

This is so good 😍

Snow and Pine

Pairing: The Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You fought the Winter Soldier. You survived. Now, captured by HYDRA, you plan to escape on your own.

But then the assassin in the chair looks at you, asks about the man on the bridge and looks just a little too human to ignore, and your plans change.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Swearing, Mentions of torture, Gunshot wound, Blood, Protective!Winter Soldier, Winter Soldier with an immediate crush (and he's so awkward about it), One bed trope, Cuddling for warmth trope, Implied sex (no explicit smut but it gets steamy), Enemies to lovers (kind of? It’s more on reader’s end our boy is down bad the minute he meets you), Bickering, Please let me know if I forgot anything!

Author's note: Can I stop writing the Winter Soldier? No. Can I stop writing the Winter Soldier with a major crush on you? Also no. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this one! I might turn this into a two parter, and more likely into a little series because I absolutely fell in love with this dynamic. As always, please let me know what you think! Your comments and feedback bring me happiness and joy and keep me going!

“Sir, he’s unstable. Erratic.”

The words barely register. You’re more worried about the handcuffs locking your wrists in place behind you. About the HYDRA agents - so fucking many of them - that fill the room you find yourself being shoved into.

“Don’t you guys have a dungeon or something to throw me in?” You ask, forcing feigned annoyance to replace the fear that looms in the back of your mind, barely held back by anger and sheer force of will. It’s a physical struggle to keep it from breaking free, from freezing every joint and muscle in your body.

Your question is ignored. The large hands of the agent behind you hold you firmly in place. You’ll get out of here. You know you will. They underestimated you the second they took you, cuffed your hands behind your back and didn’t even bother to knock you out.

Still, it doesn’t mean that this situation sucks any less.

“Why is she here?” Pierce asks, like you’re nothing more than an afterthought. Something to be dealt with later.

“Information.” The man behind you says, and you roll your eyes.

“You’re not getting it. Have I told you you’re a dick, yet? Because this whole ‘I’ve been secretly evil the whole time’ thing is really-“

Something digs into your back, and the electrocution knocks you to your knees.

You decide, in what is likely a clever move, to keep your mouth shut, gritting your teeth until the pain subsides.

So you watch, instead. As the man in the chair, the unstable and erratic one, you guess, mentions ‘the man on the bridge’.

There’s humanity in his eyes. Confusion.

You’re not gonna save him. You’re not going to think about how Steve froze up. How the captain looked at you and Natasha after the encounter with him. This person is beyond saving. He’s a weapon. He tried to kill you. Chased you through the streets of DC and tried to shoot you with what must have been a hundred different types of guns.

“I knew him.” He says, brow furrowing. And then, he looks at you.

You, who he attacked on that same bridge. You, who ducked behind Steve’s shield just in time to dodge a barrage of his bullets.

His eyes ask you a thousand questions, and you can’t answer a single one of them. He looks so pained and defeated and just fucking hopeful enough that a part of your heart cracks in your chest.

They lock him into the chair, and you’re dragged out of the room. His eyes stay on you for as long as possible, before they squeeze shut and he begins to scream with more agony in his voice than you’ve ever heard in your life.

Fuck, you’re going to come back for him.

The room is quiet, but it won’t be for long. You thank your lucky stars that they left him alone here, clearly convinced that the machine he’s attached to would do its job. Still, they’re coming for you. You probably bought yourself no more than an extra minute and a half by darting into the one room they never would have expected you to enter.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting you out of here. Shut up.” Your voice is a harsh whisper. Your fingers fumble at the restraints on his metal arm. You have to force them to stay steady. They’re coming. Any minute, they’ll all file back into this room - this torture chamber - and catch you and probably do a whole lot worse than kill you.

“Should have just run. Fuck. This is so- ha! There it is.” The restraint comes undone, and you barely get a second to grin proudly before the hand you just freed is wrapped around your wrist. Hard enough to bruise. Hard enough that any more pressure might shatter bone.

He’s silent. Eyes narrowed. Looking right at you.

You fight off your grimace of pain. Glare back at him with everything you have.

“Do you want my help or not?”

“Why?”

“Because Steve knows you.” And you looked at me like that. Like you were scared. And I saw the pain and defeat in your eyes when they- The fingers tighten at the name, and you do wince now. “Unlatch, asshole.”

To your surprise, he does. You shake your arm off, grumbling something about needing your hands to help him, and move to the other arm.

You hear commotion in the hall the moment you get him free. He shoots to his feet with a catlike swiftness and grace that doesn’t look human. For a moment, you freeze. Take a breath to keep yourself from panicking at the sheer size of him. At the curiosity that twitches in his eyes as he looks down at you.

“Let’s go.” You say, and he doesn’t waste a second before he’s moving.

You got out of your restraints. Out of the little cell they threw you in. But that struggle didn’t come without a fight. That, on top of the injuries you acquired while fighting the man you’re currently trying to save, for some fucking reason, makes you frustratingly slow.

You half-limp as you run alongside him. He notices. Catches you before you fall as his silent feet move through the hallway, righting you but not running ahead. Not leaving you behind to escape on his own.

Interesting.

The voices behind you get louder, and the crack of a gun firing sounds through the air before white hot pain ignites in your shoulder. You go down with a yelp, and he immediately tugs you around a corner. You lean against the wall a little too hard. Gasp for breath and grab at the wound. It hurts. So badly that you feel light headed. You can already feel warm blood spilling from between your fingers.

He says something to you in Russian, low and urgent. It sounds like an order.

“I don’t speak that.” You grit out. But he’s already moving.

Three guards come down the hall behind you. You don’t even get a chance to turn back around the corner and look before the gunfire ceases, bodies drop to the floor, and he returns to press something into your hand.

A gun.

“Thank y-“

Hands are on you, grabbing your shoulder, and you wince in pain. Instinct has you raising your weapon to him, ready to shoot if he tries to use your injury to take you down.

He doesn’t. He’s inspecting your wound.

He says something else in Russian. You grit your teeth in pain and frustration. “Still don’t speak that.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but more noises sound down the hall and you’re moving again.

You make it out the door. You spot the plane. Your head spins.

You trip again, blood loss and exhaustion finally catching up to you at the worst possible time, and the Winter Soldier stops to look at you as your knees hit the ground.

You hear voices. Distant, but coming. You have less than a minute.

“Go.”

He doesn’t respond. He’s still looking at you.

“Fucking- go.” You insist, adamant and dizzy. You think, with the gun he gave you, you might be able to hold them off for a few minutes. Just enough time for him to-

He moves fast. Before you can even form a hazy thought, he picks you up, throws you over his shoulder, and runs.

The movement jostles your injuries, and you know there’s no time for gentleness, that he couldn’t possibly care if it hurts, but you can’t help the broken scream of pain that rips its way from your throat. To your surprise, you feel a hand tighten against the backs of your thighs, but he doesn’t stop.

You hear the door of the plane open, feel yourself being set down in the seat, and everything goes dark.

“Ow.”

Your eyes creak open. Pain shoots through your body. Sharp and deep and everywhere.

“Don’t move.” The voice beside you sounds hoarse. Unused. You try to sit up, to assess your surroundings, and a metal arm pushes you back down.

“Ow.” You repeat, and the arm stills, the sudden gentleness almost feeling like a silent apology.

You look up at a creaky old fan. Feel a worn mattress against your back. Turn your head to see bare wooden walls that look like they’re about to cave in at any moment.

“Where am I?” Your mouth is dry. Your body hurts.

“Safehouse.”

“Where?”

No answer.

You sit in silence, just for a moment, before you speak again.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No.” The answer is immediate. Firm. Sure. That’s a start, you guess.

You reach a hand up to touch your aching shoulder, and feel the fabric of a sweatshirt covering a layer of bandages. You weren’t wearing a sweatshirt before. Your bullet wound certainly wasn’t bandaged.

“Did you…undress me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you put these bandages on?”

“Yes.”

“Do you ever say more than one word at a time?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to let me sit up?”

“No.”

You sigh, turn your head to face him. He’s sitting in a chair beside the bed, and his eyes are the color of the midday sky. It’s an odd thought to have, but you can’t help but realize that they’re beautiful. Even as they stare at you like he’s assessing every movement in every muscle in your body.

Wherever you are, it’s freezing. He’s wearing a t-shirt. You’re in a sweatshirt. He was shirtless when you saved him. You’re not sure what’s stocked in this safehouse, but his lack of clothing and the goosebumps on his flesh arm tell you that you just might be wearing the only warm article of clothing here.

“You’re cold.” You say, narrowing your eyes.

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Do you know me?”

The question comes so quickly, so bluntly, that you blink in surprise. His eyes don’t leave yours. There are questions there. You don’t know how to answer them.

“I…no. I don’t. I know who you are, but I don’t know you.”

He stares at you. Silent.

“You’re… Bucky Barnes. James Barnes, I think.” He keeps staring, but his eyebrows twitch like he recognizes the name, so you keep going. “You’re Steve’s best friend. You fought with him in the war and-“

“Why did you save me?”

The interruption makes you blink again, but something about the look in his eyes makes you answer him just as bluntly.

“You looked at me, and you looked…” Confused. Exhausted. Worn out by obvious years of torture and begging for an answer to why this was happening to you. “…human.”

He looks away, towards a fireplace that you now realize is lit. It doesn’t offer enough warmth in the room.

“You’re still cold.” Your voice is quiet when you break the silence again. His eyes whip back to yours.

“I’m fine.”

“Can I give you the sweatshirt?”

“No.”

You blow out a frustrated breath through your nose, shifting over a bit on the mattress with a wince. His eyes follow your movements. Calculated.

“You can…” you don’t finish the sentence, just pat the empty part of the bed with your non-injured arm. His brow furrows again, and he doesn’t speak.

“Stop with the staring thing. I’m cold too. Just…” you don’t want to say it out loud, embarrassed and confused as to why you’re even offering this to the man who tried to kill you yesterday and saved your life today.

He keeps staring. You stare back. It feels like hours before he finally moves off of the chair and climbs into the bed, pulling the threadbare blanket up to cover the both of you.

And then you lay there, listening to the crackle of the fire, sitting in a silence that feels like it’s elongating time itself.

You barely even realize that you’re shivering until he grunts, quiet and low, and pulls you into his arms. Surprisingly, the movement doesn’t bring any pain, like he’s assessed every one of your injuries and decided the best way to move you to keep from jostling them.

His body heat seeps into you almost immediately, and when you sigh in relief, you feel his arms tighten around you a little more. Almost imperceptibly.

“Don’t kill me in my sleep.” You mumble against his chest, eyes drifting closed.

“Sleep.” He says back, and you feel the plates of his metal arm shift as he pulls you a little closer.

As you feel him relax, as you begin to drift off, you think you hear him mumble something into your hair. A short phrase in Russian. Something soft. Delicate.

You decide to ask what it means in the morning, and allow the darkness to pull you under.

When you wake, it’s to more pain. Fuck, bullet wounds hurt. The ache is overwhelming, and you nearly groan before you notice something else.

Warmth. The scent of gunpowder and leather and something softer. Pine trees and snow.

The steady rise and fall of a chest against your forehead.

Slowly, with as much stealth as you can manage, you pull back.

He’s sleeping. He looks…different when he’s sleeping. His features are soft, lit by the low light of the fire.

He looks more human now than you’ve ever seen him before.

At your movements, his eyebrows twitch. His eyes squeeze shut just a little tighter. Large arms pull you back to him, tucking you into his chest as a soft breath warms the top of your head.

Against your better judgement, you let him pull you closer. Close your eyes again. And when sleep pulls you back under, you feel safe.

You wake again in the morning to the feeling of something featherlight against your cheek. The movement is so soft, so careful, you don’t dare open your eyes. It feels like fingers, barely touching you and tracing the outline of your face.

He must hear your breathing change. Sense your consciousness. The touch disappears so quickly that it makes your eyes flutter open, and the way he’s sitting and flipping a knife absentmindedly by the side of the bed makes you wonder if it was even real.

“Ow.” You say again, discomfort lighting in your nerves as you try to stretch the sleep out of your limbs. His hand flies out to hold you down again, and you groan with a mix of irritation and pain.

“You’ve gotta let me sit up eventually.”

He’s silent, but he gives in. His arm wraps around your back. And he helps to pull you up until you’re sitting against the wall.

“Thanks.” You say, leaning your head back against the wooden surface, and look over at him. At the t-shirt. At his face.

“You look weird like this.”

“Like what?”

“It’s just weird to see you in a regular shirt. You just look like you sleep in tactical gear.”

“I do.”

You frown. Remembering the bits and pieces you know about him. “Right. The cryofreeze shit. Sorry.”

He grunts, stands to move over to poke at the fire again. You try to move your arm again and wince.

“We have to go.”

“Not yet.”

“What?” You sit up a little straighter. Wince again. “No, we have to go.”

“No.”

Your teeth clench. The one word answers are getting a little frustrating. “Why?”

“You’re not healed.”

“So what?”

He doesn’t answer you. You reach behind you with your good arm, grab the pillow behind you, and throw it at him. “Answer me, you broody motherfucker.”

He catches it without even turning around, tosses it back to the bed so it lands gently beside you, and doesn’t answer.

You seethe. He turns back around. Looks you over. “I have to change your bandages.”

“I’m fine. Tell me how to call Steve.”

“No.”

“You’re gonna need to stop saying that.”

“No.”

You growl, fury ripping through your veins and making you try to wiggle off of the bed. You barely make it to your feet before he’s sitting you back down.

“You’re not healed yet.”

“And?!”

“We’re not leaving until you are.”

“People are going to die. They’re looking for me. HYDRA is definitely looking for you.”

“You could die.”

“Why do you care?!”

He looks at you. Stares. His brow twitches again.

“Two days.” He says.

“We don’t have time to-“

“Two days.” He says again. His eyes dart to your shoulder. Back to your face. And it’s the last word that makes you cave. “Please.”

You grit your teeth. Bite your lip in frustration. His eyes fall to your mouth for just a second before he rips his gaze back to your own.

“Twelve hours.” You try.

“No.”

“Fine. But it’s still up for negotiation.”

His shoulders relax, just a little. “Okay.”

Hours later, you end up sitting on the floor before the fireplace, criss-cross-applesauce and throwing peanuts from a can left in storage into his mouth.

“Okay, favorite…color?” You ask, tossing another peanut and watching him catch it effortlessly. It’s a strange thing to see, a man who could snap your neck in half a thought playing a game with you that’s almost childlike. Even so, he seems to enjoy it. Especially when you hand the can to him and miss his perfect throw by twisting your head too far, causing the peanut to bounce off of your nose.

“I don’t know.”

“New rule,” you say, accepting the can from him and tossing another peanut, “no more ‘I don’t know’. Make a decision or make something up.”

He hums, and catches another peanut. “Green.”

You smile, toss another. He reaches for the can again, and you think he might be fighting his own smile.

“Favorite food.” He never asks his questions like they’re questions. They come out like demands. Like he’s not used to having a normal conversation.

You think. Tell him. A peanut bounces off of your nose again.

“Favorite…hm.” You frown, out of questions. You can’t exactly ask anything personal, because he doesn’t remember those things. “Huh. I don’t know. You’re too enigmatic to play this game with. What do you like?”

“I like you.” He says it bluntly. Simply. You pause.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not allowed to do that.” You throw another peanut. Try to hit him in the face. He still catches it effortlessly. Hesitates in his answer. You think, even in the firelight, that you might see him blush.

“You’re…” he doesn’t look at you. You wonder if you broke his staring problem. “You’re pretty.”

You can’t help the snort of laughter. He’s definitely blushing now, and you almost feel bad.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He sounds frustrated, shoulders hunching. “And you’re…I like the way you talk to me.”

You offer him the can of peanuts, and he doesn’t look at you as he takes it. The gesture seems to give him the courage to continue.

“You make me feel…human.” There is so much behind that sentence, but he throws another peanut.

You catch it in your mouth, throw your hands up in victory, and forget about your shoulder.

The movement makes you choke on a scream of pain. On the peanut.

The Winter Soldier is on you in a second, large body atop yours as he pushes you down to assess your injury.

Your back hits the floor. His hand cradles your head to stop the collision of your skull with the wooden surface. As you catch your breath, still wheezing a bit from the sharp bolt of agony that’s still running through your body, you feel deft fingers pushing the sweatshirt up to check your bandages.

“Hey, calm- dude, stop.” Your free hand comes up, catching his arm, and he looks down at you.

You look back at him. He’s close. Really close. He’s still on top of you. There’s an intimacy crackling in the air, and it’s not just because of his proximity. It’s the way his hand has paused on your ribs, the near-brush of his nose against yours. The look in his eyes. The concern in his expression.

His eyes are so blue.

“You ripped your stitches.” He says, and the feeling of his breath brushing against your lips shouldn’t make you shiver, but it does. His fingers curl, ever so slightly, against your skin like he feels it.

“I’ve been shot before. I’m fine.” Your voice is too quiet for your own liking. You can’t tell if you’re out of breath from pain or something else.

“Let me check.”

“I…” you should argue. Tell him no. Bite back the pain and refuse help like you usually do. “Okay.”

His hand moves to your back, and he guides you upright. You’re nearly in his lap as his hands move up under the sweatshirt, and the way his calloused fingers slide over your skin feels a little too reverent to be entirely medical.

You swallow as he pulls it off, guiding it over your head and over your arm in a way that doesn’t force you to lift the appendage at all. You’re still in his arms. Frozen. This is too intimate. Too weird.

His fingers brush against a blooming flower of red against your shoulders. Your stitches ripped. The pain feels distant.

He’s silent as he begins to unwrap your bandages. You can’t think of a single thing to say. That’s new for you.

You wince as they come off, and you feel the fingers of his free hand tighten against your back in that barely-there way that he has. Right now, with the silence and firelight, it feels like restraint.

“You ripped your stitches.” His voice is low. Quiet.

“Oh.” You swear you were eloquent once. You should have said something quippier. You’re having trouble stringing a thought together.

“I have to redo them.” He looks at you. Right into your eyes. He’s not exactly asking permission, but he is asking if you’re okay.

You nod.

He lays you back onto the floor like a lover might, cradling the back of your head and placing the sweatshirt beneath it like a makeshift pillow. You stare at the ceiling as he rises to grab the first aid-kit, trying to pull your mind back together.

He’s on top of you again, and you try to tell yourself that your unsteady breathing is only from the pain as you feel a warm towel wiping the blood away from your wound. You keep your eyes fixed on the creaky fan.

“I don’t have anything to numb the pain.” He says, and you don’t look at him. Can’t. “I have a shot. HYDRA made. It speeds up the healing, but it…hurts.”

You blow out a shaky breath, weighing the pros and cons of letting him inject anything made by HYDRA into your veins. When you look up into his eyes, however, you realize that you trust him. Unquestioningly. When the fuck did that happen?

“Okay.” You whisper, offering a nod. He nods back, and moves down to focus on your arm.

He stitches you back up quickly, fingers deft and practiced like that of a soldier. Only once, when he pulls the last stitch tight and ties it off, do you let out a quiet whimper of pain.

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t sound like he’s apologizing for just the stitches.

“S’fine.” You watch him ready the shot, and the tenseness in his muscles makes yours lock up in anticipation. “How long will it take to work?”

“Twelve to fourteen hours. It’s the injection that will-”

“Hurt. Yeah, you mentioned.”

“I don’t have to-“

“Just do it. I’ll be fine.” You try to offer him a smile. “Can’t hurt worse than actually getting shot, right?”

The look in his eyes makes you realize why he hasn’t offered this before. Why he’s still so hesitant to offer it to you now.

“It will.”

You swallow, nod again. “Okay. Do it.” You can’t sit around with a wounded shoulder. Not if you have another option. While the soldier may be content to hide away in this safehouse for as long as possible, for reasons you can’t pretend like you don’t understand, you have people to get back to. A mission to complete.

He hesitates again, and there’s an emotion in his eyes that you can’t place. “I’m going to have to hold you down.” He warns. “You might hurt yourself.”

“You are really not selling this thing.”

He stares. You groan. “Okay. Just do it. Please. Let’s get it over with.”

He stares again. Seems to hesitate. You grit your teeth, squeeze your eyes shut, and feel the sting of the needle entering your arm.

For a moment, there’s just silence.

And then the pain hits.

The scream that rips its way out of your throat doesn’t sound human. The blood in your veins is replaced by molten hot lava, burning you from the inside out and making your vision go white.

You try to claw it out of you, desperate for some kind of release. You’ll rip your own skin open to get the fire out of your body before it completely consumes you.

You’re pulled backwards into a broad chest. Arms wrap firmly around you, holding you in place and stopping your hands from trying to tear the fire out of you.

You writhe. Scream again. You feel tears sliding down your cheeks. Vaguely, you register the feeling of lips pressing against your temple. Of soft, comforting words being whispered into your hair as those arms hold you still. You can’t focus on them. Can barely hear them over the agony ripping through you.

It feels like hours before it subsides, finally offering you relief. Even as you calm, relax back against the soldier’s large chest like you just finished running a marathon, he doesn’t stop murmuring to you, rocking you gently, soothingly.

Your voice sounds hoarse when you speak again. Raw from screaming. “What language is that?”

“Romanian.” His voice is still low. Still soft. There’s a hint of apology in it. Of pain, like it hurt him to watch you suffer.

“What does it mean?”

He doesn’t answer you.

“You picked a shitty safehouse.”

You grumble the words against his shoulder. His arms are wrapped around you again, the threadbare blanket covering your bodies. The room is still freezing, and the small window in the corner gives you a glimpse of snowflakes fluttering against it.

“It’s not made for comfort.” His words are quiet against your hair. His flesh hand warms the skin of your back beneath the sweatshirt. With every hour that passes, he becomes a little more talkative. A little less reserved. You realized, at some point today between the talking and stupid games to fill the time, that you like him. Not just because of this strange, unspoken bond that seems to connect the two of you, but because you really genuinely just…like him. He’s good company. “I can make the fire-“

“If you move, I will kill you.”

You think, for a second, that you might feel him smile.

The silence isn’t uncomfortable anymore. There’s a softness to it, now. Still, you can’t keep yourself quiet for very long.

“Cats or dogs?” You ask, deciding that now would be the perfect time to start up the question game again. It’s better than iSpy. He keeps choosing unbelievably small and specific things - a single tree on the horizon. A barely-noticeable hole in the wall. He might have turned you into the first living person to rage-quit fucking iSpy.

“Cats.”

“Huh. Would have pegged you for a dog guy.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I see it now though. All those giant muscles and quiet broodiness is perfect for a cat.” Picturing him holding a kitten should not be as cute as it is, but the mental image makes you smile a little against his chest. He feels it. His hold tightens a little, and he snuggles closer like the expression gave him the courage to do so.

“What about you?” He asks, voice a little softer now.

“I like cats, too.” You admit, still smiling a bit. “I mean, dogs are cute and all but cats are so much softer.”

“Makes sense. You’re soft.” He says, and then stills like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

You grin, a little evilly, and sacrifice the warmth of his hold just enough to pull your head back and look at him. “Oh, yeah?”

“Don’t.” His face is red. The assassin. The killing machine. The Fist of HYDRA. He’s blushing like a schoolgirl and refusing to look at you.

“And pretty?” You echo his words from before. He could kill you in two seconds, in a hundred different ways, but you’re teasing him mercilessly to see how red you can make his face as his expression becomes more and more tortured with each passing second.

“Aw, you’re blushing.” You say, smile widening. “It’s okay. You’re pretty too.”

He curses in Russian, and his hand flies up to cover your mouth. The gesture is almost as childish as your teasing, and you can’t help the giggle that erupts from your throat.

And then something shifts in the air. Not abruptly. Not even on purpose. It’s a slow, natural thing, the way your laughter dies down and his hand softens against your mouth. The way his eyes find yours, firelight reflecting in the blue of his irises, and you feel your heartbeat quicken as the room goes silent. Anticipation tingles in your fingertips, mixing with something else. Something more powerful than want or even desire. Something you haven’t felt before, that feels life-changing enough to frighten you.

His palm leaves your mouth, fingers twisting just-so until his knuckles drag gently over your lips. His eyes follow the movement, lashes lowering and breath coming a little more slowly like he’s forcing himself to steady it.

Your breath catches. He leans closer in response. His hand moves from your lips, slides over your cheek and into your hair.

Something curls in your gut, low and hot enough to make your heart pound a little faster. You can tell he hears it, with how his fingers tighten on your scalp and his nose brushes against yours.

He’s asking a question. Holding himself back. The air feels like it’s been sucked out of the room. You’ve never heard a louder silence.

His breath ghosts over your lips. His thumb traces almost shakily over your jaw, like he’s forcing himself not to crush you to him and take.

This cannot possibly be a good idea.

You close the distance between you.

The first kiss is gentle. Hesitant, even, like he’s trying to remember exactly how to do this after so many decades of nothing but violence. His lips are so soft. So much warmer than you would have expected. Your eyes drift closed, and you move your mouth against his slowly, gently.

And then he growls, fingers tightening in your hair, and he stops holding back.

He deepens the kiss, and you gasp as you feel his tongue slide against yours. He chases the sound, slotting his leg between yours and rolling so he’s got you pinned beneath him. Miraculously, the movement doesn’t hurt your shoulder in the slightest, like he accounted for your injury without even thinking about it.

The kiss is rough. Deep. Possessive and hungry and so, so good that you can’t form a coherent thought. You kiss him back with a fire you didn’t know you had in you, your own free hand pushing his shirt up to run your nails over the warm skin of his back. You catch his lip between your teeth as you do, and he groans so low and rough that you can feel it vibrate through your blood.

His mouth glides over your jaw, down to the sensitive skin of your neck, and you gasp for breath. His hand glides up under your sweatshirt, making you whimper as his thumb traces over the skin of your ribs and you feel his tongue brush over your throat like it’s the finest thing he’s ever tasted.

Your hands move to unbuckle his belt, nerves burning with need and desperation as you arch against him. He groans, presses closer like he’ll die if he has to feel any sort of distance between your bodies.

Your frantic movements and the angle you twist your body into suddenly shoots a bolt of agony through your shoulder, and you hiss in pain.

He stops.

“M’fine.” You insist, still breathless, and kiss him again. He acquiesces immediately, like he can’t help it.

“You’re still hurt.” The words are a low, craving rumble against your lips. You bite his lip in response, and he growls, pressing closer for a moment before he forces himself back.

“Please?” You try not to sound as out of breath and nearly desperate as you feel. You fail. His eyes darken, and he blows out a hiss of breath between his teeth like stopping is more painful than any bullet wound could ever be.

“You’ll get hurt.” His hand moves up to your face. He brushes the hair out of your eyes in a motion that’s so tender it makes your thoughts stutter.

“The shot-“

“The shot isn’t working yet. You’ll still get hurt.”

You look at him, and you see it in his eyes. He won’t be able to hold back. He won’t know how. That look alone shoots a bolt of desire through you.

But that lack of restraint will hurt you. And he looks so afraid of that possibility that you give in.

“Fine.” You finally sigh, but turn to press a kiss to his palm. You like the way he seems to melt at the gesture, lying back down and pulling you into his arms again.

He was right. When you wake the next morning, you can move your arm. Hell, you can even roll your shoulder. It aches, but it doesn’t feel like the limb is going to detach from your body. Ironic as it might be.

Totally not worth the agony of that HYDRA shot, but definitely convenient.

After a mild celebration at your newfound movement, you find yourself sitting on the edge of the bed, the soldier on the floor as your socked feet rest against his ribs and you sit behind him and braid his hair.

With every hour, he’s become more human. More talkative. More himself, whoever that may have been before. Clearly, whatever they were doing to him to keep him that unfeeling assassin was happening on a more regular basis than you thought. The idea of it makes you feel sick.

You haven’t talked about last night, but it isn’t awkward. Just something that doesn’t need to be mentioned. That strange, unspoken bond you both felt when you first saved him has simply been drawn a little tighter. Neither of you are avoiding it. Hiding from it. You’re just both…here. Knowing the strange, strong connection exists but not worrying about where it’s going to lead.

Still, there’s an intimacy in how he’s letting you play with his hair. The way he silently wraps a hand around your leg and presses a kiss to your knee as you tighten the braid.

“We have to go.” You say, voice soft in the silence of the room. You run your fingers through his hair, let the braid loosen and the strands fall back to his shoulders, and lean forward to rest your chin on the top of his head.

“We don’t.” He tries, but it’s not really convincing. He knows that you’re going to argue. That you’re nearly healed now, and there’s no argument to be had.

“We do.” You kiss the top of his head, and he melts. When you move to pull away, he allows it, but his fingers reach up to skate over your leg as you pull it off of his shoulder.

“Plan?”

“I don’t know.” You pull yourself off of the bed, looking out the window with a sigh. “There are two people I can trust, and I have no idea where they are right now.”

“So we can stay.”

“This safehouse is HYDRA. And they’re looking for us.”

He frowns. Looks like he’s about to argue.

“And, if I- If we don’t do something, they’ll kill people. Innocent people. A lot of them.”

His jaw clenches. You pause. You see the memories flicker in his eyes. The guilt.

“You didn’t do that.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t…” you stop, try to find the words. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“I’m a weapon.”

“For a weapon, you haven’t hurt me.”

“You’re different.”

“No, I’m not. You tried to kill me before.” He frowns again at that, looks away. You can’t help but add. “Do you… do you remember that?”

“Yes.”

“What do you remember?”

He’s silent. Still.

You reach for him, then, turn him gently to look at you. When he does, he relaxes a little.

“I remember shooting at you.” He says, and then his lips press against your forehead. His hand slides over your back. “I remember you throwing a bomb at me.”

You smile, but it’s guilty. You tuck your face into his shoulder.

“And I remember it blew me back,” he continues, still not letting you go, “and when I stood up, I thought you were dead. But you held your middle fingers up and-“

“Oh, right.” You mumble, suddenly embarrassed, but he continues.

“You looked at me and yelled ‘fuck you, metal man’.”

You cringe. “In my defense, adrenaline is a hell of a drug.”

“I liked you.” He says, tugging you a little closer. “You were interfering with my mission. I shouldn’t have liked it. But I did.”

You snort, still embarrassed. “It wasn’t really my best line, I just-“

He pulls back, grabs your chin. Forces you to look at him. “I liked you.” He repeats, like it’s important. Like he’s telling you a secret. “You were covered in bruises. You were exhausted. I thought you would be easy to take down. But you fought me like you weren’t fighting for yourself.” He leans down. His nose brushes yours. His eyes are burning. “You fought like you were fighting for everyone else.”

His lips move down to your cheek. To your jaw.

“And then, in that room. When they brought you in. You were still fighting them.” You blink, trying to shake off the distracting feeling of his body against yours. He backs you towards the bed. “I looked at you because you jumped in front of the man on the bridge. I know him.” His mouth is by your ear now. His hands are moving down your back.

“That’s Steve.” You say, a little breathless. A part of you wonders if he’s remembering. Like he was before, back in that room. “He’s Captain America. You fought with him in-“

“I remembered you.” He repeats, voice lower now. “I know I was someone else before. I know he’s important.” The backs of your thighs hit the edge of the bed, and he’s quick to replace the sensation with his hands, lifting you up effortlessly as your legs wrap instinctively around his waist. “I saw it in your eyes, when you decided you would come back for me. You were still fighting. You were so angry about it.” His teeth catch against the shell of your ear, making you gasp, and still he continues. “They’ve broken me a thousand times, but I saw you. I knew you’d come back.”

Your back hits the mattress, and suddenly he’s on top of you, one hand bracing himself against the threadbare blanket by your head and the other tracing your cheek with a reverence that makes you shiver.

“You saved my life.” He murmurs, almost like he’s speaking to himself, as his lips brush against yours. “Before you broke me out. When you looked at me like that, you saved me.”

You kiss him, then, unable to hold back the fire burning through you at his words. At his touch. He meets you with the same ferocity as before, kissing you back like he’s starved as he drags you closer to him.

This time, he doesn’t stop you when you unbuckle his belt.

This time, his hands slide up under your sweatshirt and pull it off of you, ripping off his own t-shirt as his lips trail down over your newly exposed skin, kissing and biting like every touch is a claim. Making you feel like you’re burning from the inside out in the most wonderful of ways.

He stops, just long enough to check your newly healed shoulder, and his concern makes you smile. You lean down to press gentle kisses to the scarred skin at the base of his metal arm, and you hear him let out a shaky breath before his barely-there control breaks again and he drags you back to him, pressing you into the mattress as his lips find yours once more.

The safehouse is still freezing, the burning fire still doesn't heat the room quite enough, but neither of you notice.

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