#*slams a fist against the wall* you will never understand what [REDACTED] means to me

[bytchysylvy]

making my own post because im derailing from the point. for me it never feels like representation. that’s not an experience ive ever had, not everything is about me but god thats not even CLOSE. it feels so fake and disingenuous to me to the point of being an outsider. Is that ANYONE’S experience? Like, who is being represented? If it is your experience good for you, I mean that genuinely, but I grew up being told my mother should’ve beat the queer out of me, in public as casual advice given to her, she didnt even disagree outside of “well I wont hit my kid but I get it”. nevermind what happened later in life or what that did to my psyche.

Every time I see something where its just accepted or even worse therapy talked through I feel downright alienated. I feel left behind. I got stepped on my whole life only to get told “actually WE want stories where no one is stepping on us” while im still out here having to fight the boot pressed against my face. Do you have any idea what “We dont want stories focused on sex :/ its not always about sex” at the same time someone is telling me my love is the same as fucking goats irl. Im constantly reminded my love is too disgusting to show, to the point I’m not even comfortable around anyone anymore because I know my love and my body is seen as being so repulsive that my presence isnt wanted unless its scrubbed down to nothing. It took me six years of being out of the closet to even write two men in love because how dare I indulge in it.

And I dont want tragedies either! I’ve been in too many situation where I didnt know if I was going to make it out ok, if even alive. I dont want to be reminded of what could’ve happened. I want to see someone like find a better life. But you cant just show me light and act like the tunnel doesnt exist. I dont want them to be told they’re loved and supported without reason. I never got those words, not without terms and conditions* at least. I never got told it was okay and i was valid, I got blamed for what happened to me. I never got an apology, i forgave them only to learn it was never regretted. And at this point none of those words will do anything for me. How am I supposed to believe them. I dont even want it.

I want this faggot to punch that mf in front of the altar and god when they make their escape. Then have his boyfriend get him knocked up.

[scribeofmorpheus]

As Fate Would Have It (part 18)

Paring: WinterSoldier!Bucky x Spy!Reader

Catch Up here | Masterlist | Words: 4k |

Taglist is open. Send an ask.

Warnings: Themes of contemplative murder… eh, some other stuff. Took a bit of a dark turn.

Note: Alexei Shostakov (Red Guardian) in this story is canon divergent and so will not share any similarities with the version we get in the BW movie. I also haven’t proofread. Comments and feedback is welcome.

Vocabulary: Snezhinka is russian for ‘Snowflake’ and Vot der'mo  roughly translates to ‘Shit’. Also, Voroshilov is a tank named after a military general.

Several Months Later…

The window was left the slightest bit open. The winter air crept in like an uninvited guest, blowing the cold onto your toes, making you shiver. You didn’t try to fight it. The cold kept you alert, awake, even if your body protested from lack of sleep and proper nutrition.

You stared over several maps, documents, newspaper cut-outs and conspiracy pamphlets, printed in English, Russian and French, scattered on your desk. The work lamp had taken on a yellowish hue as the bulb started to wane.

Your vision would blur and then snap back to focus as you read over the words that melded together in your brain to form nothing cohesive. No concrete leads, no possible hunches… just nothing. The Winter Soldier was a ghost, and your body felt like it hadn’t recovered from the shock of finding out Bucky was alive. But you had to find something to go on, some small clue you’d overlooked. You couldn’t lose him. Not again. Not like this.

The trail for the Winter Soldier had led you to a small town on the outskirts of Belarus. There was nothing there but chilly weather, suspicious locals and an entire culture of food steeped in fried potatoes and salted meats. Alexei had been reluctant to let you go along with your wild goose chase, but you insisted that you were going anyway, no matter where it led you, and he insisted on being backup.

The keys jingled before the lock to your rented hostel room click and turned. Alexei walked in with snow dusting the shoulders of his red leather jacket that strained at the seams against his large frame. Two paper cups were in his hands. It didn’t escape you that the earthy, dark aroma of coffee didn’t pervade from the steaming liquid.

“That better be coffee, Alexei,” you said with the panache of someone with a short fuse.

Alexei laughed as he balanced the paper cups and locked the door behind him, his neck and upper spine bending so he could pass through the doorway. “Any more coffee and you’ll get a heart attack.”

“At this point, it would be an improvement!” You slammed your fist in frustration, chasing loose leaflets to the floor.

“No new leads, I see,” Alexei handed you the cup of tea. A gentle smile on his face pulling his cheeks back and relaxing the age lines around his mismatched blue and brown eyes. He may have looked closer to fifty, but from his size and athletic ability, he was as formidable as a bodybuilder in his twenties. “You should rest, Snezhinka. You can’t help anybody if you can’t even stand straight.”

“I am standing straight!” you contested.

Alexei poked your upper-chest with his index finger lightly and you staggered like a piece of paper blown by the wind. The hot tea sloshed over the edges and just missed your shirt.

“Vot der'mo!” you swore as you steadied yourself.

“See?” Alexei cocked his head to the side with a proud smirk.

You frowned at him, peering your eyes like daggers. How did he not understand how important finding Bucky was to you? You had told him everything after that night in Versailles. Seeing Bucky alive, talking to him, having a piece of that life you thought was dead return from the grave only to be swept away, leaving you with more questions than answers, that messed with your head. You needed someone to talk to, someone to keep you from spiralling too far. And you trusted Alexei, with your life if need be. He had been the one who found you and offered you a job with the company. Working, keeping busy, it had saved you. It gave you something to distract yourself with while everyone around you aged and moved on with their lives.

“I can’t stop!”

Alexei sighed as he sat on a weak, wooden chair that creaked under his weight, “I’m not telling you to stop, Snezhinka. I’m telling you to rest.”

“I can’t. Every minute I waste is another minute that he’s out there, getting further and further away from my grasp!” You were being unfair and loud, and it was just like Alexei to let you go through the motions. He just took your tantrum with no judgement. “Don’t you see? I have to find him! I have to-- If you knew him like I did, if you saw how broken he was in that room…” You drank a sip of the tea with shaky hands to soothe the dryness growing in your throat.

Alexei sighed, his chin falling onto the sharp protruding joints of his shoulder bones as he stared at the spot where his ribs had been fractured by Bucky. “This Voroshilov really means that much to you, even after he tried to kill you?”

Voroshilov. That nickname never ceased to make your lips twitch upwards. Alexei had started referring to Bucky as Voroshilov because, as he put it, fighting the Winter Soldier was like going toe-to-toe with a Russian heavy tank.

“He does. When I was a child, I had nothing… No one, except…” The image of Yelena, young and scruffy around the edges popped into your head. You drowned the image out with another sip. “Then the Widow’s took us in. And they trained us to let go of everything that made us who we were, but a part of me kept dreaming. Kept hoping there was something better out there. He became that dream for me. He gave me my humanity back. The least I can do is do the same for him.”

Alexei set his cup down and nodded, “Okay.”

“Okay?” you repeated in confusion.

“Okay,” Alexei said as if you hadn’t heard him the first time. Then he sat up and left the room.

Alexei had been gone for days and the only thing you could do from going up the walls was focus on the outdated intel piling up in your small room. The files would range from ambiguous speculation about a shadow organisation that stole the homeless from the streets to experiment on them, to horror stories of a ruthless killer who was more machine than man. No matter which thread you tugged, it always ended up being a snipped end not tied to anything else.

When Alexei returned, he had a bruised nose, a black eye and raw knuckles.

“What the hell happened to you?” you asked.

“Broker double-crossed me.”

You rushed to his side with gauze and rubbing alcohol, but he simply shook his head and pulled out a thin, manila file stamped with Cyrillic letters obscuring the KGB seal. He swapped the file for the rubbing alcohol and walked over to the mirror to tend to his own wounds.

You huffed in amazement as you tentatively opened the manila jacket, heart pounding like a jackhammer. “You know, you could have just told me what your plan was before you barged out of here.”

“You needed to rest,” Alexei said simply, wincing when the alcohol-drenched gauze came in contact with several scrapes and cuts on his face.

You flipped through heavily redacted pages about a former Hydra operative who defected to the KGB once Hydra lost the war. In the legible areas of text, the operative was quoted as having mentioned a super-soldier with a metal arm. The report was over forty years old and the lead was flimsy at best, but it was still more than you had to go on a second ago.

“Can we trust this?” you asked.

Alexei had finished cleaning himself up and wiped his hands on a beige towel, “For the most part.”

“It’s not much to go on.”

He cracked a smile, “Your gratitude warms my heart, Snezhinka. As always.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “My gratitude is always implied. I just can’t believe you went through all this trouble for another dead end.”

Alexei tossed a set of keys at you. You caught them effortlessly without looking away from the blacked-out pages. “What’re these?”

“Keys.”

“I can see that. Why are you giving me keys?”

Alexei pulled out your duffle bag from under the bed and started tossing what little extra clothing you had into it. “Because the broker mentioned where that operative is hiding.”

Your eyes grew large, a twinkle of excitement and hope bubbling to the surface of your weary face. “What?”

“I didn’t bloody my knuckles for an outdated file, little one.” He zipped up your duffle bag and flung it over one of his shoulders. “You’re driving. I need some sleep.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

Reality hit you like a tonne of bricks. Russia. You hadn’t been back since that harrowing day in the mountains. Chills travelled up your spine like minute pinpricks, reminding you of the trail of scars and needle marks that never faded from your back. You instantly dropped the manila file onto the adjacent table, tied your hair with a hair tie banded around your wrist and pocketed the car keys.

 Your snowboots crunched into the sleet covered ground. The dissolving ice covering the driveway was slippery, sparkling with shards of rock salt. You looked up at the old, pre-war building with bars blocking the windows and layers of limescale turning the white of the walls to sloppy brown from years of rain.

You turned to look at Alexei as you slammed the car door shut, “Are you sure this is the place?”

Alexei took the final puff from his rolled cigarette and crushed it under his foot, pulling the collar of his thick jacket closer to his neck. “Trust me, this is the place. I put the fear of God himself into that weasley broker. He wouldn’t lie.”

You looked at the signpost dug into the earth next to the steps of the building. Reading the word ‘sanatorium’ made your stomach flip and turn in discomfort. In another life, you could have easily seen yourself being strapped to one of the many beds kept in that building. Shouting insane things like, “I don’t age,” and “I saw a dead man come back from the grave with a metal arm and no memories of me.”

You sighed, “Of course this is the place.”

Alexei chuckled dryly.

The two of you walked into the building looking like two fugitives afraid of being identified by someone in the right place at the wrong time. The large door creaked like an effect out of a horror movie, making you more on edge than before. You scanned the area in search of anything that stood out. There was nothing outwardly threatening besides the muffled moans of patients locked behind doors and spots of discolouration that could’ve been anything between vomit or dried blood. Your nose itched for no reason.

Alexei made his way with giant steps towards the receptionist that looked like a dried-out raisin smeared with red lipstick and wearing grey scrubs. He put on his most dashing smile and turned his charm up to eleven. The previously hostile and disinterested looking receptionist transformed into a model of etiquette and false politeness. You bit back a smile and tried to keep your gaze on the bare, undecorated walls of the institution. Alexei snuck some cash under his palm towards the receptionist who disappeared into a back office, and after a few minutes, another staff member with a baton strapped to his hip unlocked a metal door and nodded his head for you and Alexei to follow him.

The moans were louder now, and more blood-curling. You walked for a while, passing row after row of locked metal doors rusting at the hinges. The man stopped next to an open doorway that led to a pathetic looking recreational lounge filled with old board games and stacks of questionable books.

“Five minutes,” he said with no life on his face or in his voice.

You nodded and took a step, then the man pulled out his baton to act as a barricade between you and the doorway. “Only one.” He looked up at Alexei.

Alexei narrowed his eyes but took a step back. “I’ll wait here,” he said. “The patient’s number is 28.”

You shot Alexei an apologetic look and made your way into the rec-room. Your eyes bounced from one old and greying patient to the next, looking out for the one with the number 28 stitched onto their clothes. It was surreal, being here. You looked at each wrinkled, sagging face accompanied by thick, or thinning heads of silver hair and saw a little of yourself in each of those strangers faces. Had time been kind to you, you would have looked exactly like them. Several patients regarded you with curiosity and scepticism. Your white hair seemed to catch a lot of inquisitive eyes.

Feeling like a circus freak put on a pedestal, you swallowed your anxious thoughts and pushed forward. In the back, facing a window that looked out onto a walled fence, sat a frail, feminine form with long, oily greying hair. The number 28 was stitched onto her clothes.

“Can I join you?” you asked the old woman.

She stared blankly at the wall, head tilted at an uncomfortable angle, fully formed cataracts in her eyes. You realised then that she wasn’t staring out the window, she was blind.

“Your accent is different,” the old woman said with a knowing smile that made the hairs on your arms stand erect.

“Do I know you?”

“You’re voice is still young. How is that?”

You moved closer to her, trying to see past the age on her face, down to what she would’ve looked like had you known her in another time. And then, like a spark to gasoline, your brain caught on fire with years of unresolved anger.

“Kathy?” you said her name with utter disdain.

The old lady made a croaking noise that was intended to be a laugh, “In the flesh.”

You had dreamt about coming face to face with Kathy many times when you were in that Hydra facility. Your hatred toward her and Yelena was one of your five-a-day in that cramped prison cell. On coherent nights, you had imagined exacting vengeance on them both. Countless times, in countless ways. Driving a knife between her ribs until you punctured her heart. Poisoning her food. Snapping her neck. Burying her alive in a cold steel coffin like the one she had locked you in. In every one of those scenarios, Kathy was always the same age as the last time you saw her. Picturing this feeble, old woman with purpling veins and cloudy eyes in young Kathy’s stead somehow didn’t seem as satisfying. Time had dealt her a bad hand. She had had her comeuppance. And it angered you that it wasn’t by your hands.

“What, no hug?” she jabbed.

“Screw you,” your hands balled into fists, nails piercing through your tough skin.

“There she is,” Kathy let out another croaky laugh, her bony, crooked fingers reaching out for your face. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You recoiled and took a step away, folding your arms to prevent yourself from doing something you’d regret, “I came here for answers.”

Kathy moved her head for the first time since you started talking, shifting it to crane up. Her eyes were directed nowhere near where you were standing. “So… you need something from me?”

You kept your jaw shut tight. Not giving her the satisfaction of an answer.

“Fine, but you have to do something for me first.”

“You must be nuttier than a nut-bar if you think I’ll do a thing to help you!” you whisper shouted to not upset the other patients.

“Trust me, this is something you won’t want to pass up.”

Begrudgingly, you took the bait, “Spit it out.”

“I need you to swear to me that after I tell you what you want to know, you’ll kill me.” Kathy’s face was stone-cold serious. No fluctuation in her voice or twitch of her facial muscles. She proceeded to try and explain herself, perhaps in an attempt to persuade you to feel empathetic to her current state. “You have no idea what it’s like for me here. The slop they force down my throat each day that they pass for food. The constant rotation of meds that makes me feel like a damned lab rat. The humiliation of needing someone to change my sheets when I piss myself. And I can’t even read a book to pass the time.”

“Even if I wanted to, it’s not like the security here is lax.”

“You’re a fucking spider. You and I both know the locks on those doors aren’t enough to stop you.”

You were conflicted, and a little bit surprised by her request, but you would say or do just about anything to find Bucky. Your soul was damned enough already. “Fine.”

“Swear it!” Her hand snatched onto yours, scaring you for a brief second. “And I’ll know if you’re lying.”

The patients were growing rowdy from the disruption caused by Kathy’s shout. You yanked your hand away and signalled for Alexei to relax his shoulders when he looked like he was about to charge through the much smaller guard beside him.

You stared into Kathy’s eyes, knowing full well she couldn’t see you and answered truthfully, “I swear.”

She smiled, pleased with your answer, then she placed her hand back on the armrest. “What do you want to know?”

You dragged a chair over and sat close enough so Kathy’s whispers wouldn’t be a problem but far enough so that she couldn’t reach for you again. “In a KGB report written in ’47, you mentioned you had come in contact with a man with a metal arm during your last mission as Hydra. I want to know what happened.”

“Der Wintersoldat,” she said. “I remember that mission like it were yesterday. Are you sure you want to hear this story? It may be hard to swallow.”

“I’ve been to hell and back. A damn story isn’t going to be the worst of it.”

Kathy licked her dry lips and cleared her throat so she could speak clearer, softer. “After the war ended and Schmidt was defeated, a power vacuum tore at the heart of Hydra. The allies were rooting us out all over Europe. I was part of a division tasked with finding and obtaining any samples of the Erskine’s serum and destroying any evidence.”

You frowned, “Why would Hydra ask you to destroy their own serum?”

“I wasn’t tasked with finding Hydra samples,” Kathy coughed a dry, raspy cough. “There were rumours of the Russian’s having a sample. Intelligence said they had already started testing the serum on viable candidates. So while the Allies hunted Hydra, I hunted the Russian’s –could you get me some water? My throat is dryer than my scheide.”

You took a long, pensive breath and then got up from your chair to grab one of the plastic cups staked next to a plastic jug of water. When you returned to your seat, you handed her the cup and watched impatiently as she sipped slowly. The guard tapped his wrist, his body language leaning more towards annoyed. You held up five fingers to ask for more time but he looked to be heading your way. Immediately, Alexei put one hand on the guard's shoulder, spun him around and clocked him hard enough to knock him out instantly. Alexei caught the guard before he could tumble, shrugged at you innocently before placing the guard on the floor gently.

“Your friend's got quite a way with the locals,” Kathy joked before handing you the cup and continuing: “I had managed to discover the whereabouts of the Widow’s main operations. To think, the Red Room was moonlighting as a group home for the displaced and orphaned youths of the war, much like yourself I gather.” She chuckled. “Smart. Hiding in plain sight. The only problem was, our numbers weren’t sufficient for an attack, and with the rumours circulating of potential super soldiers being trained by the dozen, we didn’t have the manpower. So Hydra sent one of their remaining assets to assist.”

You knew instantly who she was referring to, “The Winter Soldier.”

“Yes,” Kathy held back another cough. “Until that night, I had thought him to be nothing more than a ghost story, but he was very, very real. One of his arms was made entirely of impenetrable metal. I never saw his face, only his eyes. I had never seen such hollow, soulless eyes before. He single-handedly shifted the fight in our favour, and he was… unstoppable. The next thing I knew, smoke was rising from broken windows and screams were lost to the fires.”

You blinked repeatedly, trying to remind yourself that Bucky and the Winter Soldier weren’t the same person. They couldn’t be. Suddenly it was all making sense. That’s why he’d looked so broken, it’s because he was. Hydra had turned him into… a monster. Was he the reason Yelena was missing an eye? Did he really kill all the Widows?

You rubbed your face and eyes with the ends of your fingers and tried to keep calm. Despite the rise of bile in your gullet and the feeling of dread filling your empty stomach, you held strong. “What happened next?” your voice wavered.

Kathy’s eyelids grew heavy, her head slowly anchoring down. “Some of the Widows managed to escape, the Winter Soldier made it his priority to hunt every last one down. The ones we got talking revealed there wasn’t an army of super soldiers. Most of their experiments had failed. There was only one subject who survived. A boy.” She paused for a moment, the memory bearing too much emotional heft for her to cruise through apathetically. “I found him hiding in the woods. Scared, alone and young. So, so young. But I had my orders…”

Suddenly, Alexei snapped his fingers at the doorway to get your attention. A whistle blew as the sound of feet running your way echoed throughout the concrete walls. “Snezhinka, we are out of time!”

“Hold them off for a few minutes, please.”

Alexei nodded and barrelled down the hall like a gladiator of Rome. The sound of grunting and fighting made its way to your ears, and the ears of all the other patients, causing them to burst into hysterics. Several guards shouted in Russian before they met Alexei’s fists, but you blocked it all out, focusing only on Kathy.

“Kathy, we’re running out of time. What happened next?”

Kathy was lost in her memory, disassociating for a moment, “The boy, he looked at me with such childlike fear. Nothing had shaken me like those brown and blue eyes of his. So peculiar. So rare… So beautiful. I had to let him go. I had to. But my team wouldn’t listen to reason so I killed them. All of them. And then I ran. I changed my name, my hair… And my reward was this.”

The mention of a boy with brown and blue eyes shook you to your core. The thought was there, waiting to come to the surface, but it couldn’t be. The coincidence was too high. It couldn’t be the same person.

Kathy laughed maniacally as more of the patients burst into an uproar. You shook her at the collar of her clothes to try and get her to return to her senses, “Kathy, I need you to focus. The soldier, you must know something about him, anything!”

“Before he left –the soldier–he mentioned a place to one of his men.”

“What place?” you had to stop yourself from shaking her a second time.

Kathy whispered, “Siberia.”

You released your grip on Kathy just as Alexei stormed back into the room with a sweaty brow. “We’re leaving, now!” he urged.

“It’s fine, I got what I came for,” you looked at Kathy one more time before walking away.

“Our deal?” She shouted in anger, confusion visible on her weathered face. “I heard it on your voice. You didn’t lie. You swore!”

You smirked, a slithering darkness surrounding your next words, “I am killing you, Kathy. Just like I promised. I’m just giving you a chance to die slowly.”

Alexei stared at you as if you had turned into a stranger, and in turn, you looked at him the same way. The two of you made your way through the facility, taking down a few more guards along the way, and got back into your car. Police sirens bellowed out from down the road as you sped away in the opposite direction.

Chapter 19 coming soon!