WINSoD - Pt.6
...We Both Will Drop
Type: series, soulmate AU series (part 1, part 2, part 3)
Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 4820
Summary: In which the mission to retrieve stones is on and you and Steve arrive to Vormir. Some things are simply... inevitable.
Warnings: (we all know what’s coming don’t we), blood and violence, character death, mentions of suicide, language
A/N: Don’t blame me, it’s the large scheme and shit. *runs and hides in a middle of nowehere*
Part 5
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Everyone on the team had been through having their heart broken at least once; hell, find one of humankind who hadn’t. After the Snap, it was an impossible task; even children, when asked, felt like something was missing to them, feeling a deeply-embedded longing they couldn’t quite comprehend. Surely, they wouldn’t use such big words, having only been five years old now, but the sentiment was all the same.
And when all humanity felt like that, there was little space for hope.
However, the hope that barely started to take roots in the team when they figured out a way to unlimitedly travel in time and space, grew rapidly when Natasha winced in a middle of summarizing the plan once more; only to reveal that the source of pain was… insane.
It was a tattoo-like message on her collarbone.
She had received a new set of words. And they happened to be written in Sam Wilson’s handwriting, a sentence little snarky and little sappy and… no one blamed Scott for asking the question that itched everyone on the tip of their tongue.
“So… that means we succeed, right? And they meet again, more or less for the first time? I mean, we already saw a case like that.”
Despite the cold shiver running up your spine, your heart was wrapped in a fluffy warmth at that thought. It would be worth it. The sacrifice made will be worth it.
You swiftly dried the tear forming in the corner of your eye at the memory of Natasha’s reluctant but bright smile before Steve could notice. You followed him as he climbed towards the peak of which your instincts told you was exactly the place to go.
He was gallantly helping you to follow without a single ‘I told you so,’ even when you slipped and nearly face-planted. Instead, he smiled at you tenderly, concern furrowing his brow, but not once he complained about you being a liability instead of the help you were supposed to provide.
Vormir was an inhospitable planet. All built of rocks, with icy wind, sweeping snowflakes into your face and you were grateful for your gloves and Steve’s broad shoulders that shielded you at least partly.
Finally reaching a plateau, you were welcomed by a creature floating above the surface; his face red, a bald scalp, head stripped to a bone with nearly no skin, muscles or fat, partly hidden by a hood of his tattered cloak.
You never liked studying history, but even you knew who this was – or who he seemed to be. If Steve’s face and posture was anything to go by, he thought the same.
But that couldn’t be, right? The Red Skull had died- disappeared when touching an Infinity Stone. Would it really be so crazy if he was still connected to one?
“Steven, son of Sarah,” the peculiar creature welcomed your soulmate with a hiss, repeating a greeting of similar nature with you, only showing off he knew your father’s name, not mother’s like with Steve, and obviously calling you a daughter.
Which wasn’t creepy at all.
“You-“ Steve only growled and was already lunging at the man, only for his body to go through him as if the figure was nothing but a unsubstantial illusion.
You yelped in fright for Steve, but he didn’t even fall to the ground, his training preparing him for more surprising situations that his opponent being immaterial.
The Red Skull appeared to be annoyed at Steve’s antics at best; he didn’t make any attempt at attacking either him or you, only watching you with freakily knowing gaze as if he already learned your purpose here. Which was impossible, right?
But was it?
“Steve… I don’t think we need to fight him,” you whispered, averting the piercing glare of the Skull on you.
Steve looked at you as if you were crazy and threw himself on the cloaked figure again; shockingly, with the very same result.
It was an irony for God’s pleasure, you guessed, Steve fighting an old enemy, an enemy that couldn’t be defeated it seemed. Funny metaphor of his life no one laughed at; certainly not you.
Feeling two pairs of eyes on you now, you shivered.
“You don’t, indeed,” the Skull howled over the wind that picked up. “I know why you’re here and I only act as a guide. No matter how much I’d like to go another round with you, Captain, that is all I am.”
Steve snarled, but didn’t come after him again, stopping in mid-motion when you gently placed a hand of his shoulder. He ended up only leaning forward, ready to strike, shield in his hand.
He was handsome even with the scowl on his face, you thought absently and quickly brushed it off, scolding yourself for such ideas at a time like this. But why wouldn’t you let your mind wander into such territory? At the moment, you felt strangely detached from the whole scene in front of you. You wondered if that would change or if you could fulfil your purpose with your soul at peace.
“Then guide us,” Steve hissed, protectively standing between you and the Red Skull.
“Careful what you wish for, Captain.”
You followed the floating figure towards the edge of the plateau, stopping several feet from a bottomless gulf.
You closed your eyes when the vertigo overtook you, the crushing weight of your mission causing you to sway. Steve allowed you to lean onto his body, your palm sprawled across his chest, and he pulled you even farther from the edge into safer distance.
“Why are you showing us this?”
“Because that is the face of destiny you’re staring into,” your guide explained, a smirk forming on his face. Steve instantly let you go in favour to brace himself for the fight to come. Except you already knew it wouldn’t come; not the fight Steve was readying himself for. “I’m not gonna push either of you, Captain. You manage that on your own.”
“What makes you think we would ever do that?”
“The fact that it’s what we need to do to get the Stone,” you answered quietly to the question Steve had spitted out, earning a horrified glance from him.
“Indeed. A Soul Stone is a special entity. To get a hold of it, you must sacrifice a soul. You have found yourself a smart wife, Captain, for she knows this. Too bad she won’t be able to make it back.”
“Over my dead body,” Steve snarled and for a good measure grabbed your hand and dragged you away from the floating figure.
“That certainly is an option too.”
“Fuck. You. Liar!” Steve snapped at him and not even his anger moved you this time. Anger was good. Anger was familiar and in a pleasant contrast to your serenity returning.
“Am I? Or does your team have another explanation for Gamora’s death? Never in my lifetime I thought I’d see a Titan shed tears…” the Skull mused.
Steve’s eyes met yours as he faced you and what he saw in them must have shook him to a core, because his face lost all colour, his irises flashing with rage and something else you couldn’t quite place.
“He’s a slippery bastard, doll. I don’t trust one word-“
Denial. The other thing you saw in his eyes was denial.
“I do,” you breathed out softly, tears finally appearing in your eyes as your scarily high walls that had kept you detached from the whole ordeal came slowly crumbling down. “Thanos arrived here with whom he considered his daughter. And she didn’t make it back.”
Your heart skipped a beat, startled when Steve’s large palms gripped your shoulders and shook you.
“He’s tricking us, that’s what he does! Don’t let him play with your head,” he thundered, his fingers digging into your muscle even through your thick coat, strong enough to bruise.
Swallowing thickly as Steve stared at you, pleading, determined and still unwilling to accept the reality laid in front of him. You forced yourself not to avert his gaze when you responded in a whisper, a sound nearly lost in the howling wind.
“You know he’s telling the truth, Steve.”
You felt hollow. The cold started to seep through your clothing, or maybe it was coming from the inside, leaving your fingers and nose freezing in a desperate attempt to warm your torso up.
Steve’s hands slid from your shoulders as if they lost all strength, his own shoulders slumping, light shake of his head when he turned away from you, fingers plunging in his hair for the shortest of moments before facing you again.
You could see the shift in his attitude; you could see the fight vaporizing from his body, all harshness dissolved and blossoming into tenderness you didn’t deserve at the moment.
Yet you let him touch you, eyelids fluttering shut at the sensation, ignoring the weight in your stomach and letting yourself indulge the kindness of his touch. A lightest brush of fingers along your jaw, over your cheekbones, the pad of is thumb running over your no doubt purple lips.
He was committing himself to a memory of you and you loved him for it more than you could put into words, warm tears escaping from under your eyelids. He was a good man. Once again, he understood what had to be done and that for some reason, God seemed to hate him, asking him to sacrifice his own happiness in favour of others. He had to let you go.
“Then I go,” he breathed out and you snapped your eyes open, startled.
Of course, he got it wrong.
God, you were such an idiot, you should have known.
You threw your arms around him, tight embrace he didn’t fight, burying his face in your neck instead.
“We both know I can’t let you do that, Steve,” you negotiated, allowing the harshness of your attitude – read, thinking he was being utterly stupid – into your voice. He didn’t seem to mind, breathing in deeply, melting into your frame and you knew it was time to act before he could.
You managed to sneak one arm lower, around his waist instead. He just adjusted the hug, his lips brushing your cheek, angrily red from the whips by the biting cold.
“I love you, sweetheart. You were right. You had to come here with me,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard your protest and you squeezed your eyes shut, more burning tears rolling down your cheeks. Fuck, how much you hated this. “You’ll get the Stone back, yeah? And you live a life. Buck, Sam, Ryan, Pietro… they’ll be back and take care of you. They all love you too. Hey, you might even get a third soulmark-”
“Steve-“ you couldn’t help but growl at his dickish words.
“Shh, doll. It’s all going to be okay. “
Moving your hands over his back as he rubbed to-be-soothing circles on your own, your trembling fingers got a hold of what you were looking for in one of the pockets on his belt. You were a terrible actress, even worse spy, but here you were, succeeding in the worst mission you had ever been given; not that there had been many to compete with.
God sucked as a boss and clearly was short off staff if he was sending the king of Hell as his messenger.
You buried your face in Steve’s chest, basking in the warmth he was radiating, the irreplaceable sensation of safety and content his arms around you offered, something you would miss immensely.
“Promise?” you mumbled, choking on a sob, the hatred for yourself deeper than ever in your life.
You needed that promise. What did it matter Steve didn’t know what he was promising? You had no clue what was awaiting you; he couldn’t either. But he was a good man, you had learned that in thousands different ways through your years together.
“Promise.”
“…it’s going to be okay,” you repeated after him and he squeezed you tighter, as much as you squeezed the object in your palm.
“One for the road?” he mumbled, voice shaky, never letting you to answer him before his lips found yours, thirsty and demanding, breathing your soul in, leaving you feel floaty. You nibbled at his lower lip in response, low growl rumbling in his chest, echoing against your own ribcage, the kiss consuming your whole being.
One for the road, your mind parroted dreamily and you instinctively melted into Steve’s frame, indulging the last kiss of your lifetime.
Christ, that fact alone caused your chest to constrict with blinding panic, your tears like waterfalls.
You inhaled shakily as Steve withdrew with a sigh, both of you turning to the Red Skull.
Steve stepped forward, never registering your little theft.
How could he?
He had been through so much, enough punches to his face and back-stabbing for a life-time. He had learned how to stay alert, to expect another blow at any moment. You could tell he was never letting go of that, not entirely, not even with his friends, no matter how it crushed his good soul, his faith in people. He was always ready to look for danger so he could avoid another stab in the back. But not with you.
Never with you.
Which had been exactly what you had relied on when you did what you did. The analogy with back-stabbing wasn’t even funny.
“Alright. What do I have to do?” Steve asked with determination, his voice only wavering enough for you to hear it, and the stone-keeper looked at him with one corner of his mouth raised in an evil cocky smirk.
Bastard. Enjoying this a little too much.
“You mourn, Captain,” he whispered and met your eyes as you subtly undone a part of your coat. He must have noticed then, unlike Steve. Or maybe he truly had known all along, even before you had come here.
Seeing Steve already spinning on his heels when he understood the guide was having a wordless conversation with you, you had no time to actually brace yourself before wrapping both of your hands around the handle and driving the blade into your torso.
No one had told you it would hurt like motherfucker, but no one had told you how loud Steve’s scream would seem even over the ringing in your ears either.
No one had warned you that pulling the blade away would be really fucking hard, impossible even. But you had lived in the impossible for the past eight years, hadn’t you? You tore it away with a grunt, shocked at the dull agony.
You had planned two stabs, just not to give Steve any ideas, but the blinding pain slowed your movements. Before the tip of the knife could as much as graze you skin for the second time, Steve was easily twisting it from your hold and throwing it away.
You watched the weapon clank on the stony surface of the plateau, leaving droplets of crimson in the snow, hypnotized by the contrast.
The moment Steve’s hands touched you, your knees gave away and the throbbing in the wound intensified as you nearly collapsed to the ground. But he was here – he was always here to catch you, strong arms supporting you and shakily helping you to sit down.
For the first time, you allowed yourself to tear your gaze away from the blood and look up at him. His face was drained of all colour – funny, yours must have too, mustn’t it? –, his expression pure horror, blue and green fighting in his terrified eyes.
“What did you do?” he demanded breathlessly. “Oh god, what did you do?!”
You would think it was obvious, but your head spun too much to point that out. Too many words to form. Too much work.
“Played my part,” you mumbled instead.
Inspecting the wound shortly, but very much painfully, Steve was fast to press against it and make you howl in agony. And shit, there was so much blood… who would have thought there would be so much so fast? It was strangely warm against your body, soon cooling off. The contrast was fascinating.
“Fuck- hey, hey, you’re going to be okay! Look at me!” Steve ordered and the commanding voice left your fingers tingling. Or was it the cold? “We’ll get you to the compound and then I’ll be back here, figuring it out, okay? Now, breathe with me and do not-“
You smiled at him kindly or at least you attempted it. He was a true fighter in heart, never giving up. That was why you had needed to injure yourself fatally, which he effectively attempted to avoid when disarming you. But the biting cold prevented your body from resisting the brutal intrusion. The fact you had pulled out the stopper out in attempt to stab again had probably helped.
A part of you was getting nauseous at such formulation, at being content at succeeding in… yeah, there was no euphemism for this, it was a fucking suicide. A different part yelled ‘good’, because that had been the plan.
What Steve was offering sounded so, so tempting. He would make sure to pamper you when you got to the compound, falling asleep in the chair, holding your hand, sitting guard by your bedside and you would be warm, feeling oh so immensely loved… but you couldn’t allow that.
You forced the next words out of your mouth while your brain yelled at you to just give in and nod instead.
“No. Steve… I’m already halfway gone. You need to throw me-“
“NO! No! Not a fucking option!“ he bellowed, his vision possibly gaining crimson edges of rage if his expression was anything to go by. It was swimming in front of your eyes, but even in his anger, he was so damn beautiful. A piece of art. Man too beautiful not to be sculptured by angels themselves. “What were you thinking?!”
I wasn’t thinking. God had. The King of Hell told me to do it. This way we win, you know?
“We both know I won’t make it there if you try to take me-“
“You will!“ he spat back stubbornly, his frame shaking and you suspected it wasn’t because of the temperature. No, either he was pissed off beyond belief or… or scared. Because he was well-aware of the fact you were right.
Your body started feeling like floating, your eyes turning to the sky on their own and you gritted your teeth, fighting it.
Not yet. Not fucking yet. Not until he knew this wasn’t on him, that this was something you simply had to do.
“Steve, Stevie- this is why I was resurrected. This is it. I go, so you could continue the mission, get the Stone back, fight whatever fight might come. I’m so sorry for this, but you know it has to be me.”
He looked at you with so much hurt in his eyes that you would have thought you stabbed him. He shook his head violently, trembling hands pushing harder against your wound and making you let out a sound way too close to a whine. You thought at least. The ringing in your ears was getting louder and the world was losing its colours… or was it like this the whole time, on this planet? You couldn’t remember…
Yet, you would swear that a crack in his conviction appeared on his face, one he swiftly disguised and shook off, determination replacing it as he fought the tears streaming down his face. You felt nothing but relief when you realized he started accepting the truth, started accepting what was happening. What had to happen.
“No. No, that’s not true.”
Your next words tasted bitter and dripped venom, but you said them anyway, a harsh reminder of your first goodbye. You hated yourself for speaking them; however, Steve had to understand.
“We’re out of time, Steve,” you mumbled, your tongue growing heavy, funny taste on it. “We’re always out of time.”
“Please, doll, not again, I can’t-“ The way he choked on his sob told you your shot found its target, the memory crushing his hope, slowly, but surely forcing him to resign. The calm you had felt when you arrived here returned, embracing you gently and you hoped your attempt at smile turned out decent.
“You can. You’re the brave-“ You hissed in pain as you wanted to straighten yourself just a bit, to be closer to him, instantly regretting not asking Steve to move you instead. Fuck, that hurt. “-bravest person I’ve ever met.”
“That’s bullshit-” he spitted out, but he helped you sit up straighter, allowing you to nearly drown in the pools of his irises.
God, he was so beautiful, even in his grief, eyes red-rimmed, his nose running. He was yours. Always yours, you knew as much.
“My hero-“
“I’m not a Captain for while, you know,” he chucked humourlessly, a glint of something you didn’t like displaying on his face. “Just let me take you-“
“Not the Captain,” you shook your head, lamenting yourself for muddling it up. Calling him your hero was a bad, very bad idea. But you couldn’t think anymore, your head was buzzing with too many thoughts, wrapped in sensation of endless pain radiating from your gut. “You, S-s-stevie. Now let me go.”
“NO!”
“If I d-die before-re you throw m-me-“ you negotiated, only to be interrupted by the creature you had completely forgotten was there as well.
“She’s right,” the Red Skull confirmed flatly.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Steve roared, not bothering to look at him as he gathered you in his arms, not without a serious wave of vertigo on your part. And pain. Fuck, always pain. Being stabbed fucking hurt.
He only stood, torn between the tinniest chance at your survival and doing the right thing. It was ridiculous and disgusting how much it reminded you of your first goodbye. Left, or right door? You or millions, this time?
“Doll-“
“’s okay, Stevie. I love you. Al-always. Br-- the edge. ‘d let go,” you breathed out, your words slurring as you were losing control. He must throw you soon. That sucked. You would like few more moments with him.
Or a lifetime. Kisses, cuddles, playful lovemaking, friends and kids… maybe you could adopt, or just keep trying…
Steve’s features twisted in denial, jaw clenched, but it did nothing to disguise the tremble in it. His eyes were squeezed shut, glittering drops of salty water escaping, your own waterfalls never stopping. You clenched your teeth with effort to raise your hand, bloody fingers caressing his smooth cheek.
“’s ‘kay.”
He shook his head desperately, but his grip grew firmer, his steps heavy as he carried you to the edge as if he was about to meet his own end.
You swallowed your own sobs.
You didn’t want to die. You wished you could say you were at peace, you had thought you were but you weren’t. Yet, you needed to convince Steve about the opposite – again.
Life was so fucking unfair.
If that was true though… was at least death just?
Your eyes flickered to the terrible chasm, vertigo taking over once more at the image of just how long the fall would last.
Endless seconds of free fall.
But it wouldn’t be the fall that would kill you, would it now? It would be the landing.
It was always the landing.
Hovering above the edge in Steve’s arms, his eyes turned up towards the colourful sky, as if he was trying to keep his tears at bay or simply couldn’t look at you. Seconds felt like hours. Like forever, even. It was obvious he couldn’t make himself let go.
Jesus fucking Christ, how could he, after all? You wouldn’t if in his place, your roles reversed.
“Down-“ you muttered lowly and he instantly obeyed with his gaze returning to you.
The gaze he focused on you would always be carved into your memory, even in death, you had no doubt. You never knew a man could say so much about the agony that was tearing him apart with one look, but here he was. Your Steve.
When he kneeled, lowering your body to the ground, his hold slacking a fraction, you knew it was time. You forced another teary smile, lips quivering, no longer able to tell if it was from pain, the cold seeping into your bones and core or simple fear.
What was waiting at the bottom? More pain or something else? Maybe the peace, finally? How would you be able to rest in peace though, knowing you were leaving Steve behind?
“S-so good t-to me,” you breathed out shakily, memorizing every feature, every wrinkle of laughter and worry, even as the darkness started eating out the edges of your vision. You needed to go, now. You gathered the last remnants of strength, bracing yourself. “Love ya’.”
Propping your palms against his chest, you pushed away from him, the feeling of the sudden lack of ground under your body dizzying.
Wind slapped your cheeks, freezing the tears in your eyes and cutting through the wound.
The gale carried Steve’s broken scream to your ears and you sent him one last whispered sorry.
The fall seemed to have no end. But for once, God was truly merciful; you didn’t feel the landing.
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Seeing their past selves was strange to say at least and Natasha mused how long of a path they had all walked since the first assemble of the Avengers.
In a way, it carried hope too though. She had buried hope for her soulmate and lost friends a long time ago; but now it was back. They had retrieved the Stones from New York relatively smoothly – though Clint had got a bit perplexed at having his soul punched out of his body by the Sorcerer Supreme – and were on their way back to their time.
This mission was a pretty ambitious stretch from Budapest. She had told so to Clint and found herself honestly smiling at his burst of laughter after years of mourning. Some lives had been ruined, but others still remained; and the chances that what they had lost in the dust could be brought back had concrete outlines now; outlines visible on her own skin as well. Her chest ached, but her heart fluttered with the memory of her soulmate.
Her feet landed on the platform with a rather ungraceful thud, but she still managed to keep herself standing upright. One glance around was all she spent to check up on everyone; only to find two people missing.
Blood froze in her veins, the satisfied smile at completed mission slipping from her face as her heart changed its pace from excited to horrified.
No.
No, this was not how this was supposed to go! Everyone should have come back!
So why was one whole pair missing? Why-
Strangely enough, her horror only escalated when she noticed that it was in fact one person missing only; because the other was on the platform with them, closer to the ground that she had expected, stripped of the nano-suit, stealth suit darker as it was dripping water; pink as it mixed with crimson stains on his thighs and torso.
No.
Oh no.
This was not happening. It couldn’t. Not again.
Steve had fallen to his knees, hands by his side clenched in tight fists. Blankly staring ahead, not actually seeing anything in front of him, a smudge of red – three lines clearly drawn by bloody fingertips – on his cheek and his face free of any colour and emotion telling enough of a story; screaming a story, in fact.
Natasha’s insides twisted painfully and she nearly spilled the contents of her stomach. She recognized that look – she had seen it before on Steve. On herself in a mirror.
Tears stinging in her eyes, she took a shaky step towards him, her heart weeping and grieving for her friends.
“…Steve?” Bruce questioned lowly from behind the machine he had controlled, but it only filled the deadly silence.
They all already knew what happened – or understood enough.
The Stone giving away warm amber glow slipped from Steve’s palm, his fingers plunging in his hair and gripping tightly, pulling enough to make it hurt like hell no doubt.
Yet, Natasha was well-aware it did nothing to dull the deep visceral pain that overtook his whole being, swallowed his whole shattered soul.
A guttural moan left his lips as he curled into himself and she didn’t bother blinking away her tears anymore.
Nothing she could do would sooth his grief. Yet, she placed her trembling palm on Steve’s shoulder in attempt to ground him, to show him she was there for him.
A desperate shriek, a helpless cry loud enough to tear ear-drums and hearts, cut the thick air of the compound and the large frame of a supersoldier went limp, swaying aside.
Natasha didn’t try and stop the fall. God knew that he would be falling for too long anyway.
The fucked-up thing about this kind of fall was that the landing, the only thing that could bring relief, would never come.
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Epilogue
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HOLD THE FIRE!
If you don’t kill me, you might get an epilogue, you know? One you might actually like. Just SAYING!
Also, thank you for reading :-*
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WINSoD - Pt.4
What You Need (Is What I’m About)
Type: series, soulmate AU series (part 1, part 2, part 3)
Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, one more ;) Word count: 3400
Summary: In which fate has a strange sense of humour, the Maximoffs appear and... well.
Warnings: brief violence, mention of death, messing around in one’s brain, language, cutesy and fluff (yep, it’s all there)
Part 3
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You watched the kettle quiver as the temperature of the water climbed towards the boiling point. You’d like to say your blood was reaching it too, but despite the warm hoodie (Steve’s, naturally), you were feeling coldness seeping into your very core.
You hated waiting for him. You had never been a fan of it, sitting on your ass and stressing until he returned from a mission, bruised and usually bloody, but this time it was something else. This time, you had more than just a vague idea of what he was fighting; you had witnessed it first-hand. An army of fucking robots.
The team had left 43 hours ago, but who the hell was counting, right? Certainly not you. And you had certainly not been feeling the urge to ask Jarvis (R.I.P., my beloved A.I.) like every half an hour for any updates. You weren’t that desperate. You weren’t that scared-
Yeah, not even you were having your bullshit anymore.
You were shivering in cold from losing sleep, terrified and over all out of your mind. Nothing helped to ease your worries. Definitely not the fact they hadn’t made any contact ever since they had left.
They consisted of the usual Avengers team; Nat, Clint, Tony, Bruce and Thor, plus Bucky. All of them under Steve’s attentive command.
Surprisingly, Matt Murdock – also known as a freaking vigilante (a blind lawyer!!) – did not join the quest. He had said that robots were way outside his territory. You would beg to differ, because he punched the robot like a champ, yet you didn’t quite blame him for refusing. Bottomline, you still thought he was pretty swell (not to mention easy on the eyes, but that was beside the point). He had saved your life though, so you might be a bit biased. A lot biased.
Sam Wilson might have fought once too, but he would sit this one out as well. It was not helping your anxiety.
The soft click of the kettle brought you back to reality and you grabbed the handle to pour water into your mug, only to see you failed to actually put a teabag in it.
To be fair, you would have sworn you had done it, but that was just another prove of you losing your mind. At this rate you were about to burn the kitchen down – not that you felt like cooking… or eating for that matter. Steve was out there, in his own sci-fi movie that had somehow become reality and-
You sighed and set the kettle down, reaching for the box with chamomile tea. Taking one bag, you felt a strange gust of wind and curled into the hoodie as a shiver ran down your spine. Was the air-conditioning misbehaving…? Perhaps it was an aftermath of what they called the Ultron mess-
You shook your head, scolding yourself for getting paranoid and went to finally finish the simplest task of making yourself tea.
Only for your blood turning to ice when you noticed the teabag was missing. You had just put it there half a minute ago, you were sure of it. Your heart started hammering in your chest as you spun on your heels, your eyes scanning the room.
The cupboard behind your head clacked and your head swiftly snapped back to it. Feeling your own pulse pounding in your temples, you forced your brain to come up with a rational explanation.
You were losing your mind, you were imagining things, you hadn’t slept in almost two days, your mind was playing tricks on you-
Another gust of wind and the kettle disappeared from your hands, a shriek escaping your lips. On instinct, you opened the drawer and pulled out a knife. You were probably useless with it, basically offering it the potential attacker as a weapon, because they would be able to disarm you and use it to their advantage, but you didn’t give a shit. You felt better being armed.
What the fuck was happening?!
A man suddenly appeared by your left hip, like a hurricane inside of the room, and your body acted on its own, driving the knife in his side.
Or you attempted to; the knife met something solid that could not have been a body and the blond – he was a blond man, younger, hell, looking younger than you, dressed in a jumpsuit – stared at you with his mouth hanging open.
It was only then when you registered a strange red matter--- no, something unsubstantial, like an energy, swirling and changing, hovering around the blade that had stopped an inch from the man’s torso.
“Taka se ubivate, kolibri,” a female voice sounded from the other side of the room, nearly sending you into a cardiac arrest.
Yet, you couldn’t tear you gaze away from the strange man, whose face was now twisted in annoyed grimace as the woman seemed to be scolding him.
What kind of a language was that anyway?
Really not relevant.
There were two strangers in the Tower, in the very same room as you, they could be talking about how to kill you the most painful way and you wouldn’t even know, and for fuck’s sake, why couldn’t you catch a break-
“Ne ti e zabavno, foĭerverk,” he hummed back, his lips spreading in a smile, baffling you to no end. “Zdraveĭ, krasavitse.”
Your hand still on the handle of the knife that was no longer under your control, of which you refused to let go though because you were not a complete idiot, you had no idea what to do.
The man sounded almost friendly, but then again, villains often did. Sleazy. You would know.
A tremble ran through your body and out of nowhere, you made a lightning-fast decision of kicking the man in the crotch.
Your knee only brushed his manhood when your leg was no longer yours. With horror filling every cell in your body, you realized it was caught in the freaky red spiderweb of energy and you couldn’t move it no matter how much you tried.
Tears filled your eyes and suddenly you were free, the man several feet from you. A gorgeous young woman, dressed even more strangely than him – crimson leather jacket, black and half-torn leather leggings with high boots with way too many straps, her outfit completed by sleeves peeking from under her jacket –, stood next to him, cuffing him in the back of his head.
“Idiot!” she hissed and in the back of your mind, the one tiny corner that was not occupied with the fact you might die in the next second, you thanked god for some words being international.
Then, the girl with long wild red hair smiled at you apologetically, her eyes twinkling with excitement.
“Hello. Sorry for startling you,” she spoke with thick accent which you identified as Eastern-European and shot her companion a murderous look. “My brother is an ass and doesn’t know the difference between being funny and scaring people.”
She didn’t sound menacing at all; in fact, you saw every responsible older sibling annoyed at their younger family member in her. You blinked away the sting in your eyes and attempted to focus despite the ringing in your ears.
“Huh?” slipped from your lips intelligently, utter confusion gradually replacing your despair.
The blond rolled his eyes, which only earned him another clip round his ear.
“See what you’ve done? This is all your fault!”
“I was just messing around!”
“Do you have any idea what she’s been through? You scared her to death!” the woman hissed, effectively sending you back to the spiral of dismay, your slowly calming heartbeat skyrocketing again.
What did she know about what you had been through?!
With your knees wobbly and not to be trusted to keep you upright on their own anymore, you gripped the counter behind you with such force your muscles cramped.
“Who- who are you?” you breathed out shakily, catching the attention of the supposed sibling duo once more.
The woman smiled warmly, patronizingly almost.
“My name is Wanda and this is my brother, Pietro. We are of Sokovia. Your Captain and the other Avengers found us, showing us that we were fighting on the wrong side of things. Would you like to see?”
Her words echoed in your suddenly dull skull, the meaning escaping you.
And because her last sentence was what made sense the most and yet the least, you nodded.
Later, you would realize just how stupid and trusting you had been when agreeing, mostly because Steve gave you his look of disappointment and horror, but at the moment, it seemed right.
Somehow, on a level you couldn’t quite comprehend, you already understood they weren’t a threat to you.
“See how?”
Wanda smiled.
*Like this,* a ghost of her voice sounded somewhere deep in your mind, making you dizzy. What the hell-? *Please, don’t judge me. I thought I was doing the right thing.*
Before you could question such statement or the fact her lips were not moving while you heard her voice crystal clear, you were thrown into a vortex.
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Ultron had been sure they were coming; he left a bait for them, an easy track to follow. The track they could follow towards their end.
Wanda wasn’t one to enjoy killing or hurting people in general, no. She hadn’t even considered herself a strong person once, but that had all changed with their parent’s deaths. She had had to rely on herself – on herself and on her brother. Where an opportunity had risen, to step up their game and possibly to get revenge on the name still haunting them in their worst nightmares, they hadn’t even hesitated.
Wanda had once been a weakling. It had been the tempering in fire, in a burning pain of experimentation with the sceptre that had made her the woman who she was now.
And she had a mission; she and Pietro had a mission, their chance at revenge finally gaining a shape.
She had already played with Stark’s mind, with the scum only interested in money and destruction; now she could do the same to all of them.
Bursting in with a crash, they clearly hadn’t expected such livid counterattack. A response so… nightmare-like.
Just a flick of wrist and a little concentration on Wanda’s part and they were dropping like dead, trapped in their own minds.
Black Widow, locked in a scary base, ballet dancers, martial art training and merciless killing, her fresh fears creating a horror picture of aiming her gun at her current lover’s head, at her soulmate.
“I should have known you’d never change. You’re nothing but human reduced to a murder machine…”
Thor, oh so mighty God, travelling back to his home planet to a feast, legends messing with his headspace, confusion and helplessness, thunder and lightning all around and out of his control.
“You’ll kill us all! See, son of Odin, close your eyes and see!”
The righteous captain, trapped in his own mind, folded like a house of cards under his soulmate’s dead eyes, anger and accusation blossoming into hate and finally indifference.
“You cared about your 40’s sweetheart more, anyway, didn’t you? If it was her in my place, you would have chosen her before the thousands. You wouldn’t let her blow up… but if I’m nothing to you, then you are nothing to me…”
Satisfied with her work, with only a nudge to their consciousness and their own brains doing the work for her, Wanda smirked as she noticed the busy archer. Now what tricks his could mind come up with? What hardship would he get caught in?
As she slowly sneaked behind his back, a voice snarled behind her, causing her heart to stop from more than a simple fright.
“Kak mozhe neshto tolkova malko da prichini tolkova nepriyatnosti?”
Her first reaction to her blood crystallizing in her veins with horror and rage towards the whole fucking universe, was a snarky reply.
How dared he to call her small? Implying she was weak? Underestimating her and saying that she couldn’t cause any real trouble? Oh, she would show him… that arrogant bastard! She would show him trouble-
“Laĭna…ti mi narichash nepriyatnosti?” she hissed back, carelessly losing the sight of the archer, not interested in him in the slightest all of sudden. “Vie ste strana s greshni khora!”
This stranger, this—this man-machine radiating pain as her powers barely brushed the surface of his mind on instinct… he was the real trouble as she didn’t hesitate to tell him. He was on the wrong side of things! Fraternizing with a mass murderer, with her parent’s killer-
“Pone te sa kho—” he wanted to argue, but they his mind stopped before it started screaming, punching her telepathic powers she seemed suddenly unable to turn off.
Memories, a dozen of his own memories, the way he looked at his soulmark in a mirror, the pain, the sorrow, the torture… his encounter with the Avengers, living with them; with the band of heroes she just put down, one by one, teasing and laughter, compassion and acceptance, even from the man who was supposed to be nothing but a cocky heartless bastard-
“What the hell did you just say?” Bucky rasped, astonished and horrified.
He realized it too then. Everyone always did, didn’t they? Because every person with a soulmark awaited a moment like this; the moment someone would finally say the words matching the ones on their skin, met their expectations or not…
But Bucky Burnes was the farthest from Wanda’s dream when it came to a life-long partner.
Strength is tempered in fire, she remembered reading once. She had once found a special irony in the fact that the treatment by the sceptre felt exactly like that. Wanda’s soul turned to steel with the games the fate had played with her.
So why did her hands fell from their defensive position to her side, limp and drained of all strength and determination they had known, tears stinging her eyes.
Her life was shit and she thought she had made her peace with that. But judging by the deep ache in her chest, she had been holding out for her soulmate more than she had thought. Because why else would it hurt so bad when she found out he was an enemy?
“And I thought Romeo and Juliet was just a lot of crap,” she chuckled bitterly, switching to English when he did.
His thoughts scream at her, disbelief, caution, pain, confusion, regret and hope— ambivalence. He had no idea what to do and he hated her for what she had done to his friends, but the knowledge of her being his, supposedly, it torn him in half, reaching out with willingness to forgive her if she fixed it, because if anyone understood fighting at the wrong side it was him--
Unable to resist, she dug deeper into his mind, baring his very soul, fascinated.
Pietro was still fighting with the archer and Stark, dodging the lame attempts at attack of the Avengers lost in their minds, but for two people, the time stopped.
They stood against each other, staring and motionless, and Wanda was confident she saw more than him. His mind was a tangled mess of emotions and desperate desire to get a hold of them and think rationally, bundle of memories and hopes colliding with reality and rock-solid facts and Wanda felt a pang at her heart, a crushing sensation in her chest when she finally embraced everything his headspace had to offer, getting lost in it.
Lost in him.
James Buchannan Barnes had a beautiful soul. Torn and glued together with little kind gestures from his friends, sweet memories of his sister and everlasting friendship with Steve, his no-longer-little-but-equally-stubborn Steve, Steve’s soulmate, his teammates that accepted Bucky with surprising ease and less judgement anyone would deserve… and the careful way he was giving away the pieces of the very same heart that was barely together, in gentle smiles and good-natured teasing, silent self-declaration of giving his whole life for every single one member of his new-found family.
And Wanda understood. In a fraction of second she looked under the illusions she had helped to build in the Avengers’ minds and saw the truth.
*Pietro, spri!* she cried out straight into his mind, begging him to stop fighting. With another flick of her wrist, her enemies were free of her handiwork, shell-shocked from the experience, too lost to find their footing. “Brat, spri! Pietro… greshim. They are right.”
The battle froze as if the time did and for a second, Wanda felt like she was in her brother’s skin, moving so fast that the world around her stopped turning. The stunned silence was only broken by a soft gush of wind when Pietro appeared by her side.
The Avengers seemed so baffled at her admission they didn’t try to attack them.
She exchanged a look with her twin, hoping her face spoke volumes as tears gathered in her eyes. She was far from convinced that Anthony Stark was a good man; but she knew he was better than the creature they had sworn to assist. And her mother always used to say that a man should be judged by the company he kept. From what she had seen in Bucky Barnes’ head, Stark had one bunch of fine people around; and their imperfections seemed to be balanced by the good they all wished to do.
Pietro understood. Of course he would. More than he could read her expression, he must have felt the change in Wanda’s aura, the transformation touching their bond as well.
He graced her with a reluctant nod of agreement. Via their mental connection, he whispered he trusted her. Her lips curled up in a tender smile.
“Are we just gonna stand here? Are we fighting together or against each other or what?!”
No, Tony Stark was by no means a man she would call good. In fact, she already found out he was an ass. But now, he had become her ally.
From all the eyes on their duo, she chose to meet her soulmate’s.
“Together, Anthony. Because there’s bigger malice in this world than you are.”
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Wanda nearly cut you off right then. The rest of what she showed was a blur of images, fear, pain and determination, destruction and cooperation, all of that leading to this very moment. It all resembled waking up from a very intense confusing dream, being pulled away into consciousness by the first sunrays of the dawn.
You blinked heavily as the world swayed off its place, the counter seemingly in a peculiar angle from your point of view.
Why was the lamp not up, but on the side? Why was it spinning?
“Oops. Sorry. Never made the connection for such a long period of time-“ a voice reached you, breaking through the hush of blood and your own heartbeat in your ears.
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to get a fucking grip on both your body and thoughts.
Bucky had a soulmate?
No, not relevant, the images were too unclear for you to be sure everyone made it out alright, you needed to see Steve first, you had to-
By the time Steve’s figure appeared in your field of vision, you were certain you were steady on your feet and finally managed to control your mouth.
“Steve!” you cried out excitedly as you sprang his direction, relief mixing with delight, because he was alive, he was not bleeding visibly, he-
-was suddenly graced with an identical twin, two loving tired smiles blending into one and splitting into two the next moment, swimming in your vision and you felt something solid grabbing your body and positioning it right into his strong arms.
You gazed at him in haze, melting into his warm and firm embrace, spotting a swirl of red energy flow around you.
Oh. Wanda’s work, no doubt. Sweet.
“Are you okay, doll? Are you sick? What happened?”
Wanda’s guilt was nearly solid in your reach, but you only let your head lull onto Steve’s shoulder, plunging into the fluff of love that his presence provided.
“Nah. I’m fine… just drunk on you…” you mumbled.
The girl’s bubbly relieved laughter rang in the room, bringing a satisfied smile on your face.
Steve’s kiss landed on your forehead, corners of his own lips upright despite the concern in his voice.
“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s just get you to bed…”
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Part 5
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Thank you for reading!
I chose Bulgarian, just to avoid traditional Russian this once. Bucky is a Winter Soldier after all and he should know how to speak 30 languages or so :D just thought this would work. Google translator used; apologize for any mistakes.
I hope you had an okay start to 2021 :-*
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