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bvccy · 3 years

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Can you write something with Mafia!Bucky or Avenger!Bucky where his enemies hurt the reader and Bucky's hell bent on revenge ? P.s love your blog <3

Nonny, you sent this prompt months ago (in July, I think), and I just now got to it. I almost didn't write it, actually, because it isn't something from my prompt list and I'm not sure I want to just take open prompts like this 😂 But I like protective!Bucky, so I wrote you a thing 💜

It turned out pretty long. Be aware it has some explicitly violent bits, and also some pining/angst. I wrote Avenger!Bucky, because mafia AUs seem OOC for him, but anyway I hope you like it!

By the way, what happens to the reader in this story might seem unlikely, but I did some research before I started writing and was basically inspired by this story (the link is spoilery, so I suggest you open it only after reading the fic lol).

Thank you for the prompt, and for your kind words! 🌺🌺🌺

— PAIRING: Avenger!Bucky x F!Reader — SYNOPSIS: Bucky falls in love with a girl working for Tony in Avengers Tower. He's trying to fit back in to society, fit in with the other Avengers, and maybe even get the courage to ask her out… But he almost loses her right before he has the chance to do it, and once Bucky makes sure she's safe, he goes to get revenge. — CONTENTS: Angst, hints of male masturbation, some explicit violence against bad guys, and a happy ending. — WORDCOUNT: 7.1k

It took a long time, but with the team's help Bucky managed to ease back into society, and into a form of service that suited him. Something he could do to reach a sort of peace with himself, to come back to the society he'd left for so long and no longer even recognised… And, more privately, to have something to do to keep his mind occupied. The therapy wasn't helping much, not that he could admit to that in so many words.

"It's going to take time," said Steve with brotherly sympathy. His hand rested heavily on Bucky's shoulder as they huddled around a table at the diner near Avengers tower, but his friend found it hard to look up at him.

"Yeah, I know."

"The doc knows what she's doing."

"Sure."

"Just trust the process. Trust yourself."

"Thanks a lot, Stevie."

He didn't like being blue like that. Caught between wanting to accept Steve's help and wanting to be honest, there wasn't much left for Bucky to say. He didn't believe a word his friend told him, didn't think Steve had any idea what it was like, but he had to trust him. There was no open avenue other than going rogue — and that wasn't a viable option.

"Sometimes, I think…" he started, and stopped, and laughed a bit sombrely, "I think the missions help a whole lot more than the shrink."

"Well, that's good," grinned Steve. "New assignment's coming up."

They raided an old base up in the Alps, a WWII relic that was too far up for the authorities to reach and make into a museum, and, thinking themselves forgotten by the world, some paramilitary bent on settling old scores had taken over. They had their scientists working on explosives, which made it easy to blow the whole thing up in one night. It was almost like old times.

"You got all of them?" asked Tony through their earpiece.

"Looks like it," sighed Steve, squinting at the ruin burning bright.

"Alright then, come back home. Unless you wanna do some sightseeing first."

"Nope. Seen enough the first time 'round."

Bucky stood by his side, gripping the rifle slung around his shoulder, unmoving against the chilling winds and the inferno in front of him. Something bothered him about that mission, it bothered him all the way back home, at the tower, at his mandated therapist, and into his lonely home.

Sleeping on the cold hard floor made it easier somehow, but it didn't help to remember why he was brought so low in the first place. Why he couldn't be like normal people anymore. Why he felt like a mangy dog every time he laid down, tired and restless, and curled up beneath threadbare sheets.

Wrapping up after the mission proved more challenging than actually doing it. He and Steve were stuck writing up reports about it for days afterwards, going through the files they salvaged, the recordings they recovered, keeping an account of all men killed… His mind wasn't up for it, and Bucky ended up taking walks around the tower every now and then, thinking and not thinking, letting his mind rest. The city pulsed around him, busier and noisier and uglier than he remembered, gripped by some sports event that week and filled with drunken youngsters with silly hats and long balloons, bonking each other in the head as they walked past. Against the shapeless sounds, Bucky let himself become lost as he walked circles around the building while the autumn sunset grew chiller all around him.

When he finally decided to head back up, it must have been around 8 in the evening. Even the receptionist at Stark Tower had gone home, but there were a few people outside, smoking, and there was light in the lobby. He stepped through, head down and hands in his pockets as he usually did, wary of being spotted, as if instinctively ashamed. An odd scent of rubber and alcohol hit him almost as soon as he went through the revolving doors. Looking up, Bucky saw one of the workers waiting by the elevator, and next to her one of those kids with a huge rubber hat in some team colours, balloon in one hand and red cup in the other — 'kid' he thought; the guy must've been in his 30s. He was trying to talk to her, but the office girl was focused on the metal doors in front.

She was dressed in the same sort of uniform all of Stark's people wore, muted colours and straight lines crinkled as the hours passed, with an access badge around her neck, clinging to a paper bag that must've held a croissant or cold pastry from the shop nearby that had just closed. Her feet, trapped in delicate shoes that were made for carpets more than streets, tapped on the ground as in her head she counted the floors until the elevator came back down and rescued her.

The boy swung back and forth as he faced the side of her and, with some difficulty, slurred:

"You haf a greight face…"

Bucky smirked as he saw her jaw tighten, but now that he was paying attention, he couldn't disagree. She had a perfect proportion of soft and sharp, a sweet set of features even while marred by tiredness and fright, thoughtful eyes coloured all the more cutely by her frown, and a mouth made for kisses. Hearing him as he got closer, the girl turned her head and breathed a sigh. He gave her a quick smile as he went around and gripped the drunkard.

"Alright, kiddo, off you go."

"Buh —"

"This isn't the place for you. Go find your friends."

Step by stumbling step, Bucky walked him to the exit and nearly shoved him out, but as soon as he found himself outside the kid saw something else of interest and lurched away by himself. When he went back in, Bucky saw the office girl was holding the elevator doors for him, a timid, grateful smile lighting up her face.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"Don't mention it."

They spent the ride up trying not to look at one another, spending the ride up in silence. Bucky took his hands out of his pockets and made an effort to stand up straight while the girl clung to the railing — not afraid of him, was she? Surely he'd been pretty publicly exonerated; and he'd just helped her…

But as he filled up the next few days by working late into the night with Steve, he kept seeing her around — sometimes earlier, sometimes later, but she tended to go out for fresh air too, or a modest bite to eat, and she was always friendly. So maybe it was something else…

"Maybe she's just shy."

"Who?"

"Don't think I haven't seen you, Buck."

He turned to meet the stupid grinning face of his blond friend.

"I can talk to Stark's employees if I want to."

"I hope so!"

"Since when do you play matchmaker?" asked Bucky, suddenly feeling flustered — more at being caught than anything else. Although, what was he caught with?

He hadn't exchanged more than a few words with her, caught her name, remembered her floor, noticed the things she liked to eat and how she liked her coffee, and offered to trade complaints about their work if she was willing.

"It's just nice," shrugged Steve with an innocence he didn't merit, "seeing you more like your old self."

"Uh-huh."

She knew who he was, he'd figured that out quickly enough, and her calmness soothed Bucky more than he expected. She didn't ask questions he didn't want to answer, although he could see behind her eyes a sometimes burning curiosity. Perhaps she could read him too, because as soon as he started fidgeting, looking down at his shoes like a boy chastised, she offered up some awkward little detail from her life, or gossip about her colleagues, complaining about her boss, or talking about what she'd done over the weekend.

"We had a 'teambuilding' thing on Saturday."

"Oh yeah, what's what?"

"It's when the boss has some extra funding for social activities and makes us go places to waste our free time."

"Sounds fun," he grinned, knowing it would make her roll her eyes. "Where did you go?"

"Cinema. There was this movie about superheroes and clowns and there were some explosions."

"Was it horrible?"

"Yes, very. Could you hold my coffee, please?" she asked as she took out her wallet to pay the cashier.

"You shouldn't work such long hours, you know," he smiled down at her.

"It's only for this month," she shrugged. "Big project, boss needs us all here…"

It knocked the cheer right out of him to know he might not see her around so often after that. What if there was another mission? What if there was nothing? What excuse could he come up with to keep coming by?

Would she even miss their talks? Did she even care? Did she chat with him out of pity or a misplaced sense of charity? The girl spoke pretty calmly about those coming weeks of quiet work, as if these late-night talks didn't make any difference… Perhaps they didn't.

Perhaps they shouldn't.

Back in his apartment, cold and quiet like a burrow, Bucky was confronted once again by what he was. A sad and lonely man, an awkward cripple with a toy arm, too scared of his own dreams to sleep without the television on, too weak to even sleep on a bed. Between the mismatched dishes put together from a charity shop and the cracked mirror in the bathroom, he couldn't find a single thing that he could offer her, that would make him worthy of her, that would make him a man.

In his thoughts as he settled down to sleep, struggling with his animalistic body, he allowed himself to think of her in the hope that it would make him dream of sweeter things — though it never did. And all his touches were in vain, the light caresses up his thigh with those strange unfeeling metal fingers, like somebody else's hand, and the grips tempered by self-restraint that teased him to the point of madness, fingers threaded through his hair from the other side, all so that he could pretend it's her — all of it was much more than he should have done, yet every night was not enough.

The month passed, and then he only saw her sparingly, catching her as she left and he arrived for some late briefing, saying polite hello's in passing as if he wasn't already in love. His therapist noticed, pestering him about how he felt about women, what he thought about dating, if anyone had caught his eyes.

"It's none of your business, doc."

"You can't go through life all alone, James."

"Why not? I have, so far."

"Yeah, and how's that been working out for you?"

"Just fine," he smiled with deliberate malice.

"Still have trouble sleeping?"

"No," he lied.

"Having someone there could help you."

"That's great to know."

"Alright. I can see you're not in the mood for it today. How about you —"

She didn't finish saying it before he was out of his seat. Bucky didn't want her knowing that he thought the same, or that he'd started to ease into sleeping in a bed again all on his own.

Face first, fully awake, using it as a lewd prop as he imagined a certain girl beneath him, with sheets for a body and the pillow for a face. He held himself suspended just above as he eased his naked body forward, his back chilling in the dark room as sweat pooled, and with slow, nearly mechanical moves, Bucky thrust into the body he pretended was there. But no voice cried out, there was no one to speak to or call his name, there were no other sighs but his.

Another mission was announced, and he was jumping at the chance to go. The killing didn't feel good, but the hard jitters of the flight, the cold nights on stakeout, the distraction of the click of metal weapons in his own metallic hand all served as an escape, before he had to go back home to the cage that waited there. His apartment had never seemed so lifeless without another soul to share it, but whenever he thought to step on his pride and admit to his doctor she was right and just start "dating" someone, anyone, a frowning face looked up at him from within his memory, and lightened up when their eyes met, and her tired mouth pulled up in a smile and it was all for him and he knew he wouldn't have anyone else.

Like a present, he saw her again around Christmas. Tony threw a company party, and all the staff had to come. It was embarrassingly lavish, loud, and a little lurid, but Bucky didn't mind. Steve was enjoying himself, Clint was causing trouble, and Tony had arranged some fun little gadgets to keep people entertained. Everyone enjoyed the food, and the music with some carols, and the alcohol (more for the flavour), but try as he might he couldn't help but search — all night — and find — at long last — at a further table with the ordinary staff, his new friend among the masses. If his buddies noticed him pining, they said nothing.

Bucky watched her getting up to make for the table with the drinks, sauntering in a red dress with black lace trimming, poured on her like drying blood, hair clasped back and showing off her neck. He knew he spent too much time sucking in the sight of her before he came up with some excuse and got up too.

It was a strange mix for him to feel shy and hungry all at once. Approaching like a predator, he captured the far corner of the table, pretending to look for something else, and then slowly by degrees he noticed her — and saw her notice him as well, though she was worse at hiding it. A quick breath filled her chest, her shoulders squared, fingers lingering on the edge of crystal cups as she became aware of being seen.

"Hi," he dared say, looking up. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too," she smiled, suddenly relaxed. "How've you been?"

A thing about her made him burn — maybe it was her dress, the music, the low coloured lights shining off her hair, or his own shame as he suddenly remembered all the positions he'd placed her in, in his bed, in his head, all those ways she'd made him melt before and drip like lazy milk. As he stopped right by her side, Bucky felt his whole posture coming down, poise broken by her presence into something less than a weary old weapon, but more than a mere animal.

"Been doing alright," he nodded, fingers fiddling around his glass as he slowly got a little closer. "And you?"

She shrugged a bit wearily. "Things are fine… Work's more quiet. I've missed our talks, though," she grinned, but briefly, seeming to regret that little confession as soon as she said it, but she didn't catch his eyes light up.

"Oh yeah?" Bucky husked. "I've missed them too, you know." Missed you, he thought, as a nervous rumbling started building up at the back of his head. The girl look up as if she heard his thoughts, and maybe even shared them, and as he held her hopeful gaze in his he started saying: "Maybe we can —" but didn't finish, because that rumbling got closer, and it wasn't in his head.

They both looked up to see a strange shape hovering — a little drone with a branch of mistletoe hanging from it — and when Bucky turned to the tables, he could see Tony with a stupid little remote.

"You know the rules," he called out, cheered on by Nat and Pepper, with Steve trying to look disapprovingly but failing, a smirk betraying him. "Kiss! Kiss!"

Bucky sighed and threw them a scathing look, tearing his eyes away only to look down to the girl frozen in front, who seemed as angry as he was — at their moment being interrupted, at being made a spectacle of, at being so embarrassed — but she knew she couldn't show it. Her nails dug into the glass, clinging to the one solid thing she could as heavy breaths moved her chest, but she kept her focus somewhere lower than his face, and wouldn't look up anymore.

For a moment he hoped that she'd go through with it, but he knew better… This wasn't her way, it was too soon, too public, and though she'd just told him that she missed him maybe that didn't mean anything more. He barely opened his mouth to apologise for Tony, when she gathered enough courage to move and walked right past him.

"Damn it, Stark!" growled Bucky as he threw a death glare, then went out after her.

The girl half-jogged toward the elevators and he rushed after, mumbling apologies as he caught up. The doors opened right away and she stepped in, and Bucky reached it just in time to join her.

"Hey, I'm sorry about that, I didn't… Stark's an idiot. Please don't…" he breathed as he watched her hug herself. "Please don't be upset."

"Sorry for making a fuss," she muttered as she pressed for the ground floor. "I just don't… like this sort of stuff. I hate these parties."

"I know." Did he? He could guess, from the little he'd gotten to know her.

"They're just so… My boss made me come to this thing," she sighed, finally looking up at him and frowning, but smiling somewhat apologetically. "He says I need to be in more 'team-building activities'. But I hate it, there's nothing about Christmas at this party. It's so fake."

"I know," he nodded, suddenly truly understanding. He didn't talk about it much, but he could compare it to the Christmas parties from his day. Even in the middle of the war, with all the rations and the ruins, it still seemed like… more. "The soul's all gone out of it."

"Yes… I guess everyone feels the same, I'm just not good at putting up with it."

"You can relax now though, I won't… I'm not…" like them.

The girl looked down at her hands clutching the rails, and her tense face relaxed into something a bit more embarrassed. Her fingers were still holding tightly to the metal bar, nails digging into her flesh as if she could weld herself to it.

"It's not that. I've just always been nervous in elevators…"

"Really? Why?"

"I got stuck in one when I was little," the girl shrugged. "I was stuck right between the floors and the lights went off. And I was afraid that if I screamed or banged on the doors, the cables would snap and it would fall, I had no idea how these things worked," she laughed. "Had to wait a few hours for someone to find me."

"Poor kid," laughed Bucky, looking fondly at her now that she'd relaxed a bit, and opened up, and seemed to be forgetting all about the party.

She had gone down to escape and take a walk, so he joined her. That winter was dry and snowless, but even so it was quite cold at night. He wrapped his jacket around her shoulders as they paced a wide circle round the building, chatting just like before. The night breeze, or maybe the excitement, or the warmth of him surrounding her made the girl's face heat up and her shy smile didn't escape his notice. He didn't dare ask for more from her after what just happened, but they arranged to start meeting each other again — Bucky with the excuse that he needed to get away from Steve more often, and she that she had no one to have lunch with that she liked. It was good enough for him, and maybe next time he would ask…

He went home with her perfume still clinging to the collar.

They kept their promise to each other after the New Year, and met for lunch in the first week. He didn't ask for more then either, even though he spent the whole half hour that they had together thinking all the ways to say it, looking for a chance or a break in conversation.

Back at home he cursed himself, and tried to ask it in the mirror.

Everything out of his mouth sounded pathetic to his ears and he was even more cowardly the second time, though she seemed lovelier than ever.

"Same time next week?" he asked as they got up together.

"I can't Wednesday, long meeting in the afternoon. How's Thursday?"

"I, ah, have some training to do with Steve." He hadn't told her yet that they were planning another mission.

"Oh, alright then. Friday?"

"Sure thing, doll." It was a good day to finally ask her out: right before the weekend, less work to do, she'd be in a good mood… She might even say 'yes'.

Friday came around, a little cold and cloudy but with a milky sort of diffuse light that seemed to spread across the city. Bucky even made the effort to dress slightly better, hoping that she wouldn't notice — or would. Surely it wouldn't surprise her too much if he asked to spend time together… in the evening. To go out together, somewhere else, maybe even go dancing.

Standing ready on the 45th floor, he sent her a quick text. "Ready when you are."

"On my way <3" she texted back.

Bucky smiled fondly at her message as he sat down in a chair by the elevators.

But he didn't get to wait for more than a few minutes when an alarm suddenly went off. Fire drill? They had those sometimes in the office buildings… Then, a shattering sound rumbled through the walls as the tower shook with an explosion.

People's screams could be heard from all directions, frightened and confused. Looking outside, he could already see smoke covering the skyline. Before him, the elevator shafts screeched and groaned as metal scratched against metal, and more explosions came up from below.

He already had his hand on the phone to call her when Steve called him instead.

"Explosions, 85th floor," his friend said with a pant as he ran up the stairs. "Looks like a ten-man team, they're still here. We need you right now, Buck."

"On it," he said as he started running as well, trying not to think about what had happened to the girl.

Every nerve in his body told him to look for her, but until the villains were dealt with she would be in danger. He tried calling her anyway as he ran up two steps at a time — no answer. Maybe she was busy getting out with everybody else… Bucky put his phone away to take out a gun instead.

A grenade rushed by down the staircase shaft as he kept running, the boom echoing all the way back up to him in a shower of screams from other people at the bottom.

Tony got in touch as well, he was in the suit. Natasha had already caught up with Steve, and he reached them just in time to deflect a bullet aimed for her head with his metal arm.

"Thanks," she gasped. "There's four of them holed up in the corner office."

"Do we know who's behind this?" growled Bucky.

Steve threw a guilty look back, sitting crouched beneath his shield. "Seems we missed a spot back in Italy."

That mission in the Alps, the WWII bunker… So this was payback.

It took them two hours to clear all of them out from all the offices and hidden places, but a few managed to get away. Steve and Tony captured a few alive and planned to interrogate them, while Bucky wasn't feeling all that generous.

"I didn't kill anyone," he shrugged the metal shoulder while Natasha tried to apply pressure to the other one, bleeding from a gunshot.

"You shoved two guys off the 70th story, Buck," frowned Steve.

"I kicked them. Not my fault they couldn't survive the fall."

"And that guy with his gut full of lead?" smirked Natasha as she finished wrapping him up.

"My trigger finger slipped."

"Right."

"Metal hand, gets slippery with blood…"

"We could've gotten some intel from them," she sighed.

"Don't act all high and mighty, Nat," he frowned at her. She'd killed a couple too, and had to look down guiltily. Then, with a change of voice, he started asking: "Wh-where's… Er, do you know wh—… I, ah, was supposed to meet someone for lunch."

"We haven't checked for survivors yet," she said.

Bucky got to his feet and pulled his shirt back on as he started jogging toward the hallway.

"The lifts are down, take the stairs," the woman called back after him.

He paused, and a thought chilled him to the bone. Bucky reached the nearest elevator and tried calling it. Sure enough, it was out of order. With some difficulty, he pulled the doors open and peered through, but the whole shaft looked empty: the wires had snapped.

Too shocked to even curse, he just pulled his phone from the back pocket — crushed, it must've gotten broken in the fight. Bucky ran to the nearest office and tried to call her from there, but the call wouldn't go through. He called Tony instead and learned they were still rounding up the people outside.

"We've had a few deaths," the man sombrely said as police sirens blared in the background. "Security guards, and the people working near the explosion sites."

"What about elevator accidents?"

"We haven't checked for that ye—"

Bucky hanged up and started running. All the lifts seemed stuck somewhere between floors, except for the one that had snapped — the one closest to the blasts. It was also the one closest to her office, the one she usually took when she came to him… A bloodcurdling fear taking over his whole being, he made for the basement before he could think another thought.

There were still people inside that had hidden away in offices or supply closets and were just now running away while a bomb squad was going up, with some firemen trailing behind and a SWAT team trying to secure the area. His shoulder wound was closing up, not that bumping into all those people helped — it kept opening back up and he trailed blood behind, but in the mess of broken glass and bullet casings, it all got lost.

The bottom of the building was a mess. Another two bombs have gone off there, probably at the same time as above, and the dust had barely had time to settle. A few of the pillars seemed to be barely holding on, but the building was too secure to be brought down that easily. Huffing through the black smoke, the smell of burnt wires and heated concrete, still dripping a bit of blood and filthy with it on his face and hands, Bucky stepped through the debris until he found the collapsed elevator. The doors were bent outward from the impact, and he hoped with everything he had that this… hadn't been her fate; that she was outside and safe, being counted among the survivors, or hidden away somewhere like a frightened mouse.

He called her name, but heard nothing. He wasn't sure if he should be glad or even more worried, and with a trembling voice, he called again. Nothing…

And then, a hollow knock resounded.

"Doll? Are you in there?!"

"B-Bucky?" her frightened voice called out, scratchy with pain and a wet sounding cough he didn't like.

"Hold on!"

It was more difficult to pull the doors off, twisted as the metal was, and once he did that he was met by a mess of wires coiled at the bottom. It was then that he realised what saved her: the blast had caused the wires to snap and they coiled at the bottom, softening the fall. Bucky ended up having to go one floor higher and reach her from above, but he reached her eventually.

The poor thing was terrified, but could still smile when she finally saw him. She'd fallen nearly 50 floors, her face was cut and bruised, she had three broken ribs and probably a broken arm as well, and though tears had painted paths through the dust on her cheeks she wasn't crying anymore. Happy and alive, she struggled to get up the little bit she could, yearning for him as much as he did for her.

"I've got you," Bucky whispered as he gingerly got in beside her, trying not to let the shaking in his voice come through. "You're alright, we'll get you out of here…"

"What happened?" she asked in a small voice.

"A… certain group attacked the building. We took care of them, don't you worry."

"They're all dead now?"

He didn't want to say it, but couldn't lie when he looked up and caught her eyes as he kneeled beside her. "Not all. Not yet."

Bucky didn't know how he was going to get to those in Tony's custody — well, the police's custody now — but as soon as he saw her safe and tended to in the hospital, he called Steve and arranged for a flight back to that bunker.

"They won't be there again, Buck, they know we're onto them."

"So find out where they are," he growled. "I told you we should've done a sweep of the place before we blew it up, Steve."

"Don't start with that again," he sighed, sounding contrite and angry but underneath it somewhat afraid of his friend right now. "We messed up, I messed up… We'll fix it."

"You're damn right. Find them and have the jet ready in 20 minutes."

It felt a little like back in the day when Steve did something thoughtless and Bucky had to bring him back in line. It felt serious then too, a scrape in a back alley could be life-and-death, but it was never as serious as this. She's safe though, he thought to himself, she's alive. But then, another voice answered in his head, That's not good enough.

He flew with Steve, Nat, and Clint in tow, but could only think of that frightened little girl stuck in a death trap, crashing 50 stories down, living her greatest fear and nearly dying if not for a slip of luck, waiting hours in the dark until somebody found her, breathing in with broken ribs, unable to get up or cry for help — and even if she did, nobody could hear her.

And still, she found the strength to smile, if only for his sake. She looked at him from that hospital bed like he'd hung the moon, and Bucky told himself it was just because he was the first to find her.

Tony tracked the group in a little island off the northern Russian coast called Severny: a sparsely populated place that still held some military bases, a weather station, and what was left of a few villages after the Soviets tested atom bombs there.

What they were looking for was another disused bunker on the western side. They landed undetected, then marched across the snow and ice until they reached the place. Looking like something between a fort and a rough-hewn piece of mountain set adrift, it seemed lifeless from outside, but they knew better.

"There's a vent shaft on the south side," said Natasha as she scanned the area with binoculars.

She barely finished saying it before Bucky went ahead.

"Wait a sec," whispered Steve, "we've gotta —"

"Oh, you suddenly have a plan now?" he threw back over his shoulder. "We'll split up."

Clint chuckled as he readied his bow, and even Nat had to hold back a smirk.

"Barnes has a point," she smiled. "They won't be ready for us, not so soon after their hit."

From the vents, he'd landed in a supply room where five of them were gathering materials to fix their plane. He killed one by landing on his neck, shot another three inside, and shot the last one in the back just as he was out the door. The lightbulb creaked as it swung overhead, painting half of his stern face yellow, the other half darkened with drying blood.

He walked calmly down their halls, one rifle at the ready, another slung across his back, stepping lightly as he listened for any nearby sound. The walls were thick concrete that muffled noises well, and the doors were metal slabs spread few and far between.

With the tip of his weapon, Bucky inched open the first door he found parted, but saw no one inside. He barely stepped through as he tried to look around, when he heard the echo of far off shouts and gunshots: the rest of the team had made it in. From the room next to his, two soldiers came out to investigate. As they whispered to each other and readied their guns, he exited the room and stood behind them, steading his rifle as he aimed right for one's head. The bastard barely hit the ground before his pal knew what had happened, and as he turned he caught Bucky's second bullet right in the face.

Stepping over their convulsing corpses, he went toward the racket Clint and Nat were making, then turned around the corner and waited for the reinforcements to come through. In a spray of bullets, he littered the floor with a first batch before the ones behind them caught up and doubled back around the corner. Bucky dropped the bulkier rifle for a pair of handguns and walked toward them, and the first one to look around the corner got shot through the eye. By the time the second one tried to point a rifle at him, Bucky was there to yank it from his hands and pull him close enough to shoot him through the mouth as he tried to call for backup.

"East wing's clear," came Clint's voice through his earpiece.

"I'm holed up somewhere west," said Steve as bullets bounced off of his shield. "Buck, what's your status?"

"South's clear. On my way to you."

He arrived at a larger room filled with old jeeps and a few rocket launchers following the sound of Steve's shield bouncing off the walls and knocking into people. Splatters of blood trailed down to the floor where a few corpses fell, and in the middle, Steve was trying to fight one black-clad bear of a man while dodging two more shooters from above. One of them spotted Bucky as soon as he was in the room, and almost grazed him but the shot hit the wall instead. Gritting his teeth, Bucky stepped back behind the door as he tried to take aim upwards, but the other man ran away.

It was easy for Steve to do away with the other guy and neutralise the shooter that was left. As his shield returned to him, he stood up to greet his friend.

"Nat took the north wing."

"We better go join her, then," said Bucky, reloading his gun as he turned right back around.

"Hey," Steve muttered as he jogged up to him. "Are you ok?"

"I'm not angry with you, Stevie," he sighed. "If that's what you were worried about."

"It's not…"

"There's a first."

"Alright, maybe I was a little —"

He didn't have time to finish before Clint called in to say they needed backup.

The final assault was against an annexe where all the remaining troops retreated, sealed off with a mess of metal and debris while they tried to break through to the outside. Clint's explosive arrows did away with some of it, but then as the dust cleared they started shooting back. Steve was just in time to shield them off while Nat and Bucky returned fire.

As soon as there was a brief pause while they reloaded, Bucky got out from behind the shield and kept shooting at the opening until he got close enough to launch a small grenade through it. The blast sounded through the walls together with a patter of cries and curses. More dust fell around their ears as, up in front and just out of the line of fire, Bucky punched with his left fist at the metal weakened by the blast, then leaned back and hit it once again, growling with a growing mix of pain and anger. He braced his right hand up against it, then hit the barrier again, denting it more and more each time, enough to loosen one metal sheet and pull it out.

"They've got their commander with them," said Clint as he took aim. "They'll do anything to get him out."

"So will we," frowned Steve, and for once Natasha doubted he meant to merely arrest someone.

She took position on one side, ready to shoot whoever showed up, and Clint stood opposite, while Steve deflected the stray shots that made it through until he could reach Bucky and begin to help. Between the two supersoldiers, it didn't take long to tear it down.

Bucky made it through first and had his hand on the knife strapped around his thigh just in time to jam it through the ear of the nearest guard, grabbing him by the head with his other hand to make sure the knife struck deep. He watched as life left the man's eyes before pulling it out and throwing it at another one who was trying to shoot Steve. From behind, one of Clint's shots took down another before he could throw a grenade, leaving it to explode right underneath him and take out two more of his buddies.

Heaving with an exhaustion that burnt, animated with a pain still hidden underneath a veil of anger, Bucky took the rifle from around his back and started shooting at the last contingent. Steve's shield got stuck in the wheels of the machine they were trying to use to cut through the rock, and Nat took out its operators.

By now, Bucky only hoped Steve wouldn't let his honour get in the way this time, so before his friend got a chance to change his mind, he took them out in a spray of bullets: shooting at the ones hiding in a car, firing until the bulletproof windows were shattered, and he heard them scream in pain. Another time, he might have seen the benefit of taking a few of them in, squeezing them for info. But as he killed them one by one, all he could think about was his wounded girl back home — how scared she was when he first found her, like a bird fallen from high with a broken little wing, how weak her cries had sounded, and hopeless, and because of these sick bastards, she had almost died in the way she feared the most

Guiltily, he couldn't hold back the self-pitying thought of how close he'd been to telling her how he really felt, how close he'd been to losing her.

Without any hurry, Bucky reached the last car they had hidden in and opened the door with a kick. A clutter of corpses fell through, fallen all over each other, dripping one thick cord of blood down to the floor like a noose set upside down. His hand tightened around the rifle, ready to shoot at them one last time for good measure, but then his thoughts turned to his girl and he knew she'd disapprove… With a weary sigh, he turned around and left them. He just wanted to go back home.

Bucky was beside her when she woke up the next day. He'd taken the time to wash himself a bit, scrub the blood off and get a change of clothes, and was just about to fall asleep himself when she opened her eyes. Breathlessly he leaned down to hold her hand, smiling back at her incredulous but happy face.

"Hey there," he whispered. "How do you feel?"

"Fine… Better now."

He smirked and tilted his head in disbelief. Every breath caused a little wince to twitch on her tired face.

"Oh don't look at me, I bet my face is all swollen…"

"You've got some scratches and bruises, nothing to worry about. Doctors say the ribs are the worst thing. You'll have to take it easy for the next few months…"

The girl gave an indistinct grumble, shifting gingerly on the bed as the sleep left her and she became more aware of the pain.

"I'll get you some water, then I'll call the nurse."

He stayed with her while she had her breakfast, tasting it a bit at her insistence so that they could suffer together. He got up to leave before they came around to clean her up a bit.

"I'll come back later, doll."

"You don't have to…"

Bucky regarded her with his hands shoved in his pockets, knuckles still a little scraped, the metal hand just slightly dented from where it had punched through a wall — this wouldn't be the time to tell her, so he plainly shrugged.

"I want to."

"You probably have better things to do," she smiled guiltily.

He could wait until she got a little better…

"But I don't," he shook his head, trying not to smile too brightly at the thoughts that came unbidden: them, together, going out at night and holding hands only a few months from now. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

The girl look up at him with a fresh colour in her cheeks, as if she understood.

"At least get some rest first," she slowly grinned. "You look the way I feel."

"Cracking jokes," Bucky huffed, pretending to be offended. "You'll be back up in no time."

With one last squeeze of her hand, he turned around to leave, his head bowed and grounded as his heart fluttered in his chest. Then, at the scratchy little sound of her voice, he turned back to hear her say:

"There's nowhere else I'd rather you be, either…"

The way her smile lit up her eyes filled the room brighter than the sunrise could, and he knew then he'd never leave her side again if he could help it.

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