#Dr Arnim Zola | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

real-jane · 2 years

Text

drifting (13) *end*

[cw!bucky barnes x female!reader]

summary: bucky saves the life of a woman when she’s buried in an avalanche. faced with the possibility that his cover might be blown, bucky must keep the woman alive, and try to keep her from finding out who he is… or what he’s done.

how long can he hide?

warnings: emotions. lots of 'em. fluff abounding. nick fury goes soft. author entirely ignores consequences.

word count: 6.7k+

a/n: this is the end, my loves! thank you so much for your patience as i finish this last installment. there will be an epilogue, but here's where the main story leaves us.

series masterlist

***

Arnim Zola has always been an unimposing man, but something about seeing him stretched out on a cold metal table makes him seem unimportant. His face is slack; the beaded glue at the corners of his eyes indicates they’ve already been sealed shut by the coroner, as have his lips (which pull at the center because of gravity, giving him a thin grimace). Though he was killed because Soldat snapped his neck, there is evidence this wasn’t the only injury to his person. But Bucky can’t say, or won’t—something she doesn’t begrudge him for considering the amount of trauma Arnim Zola put them both through—so the visible blood is set dressing.

Her father, head of HYDRA, blooms a ruddy brown stain beneath his solar plexus.

She isn’t sure why she asked to see him, except his death isn’t real until she has. After everything she and Bucky went through, the man responsible for it all is… a sack of bones and skin. A shell. A hollow victory. Whatever being lived in that body had at one time been quite caring to her, and that’s why it rankles. But she didn’t know, when he read to her of hobbits and wizards, just how evil he was.

Helmut Zemo was not to be trusted, but why would he have lied about something so horrible? “He wanted to discern if the Asset could still feel.”

Who in their right mind would ever accuse James Barnes of being unfeeling? Surely not the man who held her face in his hands before the nurse took him back into surgery and said “I’ll be fine. I promise. I’m okay, doll, I won’t be long,” before kissing her forehead like he had just told her he was going off to war, and he’d be home once the whole thing had blown over. In reality, even when he was the Asset, he was emotional. It wasn’t apparent at first, but once she cracked his shell, he was intense. Now, he is careful with her, but he still feels his emotions on a full spectrum.

She hopes Bucky isn’t panicked, being alone in the OR with a strange doctor and beeping machines. Dr. Banner won’t have to cut into him, or draw any blood to remove his arm, based on what Nat said. Still. Imagining him going catatonic given his current post-triggered state has her pacing in the morgue.

The fact that her father lays on the table before her hasn’t sunken in. The last time she saw him, she was his Mark. No longer. Y/n braces her hands on the cold metal beside her father as a red memory flashes.

Nothing is sacred. His final words to her before forcing Soldat to dig his knife into her belly.

“Some things are sacred, Папа. Despite everything you did?” She clicks her tongue. “You never could touch Bucky’s goodness. I bet that killed you. Knowing your experiment backfired. Not only did your ultimate soldier fall in love with your little girl–it didn’t end in Belarus.

“I remember how you talked about him, when you thought I was asleep. I would sneak out of bed, and sit outside your office door and listen. You worshiped Soldat like a god. One time–” Y/n is caught off guard by the wave of clarity in the memories unlocked. She scrubs a hand over her face.

“One time he came through the door and I wasn’t expecting it. He scooped me up and put me back to bed. I turned nineteen days prior. You forgot. He didn’t. He had been standing behind you, while you lorded over some peon agent, folding me a rabbit out of paper.”

With hair shorter than it is now, falling into his eyes, Bucky had knelt beside her cot (which was once again located in solitary confinement after an outburst had led to isolating punishment) and handed over his gift. She hadn’t known his name back then. He hadn’t been able to recall it himself. But he knew hers, and he whispered С днем рождения, and tucked the paper rabbit between her fingers.

“He hadn’t even kissed me yet,” Y/n sighs. “But he was so gentle. He knew you’d be furious if you found me listening at the keyhole, but I was so desperate for any attention from you, I didn’t care. I was finally an adult… waiting for you to remember me. Well. You did. When I was part of your quest to make sure your soldier was unbreakable.

“I don’t hate you for it, I wish I did–but maybe in your fucked up way, that was the last way you knew how to show me you loved me. That man has given me more reason to live than you ever did, for all your idioms about love being honest and kind. You were right. If only you could’ve been my doting parent instead of this ugly person. My Папа. You were everything to me until I was old enough to manipulate–mother and father. Now you’re a corpse.

“That’s–that isn’t true. I had Nat. Thank god she got out. You know what’s really sad?” She shrugs. “Nobody’s left to bury you. They asked me what I’d like done with your body, as if I even get a say. You’re gonna go to a body farm in upstate New York so students can study you. Because, see–I don’t think you earned a peaceful rest, and forgiveness wasn’t a value you instilled in me.”

As angry as she feels, it’s grief which wrings her ribcage. Despite everything, it is desperately sad to know that he’s well and truly gone. “Я тебя люблю, Папа.” Because she does love him. The line between such affection and hatred is fuzzy.

She covers the face of the man who shares half her DNA with the sheet. When she turns on her heel and meets Natasha at the door, she leaves behind the lion’s share of resentment. In its place, she only has one remaining emotion for Arnim Zola. Sadness.

***

Bruce Banner is a deft hand with a laser pointer. It doesn’t require sedation for the titanium cybernetic weapon to be removed from the housing fused with Bucky’s shoulder; an hour of Banner’s diligence with a tool of his own invention, carving away wires and severing connections, and the implant is no longer attached to his body. The doctor takes extra care to be sure that his socket bears no exposed wires, and a nurse plops a set of clean sweats into Bucky’s lap.

A warm bundle of nervous energy collides with his chest as the nurse escorts him back to the med bay waiting room, once he’s given the chance to bathe. She wraps her arms around his waist, and he can’t help but chuckle. Y/n isn’t alone, but Natasha busies herself answering messages to give them the illusion of privacy. Steve is nowhere to be seen.

“How are you?” Y/n asks his sweatshirt.

Bucky taps her cheek so she’ll look at him. Her eyes are wide, until she reads the look on his face. He can’t quite make the words come to describe how he feels to be permanently separated from the bionic limb, because most of the ones which spring to mind are fragments of the sensation currently coursing through him. The sting in his eyes betrays some kind of relief, or grief perhaps. His posture is unbalanced, and almost weak… and free. But still on a precipice between always belonging to HYDRA, so. Bucky attempts to make anything come out of his mouth.

“Конец эры,” she suggests. The end of an era, the most painful road. Her hand hovers over the empty sleeve at his side, and she puts herself to work cuffing it up. He studies her face as whatever thoughts she’s having flicker across her expression. She doesn’t hide her concern, nor does she hide the smile which pulls at her mouth when she clocks his damp hair.

“They let you clean up. Good,” she huffs. “I hope you got better than the god-awful locker room showers.”

Bucky rubs her arm. “Doesn’t hold a candle to the cabin’s water pressure, does it?”

“Suppose HYDRA did one thing right, in all this.” She tries to laugh it off, but she can’t keep eye contact.

“So it’s confirmed.”

“Nat got the full report. There were cameras,” she says softly. “They must have planted the coordinates in your mind at some point. Maybe gave you the idea during the altercation in St. Louis.”

“Shit.” He looks at the red-head. Natasha nods once when she notices his attention has shifted. She stands, holding out her phone.

“The tech is pedestrian. The cameras took still photographs every thirty seconds. Three cameras in each room, five outside.” Natasha folds her arms.

The photograph on the screen was snapped from above, depicting the living room of the cabin. The quality is grainy. The two of them are seated on the couch, and Y/n’s head is laid against his shoulder. Bucky holds a book in hand, but he’s not looking at it. He’s watching her in curiosity. Bucky glances at her now, and she worries her lip between her teeth.

“How did you get this?” he asks Natasha.

“There was a thumb drive amongst Zemo’s things. He likely intended to use it as leverage for a lighter punishment, were he to be captured alive.”

“Must be thousands of images,” Bucky says. “How far back do they date?”

“A few days prior to your arrival. Tech estimates there are some forty-thousand just of you two.”

“They saw it all.”

Bucky hands Natasha her phone back, and squeezes Y/n’s shoulder. “How much have you looked through?”

“None,” she says. “I don’t want to watch us through their eyes.”

“There is one you should see. If nothing else.” Natasha flicks her finger until she finds what she’s referring to. “Maria sent me a few highlights, but this made me proud, Пчёлка.”

She waits until Y/n gives her consent, and turns the phone to display the photo in question: her, kneeling on Rumlow’s chest with only socks on her feet, pressing a knife to his throat. Her mouth is poised mid-sentence, and Bucky looks on from behind her.

“You’re probably mouthing off,” Natasha says lovingly.

“Can’t help it,” Y/n laughs. “He brought out the worst in me!” Curiosity gets the best of her and she swipes across the screen. The image prior depicts something else, which Bucky would rather nobody else have access to, especially the suits and egos of SHIELD.

It’s him… clutching her against his chest for dear life, demanding she explain why she had a phone all that time. The camera angle doesn’t allow for his face to be seen, but it does capture her stricken expression. He remembers the way the quilt felt stifling, but not how her legs were twisted up in the sheet. Just his own panic, how his anger rose into a fever pitch even as he held her so tightly her joints might have groaned.

“How could I know you? Why do I know you–”

“There is only one possible way, but I don’t know. My memory is like Swiss cheese, even after my treatments–”

“How?”

No… The intrusive vision fades back into the past where it belongs. Bucky grasps her wrist and eases the phone out of her hold, which has turned desperate. Natasha takes her device back with a regretful grimace. Y/n’s fingers are frozen open until he slots his in, cradling her palm… she squeezes back in thanks.

“Definitely don’t want to see more,” she breathes.

Natasha brushes her arm. “Okay. No need.”

Y/n clears thick emotion from her throat. Bucky hugs her against his chest, his arm draped across her sternum. He kisses the crown of her head the way he wanted to do when he found out she wasn’t who he thought… it was mere days ago, but it might as well be decades. Time never has meant much where she is concerned. Two weeks in isolation together established a lifetime of familiarity, and–

“What now?” she murmurs. Her free hand grips his wrist for purchase.

“Well–” Natasha’s phone buzzes. She answers promptly. “Yeah? Okay–no, we’ll meet you there. None. Actually…” She trails off, glancing around the med bay, which… the ward is strangely empty. There are no nurses puttering around, no more agents waiting on the fringe with guns trained. In the time it took for Bucky to be released, the medical bay was vacated, and in all the excitement of looking through the footage, she hadn’t noticed. The Black Widow bows her head, a smile pulling at her cheeks, which belies either exasperation or amazement. Maybe both.

“Nat?” No mistaking the deep voice which calls out into the silence.

“Steven,” she sighs. “Are you sure?”

He’s practically yelling, like he’s running. His voice is clear as day. “Mind’s made up, sweetheart. Fury said there’s nothing he can do, so. It’s in our hands. The all-assemble alert went out ninety seconds ago, so you have about five minutes to meet me in hangar C before anyone realizes what’s happening.”

“You’re not off the hook.” Nat waves for her two companions to hasten towards the stairwell.

“I’ll think of more ways to make it up to you.”

“Still top of my shit list.”

“At least I’m at the top.” His tone is mischievous, like he’s grinning on the other end of the line. Natasha hangs up on him while rolling her eyes dramatically, but her face is pink.

She shoulders the door open and leads them at a bracing pace, down four flights of stairs to the bottom floor. Bucky allows himself an instant of amusement over the fact that he and Y/n are in matching sweats. It’s almost precious (if such a word can describe Bucky Barnes). Dueling blues with SHIELD printed on their arms and legs, looking like they’re about to lead some kind of aerobics class. She peeks back at him for the millionth time to make sure he’s at her heels, and catches him with his eyes glazed over, and Bucky’s suddenly aware they’re being led down a dark corridor in the basement of the compound.

“Nat–clue us in?” Y/n asks, when her sister-in-arms wrenches open yet another gray door with no window and ushers them through. The red head smirks.

“Fury can’t–won't help. So. We’ve progressed to Plan B.”

“Steve’s just gotten a pardon. He’s really willing to risk it?”

“Yes. He’s trying.”

“Natasha. Бабочка–”

“Stop. We only have about two minutes.”

They tumble out of a heavier door (which requires Bucky’s kick to force open, between rust and painted-over hinges) into a small hangar. Natasha breaks into a sprint, heading for a quinjet, one of only three aircraft being housed in the veritable warehouse. Overhead, a loud alarm starts to blare.

Natasha winces. “Shit–pick up the pace!”

The engines of the jet roar to life. Natasha slams her fist into a button beside the belly hatch of the jet, but she’s not quick enough for the rush of agents, pouring through the door which had allowed them into the hangar and another one at the opposite end. The grand door rises slowly, while Natasha puts herself between Bucky, Y/n, and the agents. A heavy hand lands on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Get in, you two.” Steve. With his arm bandaged, wearing a flight suit.

“Do what he says,” Natasha barks over her shoulder.

Y/n shakes her head in disbelief. “This is crazy–”

“Bee, I love you, get on the fucking airplane.” Natasha brandishes her guns as if she personally can take on a passel of SHIELD agents. Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice, so he hops inside the aircraft and tugs Y/n up behind him. Steve gives him a salute.

“Natasha?” Cap calls expectantly.

“Go, Rogers!”

“I’m infirm, sweets. I was recently on morphine. Should I really be flying this thing?”

“Swear to god,” she grumbles. She looks back at Steve with a hard stare. He points to the empty bucket seat beside him with an innocent, pleading smile. It takes her a split-second of exasperation to decide. Then she slams the closing mechanism for the plane at the same moment Steve begins driving forward. Nat grabs his face and kisses him. Hard. She sits, buckles herself in, and flicks the switches Steve can’t reach, given his bandaged arm.

“Why aren’t they shooting?” Bucky breathes.

Steve gestures to the open hangar door. Standing in the doorway, with his arms crossed… in equally casual sweats, with sunglasses on (and a bandage taped from temple to nape), stands Nick Fury. He raises a hand to his ear. Nat’s phone rings.

She lets out a long sigh. Steve extends his hand to accept the responsibility, but she answers on speakerphone, for the benefit of the whole cabin.

“Nick.”

“What are you doing?”

“He needs help.”

“Do you know how many conventions you’re breaking–he’s an international fugitive.”

“He was a prisoner of war, Nick,” Natasha scoffs.

“You couldn’t wait an hour for me?” He throws his hands up in annoyance. “I’m reasonable. I’m worried about Senator Payne, I had to make sure word hadn’t reached him yet. And that T’challa was prepared to accept a fugitive into his protection. Again.”

Steve’s mouth drops open. “Sir–you told me you couldn’t help him.”

“What can I do, Rogers? I’m a pencil pusher. I’m not a doctor. What use is Nicholas Fury to a man who needs real medical help?” Fury scoffs. “But our allies in Wakanda have a pretty clear idea how to treat him. If you had been patient… waited for me to finish making arrangements, you would be aware that the King has accepted my request to give Barnes asylum.”

Bucky’s heartbeat roars in his ears, and he can’t make out anything else but the thrum of his blood. But there are fingers in his, clasped, keeping him grounded. The trade of Steve and Natasha’s voices bounce around in his brain.

“So he’s free–” Steve sounds ready to cry.

“As long as he surrenders himself into Wakanda’s care, he’s not my biggest concern. Seems I’ve had a rat in my ranks, and who knows how long it will take to suss out if Rumlow had devotees.”

“So.”

“Email me your flight plan, so this is slightly above board? I hate doing anything under the table.”

Natasha snorts. “Says the man who faked his own death.”

“Don’t give me a reason to turn that jet around,” Fury chuckled. “Go. I’ll speak to you once you land.”

Y/n’s head falls against Bucky’s shoulder in relief. Steve turns, best as he can given his bandages, and he smiles at his dearest friend.

“Ready, Buck? It’s gonna be about… two hours in the air.”

“And then…?”

“First,” Y/n says, drawing his attention, “they’ll probably put you into cryostasis for a few days to calm your nervous system. That’s what they did for me. Your body is probably in crisis mode. It’s not safe to start treatment until your cortisol levels are low…”

She continues explaining what’s supposedly going to happen to him once they reach their final destination, but all Bucky can do is lay his head back and study her. She leans towards him, absently finding the highs and valleys of his knuckles with the finely-filed points of her nails. There is something about her expression–sad, determined to comfort him, panicked… Bucky pulls her hand, tugging, tugging, until she stumbles forward and catches herself on his knee. Y/n’s glassy eyes stare up at him. He winds his arm around her waist to steady her.

“Jamie,” she whimpers. He noses her cheek.

“You’re sad.”

“No, I–no.” She plays with the strings on his hood so she doesn’t have to look him in the eye. “They let me see him.” Her voice is pained. “I’m… I know he is better off dead. But I just–”

“Zola?”

“Yeah. I feel awful. And all I want–all I really need in this world is for you to be okay. I shouldn’t think about him.”

“He’s still your father,” Bucky finished.

She nodded. “Is it terrible? That I’m heartbroken.”

He adjusts her so she’s seated on his lap. “I don’t think it has to be bad. Or good. It can just… be. Right?”

Her eyes flicker from side to side as she studies him. She keeps looking at his mouth, but their proximity to their companions on the small jet keeps him from kissing the sad expression off her face. She tucks his hair behind his ears.

“Mm. I miss being off the grid,” she says lowly. “When this is all over, let’s go away.”

“Wherever you want.” Bucky graces her bottom lip with his thumb. “You could teach me more recipes.”

That entices a smile from her. “What do you want to learn?”

“Anything.”

“Prepare for departure.” Natasha’s voice startles Y/n from his lap, but she already seems less dour. They buckle themselves in.

What else could they have, if they go someplace far away? In a house that belongs to her, what would she want–what else could he give her? Is this possible? Bucky has never imagined having a future in order to plan for it, but. What if?

“Bookshelves?” he breathes.

She laughs. “What?”

“Do you want bookshelves?” Bucky repeats. The jet rumbles along the runway unimpeded, but the force of the movement makes all four of them lean back.

“Hmm. Yeah,” she smiles. “For your four books.”

“It’s aspirational. If I have to build them with one arm, so be it. Besides, you can put stuff on them, too.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t have anything of my own. I left it all in Belarus, and I haven’t had a chance to accumulate anything since.”

“Oh. I—nothing? Then, um. We will find you things. What do you want?”

“I want it all, Jamie,” she whispers. “If you wanna live in an apartment in Brooklyn, let’s go. Cave in Iceland? I’m there. Books, burnt pasta, six feet of snow. Doesn’t matter. As long as you’re there, and you’re okay.”

Her sweet words hit him square in the chest. He can’t help but smile. “This Shuri… she’s gonna help.”

“Mhm.”

“And you’re going to stay–”

“Barnes,” Natasha interrupts, “if you think anybody could keep her from your side, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Y/n winces from embarrassment. Bucky leans over to feel the heat of her cheek against his lips. “I’m persistent,” she admits.

“Stubborn, more like.” Nat winks over her shoulder.

“Cleared for takeoff, Cap.” The voice over the comm speaks curtly.

“Ready?” Steve asks.

Bucky looks to Y/n, and she smiles in encouragement. “Guess so.”

And though Bucky is entirely unprepared for whatever is supposed to be waiting for him in Wakanda, he closes his eyes. He fixates on the shelves he’s going to build for her, and mostly the fact that he’s never picked up a hammer in his life but that he can learn. Apparently he’s going to have a life of his own, where his major concerns might be learning to cook from a beautiful woman (who is even lovelier in his jeans), and finding things to do which don’t include dirty work for major terrorist organizations. Imagine that.

***

Whatever he expects out of Wakanda, his expectations are blown out of the water. Not the least because the moment they land on the grand rotunda, they are met by the King, himself… and a young woman who launches herself at Y/n for a hug which nearly has them both toppling over. The laughter is joyous. The other woman says something in her ear, which makes Y/n peek back at Bucky and extend her hand to him.

They’re led through a palace, and he isn’t one hundred percent certain his feet are on the ground. At one point, Steve pats his back to make sure he’s alright. Everything is too much. His muscles tug on his bones as his adrenaline finally wears off, for the first time since the safety of the mountain haven–he’s sore. His eyelids strain, he’s sure his eyeballs are bloodshot. Things are too loud. Lights are violently bright. He’s pushed to sit on something with light padding. His breathing is clipped.

In a second, the room is empty of all other occupants. Her hands are on his cheeks, easing him to lean forward until his forehead is pressed to her shoulder.

She rubs circles at his nape.

“We’re okay,” she soothes. He turns his nose against her neck as if to say I don’t believe you. “Breathe.”

His chest catches on a ragged breath as he tries to match the rise and fall with her body.

“Mmm. Good. They’re gonna help you. You’re safe.”

“Can’t trust my own mind,” he manages, which only summarized a fraction of the paralyzing exhaustion which chips away at his mental walls.

“Yes you can. James, look at me.” When he does, her eyes are tearful. “You have always fought through the fog. You’re gonna come out of this strong, sweet man.”

“Think so?”

“I know it.”

“And I’m worth… all this–” Bucky gestures broadly to the room he has only begun to take in, what could only be called a hospital room in the most pedestrian of terms because it has windows at least three stories tall.

“Yes,” she says.

That’s the beginning and the end of it. He’s heard the finality in that tone before. The shorter her answer, the more certain she is. Bucky is so overwhelmed between the lights and sounds, and the woman, and the possibilities of what’s to come (even though she told him in great detail–he cannot remember one word of the procedure she outlined)... he tucks his hand into her pants pocket and tugs her in between his knees, which makes her laugh and hold him closer.

“Could use a cigarette,” he says, as evenly as possible given how panic still courses through his veins.

She rolls her eyes. “There he is. You should quit.

“Hm?”

“I’m sure it can’t touch those infallible lungs of yours, but it’s not especially good for your breath. Which I do care about, if you’re curious.” She runs a knuckle over his lips, and he perses them to meet her touch.

“How did we get here?” he mutters.

“Hmm?”

“Here, doll.”

“Would you like to be kissed, Jamie? Seems like it.” Her smile curls up at both corners.

“Hmm. My head is killing me, trying to make room for all these new memories–”

“So, yes?”

He narrows his eyes at her lips specifically, which makes them split into a full-on grin. “I could’ve hurt you back there. And you’re concerned about my smoking habit–”

She steals his speech with the softest brush of her mouth against his. “No. You wouldn’t.”

“I stabbed you, once.”

“No… that isn’t what happened.” She levels her face with his so he has to look her in the eye. “Didn’t matter what orders Zemo gave. You were frozen with your knife digging into my shirt too lightly to ever draw blood. For all the lousy things they put in your head, you wouldn’t hurt me. So. I… forced you. God–you panicked after I lunged forward, you pressed your hand so hard over the wound that I could feel my heart beating against your palm. You got me to Bucharest. I don’t know how. It’s, what–a full day’s drive, if you speed? You must have. On the back of a bike, too.”

Bucky frowns. But for the life of him, even with the string of new memories, he can’t remember such a thing. All he recalls is holding the knife… and her bleeding. The fact that she made that choice for him stings. Y/n brushes his cheek with her thumb.

“I knew it wouldn’t end, and I wanted you to be free of me. Because he’d stop lashing out at you, and you’d survive long enough to escape. And–sorry.” She stares up at the ceiling as a wave of emotion hits her.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I don’t know,” she hiccoughs. “What’s fresh in my head right now is the look you had on your face, knowing you had to leave me in Bucharest so you could protect my cover.”

“You screamed for me,” he realizes. The echo of her call comes to him.

She swipes at her tears. “Until I was hoarse.”

“Are you…” Bucky scratches his jaw. “I don’t know how to ask this.”

“Ask, Jamie. Please.”

“Are you upset to remember everything?” He braces himself.

“Are you?”

“I haven’t had the luxury of remembering anything for seven decades, doll. Painful as it is. Makes it easier, I think.”

“No more mystery, there. When Zemo was trying to set me off, I was sorting through some precious times we had. Things we got away with,” she says, biting her lip.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know how we managed it. You spent the night with me! In a girl’s school–more than once!”

“Yes I did,” he says sheepishly, but he can’t help but laugh. He hasn’t had the same amount of clarity about the return of their shared memories–just that they’re still there, in his head, and that they’re accessible. But he does innately know how much he used to risk to be with her. The duality of two separate lives together, both so precious… It's heady.

Sensing another rush of overwhelm, she kisses his forehead, giving him permission not to rush a walk down memory lane.

Y/n worries the pad of her pointer finger into the crease between his eyebrows until his scowl relents. “I can’t go in there with you,” she murmurs as a nurse comes around the corner with a data tablet in hand, most of her attention focused on an upright bed, which stands at an incline on a silvery base. A glass tube hovers above the bed, ready to slide down over the occupant. “But I’ll be here. Right next to you when they let me, even if you don’t know I’m here.”

“Doll,” Bucky sighs, “I appreciate everything you’re doing to help me relax but… I think it wouldn��t be such a bad idea for you to get looked at, too. Please–please don’t take that the wrong way–”

“Hush, дорогая. I will.”

“Good.”

“I gotta take care of me if I wanna take care of you.”

“And… that’s something you want?”

“James Barnes,” she laughs, “I’m starting to think you don’t know me at all!”

He growls, wraps his feet behind her knees to keep her close. “I will know you if I lose all my faculties and can only relate by sense. I know your heart, doll–любимая. Oh–Do you like that?” The grin on her face says that she greatly enjoys the idea of being beloved. “I’m scared shitless. I like hearing you say it. Please tell me again.”

Her kiss this time lingers on his plea. “Hear me out: I want you. I like everything about you, even though you snore–see if Shuri can fix your deviated septum while she’s up there, will ya?” Bucky pokes her in the side in retaliation and she squirms in his grasp, but she persists with glee written all over her face. “I’ve always known that I’m complete because of you. How could that change? No–Jamie, ignore the memories of Belarus for a second. Do you realize how much our two weeks in that cabin meant to me? I’ve never had something so intimate as that time. That was you at your most raw, and I wanted two more weeks. It’s not the prospect of you being stable which makes me want you at my side. Okay? I want to look after you because if I don’t, my heart is gonna stop beating. I need you. In every version that may exist, and if there’s a new iteration of James Barnes on the horizon, I will happily greet him with open arms. But you’ll always be my Jamie, yeah? Forever. You’re Steve’s Bucky, but you’re my Jamie. Моя любовь.”

He doesn’t realize that his eyes are wet, too, until she’s cupping his jaw. “Jesus. What are you doing to me?” he chuckles.

She wrinkles her nose. “You’re a sap.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I like it.”

“Best thing I ever did was dig you outta that snow,” Bucky says, pressing a lingering kiss to her palm.

“You’re loopy.” She nods to the approaching nurse. “Hi.”

“Hello, Ms. Y/L/n. It is good to see you again.” The nurse smiles warmly. “You are looking well. Mr. Barnes–are you amenable to an intravenous drip line? To rehydrate your body before entering cryostasis.”

“How are you with needles?” Y/n asks.

“Rather not go near ‘em, I–if given the choice.”

“Not a problem,” the nurse says. “We can hydrate you the old fashioned way. Takes longer.”

“He has time.” Y/n clasps his shoulder.

“Very well.” The nurse takes his vital stats (noting that his blood pressure is a little high), and gives a more thorough explanation about what he’s in for once he steps into that cryo-tube. It makes him flinch away from Y/n’s sympathetic touch. Thinking about being on ice again reminds him what usually comes after. It does help to sip on the water he’s handed, if for no other reason than shifting his focus.

When it’s time to proceed, the nurse invites Bucky to step forward. There’s nobody holding him at gunpoint, or threatening a zap to the temple; in fact, all of the nurses who float in and out of the room are pleasant, and they all seem to know his companion enough for a personal greeting. He may not trust anyone, but he trusts her. So.

She takes his hand and walks backwards, leading him to the chamber. “They’ll put you out before you ever feel the least bit cold,” she tells him, when he involuntarily shivers.

“Remind me how long,” he asks.

“Two days.”

“I can do that.”

“Yeah.” He steps up toe-to-toe with her so she has to crane her head back to look up at him. Those beautiful eyes crinkle. “A kiss for the road?” she asks. Bucky can’t bring himself to care about the nurses preparing the room. Just the sweet request.

They’ve shared many soft moments together. This is different. There is nothing to hide. Nobody is after them, neither of them are under any kind of despicable influence… They both are nearly delirious with exhaustion, and letting down from the trauma of nearly being separated again, and maybe that’s why kissing her feels new. With raw nerve endings exposed, and no walls up between them, it’s just sweet. A little needy when she teases the seam of his lips with her tongue, just enough to send a jolt of even more intimate moments through his mind and straight to the part of his body pressed against her hip. But he isn’t embarrassed. She’s everything. He takes little drags from her perfect mouth, and smiles at the involuntary whine at the back of her throat when he reluctantly pulls away.

“Two days,” he reminds her. She presses up on her toes and hugs him around the neck. Bucky lifts her off her feet with his arm around her waist. “Я тебя люблю,” he tells the smooth skin below her ear.

“Я тебя люблю.”

***

“How’d he do?” Steve paces just outside the door to Bucky’s room, while Natasha sits crouched against the wall. They both smile at Y/n as she exits, but Steve still looks worried.

Y/n reaches for his elbow. “He’s okay. Sent him off to sleep thinking about bookshelves.”

Cap chuckles. “What?”

“He’s set on the idea of building shelves, apparently that’s comforting,” she giggles. “You could’ve come in.”

“Nah. I’ll see him on the other side.” Steve says it flippantly for how serious his expression is. She squeezes his arm. They’re all nervous, especially Steve, but there’s no better place for Bucky to be. The fact that Cap didn’t ask to see Bucky before they put him under was a surprise. Her heart clenches for the sad look on his face.

“You okay, bee?”

Y/n sighs. “I will be. I’m gonna sit with him for a while, but my stomach growled so loud in there–”

“I’m your man,” Steve says firmly. “Got any allergies I should be aware of?” He’s already backing away, ready to run his errand.

“No,” she says. “Bring whatever you can carry. Oh! Steve–coffee. Forget food. I want the good stuff.”

He pauses. “...what is that?”

“Biggest cup you can find, Steven.” Natasha hooks her arm through her friend’s and winks at the man.

“Got it.” He practically skips off down the hallway to find the best coffee in Wakanda, looking very determined despite having a bandaged shoulder.

“You convince him to rest, yet? He’s gonna tear his stitches.”

Nat snorts. “I thought I did. Then I made the mistake of telling him that I love him, and he got a second wind.”

“Oh?” Y/n beams.

“Don’t. I can feel my coolness fleeing my body already.”

“No… still pretty badass, even if you are in love with a Boy Scout.”

The Black Widow groans. “Don’t remind me.” She lays her head on Y/n’s shoulder all the same. “They’re ready when you are.”

“Hmm. I need a little bit, first. Just to sit with him.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

Y/n shakes her head. “He would’ve worried. But. I need it. Get back to me, you know?”

“I put a bug in Ramonda’s ear about something, in case thinking about bookshelves isn’t comforting enough for your cryo-sleep.”

“Yeah?”

“Once Bucky’s been through the deprogramming and officially cleared, of course. I may have suggested you just stay in Wakanda. Ramonda thinks that is a ‘fine idea’ and she’s making inquiries.”

Y/n blinks. “You’re talking… like. Living here.”

“In lieu of letting you two disappear. Seemed more stable. What do you think?”

Y/n turns in Natasha’s arms and hugs her tight. The ‘thanks’ is stuck in her throat, but Nat hums. “Thought you’d be happy about that.”

“I am. I’m…”

“You’re not meant to be a SHIELD pawn, bee. I know that the happiest you’ve ever been in your life was when you were in that cabin, with that man. I hope that this will help him feel strong, but it may take a while. You both enjoy solitude. You have friends here. And I’ll visit as often as I can.”

“Nat–I love you. I can’t believe you’d do this for us–”

“Oh please, I was a goner for you the second I saw your innocent face. I do love you, though.”

***

She sits for hours in a hospital room with only one other occupant, listening to the slow but steady beep of the machine monitoring his heart. Sipping coffee from a mug which could only be qualified as a vat, she stares out over the incredible capitol city, which thrums with the hum of vibranium tech. It is so strange. For so long it seemed like she couldn’t have anything which belonged to her. Now… there’s a yellow pack at her feet. Inside, three very good books and one which Bucky Barnes loathes. A wallet with a photograph of a young soldier who holds her heart. Clean, folded clothes which belong to the soldier in question. A knife from WWII. A journal… She sets the mug on the table, and pulls the red book from the pack. The pages are squished around a pen, marking the next fresh page–what?

I love her. If something happens to me, I need her to know.

The phrase is only written out once, but his scratchy handwriting is unmistakable. It’s steady. It’s a lucid thought, written sometime between when she found it and when they were found. Her eyes well up. She glances at the chamber, which is so iced over she can’t even make out his form, but… god, she thinks. I know, Jamie.

She finishes the rest of her coffee so quickly that it burns her throat a bit, but she taps out Shuri’s code on the comm tablet.

“Hey,” her friend answers on the first ring.

“I need you to make something for Bucky. Something he can have once he’s healed.”

“Ooh. Tell me.”

“How much do you know about bionic limbs?”

The End.

Epilogue

***

Thank you so much for reading! :)

tag list: @peterhollandkait @abitgryffindorky @hogwartsahist0ry @idgafiamallthefandoms @mysticatto @im-just-star-dust @light-through-stained-glass @ginger-swag-rapunzel @sanguineterrain @honeywithemoney @nahthanks @lalalalokii @themorningsunshine @mumbles411 @slutforsexyseabass

kate’s masterlist - my bucky barnes masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #drifting by real jane

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mrs-johansson · 1 year

Text

Chapter 4: Captain America: The Winter Soldier - Partners in crime

Part 5:

We pulled up outside an abandoned military base where the signal led us. “The file came from these coordinates,” said Natasha as she pocketed the device. “So did I,” Steve spoke.

As we were walking further into the camp it became more interesting. “This camp is where I was trained,” he said. “Changed much?” I questioned thee-soldier. “A little.”

“This is a dead end. Zero heat signature, zero waves, not even radio. Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off,” Natasha said as she was trying to find the signal pinpoint.

Then I noticed a building that was odd at this specific place. “I don’t think that’s allowed to be here, is it?” I pointed at it and Steve frowned. “Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within five hundred yards of the barracks. This building is in the wrong place.”

Rogers opened the lock with his shield and we were in in no time. Turning on the lights there was a huge SHIELD logo on the wall and the room filled with desks that seemed like an office.

“This is SHIELD.” “Maybe where it started.”

Then I noticed three pictures on the wall. “I don’t think it’s a maybe,” I said as I recognized all three. Howard Stark, Peggy Carter, and Col. Chester Phillips. “There’s your grandfather,” Nat poked my side with her elbow. “Howard.” “Who's the girl?” Natasha asked with a slight smirk. “Peggy Carter, one of the founders of SHIELD.”

Steve kept his eyes on the picture before turning away without a word. Nat looked at me with a confused look but I just mouthed a ‘later’ to her.

After we found an elevator we quickly realized that there was more to this place.

It took us to a room full of old computers, it was like a Time Machine.

“This can't be the data point, this technology is ancient,” Nat spoke out loud before noticing a flash drive port. We locked eyes and I nodded toward it. She put the driver in it and activated the computer.

“Initiate system?” Spoke the computer. “Y-E-S, spells yes,” Nat typed in then started smiling. “Shall we play a game?” She turned around. “It's from a movie that…” “Yeah, I saw it,” but Steve was quick to shut her down. “Next time,” I smiled at her but then the computer started talking.

“Rogers, Steven. Born, 1918. Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna. Born, 1984. Stark, Y/n. Born, 1989.” The voice clearly had an accent, I just didn’t know what type of. But the biggest concern was how does a hundred million years old computer know us.

“It's some kind of a recording,” I think she was trying to stay calm with this sentence.

“I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945, but I am,” the computer screen showed an old photo of Dr. Arnim Zola. “Do you know this thing?” Asked Nat.

“Arnim Zola, a German scientist. I studied a couple of his theories,” I said as his face burned into my mind from the dozens of sleepless nights of studying.

“He worked for the Red Skull. He's been dead for years,” Steve added while rounding the main computer.

“First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In 1972 I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body, my mind, however, that was worth saving on two hundred thousand feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain.” “That doesn’t sound disgusting at all,” I murmured and Natasha just squeezed her elbow into my side and I just frowned at her.

“How did you get here?” Steve asked more aggressively. “Invited.” “It was Operation Paperclip after World War II. SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic value,” I said.

“They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own,” said then I guess Dr. Zola.

“HYDRA died with the Red Skull.” “No, I didn’t,” I looked at him with a weird look, doesn’t he know? “Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.” “Prove it,” ordered Steve.

“Accessing archive.” The computer screen showed them old footage of Johann Schmidt/Red Skull, of the original SHIELD founders. And he spoke about the history of HYDRA.

“That's impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you,” Natasha pressed. “Accidents will happen.”

The computer screen showed us HYDRA had killed Howard and Maria Stark making it look like a car accident along with the recent death of Fury.

“HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA's new world order will arise. We won, Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your Life; a zero sum.” With anger, Steve suddenly smashed the computer screen. “What's on this drive?” I asked.

“Project Insight requires insight. So I wrote an algorithm.” “What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” Natasha jumped to action. “The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it.” Suddenly the doors started to close, Steve tried to stop them by throwing his shield in between them but it was too late.

“We got a bogey. Short-range ballistic. 30 seconds tops.” “Who fired it?” I asked. “SHIELD.”

“I am afraid I have been stalling, Captain. Admit it, it's better this way. We're both of us...out of time.” Steve noticed a small opening on the ground, he threw the metal door aside and just as the place exploded he threw all three of us into the hole and protected us with his shield, then we managed to get out from under the building rubble just as some agents arrived to roam the area for us.

***

“I think I know a place to lay low,” Stev said as we were driving away from the camp. “You have friends? That are alive?” I asked from the backseat. “I just met him, don’t be rude,” he said. “I’m just surprised.” “Thanks.”

We got there in the morning. It was already bright and all three of us had some sleep, taking turns in driving.

When I saw the smaller family house, I was very curious about Steve's friend. I bet it’s a grandpa.

Steve knocked on the door and in a couple of seconds, a guy opened the door with a very surprised look on his face. “Hey, man.” “I'm sorry about this. We need a place to lay low,” Steve said. “Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” Natasha added the important detail. “He’s not a grandpa?” I looked at Steve and he just sighed. “Not everyone.”

“I’m Y/n Stark, by the way, we haven’t met,” I introduced myself to the man as we entered the house. “Sam Wilson. Stark, huh?” “Yup.” “Does he know that you’re a fugitive?” Asked Sam. “Am I really a fugitive if I’m fighting for the good? I guess I am though, but no, he doesn’t know.”

***

“So, the question is: who in SHIELD could launch a domestic missile strike?” She leaned against the counter. “Pierce.” “Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world,” I added. “But he's not working alone, Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star.” “So was Jasper Sitwell.” “So, the real question is: how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?” Steve asked and Sam jumped in. “The answer is: you don't.” He dropped a file on the table. “What’s this?” I asked. “Call it a resume.” Natasha picked up a photo of Sam with his team. “Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission, that was you,” she looked up. “You didn't say he was a pararescue.”

“I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of the RPGs. What did you use, a stealth chute?” I asked. “No. These.” He handed Steve the file, and heopened it and read it. “I thought you said you were a pilot.” “I never said pilot,” he shook his head with a smile.

“I can't ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason,” Steve argued. “Dude, Captain America needs my help. There's no better reason to get back in,” Sam said. “Oh no another fanboy,” I sat down. “Where can we get our hands on one of these things?” Asked THE captain. “The last one is at Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and a twelve-inch steel wall.” Steve shared a look between Nat and I and with a nod, it was done. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

#gxg #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow x stark!reader #black widow x y/n #black widow x female reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x stark!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #marvel #stark reader #y/n stark #natasha romanoff imagines #steve rogers

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murder-popsicle · 6 months

Note

Not sure if been asked before, what are Bucky's thoughts on the other characters from Captain America: The First Avenger? (i.e. Colonel Philips, Dr. Erskine, Howard Stark, etc). Have her thoughts on these people changed since the 40s?

@symbioteburnout || ask me anything || always accepting also gonna tag @invncibleiron on this one, because Bucky's relationship with Alex's Tony has been a big influence when it comes to Howard.

Bucky respected all three of them deeply. She never met Dr. Erskine, obviously, but his faith in Steve and the things Steve told her about him led her to the conclusion that he was a good man who truly understood Steve. And people who truly understand Steve were (and are) in short supply in this world, both before and after the results of Dr. Erskine's experiment.

Colonel Phillips might have been blind to Steve's potential at first, but once he realized what Steve was capable of, he gave Steve all the support necessary to let him do his job to the best of his abilities. Colonel Phillips also facilitated the formation of the Howling Commandos, who were a most irregular unit, and furthermore allowed Bucky to join the Howling Commandos, despite the sexism that often pervaded (and still pervades) the US military. Bucky will always be thankful for that, because if she hadn't been able to stay in the war and watch Steve's back, she thinks she probably would have gone off the deep end from all the shit that happened while she was a POW.

Howard Stark is the most difficult of these three for her to think about, because her opinion of him has changed drastically between the 1940s and the present day. During the war, she didn't just respect him for his intelligence, competence, and the support he lent them. She also considered him a good friend -- maybe not a brother-in-arms like the other Howlies, but still, a good friend. They shared drinks and jokes and laughter. He used to let her hang out in his lab with him when he was working through the night and she was having trouble sleeping. He designed her guns and her uniform. His inventions kept her, Steve, and the other Howlies alive. His weapons helped her fight back against people who were doing something that she felt was unconscionable. At the time, she was operating under the assumption that Howard's motivations were the same as hers.

Then she fell, and was captured by HYDRA, and after she escaped, she learned a number of things that forced her to reassess her view of Howard. The first thing -- the thing that she can never forgive -- is that Howard and Peggy invited Arnim Zola into SHIELD. They both knew that Zola was an enthusiastic architect of torture and human experimentation. They knew, at least in general terms, that Zola had tortured Bucky. But they let him in through the front door anyway. That will always feel like a massive, massive betrayal.

After getting to know Tony Stark (specifically @invncibleiron), she also learned two more things that really shattered her view of him. She learned Howard became, essentially, a warmonger. He designed weapons and engaged in political activities that escalated the Cold War and led to a lot of death and suffering. She also learned that he horribly mistreated both his wife and his son. So she's been forced to come to the conclusion that she never really knew Howard at all, and that he wasn't what he seemed when she was working with him.

#symbioteburnout #invncibleiron #headcanon #hc list #c: colonel phillips #c: howard stark #c: dr. erskine

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agentxthirteen · 7 months

Text

On this day (August 20, late) in Sharon Carter history, Sharon appeared in:

Captain America V5 #41 (2008)

Captain America V5 #41 [Variant] (2008)

#sharon carter #agent 13 #steve rogers #captain america #ed brubaker #tom brevoort #dr faustus #steve epting #arnim zola #red skull #sam wilson #natasha romanoff #the falcon #black widow

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rookthorne · 2 years

Text

Not Without You | ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋʏ

Pairing; Stucky (40's) Word Count; 1.0k Warnings; hurt/comfort, flashbacks, pet names, use of gas as hallucinogenic, description of illness, doctors A/N; okay, so, I had to do a lot of research for this one. Arsine gas was something I wanted to replicate with my own twist.

WHUMPTOBER MASTERLIST

In a cruel twist of fate, Bucky is forced to relive a nightmare while awake, and alone - until Steve appears.

“Steve?”

Silence followed Bucky’s call and the weight of it landed in his chest like an anvil - solid, immovable, and haunting.

“Steve! Where are you?”

More silence, and with it, more weight in his chest.

“Goddammit, Steve!” Bucky growled, his boots thudded along the concrete floor of the hallway and his hands held his gun at the ready. “Where are you?”

“He’s not here,” a voice called and it chilled Bucky to the bone. What the hell? “He is long gone, Sergeant Barnes.”

No, you’re not here.

“You’re not real,” Bucky whispered weakly, his eyes casting around the room and through the shadows for the source he knew wasn’t there. “You’re not fuckin’ real, get away!”

The boom of his voice carried through the empty hallway and through to a cavernous room to his left - an all too familiar sight of a metal table with leather straps. Without a second thought, almost like a machine, Bucky stepped through the threshold and into a hell he visited nightly.

“Why- what is this?” Bucky whispered, his fearful gaze not leaving the singular table in the centre of the room. “I’m not- we’re not there, how am I seeing this?”

The putrid smell of garlic and sulphur assaulted his senses, causing a chain of reactions not unlike any he hadn’t already experienced before at the hands of Dr. Arnim Zola.

Bucky gagged and spluttered against the smell burning his sinuses and throat. “No, no, no,” he murmured, his feet carrying him to the door on the pure instinct of survival - he had to get out.

A figure appeared right in front of him, short, hunched, and just as vile as the monster in his dreams as this illusion. “You cannot run, Sergeant Barnes,” the figure called again, the sneer evident even though the voice played like a record in Bucky’s brain. “It is too late.”

“No!” Bucky yelled, a groan of pain leaving him at the sudden onslaught of a splitting pain in his skull. He pushed past the ‘figure’ of Arnim and leant against the doorframe. “No, it’s not!”

“Bucky?!” A distant voice cried, desperate and pleading. Steve. Bucky was powerless to call back, to alert him just how much he was hurting.

“It’s not real, it’s not real,” Bucky chanted quietly. A sharp stab of pain ripped through his middle and he winced, his hand automatically moving to hold his stomach where the pain was at its worst. “It’s not real.”

Bucky tried to take another step, desperate to just get out of this damn hellscape, but his knees buckled and he fell to the floor with a loud thud. His gun clattered to the floor beside him and out of reach - just as well, that was the only way for this agony to end, he was sure of it.

Loud footsteps echoed down the hallway and Bucky looked up just in time to see Steve appear around the corner.

“Ste-” Bucky’s shout was cut off by a pained groan and he fell onto his side, his breath came in laboured pants that made his head spin. The sleeves and front of his jacket had begun to turn dark with sweat.

The pain that bloomed in his stomach would not stop.

“Bucky! No!” Steve yelled over the sound of his footsteps. Bucky could see Steve land on his knees by his head before he felt Steve’s hands pushing at his arm and shoulder. “What happened?”

Before Bucky could even try to open his mouth and speak, Steve’s expression twisted into a disgusted grimace, and then one of horror. “We have to get outta here, now!”

“Go,” Bucky tried to say, but it only came out as a grunt against another wave of pain. It was a miracle that Steve understood him, and what he had inferred with his unheard plea.

“I’m not leaving you,” Steve rushed, his hands now pulled at Bucky’s side so he was positioned on his back. “I’m not going without you.”

The shout of pain that left Bucky when Steve lifted him tore through the silence like a blade, and only then did Bucky register the faint hiss coming from within the walls.

Gas.

They had rigged this damn base with gas.

“Hang on, Buck, hang on,” Steve said into Bucky’s lanky hair. Steve’s grip was tight around his now shivering body while Steve jogged around corners and sprinted down hallways. Bucky’s head lolled onto Steve’s shoulder limply, unable to fight the wave of darkness that blurred the edges of his vision. “Last time I wander off without you on a mission,” light threw Steve’s face into sharp relief, and Bucky realised they were finally at the exit. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

Steve’s apology was the last thing he heard before he let the current take him.

It could have been hours, days even, when he woke up to the sound of coughing and the shuffle of paper by his head. The cot under him was hard and the blanket threadbare, but his chest was rising and falling with each breath - so, he couldn’t be dead, right?

His eyes slowly opened to reveal the green canvas sheet of a tent, and there was sunlight streaming in from somewhere - shadows danced along the fabric like dancers on a stage. Another cough came from above his head and Bucky strained his eyes upwards to see who it was, only to see a doctor.

The shift in his vision got the doctor’s attention and he smiled down at Bucky. “You’re safe, son.”

Without uttering another word, the doctor vanished from his field of vision, and Steve appeared.

“Hey,” his voice was so soft, so endearing, so Steve. “How’re you feeling?”

“Been better,” Bucky mumbled sleepily, grateful for the covertly placed hand at the side of his head. “Thank you, for gettin’ me outta there.”

Steve smiled softly and slowly brushed his thumb against Bucky’s stubble-dusted cheek. “Always, Buck,” he sighed and a glint of mischief glazed over his stormy blue eyes. “‘Till the end of the line, remember?”

Graphics & Header made by yours truly.

Masterlist | Library | AO3 | Wattpad

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sjsmith56 · 9 months

Text

The 107th - Part 4, From There to Here - Bucky Barnes One Shots

Summary - The 107th get their final leave before shipping off to Europe. Told from the POV of Corporal Dum Dum Dugan it recounts his time off, then reunion with Sergeant Barnes before the rest of the unit arrives. It picks up again on their arrival in Italy, leading to the unit’s capture by HYDRA, and rescue by Captain America.

Characters - Bucky Barnes, Dum Dum Dugan, Gabe Jones, Falsworth, Dernier, Morita, Colonel Lohmer, Dr. Arnim Zola, Steve Rogers.

Length - 4.5K

Warnings - Fears of marital infidelity, capture by enemy, reference of “Limey” about a British officer, violence against POWs, retaliation against sadistic officer, death of character.

Author notes - As in the previous one-shot Dum Dum Dugan and Gabe Jones are part of the 107th Infantry Unit. Although this series of one shots are primarily about Bucky Barnes, I have a fondness for Dum Dum Dugan and decided to include a little personal scene involving him, his wife and his boys. The scenes in the factory of Barnes, Dugan, and Jones after being captured are based on a digital comic book titled Captain America: First Vengeance by Fred Van Lente.

<<Part 3

〰️〰️〰️

Sarge came into the barracks hut at Camp McCoy on the morning of June 4, 1943, brandishing a set of papers, one for each of us. Gabe and I looked at each other and figured this was it, our marching orders had come in. Over a year's worth of training had made us a well oiled unit of fighting soldiers and now we were declared ready to join the fight in Europe.

"A Company," yelled Sarge. "Gather around." He waited while everyone in the hut got close. "The Lieutenant is at Division and has charged me with giving you the good news. We have our orders. Tomorrow morning, at 08:00 you are officially on leave. You may go home, see your wives, or your girlfriends, or your wives and your girlfriends, your folks and anyone else special to you. If you're planning on having kids make them now boys, because it will be a while until you're back. Maybe get married first before you do. Make sure you have filled out your beneficiaries on your life insurance form. You can give them to me right up to our embarkation date. On Saturday, June 19 most of you are expected to report by no later than 15:00 at Fort Hamilton, Brooklyn. There you will receive your kit and await the call for transport to a port in the United Kingdom. Everything you need to know is in your travel orders which I have right here for you."

He began calling out names and handed out the letters one by one. I received mine and looked at the top line. Travel orders for Dugan, Timothy C. A., Corporal, Serial number etc. I looked at the date where I had to report back and noticed it was different from what the others were told.

"Hey, Sarge, why do I have to report back on the 15th?" I asked.

Those big baby blues fixed their gaze on me. "Because some of us have to be back early, like me. I have to be back on the 12th, all corporals on the 15th. I didn't write the orders ... I just obey them."

"My wife isn't going to be so happy with only ten days," I replied.

"Times are tough, Dugan," he retorted as he kept handing out papers. "I have about a dozen girls that I'm supposed to see in seven days. Might have to double them up. Stewart!"

The Sarge had a reputation as a ladies' man, which I had actually seen proof of in Sparta. He went through the girls of that town like a man on a mission although he made good friends with a couple of them, like Miss Warren. She was a real sweetheart, didn't seem to mind that he dated other broads. He always treated her right and with respect. She wasn't like some of the cookies he went out with. Come to think of it he had weekend liberty that week before our orders came in, and when Gabe and I went to the store to say hi to Miss Warren they said she had the weekend off. We wondered if he took her away, but we always thought she was too smart to fall for Sarge's lines. Still ....

"Dugan," said Gabe. "What are your plans for leave?"

"I'm sure my wife has a list a mile long of things for me to take care of," I replied. "You?"

The handsome black man smiled. "I'm hitting the jazz clubs," he said, "Been too long since I heard some good music. Then I'm going to fill up on as much of my Mother's and Aunty's food as I can. Would have been nice if the Yankees were in town."

I laughed. "Why you cheer for those losers I'll never know. You're as bad as Sarge and his Dodgers. Red Sox, now there's a team."

Other guys got in on the conversation over who the best baseball teams were. I saw Sarge smile as we jawed at each other. As long as it didn't come to a standoff or blows he didn't care if we poked harmless fun at each other. If things did get out of hand Sergeant James Barnes was pretty good at breaking it up. I guess he would be, having been a YMCA welterweight champion three years running. That's where I first saw him, fighting a buddy of mine on the undercard as an amateur in 1941, before Pearl Harbor. Sarge was good, maybe could have turned pro if not for the war. When I first met him at Camp McCoy I told him about seeing him fight. We had good talks about Joe Louis, Buddy Baer, and Billy Conn among other boxers of the time.

Early the next day, after morning chow, the three of us, me, Gabe and Sarge, headed out for the bus to the train station in Milwaukee with our duffel bags and travel orders. There was a lineup of guys kissing their girls goodbye. I guess Sarge must have done most of his goodbyes already as only Miss Warren was there for him, and they gave each other a rather tame hug, then he did kiss her, kind of sweet like. She waved at Gabe and me, then left as she had to be at the store for opening. We got into Milwaukee an hour later and boarded the train right away, finding our spot together, as we knew there would be an issue about Gabe riding with us. Sure enough the conductor came and said there was a car for Gabe's type further along. Sarge just looked straight at the man.

"According to the United States Army Corporal Jones is white," he said. "He stays with us. You have a problem with that you take it up with the United States Army."

Gabe, who was sitting by the window, let Sarge handle it and he just stretched his legs out so they covered the aisle seat next to me, then pulled his cap down over his eyes. When another conductor came to try his luck at getting Gabe to move Sarge just pushed his cap up and gave him that intense blue eyed gaze he gave anyone who was messing with him.

"Private Jones is in this unit, and I believe this car as well as several others have been reserved for our unit, 200 soldiers, in fact. If he moves, we all move with him. You able to squeeze us all into a single car?"

That shut the conductor up. Of course, we went through the same thing again when we transferred in Chicago but Sarge wasn't having any of it and we were soon on the train for the long overnight trip to New York. When we pulled in at 08:00 into Grand Central Station I wasn't expecting my wife and kids to be there but I was surprised to see my neighbour, Mr. Santucci. He waved at me and was quite excited.

"Timothy, I'm glad you're here," he said. "Come, I'll take you home. There's something I need to tell you."

Well, this couldn't be good. We got out to the street and he flagged a taxi, a taxi, can you believe it? He gave the address of our building and then sat back.

"Your wife, Kathleen, she kept a little secret from you since you were last here," he said. "She didn't mean to. She meant to tell you in person when you were supposed to be on leave the last time. I told her she should write about it but she said it was something that should be said in person."

I rolled my eyes. My leave got cancelled the last time about six months ago after Sarge, Gabe, and I squared off against a few soldiers from the south who took exception to Gabe's presence in our midst. We all got our leaves cancelled as punishment but the guys from the south got recycled, had to restart their boot camp from day one. I wondered what could have been so important that Kathleen had to tell me in person and then it hit me. I looked at Mr. Santucci. He nodded.

"You have a son," he said. "Looks just like you, born two months ago. He'll be a big boy, just like your other two."

I said three Hail Mary's right there in the cab with Mr. Santucci sitting right next to me saying them as well then I looked at him.

"You're not lying to me are you, Mario?" I asked. "He's my boy?"

"No doubt about it," he replied. "Your wife is sick with worry that you wouldn't believe her, so I said I would come for you and explain it all. You know how some women get when they're full of child. It's like their brain gets all fogged up and they can't think straight."

That did sound like Kathleen. When she was pregnant with our first she took the subway to Yonkers and didn't know why. Took her all day to get back. With our second she went to the grocers and came back with a case of bananas, said it was too good a deal to pass up. We shared them with everyone on our floor so they didn't go bad but Kathleen did do strange things when she was pregnant. Until I saw her and the baby I didn't know what I was going to say or do.

Finally, we pulled up in front of the apartment building and I swallowed as I stood there looking up at the front of it. Three kids in that small apartment. Mr. Santucci patted me on the back and opened the front door for me. As I went up the stairs, I was aware of several of the tenants opening their doors after I passed. Did the whole damned building know? Finally, I arrived at our door and knocked, as I left my key behind when I went to boot camp. There was the sound of a baby crying and I almost burst into tears hearing it. Then the door opened, and I saw my Kathleen standing there, her face fearful but just as beautiful as it had been eleven months before when I last saw her. Two little shadows rushed out from behind her and grabbed my legs, my older boys, Tim Jr. and Danny. After kissing them and letting them have their way with me I looked at the babe that Kathleen was holding, and she put him in my arms.

He was definitely my boy, from the Dugan red hair, to the chubby cheeks and clenched fists that reached for me. Even if he wasn't my boy I would have loved him because he was so perfect and I loved his mother so much. When I kissed him she began to cry and I had to put one arm around her. Mr. Santucci, who had been standing in the doorway smiled and left, closing the door behind him.

The next ten days passed much too quickly as I played with the boys, helped look after little Liam, as Kathleen had named him after my grandfather, then had tender times with my wife that may or may not have put her in the family way again. Before I left I made her promise that if she was carrying another baby to write me about it. Before I left, just after lunch on June 15th I kissed her softly, as tears fell from her green eyes, and I touched her dark hair before enclosing her in my arms. I kissed all three of my boys and then I carried my duffel bag with me to the train station and got on the train to Brooklyn, where there was a regular bus that ran between the station and the base at Fort Hamilton. I didn't know then it would be several years until I saw her, our three boys and our daughter Bridget.

After I reported in I was directed to the barracks assigned to our unit. Sarge was already there going over paperwork. He took a stack of papers and shoved them across the desk to me.

"Put these in order by date," he said. "The clerks here have their own system. I had all the requisitions in, signed by the Lieutenant and everything and they brought them right back to me, date first, then requisition number."

"Hello to you too, Sarge," I said. "How was your leave?"

"Not long enough," he said. "Had to date two at a time. You?"

"I have another child," I said bluntly. "Kathleen was pregnant from my last leave, wanted to tell me in person but my leave six months ago got cancelled, and she didn't want to put it in a letter."

Sarge howled. "So, what is it?"

"A boy, Liam, looks just like me. She might already have another one starting but she promised if she is she would write me."

"How old is the oldest?" he asked.

"Four."

He howled again. "You're a cruel man leaving your wife with that many young babies."

"She's a good mother," I said defensively. "The neighbours are good. They'll watch out for her. My mam had me at 17, then three more before she was 21 and she was a good mother."

Sarge just shook his head and grinned. What did he know? He was a bachelor and doll dizzy. Our other corporal, Tommy Malone arrived and Sarge pushed a bunch of requisitions towards him to put into order. Took us another hour but we finally got them organized like the clerks wanted and Sarge submitted them. The day our company arrived they would line up at the quartermasters office and receive all their bedding and towels. The day after they would get their kit, rifle, sleep roll, cooking kit, medical kit, everything we would need when we were finally mustered and ready to be shipped out to our destination.

"Do we have our ship assigned yet?" I asked.

Sarge smiled. "The Queen Mary," he said. "They're sending us in style to Scotland, leaving on the 24th. We'll be training before we go."

He wouldn't be so happy when we boarded. They packed over 15,000 troops on that ship plus over 900 crew. They had beds stacked three high in every part of that floating transport. Even the officers had to share although they were only two or three to a cabin. Although it was June the seas were stormy and by the time we arrived in Gourock, Scotland, half the complement were almost dead from sea sickness. When we disembarked in Scotland, we boarded a troop train that took us from the port, through Glasgow and down to an army base near Manchester. We had a couple of days there then another sea journey from Liverpool to Algeria where we transferred to another ship that took us to Sicily. The Mediterranean was calmer but by then most of us were just plain worn out and only barely recuperated when we arrived in mid-July.

We did our best and made good headway when we landed in Sicily in July and took the island just a few weeks later, leading to the ouster of Mussolini. When the British landed in southern Italy shortly after the Americans landed to the north, hoping to encircle the Germans and fascist Italians that were still loyal to them.

We chased them to a place called Azzano in northeastern Italy in October 1943. The fighting was brutal, and we lost the Lieutenant, leaving Sarge in charge. Surrounded by enemy mortars he ordered Gabe to call in B Company for support. Before Gabe could do that, we came under attack and the damnedest thing happened. Suddenly we saw these blue flashes coming out of the dark, hitting the Germans and just ... disintegrating them into thin air. Within seconds all the Germans were taken out. We watched as this tank we had never seen the likes of come over a hill, shooting these pulses of blue lights at the German line in the far distance. In awe, we just stood watching it unfold in front of us then suddenly the tank aimed its cannon at us and began firing. Taking cover as best we could in the craters left by the mortar blasts we huddled there, hoping to hell that this wasn't to be our last day on Earth. Then the flashes stopped, and we were surrounded by troops built like machines, dressed in black armour holding these strange rifles on us.

"Aufgeben," yelled the one closest to us and we looked at Gabe.

"They want us to surrender," he said.

Sarge raised his hands. "Tell them we surrender. What choice do we have? We can't fight against those guns."

As we assembled Sarge told me to estimate a head count. As best I could tell there were well over a hundred of us. Whether the rest were dead or had escaped from the rear I couldn't tell. We were marched to an area a couple of miles away and loaded into trucks. Then we were transported for some time before the trucks were stopped and we were ordered out. Sarge didn't look well and we closed ranks around him, knowing that a weaker POW could be subjected to cruel punishment by the guards. They herded us into this building then forced us into an area full of different cells. They stuck me, Sarge and Gabe in a cell with a Limey officer and a Frenchman. I made a joke, not a good one, I admit, and the Limey took offence at it. Well, my people are Irish and I wasn't too fond of the British just because of that and we pushed each other. I have to admit that he wasn't scared of me, even though I must have outweighed him by 50 pounds, but I still got a few licks in before Sarge ordered me and Gabe to stand down. The Frenchman said something and Gabe laughed, then answered in French. It surprised the man and he stood up, offering Gabe his hand.

"I'm Dernier, Jacques Dernier, French resistance," he said, in his heavily accented voice.

Gabe looked to Sarge who nodded his approval and he introduced us. Then the British officer stood up.

"Major James Montgomery Falsworth," he said. "3rd Independent Parachute Brigade of the British Army. My apologies to you Corporal, for being overly sensitive to your joke. These soldiers are not the usual Nazi vermin we're used to dealing with. They're worse and they have treated us like cattle. It has stressed us immensely."

I nodded my acceptance of his apology. "I'm sorry, sir," I replied. "We have to work together against these guys, not fight amongst ourselves."

"Where are we?" asked Sarge.

"Somewhere near Kreischberg, Austria," replied Falsworth. "This is a HYDRA facility. As near as we can tell they were Nazis and now they're worse, looking at Nazis as if they're substandard. The commanding officer is a sadist named Colonel Lohmer. Try to avoid his notice. He has killed several men just for displeasing him."

That was easier said than done when we were forced to begin working the following day. No work, no food was what we were told. Sarge, who hadn't been feeling well for some time could barely get up but he did and was assigned a job of moving carts of munitions from one spot to another. He collapsed while pushing the heavy cart and fell against the munitions, causing some of them to fall. Lohmer was right there and laid into the Sarge, beating him continually while the man didn't even have the strength to defend himself. I could feel my hands curl in frustration at witnessing the savagery of the Colonel. Finally, he stood up, gave a final kick to the Sarge's side and walked away, ordering Lieutenant Kleiber to see to the mess. Kleiber motioned to me and Gabe to pick Sarge up and take him to the cell. Gabe examined him as best he could and determined Sarge had broken ribs. He also had a rattling cough.

"Sounds like pneumonia to me," said Falsworth, standing nearby. "Kleiber isn't so bad. He would let your Sergeant recuperate before sending him out to work but Lohmer would just as soon see him die on the work floor. We need to take Lohmer out and I think I know how."

While we returned to our workstations we looked for a certain substance, it was sticky and if left long enough on a metal surface would weaken it. The Major, Gabe and I found some, brought it to Dernier and when no one was looking he applied it to the chain attached to a crane carrying bins of scrap to be melted into munitions. All night that stuff sat on the chains and the guards were none the wiser. In the morning, Lohmer ordered Sarge to work. Gabe and I helped him up. I never knew a man who could tolerate as much pain as Sergeant James Barnes could. Even though every step was agony for him he refused to show weakness in front of Lohmer. He loaded scrap metal into a large bin. When it was full Lieber ordered the crane to lift the bin up. We all stood back, knowing the chains were weakened. As the bin rose up high Lohmer walked under its path just as a part of the chain broke, dropping the bin right on top of him. All of us POWs cheered when the son of a bitch was crushed, then the guards herded us back into our cells. Again, Gabe and I supported Sarge while he stumbled back.

"You don't have to worry Jimmy boy," I whispered to him. "Lohmer won't hurt you again."

"Bucky, my name is always Bucky," he mumbled. "No one calls me Jim, or James."

"Alright, Bucky, we got you," I said, as Gabe and I laid him down on the floor of the cell.

We were there for hours while the guards and Lieutenant Kleiber investigated the "accident" as they finally determined it to be. When we got our food, Gabe and I took turns feeding the Sarge. The next day Kleiber agreed that Sarge was too sick to work and he was allowed to stay in the cell. Even though he rested he seemed to get sicker and sicker over time. Several days after Lohmer died a scientist showed up, a little guy with glasses. Apparently he was now in charge. At least he didn't order any beatings, but there was something about him that gave me chills, especially when he noticed Sarge. His second day there he showed up at our cell with Kleiber.

"This man, on the floor, why hasn't he been working?" he asked.

"We think pneumonia, plus several broken ribs courtesy of your predecessor," said Major Falsworth.

The scientist turned to Kleiber. "Why was he not sent to me sooner?" he asked. "I am a medical doctor as well. I have treatments for pneumonia. Bring him to me."

"Yes, Dr. Zola," saluted Kleiber. "Immediately. Guards!"

He signalled to several guards and one motioned us back with his gun while the other two took the Sarge between them. He tried to struggle but there was no strength left in him at all. I was angry and upset. Grasping at the bars I yelled at them.

"Don't you kill him, you dirty bastards!"

The doctor, almost out of the room turned back and walked towards me several steps. What he said chilled me; not just the words but the way he said it.

"I have no intention of killing your Sergeant. Whether he survives the treatment is up to him. If it works it will be a new day in science and your Sergeant will never be sick ever again."

With a smile I can only describe as twisted the doctor left with the two guards carrying the Sarge behind him. For the next few days we heard nothing, except there was another man in charge, an arrogant SOB called Schmidt who upped the production limits for everyone. Even Kleiber wouldn't say anything about Sarge, and both Falsworth and Dernier shook their heads, saying it was likely that Sarge was dead. Neither Gabe nor I were going to let his death go unpunished and we talked together about taking on the guards and getting one of those fancy rifles in our hands. We knew it would likely end up with our deaths and although I was worried about leaving Kathleen a widow with four babies to look after alone (she had written that our last time together had produced another pregnancy) I wanted to die fighting, not as someone's slave.

One night we were sleeping in our cells when the guard on patrol above us suddenly fell over, knocked out. Some guy, wearing a leather jacket, a toy helmet, and carrying a toy shield took the keys to our cell out of the guard's pocket.

"Who are you?" asked Gabe.

He looked around, shrugged, and said, with a Brooklyn accent, "Captain America."

Then the guy jumped down, proceeded to unlock our cells, and asked about Sergeant James Barnes. Falsworth told him he was likely in the isolation unit. The "Captain" told us where the tree line was, to wait there for him, to raise some hell along the way, and he took off towards the unit where Sarge likely was. We all looked at each other and did what we were told. We hit them hard, took their weapons, found grenades, found their fancy tanks with the blue flash cannons and gave them hell.

When we reached the rendezvous point Captain America wasn't there but shortly after the whole factory went up and we wondered if he made it out. We shouldn't have worried because he showed up with Sarge and we found out that this guy was his best friend from Brooklyn who disobeyed orders to drop behind enemy lines and rescue us. Cocky little guy, little to me, anyways. Sergeant Barnes couldn't keep his eyes off of him, as if this guy had undergone some big transformation. Whatever it was, he had moxie, and there were several of us that kind of liked his style of fighting. Oh, and Sarge? I don't know what that Nazi doctor did to him but he was better and his ribs were apparently healed. It was a miracle, as was our rescue. For those of us who stuck with Captain America, it was the beginning of some incredible missions.

Part 5>>

Series masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #ww2 bucky #steve rogers #dum Dum Dugan #Gabe Jones #hydra #Armin Zola

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