#i guess the fact that he's gone quiet on the accusations against roger is a good sign. i would rather he be a coward than a zionist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

laurasinele · 5 years

Text

To bring him back (a Fictober19 Stucky drabble)

Prompt 21: “Changes is annoyingly difficult”

Fandom: MCU

Tags: light angst, canonical memory loss, implied past relationship, stucky

Warnings: none apply

Ao3

It comes a time in one’s life when, after being confronted with the impossible enough times, nothing is impossible anymore.

Steve Rogers had faced enough impossibles to believe almost anything. That’s why he didn’t second-guess much his gut when it jolted at the close sight of the ultimate assassin’s eyes. He could have sworn that was Bucky’s brow, Bucky’s nose bridge, Bucky’s determined gaze. He just needed to confirm with some authority that whatever unbelievable lost link in this narrative was a reality. Time travel, cloning, more super-soldier serum… He didn’t even questioned why his childhood friend, his best and only true friend, was trying to kill him. There sure must have been a reasonable explanation for it. Like extraterrestrial forces. Or fairies.

The following months of fights and disagreement, of conspiracies and treason, were just a blur. Nothing compared to the fact that Bucky was alive. Nothing as hurtful as the fact that his childhood friend, his best and only true friend, didn’t remember him. Nothing as plunging as the realisation that this was the proverbial end of the line. Again.

In the end, at a great cost, the Avengers assembled anew, and they took Bucky in. Better with them than against them, was the reasoning behind his recruitment. He underwent a gruelling neuro-psychological procedure to get rid of each and every trigger mechanism. The matter of getting his pre-Winter Soldier memories back was never risen. When Steve asked, everybody from SHIELD’s medical staff to Banner and even Loki and Dr. Strange told him it could happen or not, but there wasn’t a way to bring them back on purpose. As knowledgeable as they all were in their own fields, the human mind, they said, was still one of the greatest mysteries of the universe.

The Avenger known as Winter Soldier was a quiet superhuman with an enhanced metal arm. His face and voice and date of birth were those of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, declared missing in action during a Howling Commandos mission against HYDRA. There’s where any similarity ended. Where Bucky had been good-humored, the Winter Soldier was brooding. Where Bucky had been extroverted and easy-going, the Winter Soldier kept to himself and was always one fraction of a step away of inabiliting the closest menace. Where there used to be that famous charming smile of Bucky, the Winter Soldier’s lips where always pressed thin, downcast, and his gaze was the closest thing to the void Steve could imagine.

After all, the end of the line had arrived when Bucky fell of that moving train and Steve failed to catch him. There was no impossible turned true for them. His childhood friend, his best and only true friend, was gone.

The world underwent several catastrophes, most of which never made the public eye, a handful of them solved without even leaving the Avengers headquarters. Old frictions smoothed, new friendships were born. Steve only looked longingly at the Winter Soldier every now and then, trying to find any sign of old Bucky’s personality resurfacing. It was an afterthought now. Those who had been worried for him and called it obsession in the first weeks didn’t even noticed.

The first time the Winter Soldier smiled, Steve dropped his mug of coffee. He said it was lack of sleep and everyone believed him.

It wasn’t a big smile. His face relaxed for a moment and the corners of his lips perked up slightly. Steve had made a joke that he thought no-one would get when they’d asked him about being in “active service”. They meant literally, as in the military, but he made a sexual innuendo, because in his time “active service” could mean being sexually active. He said it rejoicing in the fact that no-one would get it and he would left them wondering once more about his sex life. But Bucky, no, the Winter Soldier, had smiled imperceptibly as he kept his head down, studying the history of the decades he had missed.

Wanda catched the mug before it shattered against the floor, Steve made his lame excuse about not sleeping enough, retrieved his coffee and headed to his bedroom to try and calm down. It had been just a smile. A smile because of a joke that could have been funny in the forties. A joke he did several times with the Howling Commandos. “I’ve never been officially in active service in my whole life”. It could mean anything and it was funny because, literally, it was true but, figuratively, it left them wondering. But the Winter Soldier surely didn’t remember that. He probably smiled because that bit of slang was in his vocabulary, nothing more. Bucky was gone. He was the Winter Soldier now.

Steve wasn’t sure if he needed a nap or a 50 miles sprint, now. He took his sweatpants off and put on a pair of rated jeans and a zipped hoodie over his plain white tee. He put on his baseball cap and fake glasses and headed out, to his exhibit. That, he reminded himself, was the only place where he could see Bucky, the real one. He looked more alive in the black and white footage than the Winter Soldier had ever managed to look in the real world. Now Steve needed to punch something, since there was no one left of those who did that to Bucky. The ones that killed Bucky. The ones creating an impossible in this stupid world where everything could be but this. It was a too loud world, too bright, too fast. Steve needed some respite. Maybe sleep would have been a better idea.

He couldn’t help but try, because of course he couldn’t. He had never been known for dropping things. He had been known for following his gut and ending up being right. So he kept peppering his speeches and chats with subtle hints to the thirties and forties in Brooklyn. Very specific things that only someone who’d been there would get, but not as singular as to catch the other Avenger’s attention.

The Winter Soldier got them all. And Steve emboldened with each smirk, huff and glance. They were all very subtle and never led to a meaningful conversation. The Winter Soldier’s acknowledgement of Steve’s strategy finished in the non verbal hints of getting the reference. Tony Stark’s acknowledgement of Steve’s strategy was more direct.

“A word, Cap”, said Tony after a briefing. When everybody left the room to their assignments, Steve cocked his head and waited for Tony to say something. “You know I am not against him anymore, do you?”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Tony…”

“Because I don’t. I swear, I learnt. We all learnt. He was a problem, until we realised he was a victim, and now he is a very valuable asset”

“What’s your point?”

Tony sighed through his nose while pursing his lips and weighing Steve with a stare.

“I wouldn’t want him to become a liability”.

Steve felt the all anger of their Civil War creep in and zero into Tony’s solar plexus. He managed to refrain but he wasn’t amiable when he spoke.

“Again, what’s your point?”

“I know what you are doing. I don’t think anybody else has, I just happen to pay a lot of attention to you. Well, probably Nat knows too, because she’s rolled her eyes at me a couple of times when you drop…”

“Okay, enough”. Steve knew better that denying it, but that didn’t mean he was willing to discuss it. “Your advice is noted. I won’t let it become a liability, but I won’t let it go either, because if there is a single chance to bring him back I will try. I won’t put it before the Avengers or the world’s safety, but will keep trying until he’s back or until one of us dies, whatever happens first”.

When Tony spoke he did it softly, measuring his words, the ghost of their past enmity very much present.

“Captain. Bucky is gone. You mourned him. If he ever comes back, that’s great, but chances are he won’t. And we cannot afford to have the greatest strategic mind of the planet distracted with psychological games and grief. It wouldn’t be betrayal if you let it go”

“It would”, he said defiantly, before speaking more calmly: “Advice noted, Stark. I will bear it in mind, I promise. You don’t have to worry”.

It had been a long time since Steve had gotten in the exhibition outside opening hours. Still, the guard tipped his cap as he opened the door for him.

“Long time no see, Captain”

“Been busy”, he smiled. “How are things, Alan?”

“Great as usual. You’ve got company by the way”, added Alan when Steve was about to round the corner. He stopped on his tracks to ask who, a cautious, calculating expression on his face, but then he saw the Winter Soldier standing in front of one of the panels. He turned his head and saluted, wearing that blank expression of his.

Steve approached him and stood by his side for a while. When the video on the screen had finished a loop, Steve talked in a low voice:

“Never took you for a nostalgic”.

The Winter Soldier hummed and turned to Steve:

“Me or your good ol’ pal Bucky?”

Steve looked at him not really sure if that was a genuine question, and accusation a retort or what in hell. The Winter Soldier walked to the next panel and Steve followed him.

“I come here every now and then. I try to make sure we won’t meet, because I don’t want to disturb you. I know this has some importance for you”.

“It has. I appreciate the thought”. And then, after hesitating for a while, he added: “Why do you come?”

The Winter Soldier shrugged.

“To see if it all comes back. It never does though”.

Steve’s face fell and the Winter Soldier noticed. He continued, this time looking at Steve.

“I come here after certain dreams or flashes. I don’t remember much aside from my.. HYDRA missions. And some unconnected things. More sensations than images or memories. Sometimes I dream a game of throw in an alley. Sometimes it’s me lying on a couch, looking at a chapped ceiling. A fan is buzzing and someone is drawing. I can hear the pencil against the paper and I can feel boredom and frustration, because I want them to stop and go play. I remember some things from the war too. As I said, only flashes. I come here and look at the pictures and try to find some link between them”.

Steve breathing was heavy and his jaw was set without him even realizing. He made himself look away from the Winter Soldier and into Bucky’s mugshot in the panel. Their expressions were so different it could have been an entirely different face.

“Why haven’t you come to me? I could help you figure out those memories. We were joined at the hip, I probably remember those moments too. If I had known you were starting to remember I’d probably…”

“Change…” interrupted the Winter Soldier in his low monotone voice, “is annoyingly difficult. Specially when your mind has been set to a single track and you were excellent at it. It feels slow. It feels like disappointment. I don’t really remember you. I know we were good friends because I’ve been told, and I’ve read here”, he said nodding towards the panel in front of them, “but I don’t know why. I don’t know what happened. And I see what you do to try and bring this guy back, and the faces you make when I just don’t react. I didn’t want to give you false hopes in case he never really comes back. I know you must miss him a lot”.

“Oh, yeah? How would you know that?”, asked Steve with a sad laugh. The Winter Soldier turned his back to the panel, sighed and put his hands in his pockets.

“There’s this feeling whenever I look at you. Like I want to punch you and kiss you at the same time. And during missions, there’s this need to protect you at all costs, as if you weren’t a virtually immortal super soldier. I don’t know where it comes from, but I know it’s Bucky’s”.

Steve looked at him, mouth hanging slightly. The Winter Soldier sighed again, turned his face to Steve and tried a small, apologetic smile.

“That’s how I know, pal. He misses you too”.

Steve watched the Winter Soldier walk down the hall towards the exit. He turned back to the panel and Bucky’s mugshot. And he saw the very same smile the Winter Soldier had just given him. Steve smiled in return. It wasn’t a sad or unrealistically hopeful smile. It was the smile that had always made his way to his lips whenever Bucky was around. The one with which he said “hello” to him, and “goodbye”. The one with which he said “thank you”, “I’m sorry” or “I’m glad you’re here”. The one that loudly stated “I love you” for nobody to hear but his childhood friend, his best and only true friend. And he might be getting the echoes of it.

#fictober19 #stucky #steve rogers/bucky barnes #steve rogers #Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #captain america #Winter Soldier

2 notes · View notes

girlafraidinacoma · 5 years

Text

In The Lap of the Gods: Chapter Three - ‘Don’t Forget to Smile!’

Summary: What do you get when you mix a tight-knit art community, young, hot-blooded twenty-something university students and good old-fashioned British Rock & Roll? Probably the next best hope for art and music that generation has to offer. With her friends’ band skyrocketing to fame, what exactly does a girl do when she suddenly finds herself sitting in the lap of the gods? The answer: do the only thing she can do, rise to the occasion of course!

Pairing: Gwilym Lee!Brian May x Original Female Character [chill guys, this WILL be a Bri fic…eventually].

Warnings: ummm mentions alcohol??? That’s it.

Words: 1.7k+

Author’s Note: They finally meet!!!! So I made cover art for the fic, I really hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did making it. As always, feel free to comment, reblog or leave a like it if you want.

Kind of AU, contains both elements from real life and the Bo Rhap universe, so imagine whoever you prefer whether they be the real thing or the Bo Rhap Boys–be free.

[Link to the Ao3 fic!]

Chapter Playlist:

1. Ramble On - Led Zeppelin 2. Hello, I love You - The Doors

Chapter Three - 'Don't Forget To Smile!'

London, 1969.

It all started with a couple of drawings. Pencil or charcoal drawings, quick studies of hands, profiles of people and renders of the view of the street from the flat Roger and Freddie shared. They sat in a small pile in their living room, under a couple of magazines that Brian had been perusing to pass the time. What had caught his eye however was a detailed portrait of Jimi Hendrix with his Stratocaster. It wasn’t just on some scrap bit of paper either, it was made on thick stock, the kind that artists used, and it had rough edges as if it were originally a larger piece of parchment that was carefully divided into several A4 pages.

Jimi was dressed in an open flowy shirt and had his eyes closed in concentration, the light from above him casted deep shadows upon his face. It didn’t look like Fred’s handiwork, and he had seen numerous other ones he had done before. There was a distinct impression on the bottom right hand corner of the page, the artist’s initial he would have guessed; it was a long and swooping line like the body of a snake and formed a slanted capital 'W'. Brian didn’t really know much about art, and was more comfortable measuring the distance between stars, or better, fluffing about on his guitar, but he decided he liked it very much.

“Rog,” he said, calling the attention of the man currently buttering a piece of toast in the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

Brian sidled up to his friend, showing what he had in his hand, “Is this yours?”

“Hm?” Roger turned his gaze at the drawing, swallowing the bread he was chewing he said, “No, a friend of mine drew that.”

“Do you think-- Could I have it?” Brian asked sheepishly, his eyes still admiring the pencil work.

“Good isn’t it? I’ve got one of Jane Fonda in my room,” he grinned with a wiggle of his brows, “Yeah, don’t think she’d mind, she leaves loads round here.” His friend had turned back to his meal, slathering more jam on his toast.

“Thanks.” Brian said, pleased.

Weeks later, after he’s hung his favorite new picture up on his bedroom wall at home, Brian was back at Fred and Roger’s place, hoping to talk to the blonde about their upcoming gig that week. The door to their flat was unsurprisingly not locked, still he gave a short knock at the door to warn people of his entrance. He had made the mistake twice or three times before of walking in on Roger with a lady friend. Why he hadn’t taken them to his room or at least locked the door, was beyond Brian’s comprehension. He suddenly felt a great sympathy for Freddie whom had to live with Roger’s antics on the daily.

What he was met with inside however was a lulling pitter-patter of percussion, and the warm strum of an electric guitar over Robert Plant’s familiar vocals. Neither Fred nor Roger was anywhere to be seen, but someone had left the record player on. The music of Zeppelin was like a balm to Brian’s ears as Page’s guitar played the quick rise and fall of notes on the fretboard. He made a beeline to the player in the living room, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He was so engrossed in his study of the vinyl jacket that he failed to notice the other person in the room.

“Can I help you?” a voice from the armchair asked.

Brian whipped around so fast he had dropped the empty vinyl sleeve. He had a hand to his chest and he felt his hammering pulse beneath his shirt. “Sorry,” he said, going for the item he had dropped. “I didn’t see you there.”

The person smiled at him from where she sat, eyes dancing at his priceless expression having been so caught off-guard. It was a woman, close to his age, and she had a purple scarf tied around her wavy brown hair which cascaded down her shoulder. She sat sideways in her seat and her lean legs were draped over one arm of the chair while her back was supported by the other. Her feet were angled towards the end table with the stack of magazines. Despite the way she had so casually perched on Freddie’s armchair, she was holding herself so easily and so regally that she could have been Cleopatra on her throne.

“Er, I was looking for Rog?” Brian answered in reply to her initial question.

“He’s still asleep.”

“Right, right.” Brian nodded, his gaze flickering over to the door of Roger’s room. Of course he’d still be asleep, it was only half past twelve after all. He took the seat across from her on the sofa. “I’m --”

“You’re Brian, aren’t you?” she finished for him.

“Sorry,” he said, apologising once more. “Have we met? I thought I’m usually better at remembering these things.” Brian was scratching his curly head trying to put her face to a name.

“No, no. Only Roger mentioned he was in a band and that he had a friend called Brian who played guitar. Dark curly hair, tall, lacks fashion sense, lost puppy-dog eyes.”

“Rog said I looked like a... puppy ?”

The girl chuckled, “Just my observation.” Her tone was cheeky, but not unkind.

“Oh,” he said with a blush.

“I’m only playing,” she laughed, there was a rosy tinge to her cheeks. “I like your eyes, they’re very nice; and I don’t think you’ve got terrible taste in clothes.”

“Um, thanks.” He said, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. He didn’t think that she was lying; though looking down at his simple pinstripe button down and dark trousers ensemble, and knowing his eyes to be a rather plain blue, Brian thought himself to be rather unremarkable.

“Could afford to pop open a few buttons though,” she mused, “And maybe roll up the sleeves?” Her brown eyes, a shade or two deeper than her hair, sparkled in the early afternoon light. He might have blamed Led Zeppelin, or maybe the way her hair fell around her like a halo, it may have been due to the fact that her eyes had never left his during their entire interaction thus far, or perhaps it was a combination of all of these things, but Brian was utterly smitten.

“I um, appreciate the pointers.”

“Sometimes all it takes is a fresh perspective.” The girl said with warmth.

Mine's a tale that can't be told, my freedom I hold dear How years ago in days of old, when magic filled the air 'Twas in the darkest depths of Mordor, I met a girl so fair But Gollum, and the evil one Crept up and slipped away with her, her, her, yeah Ah, there's nothing I can do now I guess I'll keep on

They spend the next minute or so in relative quiet, happy to let the song speak for them. That was...until Brian next chose to open his mouth, “So, you're...here for Rog?” It was more of a statement than a question at this point.

“Hmm?” The girl raised her eyebrows.

“You and Rog, you’re-- here f-for him -- with - with him?” Put one beautiful girl in front of him and the astrophysics major is reduced to a stuttering idiot. His fingers tapped on his knees anxiously, he sees her lips press into a thin line and her eyes grow stormy.

“Right, because men and women can’t ever just be friends?” Her accusation was followed with his dumbfounded silence. She felt mortified and her chest burned. “D’you go around assuming every woman that’s ever stepped foot in this flat has slept with your mate, or am I just special?”

“I didn’t really er-- that is, I know that sounds…” he struggled for the words.

“No, no, it’s fine. It was just your observation.” she said, having lost the humour in her voice. It seemed as though their conversation had officially ended. It was then that Brian noticed the sketchbook in her lap, and the charcoal held between her fingers. But before he could peek at what she had been doing, she had closed the book shut and reached for her satchel propped against her chair.

The door to Freddie’s bedroom opened unceremoniously and the man came out fully dressed, keys jangling in hand. “Sorry to make you wait, I couldn’t find my other bloody shoe.” Freddie was surprised to find Brian there that afternoon, and especially so, finding the taller man looking quite ill and confused. “I see you’ve met Brian.”

“Yep.” the girl said, putting her things into her bag.

Fred might have guessed as to what led to this uncomfortable situation: one, Roger had never been the type who was short of female companions; two, for someone normally so articulate, Brian had probably one of the worst cases of foot in mouth syndrome Freddie’s ever been witness to; and three, his poor new friend has entirely no idea of the effect she had on the opposite sex. This scenario appeared to make the most sense to him. Seeking to relieve the tension, Fred had thought a speedy escape would be their best course of action. Collecting their coats in a calm fashion, he beckoned to her, “Coming, darling?”

“Born ready, Freddie.” she replied, her face was an impassive mask as she spared one last look to Brian before walking out the door with Fred.

Brian, rooted in his spot on the sofa, released a long suffering groan into his hand. He had gone and done it now, alright. He really had no luck with women, and he felt like a true dolt. He somehow managed to insult a mutual friend of both his best mate as well as that of that best mate’s flatmate all in one fell swoop. And he didn't even know the poor girl’s name.

Standing up, he walked over to where she had just been. Her seat was still warm, and by the end table was another set of fresh drawings. It appeared she been working on a flyer for their upcoming gig; ironic, given the circumstance, in large bold letters it mocked him saying, ‘DON’T FORGET TO SMILE!’.

Sure enough, on the bottom right-hand corner was a single initial, a pristine, looping 'W'.

I can't find my bluebird I listen to my bluebird sing I can't find my bluebird I keep rambling, baby I keep rambling, baby

#bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rapsody movie #bo rhap #bo rhap fic #itlotg fic #queen #brian may #brian may x original character #freddie mercury #roger taylor #gwilym lee #rami malek

3 notes · View notes

green-eyeddragonfanfiction · 6 years

Text

War of Attrition: Chapter 6

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: Best friends with Steve Rogers, renowned Howling Commando, and married to one James Buchanan Barnes, your life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could possibly be in the middle of World War II. Then you fell from a train in the Alps, and everything changed. You spent nearly 70 years as a tool of Hydra alongside your beloved, though your past with him was more often than not forgotten. Hydra’s determined to set Project: Insight into action. Handler Pierce has sent you and the other Soldier strategically to ensure that happens. However, some things can’t be accounted for or predicted to matter how much one prepares. Especially in affairs of the heart. Warnings: Swearing (always), violence, guns, blood, death, particularly brutal bloody and deserved death Word Count: ~4,630 A/N: There’s no Bucky in this chapter. Sorry about that. If I’m being honest, we might not see him for a little bit. We’ll see.

Masterlist // Book One // Book Two

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

You fixed the cybernetics in his arm, though you didn’t know how you knew what went where and what needed welding and what needed to be replaced. Time passed like molasses, though you knew hardly any time had gone by at all. The other Soldier hadn’t looked at you once, not even when you snuck a gentle caress from his shoulder to his neck to his cheek. Not so much as a flicker of recognition when you stood in front of him.

It did not matter. He was your special one. You would protect him, even if you were too broken to think right. You would remember the important things.

Morning came, as it always does, and with it the news of the escape of Target: Steven Grant Rogers, Target: Natalia Alianovna Romanoff, and Accomplice: Samuel Thomas Wilson from Hydra custody.

It meant another day out of cryofreeze. Another day without being wiped.

The reprieve was hampered slightly by the fact that they kept you and the other Soldier separated. He was sent to keep and eye on the helicarriers while you were assigned to defend Handler Pierce. His normal guard led him and the council members up to his office where they’d make pretty speeches and posture as all politicians did.

You watched it all unfold from the hidden alcove on the side of the room. You could see out but, according to Handler Pierce, no one would be able to see in. It was hidden with cloaking technology which meant there wasn’t a physical barrier between you and the rest of the room. You couldn’t help but feel claustrophobic anyway.

“I know the road hasn’t exactly been smooth,” Pierce was saying to the council members. You tried to use your backscatter to search for weapons, but the cloaking tech scrambled it so you ended up relying on your normal vision. From what you could tell, none of the members were packing any weapons, but normal human vision was easily fooled, even if it was enhanced to 20/5. “And I know some of you would have gladly kicked me out of the car along the way,” he said, going for a touch of humor and levity. He turned to face the screen behind him, looking up at it with a touch of pride. “Finally, we’re here, and the world should be grateful,” he said, raising his glass to the other four.

He was a split second away from taking a sip when a voice rang out in the room, commanding and confident.

“Attention all SHIELD Agents. This is Steve Rogers.”

You tensed in your hidden spot, a wave of unease flowing through you. You hadn’t heard the target speak beyond a few pained grunts, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you knew what he sounded like before this moment.

“You've heard a lot about me over the last few days. Some of you were even ordered to hunt me down. But I think it's time to tell the truth. SHIELD is not what we thought it was. It's been taken over by Hydra. Alexander Pierce is their leader.” You watched as Pierce stalked around the table in the middle of the room, a tilt of his eyebrow the only indication he gave of the target’s words and of the council member’s accusing looks. He didn’t give the signal or give you an order so you stayed still, your attention captured by the target’s voice.

“The STRIKE and Insight crew are Hydra as well. I don't know how many more, but I know they're in the building. They could be standing right next to you. They almost have what they want. Absolute control. They shot Nick Fury. And it won't end there. If you launch those helicarriers today, Hydra will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way. Unless we stop them. I know I'm asking a lot. But the price of freedom is high. It always has been. And it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not.”

The loudspeaker clicked off. The room was so quiet for a second that the dropping of a pin would have sounded like a bomb going off.

“You smug son of a bitch,” councilman Rockwell growled. His staunch, militaristic demeanor called to memories long buried. You blamed the sudden mental distress on Steven Grant Rogers. Whatever he said had effected you adversely.

Agent Rollins and two other goons entered the room and formed a loose semi-circle around the council members. Councilman Singh looked expectantly at them and tipped his glass towards Pierce, who stood smugly with his arms crossed against his chest. “What are you waiting for?” he asked expectantly. “Arrest him,” he demanded.

All he got in response was Rollin’s pistol pointed directly at his chest. The other council members shifted uneasily, quickly reading the situation.

“I guess I’ve got the floor,” Pierce said, eyeing the others challengingly.

You watched as the guards corralled the other council members into a loose circle, guns drawn and gazes trained on the unarmed captives. Your mind, however, was drifting.

It wasn’t the words that the man had said that stuck, it was his voice itself. It made you feel like the other Soldier’s voice did. Safe. It was trustworthy. You didn’t hesitate to follow its orders, knowing its owner would never lead you astray.

But it was wrong. It was Steven Grant Rogers’ voice. He was the enemy. He was your target. He was an enemy of Hydra and Hydra was all that mattered.

No, the other Soldier mattered. That was one of the important things. The things you had to remember.

But Hydra hurt the other Soldier. Hurt you, too. Things that hurt the other Soldier were bad and-

The sound of explosions outside the window drew your attention from that dangerous line of thought. You hadn’t even realized how close you were to questioning your Handler until that moment.

Peirce was watching the helicarriers rise slowly into the air outside, his phone gripped loosely in his hand as he watched the guns try to blast Samuel Thomas Wilson out of the sky.

Suddenly, he turned from the window and walk towards the other council members, though he stayed a cautious distance away. “Let me ask you a question. What if Pakistan marched into Mumbai tomorrow?” he asked, picking up one of the glasses of champagne. He walked towards councilman Singh and you tensed, ready to spring into action if Pierce called for it. “And you knew that they were gonna drag your daughters into a soccer stadium for execution.” He offered Singh the glass and the councilman took it after a brief, hesitant pause. “And you could just stop it. With the flick of a switch.” Singh eyed Pierce as he spoke and Pierce turned to look at the others. The question may have been for Singh, but he posed it to the others as well. “Would you? Wouldn’t you all?” he asked, turning to look at each of them rapidly. They shifted, glancing between each other and Pierce.

Singh lifted his chin and stared down his nose at Pierce. “Not if it was your switch,” he said, then tossed the flute of champagne onto the cold marble floor. The tinkering of the shattering glass sounded almost merry.

Pierce smiled. It wasn’t a thing of humor or joy, but a mocking smile that nearly made your flinch. You watched as Rollins pulled out his extra pistol and handed it to Pierce. You knew what happened next.

Or at least, you thought you did. What you hadn’t been expecting was for Councilwoman Hawley to raise her leg and slam her foot down to the side of the knee of the closest agent. He went down like a bag of bricks and a half second later she’d disarmed Pierce and thrown a shock disk at the other agent. She threw the pistol at Hawley and hit him right in the windpipe and he dropped, too. He was up a split second after she disabled the second agent, only to make it two steps have and his head slammed into the table, knocking him into unconsciousness or possibly killing him.

She raised the pistol and aimed it directly at Pierce, who straightened and eyed her warily. Her fingertip went to the side of her head and you watched, confused, as her face shifted. “I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice was altered, electronic, fluctuating just like her features. She wiped a hand over her face and pulled away some sort of veil, like a snake shedding its skin. What was left underneath was one Natalia Alianovna Romanoff. She tugged her wig off, revealing her bright red hair, and stared defiantly down the gun at Pierce. “Did I step on your moment?”

Pierce looked shocked for a moment, but his shoulders relaxed and he laughed. “You’re good, you know. Very good. I had no idea it was you,” he said, taking a nonchalant sip from his champagne flute.

Natalia Alianovna Romanoff tilted her head to side, smirk pulling her lips up at the corners. “Thank you. Fooling sleezebags is a passion of mine. Have to say, though, I don’t see what’s so funny.”

Pierce smiled and set his glass down on the table. The way he moved gave you a clear shot from your hideyhole to Natalia Alianovna Romanoff. “I’ve no doubt that whoever’s been keeping track of everything and feeding information to you has told you the Winter Soldier has appeared on the field. Likely putting a stop to the Captain’s little plan?” he asked, leaning casually against the table. He eyed her shrewdly then, his smirk turning into something darker and more menacing. He raised his hand up level to his face and stared down the gun Natalia was holding, not looking phased in the slightest.

She eyed him tensely, not sure what game he was playing at. She seemed hesitant to kill him so she must still need him for something. You tensed in your alcove, muscles coiled tight in anticipation.

He chuckled like he was in on a joke she wasn’t. “Then surely you’ve noticed a piece missing from the field?” He snapped his fingers once, the sound loud in the otherwise silent room.

You rushed forward from your spot before the sound had finished echoing through the room, passing through the cloaking field and taking everyone in the room except Pierce by surprise.

Natalia Alianovna Romanoff was, of course, the first to recover. Her pistol whipped around and she fired at you until her gaze focused on exactly what (or more accurately, who) was racing toward her at a blinding speed.

The other senators were dead before their bodies hit the ground. Smoke drifted up through their mouths and any second now the scent of scalded flesh would permeate the air.

Natalia Alianovna Romanoff tossed the empty pistol aside and immediately dropped in a defense stance, her olive eyes trained on you as you closed in on her.

You charged your hands and let your fists fly at her in a lightning-quick barrage. She dodged most of them but eventually you landed a hit. A wave of dread rolled through you unbidden and you barely had time to register it, much less try to understand why it had happened, before you realized your electric touch had done nothing to her.

She grabbed your fist and you set a wave of electricity through the wiring on your skin, but once again, she didn’t so much as twitch. She must have some tech you didn’t know about.

“Please, Mashenka. Listen to me!” she pleaded, eyes wide and chest heaving from the adrenaline racing through her veins. Her shoulder almost definitely wasn’t completely healed yet and you wondered briefly if her stitches had reopened.

Then you realized you shouldn’t care.

With a growl you wrenched your hand from her grasp and set to a different strategy: goring her with your taloned feet.

She wasn’t able to block your legs like she could your punches. Your legs would simply break her bones. Every few seconds your heel jets would turn on, filling the room with their low roar.

“This isn’t you, (Y/N)!” she yelled, dodging out of the way of a particularly deadly leg sweep. When you froze at the sound of that name she looked at you uncertainly, her body still tense and ready to fight. “That’s your name! You recognize it, don’t you? Steve told me all about you and Bucky!” she said, green eyes bright, her tone pleading.

Bucky. You knew that word. You heard the other Soldier say it to Steven Grant Rogers. It made you remember things yesterday. The important things. It was an important word. You couldn’t remember why. It made you think of the Soldier, so it had to be important.

“Asset!” Pierce called sharply, snapping you back into the moment.

Mission. You had a mission. This woman was your mission. You had to protect Pierce.

With a growl you returned to bombarding Natalia with punches and kicks that would have killed a less capable person within a second. “Don’t listen to him, (Y/N)! Mashenka! I don’t want to hurt you! I want to help you!” she panted between dodges and blocks. “He’s the one who hurt you! You and Bucky! He hurt Yashenka!” she said forcefully, as though she could will the words and meaning to your damaged mind by determination alone.

The odd thing? It worked.

You froze mid-strike, your foot inches from her temple. Her eyes were wide and afraid, more white than green. Sweat was running freely down her face and a small red spot was peeking through her blue suit top. Her stitches had reopened.

“It’s me, Mashenka. Natalia. You and Yashenka trained me. You remember, don’t you? Watching the sunsets together? Eating meals in the gym? I don’t want to hurt you. Neither of you. Please let me help you, (Y/N).”

Pierce shifted behind you but you didn’t dare take your eyes off the woman in front of you. She was dangerous. When he spoke you could tell he was unsettled. “As touching as this little display has been, I think we’re done here,” he said quietly. You heard the safety of the gun click off but you didn’t even flinch. “Stand aside, Asset,” he said coldly.

Natalia made no notice of Pierce. “Do you remember the last thing you said to me, Mashenka?” Natalia asked, eyes searching yours. There was a fire in them that you knew so well. You knew her so well. You could read everything on her face like a book. Why could you do that? “You told me to escape. That I would regret staying. You told me to run,” Natalia said, voice full of emotion. “I was weak then. Scared and confused. Because of it you got hurt. I’m telling you, now. Run, (Y/N). Don’t let Hydra or the KGB control you anymore. Get Yashenka- your Bucky- and run before-”

The sound of the gun going off startled you from your daze. The bullet grazed Natalia’s side, sending blood out in a fine spray around you. She cried out in pain and her hand flew to her side.

You whirled and closed the distance between you and Pierce in a single stride. You leapt into the air and landed heavily on his shoulders, your claws digging into the flesh there, and he collapsed under your weight.

You yanked the gun out of his hand and threw it to the other side of the room. You vaguely heard it clatter to the floor, but your attention was focused on the man before you. He’d hit his head relatively hard in the fall, but he was still conscious and staring up at you, blinking as though he couldn’t focus on your face. You pinned him with your feet and he let out a cry of agony as your talons dug even deeper into the meat of his shoulders.

Your hand sparked menacingly as you pulled your fist back and charged it to full capacity. Pierce’s eyes widened in fear. You left it fall and-

“Wait!”

Your hand froze barely a few inches from his face, your fist practically quivering with energy.

Natalia appeared in your line of vision but she stayed just out of reach. “We need him! If you kill him a lot of people are going to die!” Natalia said quickly. “Mashenka, please,” she said, grimacing as she clutched at her side.

Finally, you looked up at her, wincing as the energy in your fist dissipated. She must have felt the change in the air because she gave you a small, tentative smile.

“Can you hold him there? I have something I have to do,” she said quietly and slowly, as though speaking to a wounded animal.

You didn’t react at all, but she gave you another small smile anyway and moved to the podium near the wall, which was actually a computer with a holographic screen.

You watched from your spot above Pierce, who was watching in a sort of stupor as Natalia typed away at the computer. You watched the numbers and code flashed by in a blur, your mind keeping up with it in a detached sort of way.

“What are you doing?” Pierce asked, his words slightly slurred. He had perhaps hit his head harder than you’d originally believed.

“Dumping all of this data onto the internet,” she said matter-of-factly. From what you could see, that was definitely the case. “Soon, everyone will know every dirty secret Hydra has ever tried to hide.”

“And SHIELD’s,” Pierce said, smirking. “If you do this none of your past is gonna remain hidden.” Her fingers slowed down for a spit second at that, but she continued typing anyway. “Are you sure you’re ready for the world to see you as you really are?” he asked, staring up at Natalia. You clenched your talons and he let out a pained groan that made Natalia smile viciously.

“Are you?” she said simply.

Pierce was either in too much pain or too proud to respond to that, so he glared up at you instead. “I demand you let me up this instant, Asset. Eliminate the target immediately,” he hissed.

You looked up at Natalia, eyes cold and face expressionless. “Does he need to be able to speak?”

She glanced up at you, smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

That got Pierce to look sharply up at Natalia. What he saw on the screen behind her, though, gave him pause. “Disabling the encryption is an executive order. It takes two alpha level members.”

Natasha turned her cool eyes on him. “Don’t worry. Company’s coming.”

Your heads all turned at the same time, following the sound of whirling helicopter blades.

Director Nicholas J. Fury stepped out of the black chopper, his arm still in a sling and looking a little worse for the wear. You tensed above Pierce, your brain warring with itself.

He was a target. He was supposed to be dead.

But Hydra had told you that you’d accomplished your mission. He was no longer your mission.

It was a loophole. A small one, but that, along with Natalia’s murmured and nearly pleading “Mashenka,” allowed you to hold yourself back from attacking him.

He opened the glass door with his good hand and stalked inside, his eye surveying the scene before him with disbelief.

“What the fuck is this, Agent Romanoff,” he asked, gesturing to the dead or incapacitated Hydra agents, fried council members, and you, pinning Pierce to the floor with your talons.

Pierce stared up at him from his spot on the floor. “Didja get my flowers?” he asked, sarcastic and snarky even in this situation.

In response, Fury only scowled at the man. “Is that gonna be a problem?” Fury asked Natalia, his finger pointed directly at you. You bristled, but Natalia simply shook her head.

“Don’t think so,” was her sparkling vote of confidence.

“I’m glad you’re here, Nick,” Pierce said, as though he wasn’t stuck like a pincushion.

“Really?” Fury asked, walking slowly towards the three of you. “’Cause I thought you had me killed.”

Pierce didn’t look cowed at all. “You know how the game works,” he said quickly, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Then why make me head of SHIELD?” Fury asked, regarding the prone man accusingly.

“Because you were the best,” Pierce said as though it was obvious. With your recent run-ins with the man, you were inclined to agree. He was a hard man to kill. “And the most ruthless person I ever met.”

Fury’s voice was low and dangerous when he spoke. “I did what I did to protect people.”

“Our enemies are your enemies, Nick. Disorder. War. It’s just a matter of time until a dirty bomb goes off in Moscow or an EMP fries Chicago. Diplomacy? Holding action. A band-aid,” he said dismissively. How he was still conscious was beyond you. “And you know where I learned that. Bogotá.” Fury’s face changed at that, surprise and disbelief mingling with hatred. “You didn’t ask. You just did what had to be done. I can bring order to the lives of 7 billion people by sacrificing 20 million. It’s the next step if-”

He cried out as you pulled one of your feet’s talons out and shoved it into the meat of his thigh. The heel talon went deep enough that you heard it clang against the floor on the other side.

Like Hydra brought order to my life!? you wanted to scream. The words hung unspoken in the air, but you had a feeling both Natalia and Fury heard them loud and clear.

“I don’t think the lady agrees,” Fury said, staring down at Pierce who was wincing as blood began pouring freely out of his wounds. “Get his ass up,” Fury said, glowering at the man under your feet.

When you simply glared at the command and didn’t move, he let out a long sigh, glanced at Natalia, and held his hands up as though to say he meant no harm. “Pretty please,” he said, gritting the words out as though they caused him pain. They touch of sarcasm was welcome. Hydra didn’t employ humor when talking to you.

You looked at Natalia who nodded slowly at you. You glanced back at Fury, looking for any signs of deceit, before you slowly retracted your claws and stepped off of Pierce. He was too weak to stand by himself so you hauled him to his feet.

“Here, Mashenka,” Natalia said quietly as she pointed to a square on the clear holographic wall. You half-carried, half-dragged Pierce to the space in front of it.

The man had the audacity and, somehow, the strength to look over at Fury and give him a stubborn look as though he was still in control of the situation. “What? You don’t think we wiped your clearance from the system?”

Fury was so done with Pierce’s posturing that he started speaking over the man halfway through his sentence. “I know you erased my password. Probably deleted my retinal scan, too. But if you wanna stay ahead of me, Mr. Secretary-” he pulled up his eye patch, revealing a heavily scarred eye socket and a scarred over eyeball, “-you need to keep both. Eyes. Open.” Fury nodded his head towards Pierce’s retinal scanner and you shoved him roughly forward, holding him in place as the scanner did its work. Fury moved to his side and held his scarred eye up to the scanner.

“Alpha level confirmed. Encryption code accepted. Safeguards removed,” the detached robotic voice informed them. Pierce was looking at Fury with a hint of surprise but also a great deal of hatred.

You released the sad excuse for a human being and let him fall to the ground. He was even paler than usual now, his blood running down his shoulders and legs in a grim stream. There was a clear line of blood from the spot on the floor where you’d pinned him to where he laid now.

“Do you still need him?” you asked Natalia, voice raspy.

Natalia shrugged and looked at Fury, who stared down at the man with distaste. “We could probably get some useful information out of him, but-”

You raised your foot and brought it down in a deadly arc, slicing through flesh and bone with ease. Pierce let out a blood-curdling scream as you broke ribs in half and tore through the soft flesh of his stomach.

You knelt down low to his face, your visage twisted into a terrible glower as you pulled him up by the tatters of his suit. He gave a feeble groan, but he was fading fast. He managed to look up at you.

“You will never hurt him again,” you hissed. You used the last of your charges and reached forward, planting your hand directly in the center of his face. He convulsed mightily beneath you as you fried his brain the same way Hydra had fried yours for the last seventy years.

You weren’t sure how, but you knew there was no fear in his eyes. Until his very last moment he believed he was in the right.

You stood slowly, mind racing. Pierce was dead. You killed him. You killed your Handler. That was bad and-

Wait, no. You didn’t need a Handler. Handlers were the bad things. They hurt the other Soldier.

Bucky.

They hurt Bucky.

You looked up and saw both Natalia and Fury eyeing you warily.

SHIELD. They worked for SHIELD. SHIELD opposed Hydra, but it had also let it grow inside its organization if the things Steve said were to be believed.

Steve never lies.

You weren’t sure where the thought came from, but you knew it was true.

SHIELD couldn’t be trusted. Couldn’t trust anyone. Not Natalia. Definitely not yourself.

“You’re going, aren’t you?” Natalia asked, already sounding resigned.

Your gaze fell to her and you gave her a single terse nod. “Can’t let them hurt him. It’s one of the important things,” you said, gaze flitting around uneasily. It was hard to explain the important things. You knew they probably wouldn’t understand.

“Hold on just a damn minute,” Fury said, drawing the attention of you and Natalia. “Who the hell are you?”

You walked over to the windows and eyed the mess in the sky. The helicarriers had begun firing on each other and for a split second your stomach swooped with dread. The other Soldier was on one of those, more than likely.

But it was the other Soldier. If anyone could survive that, it would be him.

Maybe Steve, too, if they hadn’t killed each other.

The thought made you sick.

You turned away from the window and looked at Fury, head tilting to the side as you considered your answer to his question.

Natalia said your name was (Y/N). She also called you Mashenka. Hydra called you Asset and Winter Soldier and Soldat, but those weren’t right.

The only thing that came to mind that felt like it fit was the thing the other Soldier called you sometimes when none of the guards were around and no one could overhear him but you.

Мой Мир. My World.

You felt your mouth tug up at the corner. The expression- a small smirk- felt wrong on your face. Unnatural. Like it didn’t belong.

You shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Then you bashed out the window with your foot, gave Natalia a small wave goodbye, and threw yourself backwards out of the building.

Next Chapter

If you’d like to be tagged in this series, like this post! Sorry, but responses to this post asking to be tagged will be ignored, so send me an ask or like one of the taglist posts!

☕ Buy Me a Coffee! ☕

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #Winter Soldier #winter soldier x reader #steve rogers #captain america #falcon #sam wilson #black widow #natalia romanoff #natasha romanoff #nick fury #alexander pierce #hydra

283 notes · View notes