#porcelainstorm

[lucywrites02]

Stephen Strange fic recommendations

Here's a list of stories about Stephen strange that I enjoyed a lot and wanted to give a little shout out to the authors :3 On this list you will find reader inserts, OC stories and Stories about Stephen and America's adventures. If you like any of these stories let the authors know! It would make them really happy :33

Stephen Strange x Reader

School's in session | @strange-mischief

Summary: You’re the new music teacher and you happen to move into the classroom across from a man who has been deemed as the school's most prickly teacher, Stephen Strange. 

My note: It’s one of those stories that you desperately want to be longer.You will finish it and crave more. I love this AU. I reread this plenty of times and I am obsessed with this fic. It was so good and I would never consider writing my own teacher! Stephen AU if I haven’t read this story. 

Their Bubble | @lonelinessinthemirrordimension

My note: It’s a fic about Stephen, his partner and their life together. It jumps between flashbacks from the past when both of them were working in the hospital and their current lives in the new york sanctum. America is also there in some scenes. It’s a very fun fic, showing how their relationship progressed over the years.

Paper Hearts | @classickook

Summary: following the events of multiverse of madness, you’ve given up hope that stephen would ever love you back. but what if his feelings for you change… will you give him a chance, or has your heart moved on?

My note: Oh boy, this series has everything. Angst, hurt, comfort, some fluff and found family trope. Did I mention that it’s a slow burn? The things between Stephen and Y/N are really complicated and the tension between them could be cut with a knife. 

Come to your senses | @frostandflamesfanfic

My note: This is a story, following the events of Multiverse of Madness and it’s really worth your time. You will be hooked after the first chapter, but I must warn you- the angst in this story hits hard.

Curse Breaker | @celerrie

Summary: You're the Mystic Arts' best and brightest when it comes to breaking ancient curses, and Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme...well, he's the Mystic Arts' best when it comes to everything else. But when a normal day together at New York City's Sanctum Sanctorum is turned on its head by an invitation from Tony Stark himself to attend this year's Stark Industries Gala, you find that you need to clarify what, exactly, you and Stephen are to each other, and not just to the world at large.

My note: This story is quite long, but you will yearn for more. This fics consists of three parts (the last one includes smut). The relationship between the characters is written incredibly well- it’s fun and friendly at first, but as you read on you will literally feel in your bones how they yearn for each other. I am a huge fan of the friends to lovers trope and reading this story felt like opening a birthday gift. If you like to read about friends/roommates who are incredibly in love with each other, but refuse to take the first step so they just silently yearn for the other then this story is for you.

Chaotic Team & Their Master Series | MayoTsukia (AO3)

One-shots and stories collection about The Master and her chaotic team, along with a certain sorcerer supreme and those around them.

My note: The reader being Stephen's right hand was a very nice detail in this fic. This story also contains some OCs who are the absolute best. They are very young students under the reader’s care. They are such amazing characters and they are so well written you will feel like they have always been there. There’s some good hurt/comfort and let’s be honest- who wouldn't want to be comforted by Stephen Strange?

amor somnus | PorcelainStorm (AO3)

Summary: Reader is under a curse. Stephen freaks out. Feelings are felt.

My note: It’s a sleeping beauty au with Stephen who is trying his hardest to break the spell and wake you up, but nothing seems to be working. He almost loses all hope, but don’t worry! It has a happy ending :)

The love hypothesis | @mischiefmanaged71

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is a PhD student who wants to prove to her best friend that she has moved on and dating. With no way to prove it, she kisses the first man she sees, which ends up being none other than Dr. Strange, known as one of the most unapproachable and critical professors in the university.

My note: As the title says, this story was inspired by the book Love hypothesis. I haven’t read the book before I read this story, but this fic made me want to read it. I loved how the characters interacted with each other. It was fun to read, some parts made me smile like stupid and other parts made me want to punch a wall. This is another story filled with an incredible amount of mutual pining and lots of other feelings. You don’t have to read the book to understand this fic.

Waiting for the night | @strangeprincex

Plot: An incubus makes his way into your apartment and has you in his sights.

My note: Oh dear gods, please take the wheel because I will pass out. Demon Stephen Strange with tattos and piercings. That's all I will tell you. This story is incredibly smutty and I needed to take a shower after reading it. I highly recommend.

Stephen strange x OC

Pretty Poison | @strangeprincex

Summary: The Sorcerer Supreme knows how to help Helle relax after a long week being a hero.

My note: This is a series about Stephen and Helle who are in an established relationship. This fic is really smutty, but it’s also incredibly sweet. You can just feel the love those two have for each other. The author writes about other parts of sex than just smut- the story focuses on trust, love and communication. 

If you enjoy stories like this one strangeprincex has more of them on their blog and AO3- but make sure you read the warnings because some of the stories are a bit darker than the others. 

The Witch of Hell's Kitchen | @shenanigans-and-imagines

My note: This is a list full of stories about Stephen Strange and an OC- Cassandra jackson. I never expected to be so invested in someone else's OC, but Cassandra is such a great character you will want to see more of her and Stephen. Let’s not forget about Ellie- Cassandra’s child who is also half demon. You will fall in love with their little family as soon as you read one story. I guarantee that.

dad!Stephen Strange and America Chavez

Recently I stumbled across a fic on AO3 about Stephen acting as America’s parental figure and I instantly fell in love with that trope. I read plenty of stories and if I was to list them all this post wouöd be suuuuuper long. So here’s a list of authors who wrote for that trope. (if you want to see more go through the tag “Stephen Strange Acting as America Chavez's Parental Figure” on AO3.

Webtrinsic | UnicornOfTheSun

#stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #fic recommendation #fic rec post #stephen strange x oc #doctor strange x oc #stephen strange #doctor strange #america chavez #stephen strange and america chavez #lucreatives02 #sleepover 2.0

[readingisloving]

Completed

Emma Miller is an agoraphobic best-selling author. For months now, she's spent her days in solitude; hiding in her Brooklyn apartment and avoiding the world. After Steve Rogers moves into her building, the pair strike an unlikely friendship. 

With hesitation, Emma and Steve open up to one another and mend the wounds both of them suffer. This healing doesn’t come without costs. Complicated webs are weaved, bonds are tested and the pair find that hope can be just as powerful a weapon as strength.

#PorcelainStorm #captain america #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers #steve x oc #mature #marvel fic

[avengershumanresources]

amor somnus Part 1 of 2

A/N: Completed for @softhairbarnes‘ “I love you 3000″ challenge! 

Warnings: This is some ridiculous fluffy stuff, no smut or egregious violence.

Pairing: Dr. Stephen Strange x Reader

Rating: T-ish (Maybe PG?)

Word Count: 3,144

Summary: Reader is under a curse. Stephen freaks out. Feelings are felt.

The incubus had taken more out of you than you would have liked to admit.

It’d been throwing hexes and curses at you and your fellow sorcerer, Stephen Strange, as quickly as it could conjure them. He was dragging out the battle in Hell’s Kitchen far longer than you’d predicted.

“What is this guy’s problem?” you grunted, ducking behind a shield Stephen had thrown over the two of you.

“He’s probably confused,” the sorcerer offered, and you sighed, conjuring another round of spells that barraged back and forth until you were able to edge in and try something new.

Your last spell had been the winner to take it down, but not before it threw a half-hearted hex in Stephen’s direction. It was pure instinct when you shoved Stephen aside.

Stepping in its path, you barely felt a tickle as the purple mass of energy dissipated on contact with your skin. Snorting, you joined Stephen while he rounded on the near unconscious demon and bound him.

“That was good luck in guessing its weakness,” he murmured, hefting the large monster onto its feet and stepping through the portal you’d summoned to Kamar-Taj.

“In my experience, there is no such thing as luck,” you replied lightly, signaling to a nearby trainees to open the gates to the holding cells; until the demon could transported to its proper realm.

“You know, if I could have you replaced, I would have done it months ago,” he sighed, shaking his head at the Star Wars quote and passing the demon off to one of the Masters to handle. “You’re just lucky you know a thing or two about the mystic arts.”

“You like having me around,” you teased, nudging his elbow through the portal to the New York Sanctum. “You’d get bored, admit it.”

“I admit nothing,” he shot back coolly, earning an exaggerated eye-roll from your direction.

This wasn’t anything new. The two of you went back and forth over and over, but there existed a mutual respect which sustained the partnership.

It was the reason you’d been assigned to New York and why, truly, Stephen hadn’t appealed to have you replaced. You two were the only people (aside from Wong) who could tolerate one another for long periods without killing each other.

“Did one of you bring back lunch?” Wong called from the library, setting aside a large leather tome and catching up with the two of you while Stephen headed for his study.

“Well, uh, no,” you replied with a frown, glancing to Stephen. “The demon was a little tougher than we thought and he might have destroyed that deli we like.”

“We misjudged the dimension it was from,” Stephen clarified. “Luckily, someone was able to take him down before he took out all of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“The devil didn’t come to help?” Wong questioned, crossing his arms.

“He figured it was more of our wheel house,” you offered a half-hearted shrug, stretching into a yawn. “But speaking of lunch, I need some nutrition or I might just pass out. Who’s up for takeout?

“I need to make sure that spell wasn’t anything serious,” Stephen’s expression shifted before you or Wong could decide on a restaurant. You groaned, unwilling to wait even longer for something to wake you up.

“It wasn’t anything,” you waved him off, returning your attention to Wong, who now shared Stephen’s concerned expression. “Wong, it literally disappeared when it hit my hand. I’m talking a tiny curse that wasn’t even powerful enough to do any immediate damage. I don’t think it’d be powerful enough to linger, and cause some kind of malicious thing down the line.”

“Good, then this shouldn’t take long,” Stephen decided, clapping his hands and transporting himself and you to the study. “We weren’t positive where his energy was coming from, I’d rather be safe.”

He stood at your side while you dropped down on a nearby stool, holding your arms up and yawning again. His hands began to glow, a wist of yellow energy wrapping itself around your torso, moving outward to your limbs and head. When it finished, it disappeared into a fine mist.

“I don’t want to be a total jerk and say ‘I told you so’, but sometimes I do know what I’m doing,” you chided with raised brows. “I am a Master of the Mystic Arts after all.”

He frowned, seemingly unsatisfied with the result of his test.

“You don’t sense it?” he questioned, summoning a book and flipping through the pages. You recognized it vaguely as a demon guide and repositioned to the more comfortable sofa. This was going to take a while if he was pulling out the books. “I feel like something is radiating from you.”

“It’s probably my dazzling personality,” you supplied, summoning your own book and scanning the pages. You found the entry on the specific demon and held it up for him to view. “Run of the mill, basic, destroyer of cities and hearts. It’s just an incubus that wandered through the wrong portal. Didn’t we deal with a whole number of them a few months ago in Detroit?”

“Different dimensions though… He didn’t touch you, did he?” he questioned, glancing over the edge of the book with quirked brows. You sat up, trying to recall the fight and letting out another yawn.

“I don’t remember being seduced by the inter-dimensional sex demon,” you grinned up at him, but your expression fell when you noticed he was still focused on the text.

When he didn’t reply after a few moments, you spoke again.

“Stephen, it’s probably nothing. You didn’t talk to the snakes again, did you? They’re alway making you overly paranoid.”

“I just…” his frowned to himself while he continued reading.

“-have a bad feeling about this?” you offered, earning an irritated grunt from the sorcerer.

With a wave of his hand, you felt yourself slam down in one of the kitchen chairs next to Wong.

“You’ve really got to stop with the pop-culture jokes,” Wong was thumbing through a pile of takeout menus, not bothering to look up. “He hates them.”

“I know,” you stood up and moved toward the cabinets, searching for a tea with caffeine. “But I don’t think he minds when I do it.”

“Why do you think that?” he asked, genuinely intrigued by your confidence.

“I usually get away with it,” you mused, digging through the stashes of teas and finding none to your suiting. “Do we have anything with caffeine in it? I’m about to fall over.”

“I think Strange took the last english breakfast this morning, I haven’t had time to run to the store,” he held up two menus. “Chinese or Thai?”

“What about that green Kree stuff?” you closed the cabinets, pausing to glance at the menus. “Which one has a better curry?”

“The Thai place,” Wong replied. “And we ran out a few days ago after we all stayed up trying to get the curse out of that necklace.”

“Oh yeah,” you frowned, rolling your head and trying to shake off the sleepiness that threatened to cloud your head. “Let’s do Thai. I’ll take something incredibly spicy and a green tea or something.”

“They have coffee,” he offered, pointing to the beverages on the menu. You perked up. Coffee was a rare delicacy in the Sanctum that prided itself on its eclectic tea options from around the universe.

“Yes, a huge cup, maybe two?” you thought back to Stephen. He didn’t seem tired, but you two did fight off the same demon… you caught yourself yawning again. Maybe he was fighting sleep too?

“Did he find anything?” Wong asked when you sat back down, propping your face up by your elbows and staring at the menu to decide.

“He’s being ridiculous,” you brushed the question off. “Something about sensing something radiating off of me? It’s silly. He probably needs a nap more than I do.”

Wong paused and shook his head. He fixated his focus on you for a few seconds before returning to the Thai menu.

“I don’t feel anything,” he confirmed and you threw a hand up.

“Exactly! I think something’s have been switching his teas around,” you sighed under your breath and stood up. “I’ll see what Dr. Overthinker wants- be right back.”

You hoped Wong hadn’t seen you struggle to catch your footing outside of the kitchen, but glancing back, his attention was still fixed between the two menus.

A small victory, in that while you could handle Stephen’s teasing, Wong’s cool, witty remarks were absolutely terrifying. It was something about how he said things without the slightest expression-

Your vision gave a whirl, and you caught your weight with a palm against the wall. Blinking a few times, you tried to get your head straight, but the world just spun faster and you felt your legs drop from under you.

The last thing you saw was a blur of red fabric before your world faded to darkness.

Part 2

#shb3000wc #stephen strange #doctor stephen strange #strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #dr stephen strange #dr strange x reader #MCU #reader fic #fanfiction #contest #writing #AO3 #porcelainstorm #doctor strange x reader

[ao3feed-buckybarnes]

No Man's Land

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2BCMBab

by PorcelainStorm

The Barton siblings had grown up knowing a single truth:

“Trust no one”. Their childhoods had been ripped away, leading the trio eventually to find comfort and a home in a traveling circus.

Time is a tricky thing, but some things never change: a friend turned foe, the Swordsman, is out for revenge after the three siblings had locked him away ten years previously, after a robbery went haywire.

With Natasha missing, and his sister, Amelia Barton, retired from intelligence work; Clint attempts to reunite his siblings for one last showdown with the former villain.

Little do they realize, this grudge goes deeper than a foiled robbery; and Jacques Duquesne has new, powerful, allies to exact his revenge on the Barton trio.

Words: 2555, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Clint Barton, Barney Barton, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Avengers Team (MCU), Madame Hydra, Ophelia Sarkissian, Trickshot (Marvel), Swordsman (Marvel), Buck Chisholm, Maynard Tiboldt, Ringmaster, Amelia Barton (OFC), Jacques Duquesne

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Amelia Barton

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Siblings, OFC Sibling, Violence, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Build

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2BCMBab

#bucky #IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #bucky barnes #james barnes #the winter soldier #james barnes

[ao3feed-lokiangst]

blood

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3lZWfdm

by PorcelainStorm

Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realm's politics in question and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

(Fairytale/Fantasy AU)

Words: 9678, Chapters: 3/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Doctor Strange (2016), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Iron Man (Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Characters: Stephen Strange, Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Pepper Potts, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Reader, Obadiah Stane, Wanda Maximoff, Wong (Marvel), Natasha Romanov (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Brock Rumlow, Loki (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel), Stark!Reader - Character

Relationships: Stephen Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader, Stephen Strange/Reader

Additional Tags: Adult Content, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Mild Language, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Period-Typical Sexism

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3lZWfdm

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #loki #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #angst

[ao3feed-clintxnat]

Dust to Dust

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2mRIihw

by PorcelainStorm

Where did Hydra come from? An idea? A twisted dream? For an organization that spans centuries, it kept relatively quiet until contemporary times.

The Super Soldier serum wasn't dreamt up over night, but was the product of numerous experiments both unethical and violent over the course of the century. It was going to be the end of all conflicts between good and evil. Scientists died trying to determine the next level of the serum, only for it to be stolen by enemies. Back and forth until one side had the advantage.

Mabel Foster was everything the ideal woman should be in 1914. She was well brought-up, wealthy, educated and the heiress to a large fortune. When her father died in a much publicized U-boat attack by the Germans, Mabel made a decision that changed the course of history by enlisting in the French Army during WWI. After an ambush gone bad, Mabel found herself captured by an early group of Hydra.

100 years later she's discovered in a desolate Hydra base and is taken by the Avengers for safe-keeping and questioning. Little do they realize that all of their destinies and pasts are directly connected through the nest that Hydra weaved.

Words: 4292, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Bruce Banner

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/OFC

Additional Tags: Violent Death, War, Graphic Everything, slight PTSD, Friendship/Love, Slow Burn

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2mRIihw

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #avengers #clint/natasha

[avengershumanresources]

amor somnus Part 2 of 2

A/N: Completed for @softhairbarnes‘ “I love you 3000″ challenge! Warnings: This is some ridiculous fluffy stuff, no smut or egregious violence. Pairing: Dr. Stephen Strange x Reader Rating: T-ish (Maybe PG?) Word Count: 3,144 Summary: Reader is under a curse. Stephen freaks out. Feelings are felt.

“What did I say?” Stephen grumbled, pacing through his study while Wong settled your still form on a nearby table. “I said there was something off, and everyone decided to brush it off like it was nothing. I should have been more thorough…”

He stood over you, checking your vitals and letting out a low sigh of defeat. Everything was normal. No abnormal temperatures, markings, or physical signs of distress. It was as if you’d fallen into deep sleep and refused to wake up.

“She was fine, and then passed out in the hall…?” he recited back to Wong after hearing the explanation over and over. You hadn’t been out of Stephen’s sight for very long and even then, you’d been with Wong in the kitchen.

There wasn’t anything you could have gotten into in that time frame, and you’d collapsed just outside of his study, suggesting it’d been maybe a minute or two you’d been out of Wong’s sight.

His gut kept telling him it was something to do with the demon, but he didn’t have evidence to support it. In response, his head throbbed when his skin graced yours.

“How are you not feeling that?” Stephen looked toward Wong, taking a few steps away from you and heaving a long sigh. “It’s so… bothersome.”

“More so than a constant string of terrible movie quotes?” his friend joked, and Stephen made a face.

“Those aren’t even that bad,” he commented, his fingers going to his chin while he considered your condition. “Perhaps the curse was meant for me? That’s why it isn’t causing her harm, but I can still sense it?”

“That’s reasonable enough,” Wong agreed. “I’ve heard of this happening with certain spells that link the users. Blood pacts and the such.”

“But with a demon?” Stephen questioned softly, his gaze falling back to where you slept soundly, blissfully unaware of the tension that thickened over the room.

“It’s not my place to comment on your weird relationship, but strong emotions are as natural to the mystic arts as an exploding sun,” he stood up, muttering something about going to Kamar-Taj to speak with the demon and left the room.

Stephen stood in place, emotionally drained of all reason as he lifted one of your hands, clutching it between shaking fingers and running through anything he could have missed.

You were absolutely infuriating, but not in the ways you probably thought.

You were needlessly self sacrificing, this being a prime example, and often it landed you in dangerous situations. This was stressful for Stephen, as while he respected your abilities as a hero and a Master of the Mystic Arts, there was nothing more terrifying to him than the prospect of not seeing your smile at the end of the fight.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered, giving your hand a frustrated squeeze. If you had allowed him to take the brunt of the spell, as intended, instead of jumping in the way...

He wondered if you would have reacted the same way. He mused over the thought, recalling the time he’d broken his leg during a fight with Mordo. Even after Wong had repaired the break, you refused to leave him alone for days.

By Vishnu were you stubborn…

Yet, he couldn’t imagine his life any other way. He couldn’t imagine the Sanctum without your presence. Already, it was unsettling to him. Stephen hadn’t realized how important the chime of your laugh was... until it was gone.

His stomach dropped when he tried another spell to awaken you, but to no avail.

Nothing. Not even a flinch.

How long could the curse last? Days? Months? Years?

He recalled a fairy tale he read where the princess remained frozen in time the entirety of the spells duration. Would he age and watch you remain unmoving in front of him? A reminder of his failure to protect someone he loved-?

The word caught him by surprise. His heart gave a leap but he swallowed the sensation down and released your hand, summoning the cloak and opening a portal to the Kamar-Taj library.

He needed to get out of his head, he needed to find answers.  

(—)

It’s been two weeks since Stephen found you outside of the study.

Two weeks of nothingness.

The demon provided no direction, even when Stephen threatened its life, the creature simply laughed at the sorcerers desperation.

They consulted other masters who knew nothing of curses that bond the victims to eternal slumber. They tried spells and amulets, potions and blood magic, with no results.

You remained as unchanged as the day you’d collapsed.

Stephen wasn’t sleeping. At least, not willingly. He would stay up for days at a time and then drop into a brief nap before continuing the cycle again.

He even purchased a coffee maker and placed it in the study to fuel his late night research.

A little part of him had hoped the smell would have been enough to rouse you. Normally you would sense a Americano a block away.

Wong travelled out of the Sanctum most days to consult with anyone who might have an idea of what was occurring, leaving Stephen to his thoughts and silence.

That was the worst part in all of this. The loss of your floating laughter, the creaks on the hardwood as you moved around the building.

He hadn’t realized the little things he missed. He would have given anything to argue whether Indiana Jones or Jurassic Park was better.

You let out a heavy breath, catching his attention. No movement. Nothing.

He threw fist down on a nearby desk, fumbling through a nearby notebook and shaking his head, at a total loss. He’d probably dug through the entire sanctum library by now. Everything was a mess.

You were definitely going to kill him when you woke up for messing up your hard work.

What would you have suggested? He needed to look at this problem in a different manner. Logic wasn’t working, but he was too sleep deprived to think of alternative actions.

“My ally is the force, and a powerful ally it is...” he muttered, dropping to the chair he’d set up next to your head and sinking his face into his palms. “You wouldn’t be scared, would you? Fear leads to the dark side and all of that. At least that’s probably what you would have told me…”

Though you’d deny it, he’d seen you afraid before. You always fought it down for the task at hand. He respected your tenacity in the face of adversity. There wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for the ones you cared for, even if you were scared to the core.

How many times had you made the sacrifice play to ensure he could complete a mission?

You hadn’t even hesitated with the demon to step in front of him. No fear. No thought. just pure instinct to protect him. Was it because he was the Sorcerer Supreme?

No, he knew better. The playful grins over the rims of tea mugs and your excitement when he would figure out a complex ritual.

Gods, he missed the hell out of you.

He pulled his head up, watching each slow breath in the rise and fall of your chest.

Were you dreaming? There really was no telling. Your eyes never moved, so perhaps you hadn’t gone into REM, but with magic there wasn’t a way to be completely sure.

He stood dumbly at your side longer than he would have liked to admit. He’d almost forgotten the color of your eyes. Almost. The only reason he hadn’t was that they stared back at him every time he allowed himself a moment of sleep.

Stephen huffed under his breath, reminding himself to get back to work and read over a text Wong had brought back a few hours previously. In his haste, a stray hair fluttered over your features. He froze.

With a shaky hand, he gently tucked it behind your ear, his fingers tracing the edge of your jaw line. You were surprisingly warm to the touch, even if your cheeks were flushed from the curse.

A small jolt shot up his hands with the passive touches and he found himself moving closer, a magnetic pull moving him outside of his control.

It happened without a conscious thought.

One moment he was gazing down at your face.

The next? He brushed a soft kiss across your lips.

Stunned by the action, he took a step back. He was frozen in place, unable to explain the phenomenon that had overcome him. Stephen Strange was not the type act on impulse.

He was just tired.

Turning to resume his research, only a few heartbeats passed before he heard a rustling over his shoulder. Assuming it was Wong returning from his travels, he paid no mind to it and continued to focus on the book in front of him.

“Stephen?” Your tone was meek and confused. He dropped his book and spun around, finding you sitting up on the table. Blankets he’d set over you, were gathered in your lap while you took in the scene. “What on Earth happened?”

The doctor had no words. He lifted your chin and pressed another kiss to you. Despite the dazed expression on your face, you reciprocated in turn, pulling him closer until you both pulled away breathing heavily.

Your eyes searched his face for explanation. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about the possibility of… this. You were just happy with a platonic relationship.

“I… I love you,” he finally spoke, his hands still cupped around your cheeks. Slowly a small smile spread across your face at the declaration. You couldn’t help yourself.

“I know.”

Instead of a sigh, he kissed you again, silencing your giggles with more pressing matters.

Part 1

#shb3000wc #stephen strange #doctor strange #doctor stephen strange #reader x strange #dr strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #reader fic #MCU #dr stephen strange #marvel #fanfiction #writing #AO3 #porcelainstorm

[avengershumanresources]

MCU Masterlist

Latest:

“blood”

Stephen Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader-  Fairytale/Royalty AU

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut (like, wayyy down the line), adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis:  Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 1 - an empty grave 

part 2 - a night at the pub

AO3 Only:

Homemade Dynamite (Bucky/OFC) (Tony Stark x OFC (Friendship))

Summary: When Tony Stark's childhood friend goes missing during an archeological dig in the jungles of Colombia, he reluctantly takes Steve up on an offer to have James Barnes help track her down. Dr. Isabella Briggs never meant to get caught up in a world of secrets and wars. She had an agreement with SHIELD, sure, but she never expected that her research would bring the very safety of the planet into question. Bucky wants redemption from his past, and as a last ditch effort joins Steve on his trip to Colombia to appease the man whose family he slaughtered. Tony wants to keep Isabella safe, but he can't protect her from the secrets she hides from him. No one is prepared for the truth; and when reality blows into everyone's faces, they can only hope to pick up the pieces and save the world at the same time.

Dust to Dust (Bucky/OFC)

Summary: Where did Hydra come from? An idea? A twisted dream? For an organization that spans centuries, it kept relatively quiet until contemporary times.The Super Soldier serum wasn't dreamt up over night, but was the product of numerous experiments both unethical and violent over the course of the century. It was going to be the end of all conflicts between good and evil. Scientists died trying to determine the next level of the serum, only for it to be stolen by enemies. Back and forth until one side had the advantage. Mabel Foster was everything the ideal woman should be in 1914. She was well brought-up, wealthy, educated and the heiress to a large fortune. When her father died in a much publicized U-boat attack by the Germans, Mabel made a decision that changed the course of history by enlisting in the French Army during WWI. After an ambush gone bad, Mabel found herself captured by an early group of Hydra.100 years later she's discovered in a desolate Hydra base and is taken by the Avengers for safe-keeping and questioning. Little do they realize that all of their destinies and pasts are directly connected through the nest that Hydra weaved.

Hands (Steve Rogers/OFC)

Summary:  Emma Miller is an agoraphobic best-selling author. For months now, she's spent her days in solitude; hiding in her Brooklyn apartment and avoiding the world. After Steve Rogers moves into her building, the pair strike an unlikely friendship. With hesitation, Emma and Steve open up to one another and mend the wounds both of them suffer. This healing doesn’t come without costs. Complicated webs are weaved, bonds are tested and the pair find that hope can be just as powerful a weapon as strength.

Tin Can (Tony Stark/reader) Oneshot

Devil’s Backbone (Nomad!Steve/reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

amor somnus (Stephen Strange/reader)

Part 1, Part 2

#marvel #MCU #writing #fanfiction #ao3 #porcelainstorm #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #OFC #Tony Stark #Mabel Foster #Reader #Avengers #Hydra #Stephen Strange #doctor strange #reader fic #Steve x Reader #Steve Rogers x Reader #Tony Stark x Reader #Stephen Strange x Reader #captain america #iron man #Bucky x OFC #dr strange/reader #reader insert #mcu fanfiction #dr stephen strange #one shots #Marvel One Shots

[avengershumanresources]

Dust to Dust (Masterlist)

Summary: Where did Hydra come from? An idea? A twisted dream? For an organization that spans centuries, it kept relatively quiet until contemporary times.The Super Soldier serum wasn't dreamt up over night, but was the product of numerous experiments both unethical and violent over the course of the century. It was going to be the end of all conflicts between good and evil. Scientists died trying to determine the next level of the serum, only for it to be stolen by enemies. Back and forth until one side had the advantage.

Mabel Foster was everything the ideal woman should be in 1914. She was well brought-up, wealthy, educated and the heiress to a large fortune. When her father died in a much publicized U-boat attack by the Germans, Mabel made a decision that changed the course of history by enlisting in the French Army during WWI. 

After an ambush gone bad, Mabel found herself captured by an early group of Hydra.100 years later she's discovered in a desolate Hydra base and is taken by the Avengers for safe-keeping and questioning. Little do they realize that all of their destinies and pasts are directly connected through the nest that Hydra weaved.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC (Original Female Character)

Rating/Warnings: Mature- Graphic violence, torture, PTSD, smut

Notes: This was originally published on AO3 but I wanted to start sharing it on here for more input and obviously to get a few more eyes on it.  I write un-beta’d, so small grammar issues/spelling corrections you catch would be amazing to know.  Otherwise, enjoy!  

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11 

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17 *Coming soon

#MCU #Marvel #Bucky Barnes #original female character #OFC #Winter Soldier #james bucky barnes #ao3 #fanfiction #porcelainstorm #hydra #ww1 #ww2 #avengers #captain america #original character #fanfic

[avengershumanresources]

Devil’s Backbone (3)

Did I cry while writing this?  Yes, yes I did.  Like a small, fragile child.  

Is it angsty?  YEP.  Because ya girl loves the slow burn with fluff, so what happens in three parts?  ALL OF THE ANGST.  

Part 3 of my story for @imhereforbvcky​ ‘s 7K MCU Canon Challenge! 

(Which is also why it’s short and sweet, gotta keep it canon for IW coming up, right? ;D )

(Hey look, here’s a link to my ao3 as well!)

Part 1-- Part 2-- Part 3--

Warnings: angsty angst angst.

Relationship: NomadStevexReader

Summary: After the US interpretation of the Sokovia Accords “The Superhuman Registration Act” is set to pass Congress and be signed into law, Reader is feeling anxious as President Ellis’ primary speech writer.  At the celebration the night before its passage, Captain America and Black Widow intercept Reader and take her into safety per the law’s language dealing with enhanced relatives and associates.  Reader discovers that fighting doesn’t necessarily need to involve weapons.  

Word Count: 1,217

“Don’t care if he’s guilty.  Don’t are if he’s not.  He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I got."

Sometimes, you overwhelmingly missed your brother.  

Colin had been a source of logic and reason whenever you had a meltdown over a Torts final or an internship.  Growing up, he’d tease you about boys while also warning you to keep your heart secure.

He was wiser than his age, so you supposed it made sense that he’d die young.  

You just didn’t know who to turn to now.  You weren’t sure who you could trust anymore, now that Steve just up and disappeared one morning with only vague promises of returning.  

“We’ll get that date,” he had whispered before one last, desperate kiss.  “Coney Island.  I’ll win you a prize.”

You’d been half awake, leaning up in bed and mumbling that he was being ridiculous.  Yet in hind sight, you should have really seen it coming.  He’d give it all for the little guy.  He’s fight to his last breath with that damned stubbornness and guilt.  

That’s what it was- guilt.  He was guilty about getting to survive, and he had to fight back to ease his conscious.  Tony called him up and he rushed to the call, like he always had and always will.  

You would know- you felt the same way about Colin.

You traveled with Clint for a while, providing getaway rides and learning a few means of self-defense from the former SHIELD agent.  

It was fun, for a while, but with healing relations and the Avengers fighting around the world, you felt empty and abandoned.  It hurt way more than you would have given credit for.  

You simultaneously hated and still adored Steve, knowing that each of his actions were either a carefully calculated risk or a dumbass, on the spot, decision.

Everything kept coming back to hindsight.  You should have gone with him.  You should have told Tony no.  You should have lied about Tony’s offer.

But the Registration act was deemed unconstitutional and Bucky had finally recovered in Wakanda.  Those were Steve’s priorities, and you swallowed down the shame you felt for thinking otherwise.  Even if there was a little part of your heart that ached with hope that he was trying to hold his promise from two years ago.

Clint never mentioned anything about it.  He didn’t mention much any more.  You were pretty sure you heard something about a divorce when you ran in Natasha and Sam once, but you didn’t pry.  The two of you had become comfortable in your secrecy.  

You were the one who made the mistake of opening your heart to a hero.  The hero, if you were being honest with yourself.  There was no way that whatever the two of you had would end in anything except pain and heartbreak.  

It was a Tuesday when you got the phone call.  It hadn’t even been that long since you’d last seen Steve- roughly four months since he gave his hasty goodbye.

You and Clint had been sitting around Clint’s apartment, arguing over something on TV when your phone began to buzz.  Almost simultaneously, the TV program shifted to a national emergency warning.  

“Hello?” you looked to Clint with wide eyes.  He was already on his feet, tossing various pieces of equipment between the two of you while you waited for the person on the other end of the line to respond.  

“It’s me.”

You should have hung up.  You should have hung up and moved on.  You’d made your life over again, picked up the pieces and stitched your heart back together.  You helped Clint protect the little guy, the one thing you and Steve ultimately believed in.

Instead, your breath hitched and you felt a flutter of hope you hadn’t felt in some time.  

“We just fought something nasty,” Steve continued when you remained silent.  “I don’t know what’s about to happen.  I just-”

“Needed to ease your conscious?” your tone was harsher than you would have liked.  

You couldn’t help it.  You were somewhere between angry and hysterically happy to hear his voice again.  

There was silence between the two of you.  Clint eyed you curiously while adjusting his weapons and you stood up to go to your room for privacy.

That’s when you saw it.  

A hoop, or something alien, towering over Manhattan menacingly.  

You wanted to vomit.  You hadn’t felt that unease in your stomach since the Chitari.

“Steve,” your voice cracked, the tears in your eyes threatening to flow over as you waded through the unspoken intentions of the call.  “Please tell me you’re not about to do something stupid.”

“I promised I’d keep you safe,” he stated firmly through the line.  “I have no intention of backing down from that promise.”

You choked on your words.  He was going to do something stupid.  You knew it.  He knew it.

You had so much you needed to say.  So much you wanted to say.  

You wanted to tell him about the rude barista down the road and the drug dealer you’d taken in after you saw him selling to kids the week before.

“Coney Island,” you whispered into the line.  “You promise me right now.  And not like the promise you made to Peggy, ok?  Because you’re not going to crash a plane into whatever that thing is.  We’re all going to fight and we’re all going to win, and we’re going to go on our date.”

“I promise,” he replied softly.  “I’m going to do everything I can, but I can’t have you fighting this.”

“Steve, if you think I’m going to stand back-,” you began to protest, but he cut you off.

“I love you too much to lose you,” he stated sharply.  You heard the same crack in his voice.  You could have fallen over from a heart attack when he finally spit out those words.  “When we win, you also have to be around for that date.”

“Steve, you’re only human,” you argued back.  “Please.  Don’t do this to me.  I can’t… I can’t live in a world where you don’t exist.  Let me protect you again, where are you?”

You could hear him breathing on the other end.

You didn’t know what else to say, so between your tears, you spoke like it was the last time you’d ever hear him again.  

“I love you,” you whispered.  “And I’m not gonna listen to you.  Because, I love you too much to let you face this alone.  Even if we have to fight on opposite ends of the world.”

“I know,” he finally spoke, his tone was relenting.  He could tell this was a losing battle.  “Just… look out for the little guy, ok?”

“Just promise me you’ll come back,” you repeated, your hands clutched around the phone.

“I’m not leaving my girl behind that easily,” he laughed off the words dryly.  “I have to go now.  I love you, be careful.  Make sure you watch your 6, because you-”

“I always get sloppy with my 6,” you recited with a chuckle.  “Go save the world, wonder boy.  I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Oh Lord, oh Lord, I’m begging you please, don’t take that sinner from me.  Oh, don’t take that sinner from me.”

#meescanonchallenge #marvel #fanfiction #reader/steve rogers #Steve Rogers #porcelainstorm #ao3 #nomad steve #Pre-IW

[avengershumanresources]

Dust to Dust (15)

Summary: Where did Hydra come from? An idea? A twisted dream? For an organization that spans centuries, it kept relatively quiet until contemporary times.The Super Soldier serum wasn’t dreamt up over night, but was the product of numerous experiments both unethical and violent over the course of the century. It was going to be the end of all conflicts between good and evil. Scientists died trying to determine the next level of the serum, only for it to be stolen by enemies. Back and forth until one side had the advantage.

Mabel Foster was everything the ideal woman should be in 1914. She was well brought-up, wealthy, educated and the heiress to a large fortune. When her father died in a much publicized U-boat attack by the Germans, Mabel made a decision that changed the course of history by enlisting in the French Army during WWI.

After an ambush gone bad, Mabel found herself captured by an early group of Hydra.100 years later she’s discovered in a desolate Hydra base and is taken by the Avengers for safe-keeping and questioning. Little do they realize that all of their destinies and pasts are directly connected through the nest that Hydra weaved.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC (Original Female Character)

Rating/Warnings: Mature- Graphic violence, torture, PTSD, smut

MASTERLIST

“Summers and winters, through snowy Decembers.

Sat by the water, remembering the embers,

Missing out the lives they once had before.”  

-Jasmine Thompson (Willow)

“Is there anything new that you remember?” Wanda asked later that week, late in the afternoon when both of the women had eaten and settled into Mabel’s room.  They were both sprawled out on Mabel’s king-sized mattress, reading to themselves and occasionally chatting.

Soft jazz hummed through the large space and Wanda had been the first to break the peaceful silence the pair fell into a few hours previously.

Mabel glanced over the edge of her paperback copy of Animal Farm, her brows pressed in bemusement after being pulled from her trance.

“What do you mean?” she asked, studying the familiar look Wanda had given her.  Her eyes were slightly narrowed, the exact way Tony and Sam’s were when they brought up Dr. Krauss.  Wanda was leading up to something, but Mabel had no idea what.

“We shared memories,” the brunette led with, sitting up on the bed and setting her own copy of The Catcher in the Rye aside.  “But, there were a few that were hazy, or unclear.  It reminded me of trauma or PTSD…”

Mabel straightened her spine at the small confession, her lips pulled back into an uneasy frown.  Certainly, there were some unaddressed lapses in memory.  That was the initial plan with the group; to try and figure out altered or missing memories from Hydra.  It was the standard therapy the Wakandans had done with Bucky and now her.

But from what Mabel could gather, the lapses weren’t extreme.  She knew who she was and where she came from, so logically, there couldn’t have been too many wipes.

Not like Bucky.

“What do you recall?” the female soldier asked softly, the music soothing the atmosphere significantly.  A soft bass line framed the undertone of Mabel’s heartrate.

“Bucky,” Wanda stressed the name, her face scrunching up in thought.  She closed her eyes and reached for Mabel’s hands, the former’s beginning to glow their crimson color.

The women had been doing this the entire week.  They’d inevitably find one another’s company and occasionally ask for context in a shared memory from their companion.  They were closer now that sisters, having experienced what the other had experienced, first hand.

Wanda mediated the process, using an much weaker means of connecting their minds than before.  All she needed was a small tug on an already present memory and the connection would be made.

When Mabel’s hands touched hers, the blonde’s world immediately shifted to an unclear scene around them.  It was as if she was watching a movie, but the camera lens had been smudged with rain drops or oil.

A dark cell surrounded what looked like a slightly younger, Mabel Foster.  She was gazing into a broken mirror, slowly running her hands over dull, blonde hair that ran past her shoulders onto a dirty, knee length, hospital gown.

A muffled voice in the distance made the younger version of Mabel turn her head toward the cell bars that separated her tiny cell from a darkened hall.

The memory flickered, much like a glitch in a computer game or video, and Mabel seemed to have jumped across the cell, her forehead pressed against the cool bar of the cell, listening to the unknown voice.  More than anything, present day Mabel wished she could decipher the mumbled voice’s words.

Memory Mabel, would close her eyes as the voice continued talking to her.  Sometimes there’d be another flash of darkness, or she would clutch at her head in pain, a throb that echoed through both Wanda and Mabel’s minds as they watched the story play out.

It was a simple memory, but Mabel had no recollection of the event whatsoever.  Where was this cell?

In an instant, Wanda cut the connection, bringing them back to the present, both seated on Mabel’s bed in silent contemplation.

“My hair was short when I was captured,” Mabel confirmed after a pause, her own hands going to finger her now shoulder length locks.  “When I escaped, it was a little longer than this and dyed.  The last time I’d grown it past my shoulders was the summer before my father was killed.”

Wanda didn’t speak, her eyes focusing on a space of fabric in front of her, listening intently to her friend’s words.

“Hydra tried to erase the memories of their experimentation on Pietro and I,” she finally spoke, her head tilting upward to meet Mabel’s eye line.  “All of it came back, eventually.  It started in small chunks, when I realized subtle changes between periods of blackouts.  My nails would be longer, or a once fresh cut had turned to a scar.”

Mabel kept her facial movements controlled, knowing exactly where Wanda was leading with this piece of information and trying not to panic at the unknown periods of her life.

“I wasn’t frozen as often as I thought,” she realized out loud, her confounded face mirrored in Wanda’s expression across from her.  Mabel held out a hand and examined the familiar skin with unease.  “How old am I?”

“Miss Foster,” FRIDAY’s voice broke the daze between her and Wanda, both women nearly jumping in their skins at the interruption.  “Sergeant Barnes is searching for you.  Shall I inform him of your location?”

“I can speak to Bruce and Stephen,” Wanda offered, shuffling off of the bed and tucking her book under her arm.  Mabel nodded curtly at the suggestion.  The two doctors would have to find out in order to better assess the situation.  The possibility that such memories had been buried despite her perceived awareness, unnerved Mabel to no end.  

Was there a chance Bucky still hadn’t recovered all of himself?

“FRIDAY, tell Bucky I’ll meet him in the library,” Mabel ordered the AI, sliding off her bed and flattening the wrinkles out of her cardigan.  She returned her attention to Wanda as the brunette psychic was leaving and called out, “Let me know as soon as they’re interested in speaking.”

Wanda smiled warmly.

“Of course,” she promised with a small, parting wave.  

Mabel waited until Wanda was out of eyesight before letting out a long, tense, sigh.  Her fingers shook as she plucked her book off of the edge of her bed and set it on a nearby stack of novels.  Should she share this revelation with Bucky?

The pair seldom kept secrets, and since he returned.  They often sat in the library and shared every possible memory they had.

“Sergeant Barnes requests that you bring, ‘the letters,’” FRIDAY chimed back into the room.  Mabel’s eyes immediately dropped on the box tucked under her bed containing all of her personal belongings.

“Thank you,” Mabel mumbled to the unseen AI, dropping to her knees and sliding the smooth oak container into the open room.  Fumbling past the aged red scarf, and journals Sam had given her, she located the bundle at the bottom of the chest.  

They were still in perfect condition, untouched and tightly bound by the twine Joseph Rogers had sealed them with, over a hundred years before.

Mabel closed the case, slid it back under her bed and clutched the letters to her chest like a precious child.  Perhaps, finally, she’d be able to give Steve a little peace in his turbulent life.

She kept the letters safe in both hands the entire journey to the library.  Part of her was curious as to what the letters would reveal to her late friend’s son.  Of course, she wouldn’t press the issue unless Steve chose to share with her, but a small part of her regretted losing this last connection to her dear friend.

“You’re looking beautiful this afternoon,” Bucky greeted, jumping up from his chair next to a book shelf and sliding an arm around the small of Mabel’s back, guiding her toward the corner where Steve sat, leaning forward tensely.

“Hello Bucky,” she greeted the brunette softly, before turning to Steve and offering a comforting smile.  “How are you, Steve?”

“Like I want to vomit,” the superhero admitted with a low chuckle.  “I’m guessing you know why?”  His blue fell on the bundle of letters, still clutched to Mabel’s chest protectively.  

“It’d be a shame to make the trip to Paris a waste,” she joked, a small grin flashing across her features at Bucky’s betrayed expression.  She held out the aged envelopes, her stomach dropping slightly when they were finally passed to their intended recipient after a century.

“Do you want some privacy, Stevie?” Bucky inquired, wrapping a comforting arm around Mabel’s chest and pulling her into him, as if reading her mind that she needed the physical comfort.

“Please,” he replied, his entire attention fixed on the still bound letters.

Bucky pulled Mabel away, secluding the duo in a section of the library on the other end of the level.  Mabel didn’t even have to say a word; the brunette had simply pulled her tighter to him and kissed the top of her head.  

“He’s been nervous all week,” he murmured, pulling away to make eye contact, but still touching her intimately on the shoulders.  “He never knew his father, and I think he was a little envious of the connection you had with him.  Maybe he’ll find a connection or word of wisdom made just for him.”

Mabel didn’t respond, instead humming her agreement and pressing back into Bucky’s chest, suddenly exhausted by the day’s turn of events.  Wordlessly, Bucky wrapped his arms around her, as if protecting the smaller woman from all of her unspoken worries and demons with just his body.

After a few minutes passed, Bucky guided her to a small loveseat in the corner of the room.  He made sure she was comfortable first, before sliding in next to her and picking up her hand.  

“You’re quieter than usual,” he noted, pulling her fingers into her flesh hand and playing with the digits aimlessly.  

She and Bucky were almost always touching, the intimacy becoming a sense of comfort and filling an unspoken void in both of the former prisoners of war.

“I had an interesting morning with Wanda,” she replied as she tilted her head onto his shoulder.  Almost instantly, she could feel her blood pressure drop and her nerves settle.  Why had she been so nervous about this?  His heartbeat remained steady in her ears.

“How so?” he asked, the interest flickering in his gaze as he looked down at her with a grin.

“We remembered something that I can’t place,” Mabel confessed, going into a deeper detail and stopping when Bucky’s expression fell serious.  His grip on her hand tightened slightly before he swallowed, seemingly unable to come up with the proper thing to say.  

“Steve told me yesterday about what happened when Strange set the two of your heads straight,” he began, now looking away from his companion.  Mabel knew that this was one of Bucky’s reveals when he was unsure about telling her something.  “There were memories from before your escape… after you’d be caught by Hydra.  Of us… together.”

Mabel nodded anxiously, unable to form a response before he continued.

“I meant to mention it when we had lunch but-,” he paused and silenced when Mabel took her free hand and wrapped it over the one clutching onto her, forming a small shell of warmth.

“And what about you?” she asked quietly, her hazel eyes questioningly meeting his.  She had a gut feeling of what he was about to say, but she needed to hear it out loud.  She needed to hear that she wasn’t alone.  “Is there more than your first day and my escape?”

“I had no recollection of what he told me,” Bucky flashed a grimace, shaking his head to himself.  “I suppose we’re more messed up than we thought.”

“At least you don’t have triggers anymore,” she mumbled, releasing the second pent up sigh of the day.  “Wanda went to talk to Banner and Strange.”  What was left unspoken between the pair was the promise of more therapy and mind bending.  More memories.  More pain.

“We were close, I guess,” he stated with a bitter laugh.

Mabel couldn’t help but allow the laugh that bubbled up inside of her erupt.  She shook her head to herself, sitting up once the irony of the situation hit her.

“What?” he asked, chuckling at Mabel’s sudden shift in demeanor.  

“Wanda has been teasing me all week that we are star-crossed lovers,” she explained with another giggle.  “Maybe instead of reincarnation, we’ve danced around history together and don’t even realize it.”

Bucky’s expression lightened up at the thought, a smirk playing on the edges of his face before he stood up and offered a hand to the now befuddled blonde.

“I like the sound of that more than being homicidal murder slaves,” he said, pulling her to her feet and giving her a quick twirl before pulling her into another embrace and resting his chin on the top of her head.  “My fierce, stubborn, Mae.”

“My strong, passionate, Bucky Barnes,” she mused, her face tilted upward with a smile.  She could still feel his heartbeat, steady and firm, pulsing into her like a constant tempo of peace.

It was in that moment, something Mabel Foster would later realize, that she would do anything to ensure that the tempo never ceased.  

She’d kill, and she’d die, for James Barnes.

Perhaps Bucky had come to the same epiphany.  He pulled away just enough to slip a hand under her chin and pull her face toward his, pressing a soft kiss on her lips, smiling as he broke away.  

Mabel’s mind buzzed louder than it did in Paris.  

“Hey,” Steve’s sheepish voice interrupted the spell.  Both assets snapped their heads toward the super soldier.  “We need to talk.”

Tony frowned at the intel Natasha had collected during the Maine mission.

Largely, it was more of the same.  Old notes about Hydra, experimentation, possible super soldier serums… but what caught his attention was a lab log from earlier in the month.

They were trying to build the ark, just as he’d guessed.

It was dumb luck that Rumlow and his group hadn’t gotten their hands on the essential intelligence that outlined the machine’s full mechanics.  Allegedly, the blueprints still existed somewhere in the world.

But the Avengers had a leg up on him.  By having Mabel pull the original designs from her memories, they knew the rare materials that needed to be watched.  It was just a manner of time before Rumlow made another move.

All in all, despite losing Rumlow, Maine had been a relative success.  It confirmed Tony’s theories and now the team could focus on other priorities instead of grasping aimlessly at random Hydra cells.

“Yes, it complicates things,” Bruce’s voice echoed toward the lab from a nearby hallway.  The scientist was in a heated debate with someone as they approached.  “I just think the risks outweigh the benefits.”

“Captain Rogers is right, everyone deserves a chance to find peace with their past,” Strange’s voice challenged.  “Would you erase your past, with the present as it is?”

There was a pause as the pair rounded the corner and took in the genius looking at them with a quirked brow.

“Don’t tell me, more mind wipes?” he teased, waving a hand and closing out the window of Hydra files.

“Wanda and Mabel stumbled across some old, previously erased, memories,” Bruce explained tersely.  “I think it might be too much to try and pull from both her and Barnes.  Not right now.”

Strange clicked his tongue disapprovingly.  

“And I think it’s essential to make sure both of the former assassins come to full terms with their pasts,” the sorcerer emphasized.  “I certainly wouldn’t want to be in the field if Foster has a war flashback.”

“Barnes and Foster are on the bench,” Tony clarified sharply.  “Nat said he was distracted during the mission, so until Sam or a therapist clears him, he’s out.  And Mabel hasn’t even been cleared for field work, since she still can be triggered…” he trailed off in thought.  “Or maybe she can’t?  I don’t even know anymore.  The last month has been a headache.”

He clutched the bridge of his nose as Bruce stepped forward.

“We can run more tests,” he suggested.  “See if Mabel is triggered, get Barnes to sit down with Sam.”

“He’s been meeting with Sam all week,” Strange clarified to his companion.  “Him, Wanda, and Mabel.  His notes thus far have been unremarkable.”

“So, everyone might have underlying PTSD?  What’s new?” Tony grunted with an eye roll, leaning back in his office chair.  “Who here doesn’t have a trigger?  Seriously, tell me, because I want to meet them.  We’re all screwed up, if you ask me.”

“And healing that is significantly more efficient when you have all the variables, would you not agree?” Strange gestured between Bruce and Tony.

“I didn’t say I disagree,” Bruce voiced.  “I’m just saying, with Rumlow and the terror attacks, it’s too volatile to take two history shaping brainwashed Hydra agents and rip their minds apart, right now.  Maybe later on?  But two snapped assets and Rumlow?  That’s begging for disaster.”

Tony fell uncharacteristically quiet, pondering the two options to himself.  

“Has anyone asked what they want to do?” he questioned the pair.  “Because that might be a bit important.”

The two doctors exchanged frowns, falling quiet at the billionaire’s point.

“Yeah,” Tony smirked, pushing himself to his feet.  “Maybe get on that and we can have our little debate later.  I have actual work to do, you know, tracking the international terror threat.”

“Did you know my mother was nearly killed in a mugging before my dad went to Europe?” Steve sat down across from Mabel and Bucky.  The unopened letters were stacked neatly next to him as he spoke, taunting Mabel with unseen secrets.

Bucky shifted, nodding slowly at the admission as he'd already heard the story.  

Did Mabel know that?  She kept her expression neutral as Steve continued to speak.

“Some woman saved her life and scared the mugger away,” he gave a tense chuckle.  “She gave my mom this… red scarf I guess.  My mom told me it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen or owned.  She knew it had cost a fortune, but this woman had just given it to her without a second thought.”

Mabel stilled, frozen at her friend’s words.

“My father said that fortune always favored my mother,” he shrugged toward the pile of letters.  “They’d called the scarf their ‘lucky’ scarf, and she’d given it to him when he went to war for safety.  She promised him that she’d be safe without it.  She had good luck.”

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn about your mother,” he replied before grabbing a nearby scarf and wrapping it around Mabel’s neck.  “I need you safe.  If I can’t make you happy, safe is the next best thing.”

Mabel clutched at the red scarf and bit her bottom lip, trying to fight back the tears that had threatened to pour over.  She quickly lost that battle; a small tear tracing an outline of her cheek, only to be wiped away by Pierre’s thumb.

“Anyway, my dad had brought it to Europe with him,” he continued to explain.  “I guess it was lost or something.  He talked about it in his first letter.  He wanted me to have it, for luck.”

“I’d say you’re already pretty damn lucky,” Bucky laughed lightly, nudging Mabel with his elbow.  The blonde gave him a smile in response, lost in her thoughts.  She felt like her heart was about to explode.

There was no way…

“He was fond of you, Mae,” Steve changed the subject, smirking.  “Said you once punched one of the lieutenants when he’d harassed a local girl, and sent the guy sprawling.  He wanted my mom to take care of you after the war, make sure you found a worthy husband.”

There was that guilt.  Joseph Rogers had given so much for her, and still wanted to help her with the little he had.  She should have fled the battles and returned to New York to shower Sarah and her baby with all levels of luxury the moment Joseph had died.

Steve wouldn’t have had to suffer his illnesses… Mabel could have ensured Sarah had the money for the hospitals.  He wouldn’t have joined the army… or had Bucky protect him…

Where would that have left them today?

“Steve, your father was a spectacular man,” Mabel finally found her voice and reached for his hands, grasping them tightly.  “He was brave, and strong, and loved you unconditionally until his last moment.  If he’d any choice, he never would have left Brooklyn.  Your mother was everything to him.  He wouldn’t shut up about the gorgeous Irish bride he left behind, and the future he had planned for her and his children.”

She saw his Adam’s apple bob at the confession, as he swallowed, a mix of emotions flashing across his features.  

“Thank you,” he finally voiced, his voice cracking ever so slightly.  “Thank you for protecting him when my mother couldn’t.”

Mabel blinked back a few tears that had gathered in her eyelids.  Distantly, she felt Bucky’s hand slip onto her lap, pressing into the thigh comfortingly.

“Thank you,” the woman breathed in relief.  She readjusted to her full height and pulled the woman into an embrace.  “It was the first time I’d been paid in weeks, and my husband needed the money for our apartment…”  She pulled away and held Mabel’s hands, trembling slightly.  

“Here,” Mabel whispered and wrapped her scarf around the woman’s neck, bundling it under the thin jacket the woman wore.  “I’m Mabel.”

“Sarah,” the woman replied.  “I cannae thank you enough, truly.”

Brooklyn, New York City- April 1911

“Happy birthday, my princess,” Samuel beamed, pressing the neatly wrapped parcel into Mabel’s gloved hands.  The heiress raised an amused brow, pulling at the ribbon that twisted around the ornately decorated paper.

“Sam... I just wanted to have a picnic with you,” she protested, laughing despite the teasing glare she shot her beloved.  “You need to save your… Samuel…”

She was at a loss for words as she took in the small gift he’d given her.

It was a crimson scarf that she’d pointed out during a stroll in Manhattan the previous year.  He’d earnestly promised her that he’d get it for her, to which she joked that her father could simply purchase the whole store.

The material was rare, and the price tag was much more than the poor Irish boy would ever be able to afford.  Not without having worked for weeks.  

“I told you,” he grinned at her.  Mabel set the box down and grabbed him, pulling him into a kiss.

“You sweet, ridiculous, boy,” she murmured, her lips hovering above his.  She met his light blue gaze, her arms still secured around the back of his neck.

“I’m a sentimental fool,” he confessed.  “And I know it’s a little early, but once winter arrives, you have to wear it every day.”

“I’ll cherish it until the day I die,” she promised softly, pressing her lips against his once more.  “And then I’ll be buried in it.”

“Somewhere the timing will all come together.

The mishaps will turn into sunny Decembers.

The lovers will be able to find their willow.”

PART 16 (Coming soon!)

#ww1 #ww2 #Marvel #MCU #marvel fan fiction #Bucky Barnes #OFC/Bucky #Dust to Dust #ao3 #porcelainstorm #Steve Rogers #Avengers #Hydra #supersoldier

[avengershumanresources]

Dust to Dust (13)

Summary: Where did Hydra come from? An idea? A twisted dream? For an organization that spans centuries, it kept relatively quiet until contemporary times.The Super Soldier serum wasn’t dreamt up over night, but was the product of numerous experiments both unethical and violent over the course of the century. It was going to be the end of all conflicts between good and evil. Scientists died trying to determine the next level of the serum, only for it to be stolen by enemies. Back and forth until one side had the advantage.

Mabel Foster was everything the ideal woman should be in 1914. She was well brought-up, wealthy, educated and the heiress to a large fortune. When her father died in a much publicized U-boat attack by the Germans, Mabel made a decision that changed the course of history by enlisting in the French Army during WWI.

After an ambush gone bad, Mabel found herself captured by an early group of Hydra.100 years later she’s discovered in a desolate Hydra base and is taken by the Avengers for safe-keeping and questioning. Little do they realize that all of their destinies and pasts are directly connected through the nest that Hydra weaved.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC (Original Female Character)

Rating/Warnings: Mature- Graphic violence, torture, PTSD, smut

Masterlist HERE

“Love is clockworks and it’s cold steel.

Fingers too numb to feel.

Squeeze the handle.

Blow out the candle.

Blindness.”

-Jack White ( Love is Blindness )

Gunfire.  Smoke.

Mabel was back in her blue French uniform.  It was 1918.   Hot.  It was summer.

Wasn’t her hair longer?  She looked around her surroundings.  Mabel was posted up in a tree at the edge of a large forest.  Below, a handful of men were ducking down behind shrubbery.  

Where are we?    A distant voice asked.  Mabel knew that voice, didn’t she?  

She did.  It was Wanda.  Wanda had pulled her back here.  

“We’re in France,” she answered in French, startling herself.  Her body shifted automatically to kill a German officer trying to get a jump on her squadron.  “It’s summer.”

You’re doing very well.   Wanda communicated.   Keep telling me what’s happening.

“Joseph is at the front of the group,” she saw his familiar form drop into the mud.  “We’re outside the lab where he’s going to retrieve the documentation for ‘The Ark’.”

And please tell me what happens today.

“Joseph Rogers dies today,” the words caught in Mabel’s throat.  “There’s going to be a surprise mustard gas attack and I get distracted before I can warm him.  He gets out, but dies just after sunset.”

She watched the group break into the lab without too much trouble.  The guards were disposed of, the sirens didn’t even sound.  

What are you seeing now?

“They’re inside,” she replied quietly, her body going to adjust something on her rifle.  She scanned the horizon.  “Some Private I’d met this morning is going to get stabbed below me in a few seconds.”

A young man let out a shout of pain and despite her mental will, to keep her focus on the lab to protect Joseph, she bent down to shoot a German infantry member who’d slipped past their barrier.  

Shouts of German in the distance could be heard.  There was small explosion, a short burst of gunfire.  Mabel did her best to take out any visible targets, but it was no use.

“I jump out of the tree and pull my mask on,” she continued narrating as her body sprinted toward where she’d last seen her friend.  “The only person I manage to pull out is Joseph.”  

Wanda was silent.  Mabel knew she was seeing what Mabel saw, and it wasn’t a pretty picture.  

Joseph was on the ground, gasping and coughing for air.  His hands grabbed at his throat desperately.  

Mabel grabbed him and lifted him as best she could over her shoulders and ran.  The shouts of the other team members died out as they succumbed to the denser than usual gas.  

When Mabel was far enough away, she threw her mask to the side and knelt down by Joseph’s side.  

“Mabel…” he groaned, his voice hoarse and weak.  “There’s a letter… my wife…”

“You’re not dying today,” Mabel’s voice came as a surprise to her ears.  “Joseph.  Please.  Stay awake.  We’re close to camp.”  His eyes shut and Mabel leaned in closer, listening for a heartbeat.  He was still alive.

She moved quickly, grabbing her belongings and charging back to camp.  He didn’t have a lot of time and Mabel wasn’t going to sacrifice her friend because of her own weakness.  Not today.  

The memory is getting fuzzy.  Wanda warned and Mabel could feel her heart jolt.   Focus.  Get through the grief and show me the surroundings.  

The hospital was set up in a half destroyed church outside of the village.  She shouted for help and two French soldiers sprinted over with a stretcher, helping her move Joseph to the nurse’s aid.  

She tried to follow, but she was pushed away.  

“Get some rest,” a nurse suggested.  Mabel sat down in front of the hospital and waited.  Her commanding officer passed by at one point to try and get a briefing from Joseph.  When he left the hospital, he paused and looked at Mabel on the ground.  

“Garnier,” the officer greeted gruffly.  “Follow me.  We need to talk.”

Mabel nodded and scrambled to her feet.

“The sun is going to set soon,” she informed Wanda, studying the violet haze that now blanketed the camp.  “He died shortly after sunset.”

You’ve been through this before.

The officer pulled a brown satchel from his side and set it on the table.  

“He got Joseph’s satchel with the information in it,” Mabel leaned forward as he pulled out a large document and spread it across the table.

“Sir, why are you showing me this?” she questioned the officer quietly.  

“Joseph Rogers will have died for this before the night’s over,” he explained, studying the intricate blue print.  “I need you to find it for me.”

Mabel took a few steps closer and looked at the blueprints.

Perfect.  It’s there… It’s all there…

“Do you have any leads?” Mabel questioned him, swallowing down the sob that threatened to erupt if she thought of anything aside from her duty.  

The officer looked up at his soldier and frowned.  

“Perhaps it’s best you return to the hospital for now,” he offered quietly.  “We can discuss the mission in the morning.”

Mabel took that as her cue to leave, and quickly parted the tent.  She hadn’t realized it at the time, but Mabel sprinted back to the hospital.  This time, a nurse greeted her with a tight, forced smile, and led her to the back of the hospital room where Joseph was sitting up in bed.  

“Joseph,” she whispered seeing the freshly singed skin, his mutated face.  They’d turned him into a monster for the sheer joy of it.  

“He’s dying,” Mabel explained to Wanda.  Mabel could vaguely feel her present self choking back a sob.  

I’m so sorry.

“Me too, Wanda,” she whispered, her hands reaching to touch Joseph’s arm.  He stirred slightly, delusional from the painkillers the nurses had given him.  

“My letter,” he began to rasp out.  “In my barracks…”

“Shh,” Mabel soothed him.  “I will get it to your baby, you have my word.”

Joseph fell silent, before letting out a small whimper of pain.  He tried to move but the wounds cracked and he let out a scream.

“It hurts Sarah,” he cried, reaching for Mabel’s hand and squeezing it tight.  “Make it stop.”

“I know,” Mabel’s voice cracked.  She could feel the tears that tumbled uncontrollably from her eyes, hot and stinging.  “It won’t hurt for very long.”

“Tell me about our... baby,” he whispered.  Mabel could barely hear him over the wheezing and coughing.  “Tell me about it’s eyes.”

Mabel paused a moment before speaking.

“He has your eyes,” she whispered, scooting closer so he could hear her better.  “It’s a boy.”

Of course Mabel knew nothing of the child at the time.  She was just guessing based off of Joseph’s desire to have a son.  

Mabel…

“A boy,” he repeated through a gasp.  Mabel liked to imagine he was smiling under the scorched skin.

“You’ll be able to play catch with him,” she promised, forcing a smile through her tears.  A sob choked out and she pressed a fist into her mouth, swallowing it down.  “Just like you always wanted.”

“Blonde hair?” what Mabel could see of his eyes were searching her face desperately.  She nodded.  

“Just like you,” she lied as convincingly as she could.  “Joseph, everything’s going to be ok.  I promise.”

“I know, Sarah,” he gave her hand another squeeze, it was weaker this time.  “It stopped hurting.  I love you so much.”

He gave another wheeze.

“I love you too, Joseph,” Mabel managed softly through her tears.  There was a short breath and he fell still.  There was no pulse.  He was gone.

You did love him.  

“I did,” Mabel confirmed, her memory growing foggy as she watched herself drop into the blankets, shaking and screaming in anguish.  “I still do.”

You need to pull away.  Slowly…

Mabel’s world shifted from the memory to darkness.  The agony and pain was as fresh as it had been the day he died.  She had wanted to die with him.  She wanted to run and hide and scream and lay in the mud until a tank rolled over her fragile human body.

Let go, Mabel. Wanda’s voice sounded weaker.  I can’t pull out.

The suffering came in waves.  Mabel tried her best to wade through and get back to her body, but part of her didn’t want to go.  It wanted to suffer again.  It wanted to feel pain and happiness and sorrow.  

Mabel, please, you’ve gotten through this before.  

But she hadn’t.  She suffered until the day Hydra captured her.  Every morning her heart broke not seeing Joseph in the mess hall.  Every day she wanted to join him in the small cemetery outside of the french village.  

It was fresh.  It was still fresh.  Too fresh.  It’d only been a few months for her, even if it’d been a century for everyone else.  

Detach… please… Mabel I can’t hold this…

“I’m trying…” Mabel’s voice was lost in the chaos of her mind.  

There was a flash of a gunshot.  Men dropping dead.  A familiar one-armed soldier.

And then darkness.

The pair had gone to a soundproof glass room to work.  They sat still, occasionally mumbling to one another through the connection.  At one point, Wanda used her powers to sketch an image of what she’d seen in Mabel’s mind.  

“It’s working,” Tony stated in disbelief, watching the blueprints come to life.  “It’s actually working.”

Bruce leaned over the the billionaire’s shoulder to see the progress and shook his head.

“Amazing,” he looked to Tony.  “Do you know what this can do for your memory project?  Wanda might be able to help us jump further than we could have imagined.”

The scientists shot ideas back and forth while Bucky focused entirely on Mabel. 

Her body was trembling.  A few stray tears dropped down her cheeks, but the duo remained perfectly still.  

Bruce had attached monitors to both women, just to keep track of their vitals.  As expected, their heart rates picked up with the influx of emotion.  

“This is the anchor memory,” Bruce explained to Bucky as the assassin looked to him in concern.  “The stronger memory attached to the weaker one involving the blueprints.  They have to go all the way through or we might cause more memory damage.”

Bucky could see Mabel let out a scream, her chest heaving for air.  The machine next to him beeped wildly.  Every instinct shouted at him to burst in and protect her from the unseen pain.

“Can we pull them out?” he asked sharply.  Bruce shook his head sadly.  

“Wanda and Mabel have to do it themselves,” he explained.  “Wanda explained it like a freeway.  There’s going to be an exit they have to reach before they can leave the consciousness.  A lapse in memory, if you will.  It was a similar tactic when we worked with you, however, you weren’t consciously aware of the process like Mabel is.”

Bucky was practically pressed against the glass, watching Mabel suffer without any way of comforting her.  She continued letting out silent cries, her face contorting in pure misery.  He could feel his own heartbeat picking up with every passing second.  

He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Wanda was beginning to shake as well.  The pen she used to draw out the plans shot across the room and hit the glass.  Red energy circled around the duo and he looked to the vitals, which read out of control.  

“This needs to get shut down,” Tony voiced before Bucky could say the same thing, but as quickly as the storm surged, both women dropped from their sitting positions to the floor, unconscious.  It was silence for an instant.  Their pulses were nonexistent.  Bruce was already partially in the room when both woman’s vitals jumped back to life.  It was a slow rhythm, but it was something.  Bucky felt like he was going to be sick.

“They have a pulse!” Tony called from the lab, following after him.  Bucky slipped in quietly, watching the scientists fret over the pair.  

He couldn’t breathe.  He hadn’t been so scared in years.  

All Bucky could do was stare helplessly while Tony double checked Mabel’s pulse and breathing before cradling her in his arms.  “Loverboy, get Mabel to the med wing and I’ll let the others know what happened.”

Dazed, he took the woman from the genius and held her to his chest.  He walked on autopilot, staring down at her tiny form.  

She’d insisted it would be ok.  She promised.  

He lifted her to an empty bed, stretching her limbs and laying a blanket over her.  It was eerie how similar her expression mimicked the corpse he’d found months previously.  

It was almost peaceful.

He ran a thumb over the edges of her face, studying every detail, from the small freckle on her cheek to the way her lips filled.  As he reached to tuck a piece of hair out of her face, her eyes shot open, glowing bright red before she sat upright, gasping for air- her hazel gaze returning as she held her chest.

Mabel’s sight quickly fell on Bucky and she opened her mouth, breathing out a simple name.

“Le soldat,” she whispered, her eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal.  “Where is he?!” She tried jumping out of bed, but had to be held down by Bucky.  She struggled against his grip snarling her words in French.  

“Let me go!” she demanded sharply.  “You sick bastards!”  

Steve had sprinted into the room, jumping in to assist Bucky as soon as he’d registered the situation.  Mabel’s attention was fixed fully on the brown haired soldier, hissing threats while Steve worked on pulling restraints from under the hospital bed.  

He appeared in Mabel’s eye line and she froze, her mouth gaping slightly.  

“Joseph?” she asked with wide eyes.  Her next words were in English for the Irish-American man.  “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Steve shot Bucky a desperate look, unsure how to proceed.  Bucky shrugged and mouthed.

‘Go along with it.'

“I think you’re confused,” Steve began, slowly wrapping the bed restraints around Mabel’s arms.  “You hit your head pretty badly in the field, Ma-”

“He called her ‘Bella’,” Bucky quickly whispered, ducking out of sight.  

“Bella,” Steve cleared his throat and stood next to Mabel’s head while Bucky finished with her legs.  “Everything is alright, but the nurses want to make sure you’re didn’t ingest too much of the smoke.”  

“The smoke?” she asked, trying to lift an arm and glaring at the restraints.  She gave them a test pull and scowled.  “What smoke?  Joseph, I thought you were dead.   You died right in front of me… Begging me to send your letters to Sarah…” She shook her head, closing her eyes.  “The soldier.  Did you see the soldier?  The American boy?”

“The soldier?” he quirked a brow in confusion.  “I’m the only American soldier here, Bella.”

She blinked, studying him carefully, her brows knitting in concentration.

“What was the name of the child you lost?” she questioned, an emotionless mask sweeping her features.  Steve and Bucky both froze.  This was the first Bucky had heard of Sarah losing a child before Steve.  The blonde struggled for an answer before Tony entered the room, a large bruise forming under his eye.

“I see you two locked her down before any damage could be done,” he grumbled, passing Steve a tablet and looking Mabel over.  “Unfortunately, Bruce and I caught on a little late and Wanda punched me in the eye while screaming about me murdering her family.”

“Amnesia?” Steve guessed, but Tony shrugged helplessly.  

“Sure, we can call it that,” he answered, flashing light in Mabel’s eyes, earning a hiss from the blonde woman.  “Bruce is calling it retrograde memory something or other.”

Mabel’s attention remained on Steve.  

“You never answered my question,” she stated bitterly, her voice laced with venom and distrust.

Steve stumbled over words before blurting out the first family member name that came to mind.

“Maria,” he tried stating the name with as much confidence as possible.  Lord help him if he was wrong...  

Yet, Mabel’s expression softened.

“It’s really you,” she whispered, her body language loosening significantly.  Bucky had never seen Mabel so relaxed before.  It was like a completely different person.  “You’re not dead.  It was just a terrible nightmare.”

“You really think I’d leave you behind in this hellhole?” he joked, trying his best to remain composed under Tony’s and Bucky’s expectant gazes.  “But you need to get some sleep.  The smoke you inhaled might make you a little…” he tried to remember a phrase his mom would use when he was a child.  “Kooky.”

“You’ll be here when I wake?” she asked, almost innocently.  It was like a child nervous to go back to sleep during a storm.

Steve reached over and touched her hand.

“I promise Bella,” he offered a smile and replaced the blanket over her.  “Sleep well.”

She closed her eyes obediently and the three men shuffled out of the room, locking the door behind them.

“The hell was that?” Tony asked the blonde, shaking his head at the bizarre scene.

“She thinks Steve is his father,” Bucky quickly explained, trying to wrap his head around the side of Mabel he’d just seen.  

“We figured going with it would be better than starting from scratch,” Steve reasoned with a sigh.  “Any idea how to fix this?”

“None,” Tony groaned.  “The only positive to all of this is that we got the specs for the machine, so we know what to keep an eye on incase Rumlow starts stealing parts.”

“I told her this was a terrible idea,” Bucky grumbled under his breath.  “Damn stubborn woman.”

“It was the exact same way dealing with you, Buck,” Steve reminded him with a pat on the shoulder.  He gave it a sympathetic squeeze and frowned.  “We need to reconvene and discuss our options.  With Wanda down, the team loses a big hitter.  Plus, Rumlow and Hydra are still lurking around with that early information, even if we did get a win tonight.”

“Wonderful,” Bucky said sardonically.  “Everything just goes to hell in a handbag at once.”

“We’ll figure out how to save your girlfriend, Barnes, relax ,” Tony held the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed in thought.  

Bucky stuttered his response.

“S-she’s not my-,” he tried, earning him an arched brow from Steve.  Bucky snorted under his breath and turned the opposite way down the hall.  “I’m going to find Nat and see if she has any new intel.”

He could feel Steve and Tony’s eyes following him out of sight, but Bucky wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of sending one last look at Mabel’s room.  

He’d stop by later, alone.

It was strange for Steve to take on the role of someone he’d never met.  Mabel woke up after a few hours and demanded to see him before allowing Bruce to administer a test serum in her arm.  

They tried their best to stick with the biological warfare story, but Mabel was perceptive and quickly asked about the various pieces of medical equipment surrounding her.

“You’re in a government hospital,” Steve offered lightly.  “Top of the line, best of the best.”

She’d narrow her eyes and eventually allow whatever test that was coming to proceed.  

Steve couldn’t quite place where her mind was.  Occasionally she’d ask about the unnamed brown-haired soldier who Steve knew as Bucky.  Then she’d ask about a mission that had occurred years before her capture, like it was yesterday.  Somewhere in her head, she knew Joseph had been hurt and died.  She constantly made comments along the lines of how happy she was to see him well.  

One particular comment caught Steve’s interest when she brought up the letters to Sarah Rogers again.

“I have them in my knapsack,” she assured him with a small smile.  “No one will touch them and I’ll give them back when I’m out.  I promise.”

Steve made a mental note to ask Buck about anything regarding letters to his mother.  Perhaps it wasn’t the first time Mabel had brought them up.  

She’d occasionally ask him about his child.  Mabel was ecstatic to find out it was a boy.

“That’s wonderful,” she praised as the night went on.  “You were so sure it was a girl again, but perhaps you got lucky.  A nice, strong boy.  What a blessing to your family.”

By the time it was close to three am, Mabel had begun to drift into a fitful sleep.  Bruce went over some of the things he’d tried to trigger her mind back to reality, but it hadn’t worked.  

“I’m debating calling in Strange,” he mumbled, his expression revealing that he wasn’t particularly fond of the idea.  “He might be able to pull Wanda back, and in turn, Mabel.”

“He might be helpful with regard to Hydra as well,” Steve offered while they parted the room.  

“Have you ever met the guy?  He’s like Tony on steroids with magic,” Bruce snorted under his breath.  “He’s humbled down a bit since his accident, but it’s still a bit unbearable.”

Steve offered a smile of sympathy.

“I’m sure you’ll make the best decision, Bruce,” he parted on those words, leaving the doctor to mutter to himself about potential equations and chemicals.  

Bucky was in one of the community kitchens struggling with the coffee maker when Steve found him.

“It has all of these buttons,” he complained loudly, gesturing to the device.  “What happened to pouring hot water through coffee beans?”

Steve shoved him away and pressed two buttons, placing a mug under the spout.  

“Did Mabel ever mention letters from my father to you?” he inquired while Bucky watched the hot liquid flow into the mug.  

The assassin looked to his friend questioningly, and Steve quickly added the context to his question.  “She mentioned letters that she was supposed send to my mother.”

Bucky hummed, acknowledging the question and taking a small sip of his drink.

“She did,” he confirmed, stirring a bit of milk into his mug.  “She never read them though, so she couldn’t tell me any details about what they said.”

Steve had hoped that Bucky would have had more to contribute to the mystery and sighed at the response.  Bucky moved to the large table outside of the room, patting at a seat next to him.

“Stop sulking,” he ordered teasingly.  “She has them.  We found them in Paris.  I wanted her to give them to you instead of me.  I thought it’d be more sentimental.”

“Do you know where they are?” Steve’s expression lit up at the news.  If he could get a little more insight into his father’s mind, maybe he’d be able to-

“I have no idea,” Bucky admitted quietly.  “I’m not even sure if she brought them to the Tower.  Even if she did, I’d wait until she snaps back.  Who knows what they even say?  Wouldn’t you want her around to answer any questions you may have?  I’m pretty sure Mabel knew him almost as well as your mom.”

Steve weighed the suggestion a moment, his heart sinking.

“And if she doesn’t snap back?” he asked.  Bucky’s expression sank, his eyes focusing on his coffee on the table.

“Then we’ll track them down and read them,” he promised.  “We’ll read everything and keep trying to bring her back.”

Steve watched his friend’s walls build back up.  He should have known that Mabel was a sore spot with Bucky.  After, what Steve assumed, was a kiss in Paris, they’d been separated again.  He was pretty sure neither of the former Hydra assets had any idea on how to sort through their feelings.  

It was definitely more complicated than a normal relationship.  Who knew how far back their pasts intertwined?    Bucky gave him bits and pieces, while Mabel was an expert at evading the topic.  He just guessed that it wasn’t a pretty situation.  

His heart ached for the pair.  In any other situation he could have seen Bucky falling head over heels for a woman like Mabel.  She was independent, stubborn, smart as a whip, and possessed that timeless beauty.  The same went for Bucky.  From what Steve had gathered from the pair, Bucky was a solid match for her.  He leveled with her, guiding her through history lessons and helping her adjust to some of the new age frustrations.  

“It’s just a small setback,” Steve voiced after silence fell between the pair.  “We’ll bring them back.”

Bucky look up at his friend and gave him a sad smile.  

For an instant, it looked like he almost believed Steve.  

PART 14

#Marvel #MCU #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #ww1 #ww2 #Hydra #super soldier #winter soldier #captain america #fanfiction #ao3fic #porcelainstorm #Marvel Fanfiction #OFC #OC #original female character

[avengershumanresources]

Dust to Dust (4)

Summary: Where did Hydra come from? An idea? A twisted dream? For an organization that spans centuries, it kept relatively quiet until contemporary times.The Super Soldier serum wasn’t dreamt up over night, but was the product of numerous experiments both unethical and violent over the course of the century. It was going to be the end of all conflicts between good and evil. Scientists died trying to determine the next level of the serum, only for it to be stolen by enemies. Back and forth until one side had the advantage.

Mabel Foster was everything the ideal woman should be in 1914. She was well brought-up, wealthy, educated and the heiress to a large fortune. When her father died in a much publicized U-boat attack by the Germans, Mabel made a decision that changed the course of history by enlisting in the French Army during WWI.

After an ambush gone bad, Mabel found herself captured by an early group of Hydra.100 years later she’s discovered in a desolate Hydra base and is taken by the Avengers for safe-keeping and questioning. Little do they realize that all of their destinies and pasts are directly connected through the nest that Hydra weaved.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC (Original Female Character)

Rating/Warnings: Mature- Graphic violence, torture, PTSD, smut

(Masterlist found HERE)

“But she said, where’d you wanna go?  How much you wanna risk?”

–Coldplay (Something Just Like This)

Bucky wasn’t even sure how all of this ended up happening.

Someone suggested that exercise would be good for the adaption process and he found himself being assigned to run with her.  It’d only been a handful of days since their conversation outside the compound, and he had spoken with her maybe twice since then.

Mabel had been fairly insistent on exploring the woods surrounding the large compound, but Bucky now stood in the middle of the forest with Mabel howling to the gods above.

Somehow Hydra had been brought up during their run, and she stopped to kick a tree in frustration.  One thing led to another and she was practically screaming at the top of her lungs. It started as frustration and turned into something that Bucky didn't even have a name for.

Mabel let out a long drawn out shout.  It echoed through the trees and floated down the pathway.

She gave a spin, screaming until the air ran out of her lungs and the nearby birds scattered in fear.

“That felt wonderful,” she looked to Bucky with her eyes wide.  It was like every tension and stress that had been weighing her down was released.  “You should try it, it really helps things settle."

“I’m not sure about-,” he started, but she shook her head and shrugged.

“Oh don’t give me that,” she replied with a small eye roll.  “You’ve got just as many demons as I do, Mr. Barnes.”

He looked at her hesitantly before he gave a quick shout.  It almost resembled the yelp of a small animal- it was much weaker than the screech Mabel had unleashed moments before.

Bucky was certain that second he shouted, it wouldn’t stop.

A few squirrels scrambled up a nearby tree, but aside from that, the forest remained tranquil.

“Pathetic,” was Mabel’s simple comment before she continued up the path for their hike, clearly unimpressed with his attempt to appease her.

Bucky jogged up to her, a determined frown set into his features.

She barely knew the guy, but boy did Mabel Foster know ways to get under his skin.  Maybe it was all of those years being in command of punks like him?

“Ok, wait,” he held a hand up before releasing a longer shout.  He pulled the sound from the bottom of his lungs and felt it vibrate through the woods.

Mabel was grinning, her energy sparking, before she joined him in a long wail.

He wasn’t sure how long the two of them spent screaming to the heavens, but admittedly, Bucky felt significantly better.

There was something almost intimate about allowing the pain loose in the isolation of the woods.

Gasping for breath, the pair took a seat on the forest floor, laughing between breaths.  

“See?” Mabel nodded at her friend.  “You look better.”

Bucky wasn’t sure about that, but he did feel better, and that’s really all that mattered on this little hike.

“Thanks,” he finally breathed, offering a smile in her direction.

“You should listen to your elders next time Mr. Barnes,” she taunted lightly before poking him softly in the chest.  She stood and dusted the forest’s debris from her shorts before glancing around the canopy.  

He hopped up, jumping after her in a short jog.

“Bucky,” he stated firmly.  “I told you to call me Bucky.  And I’m pretty sure I’m biologically older than you.  What year were you born?”

“Did your mother not teach you manners?” she mocked offense and folded her arms across her chest.  “I’m astounded that you would ask a woman her age, Mr. Barnes.”

Yikes, he thought in a panic, trying to recover from the social faux-pa.

He really did know better; for example, he never asked Wanda or Natasha.  But he figured that he, Steve and Mabel were their own special cases when it came to age.

“You look like I’m about to give you a whipping,” she laughed jogging ahead a few feet, looking over her shoulder at the super soldier she left behind.  “Develop a sense of humor, Mr. Barnes.”  

For the life of him, Bucky had no idea how to interact with Mabel Foster.  On the one hand, he knew she was hiding a plethora of time bombs under her surface.  But on the other hand, she was hiding it significantly better than he would have.

On top of that, he had so many questions he wanted to ask- about Hydra, her past, the war and Manhattan during the early 1900’s.  It was like she was an alien amongst them, so familiar and yet so foreign to this world.  He’d been disoriented waking up throughout history and that only spanned a few decades; he couldn’t imagine opening his eyes up 100 years in the future.

“Just so you know, I am winning,” Mabel shouted from a distance.  Stark and Bruce had mentioned some of the effects of her experimentation- certain enhanced abilities, additional strength and speed, and a healing factor that surpassed even him and Steve.

The scientists chalked it up to her body’s increase in estrogen compared to the two men, though they’d have to run more tests between the three to really find the key.

Bucky started jogging after her, not wanting to lose on their first outing into the woods, when he lost sight of her.

Instead, he heard a shout of surprise in the distance.  Short- startled and cut off quickly- Mabel wasn’t releasing a locked down tension this time.

Fearing the worst, he sprinted toward it, catching himself before he slid off of the edge of a small cliff that overhang a large lake.  Looking down, he could see Mabel laughing in the water below.  She clearly lost her footing and fell in during her gloating.

“Jump!  It’s barely even that cold,” Mabel insisted from the lake, splashing down in the water.  “I promise there aren’t any sharks."

It was a laudable notion, that either of them would fear something as gentle as a shark compared to the monster that was Hydra.

He paused, looking down and studying the depths of the water.  It wasn’t shallow, so clearly the heiress had gotten lucky with her fall.  Taking a breath and a running start, he leapt off of the small cliff into the water, crashing down next to his fellow soldier.

The November weather had certainly taken an effect on the water, as the chill bit at him the moment he made contact.  Thankfully, his heightened metabolism kicked in and warmed him as he moved.

Fully clothed and swimming in the lake felt like something out of the movies that Wanda made him watch with her.  He dove below the surface, opening his eyes and finding the water was relatively clear.  Mabel soon joined him and they explored the underwater world until they were forced to resurface for air.

“It’s so peaceful,” she murmured when they stilled in the water, floating on the surface and allowing the current to move them.  “Mr. Stark said the city is much louder now.  I find that hard to believe, steam engines are severely under exaggerated today.  They were ear-splitting."

“New York is definitely different,” Bucky rolled onto his back and looked up at the blue sky.  The sun was setting sooner and the weather was beginning to shift in upstate New York.  It’d be sooner, rather than later, when the team would reorganize in Manhattan.  “It’ll take some time, but home is home, ya know?”

“Is it still home after 104 years?” she quietly asked, her voice cracking with the question.  “Or is it just a memory?”

“Don’t fool yourself, it’s home.  I promise,” he rolled forward to reiterate his point.

“I’ll be holding you to that, Mr. Barnes,” she laughed lightly before a visible chill shot through her.  “We should probably head back before we catch our deaths.”

Unlikely, a voice chimed in silently, but Bucky nodded his agreement and helped her swim toward the nearest shoreline.

Between the two of them, they were able to get back to the compound faster than when they’d left.  Bucky was fairly certain that the pair of them had impressive survival skills.  A sick part of him wanted to test how severe of conditions they’d be able to thrive in.  The more rational part of him reminded Bucky how screwed up a thought that was.

“Dr. Krauss pops up a few times in the SHIELD archives,” Tony passed off a folder to Steve, flipping open the first page and pointing to a few excerpts after the former had called a quick meeting in his office.  “You have him to thank for your serum, actually.  Well him and my father, but I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of that.”

“It’s not like you remind me every time it comes up,” Steve relented with an arched brow.  “This is all in German.”

“Very observant,” Tony held up his phone over the words and they quickly translated across the screen.  “We do have the technology to resolve that.”

Steve skimmed over the paragraphs of information, trying to pull a general idea of what the notes suggested.  It was gruesome hypothesis on how to create the ‘perfect’ human.

“Good lord,” he muttered after finishing the page.  “That’s barbaric even by that era’s standards.”

Tony closed the folder and nodded in agreement.  

“That’s not even the cherry on top, wait until you read about the specifics pertaining to Miss Foster that we came across.  They pulled no punches because of her gender.  I’m glad you’re having Barnes keep an eye on her this week.  It could end ugly if she snaps or is triggered somehow,” he passed a second folder to Steve and the soldier opened it immediately.  The vast majority of it was written in English, with a few Russian phrases that Stark was quick to translate for him.

“Can I keep this for the night?” he asked the brown-haired genius.

“That’s why I made copies,” Tony patted the pile of paperwork on his desk.  “Just keep it out of sight.  I’m going to wager your buddy Bucky might not be too keen on it either.”

The message was received loud and clear to Steve, especially after reading the first few sentences of the notes.

“I’ll keep this to myself,” he assured his friend.

Manhattan, New York, NY- October 12th, 1914

“He’s passed on my darling.” Her mother took a long sip from her porcelain cup.  “Something about a robbery near Brooklyn.  What a shame, you were fond of him weren’t you?”

Of course Mabel was fond of him.

How many nights did Samuel O’Brien and Mabel spend on the rooftops planning their escape?  She knew the name of their future children more intimately than the members of her family and planned on living in a blue house outside of Indiana with him by 1915.  That was the plan.

Sam wouldn’t go and change the plan.  Not Sam, never Sam.  He was the only thing she had left to keep her sane after her father’s death.  Without Sam…

Mabel swallowed down a sob.

They had a plan.

“No.” Mabel dropped her teacup to the floor.  The news pierced her heart like a sharpened knife, yet her mother looked so calm at the revelation.  A nearby maid scrambled to pick up the shards while Mabel sank to the floor in stunned silence.

“Mabel, compose yourself,” her mother murmured under her breath.  Pierre was lightly tugging at Mabel’s elbow, the woman shaking under his touch.  She didn’t even know how to process this information.  Certainly it’d been some time since she’d last seen her lover; with the news of her father and the planning of his funeral- but dead?  Not Samuel.  He was the epitome of light and life- a spark that would never be dulled.

“You’re lying,” she whispered sharply, tugging her arm away from the Frenchman, stumping back to her feet.  “You’re lying to me."

“Mabel, perhaps we should go somewhere-,” Pierre began but Mabel stood looking between him and her mother.  The two maids on the side of the tea lounge stared in gross curiosity and embarrassment for the young woman- or perhaps it was pity?

“How long have you known?” she narrowed her gaze at the socialite.  She took a step forward, only to be held back by Pierre’s grip.  “How long!?” she hissed the words, sending a visible chill through her mother.

“A week,” Elizabeth Foster’s expression fell sour at her daughter’s outburst and she was struggling to maintain composure with the short answer.  “It would have been poor press for you to go wandering around with those Irishmen all night, especially considering your father-”

“My father?” Mabel practically spat the words and the room froze.  Any semblance of poise or compassion had long disappeared.  “My father likedSamuel, he was going to give us his blessing when he returned from Europe.”

“But he didn’t,” her mother’s voice shot up an octave.  “So you will listen to me, or so help me Mabel…”

“Or what?” Mabel squared her shoulders back and sized the older Foster over.  “You’ll give me a whipping in the square?  Your threats mean nothing to me.  You mean nothing to me, you bitter, cruel woman.”

“Mabel!” her mother let out a gasp and tried to call out to her irate daughter, but Mabel had long parted the lounge, Pierre a few steps behind her.

Samuel was gone.  Samuel O’Brien was gone from this mortal world and Mabel didn’t even get to say goodbye.  

Distantly, she could hear Pierre calling her name behind her, but Mabel was focused on one thing- she needed to get to Samuel’s flat.

Surely his family could provide answers to her, how many times had she joined them for a family meal or celebration?

Certainly they’d be more compassionate about the news- they ached and grieved as much as she was.

“Mabel,” Pierre stood in the doorway of Mabel’s room, his arms folded across his chest.  “It’s getting dark.  I’m not going to let you go out by yourself.”

Her oldest friend, always able to read her mind before she made a terrible choice.

“That is not a decision you get to make Pierre,” she replied, digging through her wardrobe for a warm cloak.  The October weather was just beginning to bit and despite the numbness that radiated through her, she had no intention of getting frostbite.

“Let me come with you,” he offered after a tense silence between the friends.

Mabel stood in the middle of her room, frozen, at the offer.

“Mother will be-,” she began but Pierre shook his head and held a hand up.

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn about your mother,” he replied before grabbing a nearby scarf and wrapping it around Mabel’s neck.  “I need you safe.  If I can’t make you happy, safe is the next best thing.”

Mabel clutched at the red scarf and bit her bottom lip, trying to fight back the tears that had threatened to pour over.  She quickly lost that battle; a small tear tracing an outline of her cheek, only to be wiped away by Pierre’s thumb.

“Thank you,” she whispered, reaching for a clutch on her bed and tightening her cloak around her shoulders.  “You grab your coat; I’ll make sure the carriage is ready.”

“As you wish,” the red haired man gave her a forced smile before parting down the hallway.

“No, you press this,” Tony pointed toward the mouse and pressed Mabel’s finger down.  The screen lit to life and the centenarian frowned in concentration.

“You’d think this would be easier to catch onto,” she murmured in frustration before hesitantly typing a name into the search bar.  

At least she knew her way around a keyboard, Tony mused internally.

After meeting with Steve, he found that Barnes and Mabel had returned from their jog.  He hadn’t expected to find the pair drenching wet on a relatively dry day in November.  The pair was elusive in their responses and disappeared into their respective living areas.

After she’d dried off, Mabel sought him out and asked if he could continue some of the lessons he’d been teaching her on the computer system.

“I think some people catch on faster than others.  Barnes was practically hacking into the government within a week, while Steve barely can send a text message today,” he explained watching over her shoulder.  Given enough time, he was sure she’d catch on.  He had a slew of lessons for her about the world from 1918 onward, and they all required the use of the computer.

“Old boyfriend?” he questioned casually when he saw the name typed in the field.

Today, Tony had suggested that Mabel begin the process of looking up those from her past, or at least key elements of the past that she’d lived through.  It was the first step in a long integration process to get her acclimated to the 21st century.

“Something like that,” Mabel replied non-committedly.  She pressed the ‘enter’ key and watched the screen while it loaded.

A census record, a birth certificate, a death certificate, and a high school graduation list.

That’s all that history had left of Samuel O’Brien; the name she’d carefully typed into the computer.

“He die in the war?” Tony shifted a little closer to the woman and she shrugged.  

“Not necessarily the war, maybe a war, depending how you look at it,” she closed the window on the computer and set the genius a polite smile.  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Stark.”

Normally she was a little more engaged in the lesson.  Something had obviously rattled the seemingly unshakable Mabel Foster.

When the woman was gone from sight, Tony pulled up the file, plopping down in the office chair that Mabel previously occupied.  This was his first lead on something about the woman’s life outside of military documentation or newspaper clippings.  

While she’d been more than helpful in trying to recall information for Hydra, he realized that even after a week or so, he knew nothing about her.

No one did really, and that included the family she left behind in 1914.

Samuel O’Brien, immigrated to the US as an infant from Ireland.  Surprisingly, the kid grew up only a few blocks away from where Rogers and Barnes would eventually live.  

It wasn’t exactly the neighborhood that one of the wealthiest families in America would have frequented at the time.  He clicked on the death certificate and frowned.

October 2nd, 1914- if his math was right (and it always was) that was roughly two weeks after Maxwell Foster was killed in the U-Boat incident, and three weeks before Mabel allegedly jumped the ship to Paris.  

Suddenly the young woman’s motivations to disappear seemed clear.

The coroner attached a small examination note to the death certificate, indicating that the boy died of significant bleeding at the age of 26.  A stabbing.

“FRIDAY, run newspaper articles, early October 1914, in Brooklyn for a stabbing,” Tony ordered the AI.  A series of newspaper headlines flashed across the screen in front of him; mostly indicating the presence of war in Europe, or celebrity gossip.  Eventually, he found a small clipping that mentioned an unnamed boy’s murder in the shipping district.

Wrong place at the wrong time, the article indicated.  The boy had been working on a dock and someone decided it was a good time to rob it.  Samuel got in the way and was gone in minutes.  A blink of an eye and history was changed forever.

There was nothing else aside from a few sentence blurb in the crime section. No obituary, no memorial; nothing for the faceless immigrant boy that disappeared into history.

From what Tony could gather, Samuel O’Brien was the reason all of them were sitting in the tower today.  Mabel would eventually run off to Europe, get captured by Hydra and become their initial Winter Soldier project, Bucky would be captured and ‘perfected’, Steve would transform and the world would continue to spin.  Regimes would fall, people would die and good would go after evil.

But Samuel O’Brien triggered it all.  Without Mabel, Hydra wouldn’t have reached their levels of success in the second world war.  Without Mabel, the super soldier serum wouldn’t have been found and toyed with by the SSR.  If she’d simply married Garnier and moved on with her life, there was no telling where the world would have been today.

Mabel decided to hole herself up on a small sofa tucked away from the more popular common area.  It was essentially barred off by three walls, one of which contained a fireplace.  At some point, she’d lazily grabbed a book off a shelf while she passed, so she opened it to the first page and settled in.

She’d been so distracted by the plot of the story that she didn’t hear James peering over her shoulder.

“I haven’t read that one yet,” he stated, causing the young woman to jump in surprise.  She dropped her book on the floor and scrambled to pick it back up.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, sorry.”

“Who said you scared me?” she retorted back with an arched brow.  She folded her book closed in her lap and turned her full attention to him.  She was surprised at how quickly he’d managed to shower and change after their excursion, but soon realized it’d been a few hours since they’d last seen each other.  “So to what do I owe this visit, Mr. Barnes?  Are you ready for another run?”

“It’s Bucky,” he quickly corrected but Mabel kept her focus on him, waiting for an explanation of his sudden appearance.  “The book, is it good?”

She looked down at the worn novel in her lap and ran a finger over the title: 

‘To Kill a Mockingbird.’

“It’s different from the prose I’m familiar with,” she admitted quietly.  “Though I suppose the issues are still the same.”

The man gave a small nod and stood awkwardly behind her before speaking again.

“Have you been reading up on history?  Stark mentioned something about it yesterday,” he looked flustered, Mabel realized with amusement.  As if he had no idea what space to fill or what he was doing while standing there.

Perhaps he didn’t have a reason to visit her.

“Do you need help er, with it?”

“Do you have a time machine?  I have a few suggestions on how this century should have panned out,” she joked dryly, earning a look from him.  Perhaps that was the wrong joke, considering the impact the pair of them had into modern times.  

“It’s ridiculous that this was still an issue into the late 20th century.”  She decided to change the subject and Bucky loosened significantly.  He moved a little closer, repositioning himself on the other side of the sofa and lifting the book to examine the copyright date.

“It’s actually still a bit of an issue today,” he informed the woman.  She openly gaped.  Impossible.  Mankind was not that brutal.  “There’s some good and there’s some bad.  We’re all human, after all.”

“I was promised floating cities and flying cars,” Mabel shook her head in disappointment.  “I’ve worked my way through the highlights of the early 1960’s, does it get worse?”

“Highs and lows,” he replied vaguely.  Mabel didn’t like the sound of that.  “We make it to the moon, and then nearly start World War III.”

“Charming,” Mabel sighed.  She picked up the book and flipped it in her hands, debating her next thought carefully.  “I’m not very far in the novel.  I wouldn’t mind starting over again if you’d like me to read out loud.”  She wasn’t even sure she wanted the company- her heart still aching over Samuel and the lack of memoriam for her lost love.

“I didn’t realize people still did that,” he chuckled.  “Seems a little old-fashioned."

“I was just born in the wrong era, or so they day,” Mabel added.  “I’m a little rusty, but I’d be more than happy to-”

“It sounds wonderful,” Bucky positioned himself on the floor, grabbing a few pillows from a nearby chair and settling near the fireplace.  He looked up at her expectantly, waiting for her to get started.

It was a cozy scene, Mabel mused.  For a moment, she could almost imagine herself reading to Pierre on cold winter nights, or Jonah when he had his nightmares.  Perhaps he didn’t even realize it, that he’d brought them back in time for just a moment.

It was exactly what Mabel’s tired soul needed for the evening.  Opening the first page she cleared her throat and began to read.

“When he was thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow.”

PART 5

#MCU #Marvel #Bucky Barnes #original female character #OFC #Winter Soldier #james barnes #ww1 #ww2 #ao3 #porcelainstorm #hydra

[avengershumanresources]

Dust to Dust (6)

Summary: Where did Hydra come from? An idea? A twisted dream? For an organization that spans centuries, it kept relatively quiet until contemporary times.The Super Soldier serum wasn’t dreamt up over night, but was the product of numerous experiments both unethical and violent over the course of the century. It was going to be the end of all conflicts between good and evil. Scientists died trying to determine the next level of the serum, only for it to be stolen by enemies. Back and forth until one side had the advantage.

Mabel Foster was everything the ideal woman should be in 1914. She was well brought-up, wealthy, educated and the heiress to a large fortune. When her father died in a much publicized U-boat attack by the Germans, Mabel made a decision that changed the course of history by enlisting in the French Army during WWI.

After an ambush gone bad, Mabel found herself captured by an early group of Hydra.100 years later she’s discovered in a desolate Hydra base and is taken by the Avengers for safe-keeping and questioning. Little do they realize that all of their destinies and pasts are directly connected through the nest that Hydra weaved.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC (Original Female Character)

Rating/Warnings: Mature- Graphic violence, torture, PTSD, smut

(Masterlist found HERE)

***TRIGGER WARNING: First section of 1917 memory has an assault that nearly turns into a sexual assault.  Proceed with caution.***

“And these fingertips , will never run through your skin.  And those bright blue eyes can only meet mine across the room filled with people that are less important than you.”

– Of Monsters and Men (Love Love Love)

1917- Past midnight- Early November

“What do we have here?”

Mabel hadn’t even heard the soldier stumble his way through the underbrush to the pond where she was cleaning herself.  It’d been an unnaturally warm fall night, so she took the rare opportunity to fully clean herself and her wound.

She lowered herself into the water, ignoring the shooting pain from her freshly healing wound.

What had he seen?

“I didn’t realize we had a mademoiselle Garnier in our company,” he laughed, a bark-like sound that echoed across the water.  Her eyes finally adjusted to the figure when he stepped into the moonlight; McDonald had found her hidden spot.

Shit.

She’d been so careful for years.  Rogers had only found out because of the emergent situation, but this was genuine carelessness.

“C’mere sweetheart, it’s been so long since I’ve seen a pretty face,” he chortled.  He was drunk, Mabel realized.  A handful of soldiers had decided to investigate a nearby tavern- they obviously found what they were looking for.

The hair on the back of her began to raise while she backed away from him.

“I think you’re seeing things McDonald,” she chided, trying desperately to hide the fear in her voice.  “Little too much French Cognac?"

“Oh shut the hell up,” McDonald pulled off his coat and started into the shallow pond, splashing after her.  “Get over here before I tell the whole camp your little fucked up secret."

Mabel had practically crashed into the furthest bank, where she’d stacked her clothes.  She’d have to sacrifice her shoes, but she was fairly certain she would be able to pull something on before McDonald got across.

She scrambled onto the embankment, nearly slipping on the smooth surface while she gripped for whatever objects of protection she could gather.  She wrestled into a pair of pants and took off toward the woods while pulling her shirt over her head.  

There was no sense of direction; Mabel wasn’t even sure what she was going to do.  She couldn’t go back to camp without McDonald risking her safety.  She was alone in the woods, with no weapon, in German controlled French territory; in men’s under garments.

The situation couldn’t get less ideal.

Taking a small leap over an overturned log in the path, Mabel didn’t even see the hole that waited on the other side.  Her foot slid in and she dropped face first into the ground.

Shit.  She could not afford another injury.

Though from a quick assessment, it seemed like she would get away with a few scrapes.

She jumped back to her feet, but McDonald shot out of nowhere and crashed her into a nearby tree.

“I just wanted to say hello, and you’ve got to make this difficult,” he was digging at the belt of his pants, his fingers clumsy and distracted.  Mabel tried to use this to her advantage and take another chance at freedom.  Instead, he angrily slammed her head against the tree bark.

Mabel’s body fell limp and she dropped to the bottom of the tree.  Her head swam in and out of consciousness, only mildly aware of what was about to happen to her.

McDonald ripped her shirt, and easily pulled away her bottoms.  She tried struggling against his movements, but he hit and kicked until she was dizzy and bleeding from the lip.  

He whispered things in her ear, grotesque things that made her skin crawl, but her body protested against any movement to protect itself.  

His hands touched and traced, playing and pulling until he grunted and began to get ready for his own pleasure.  

Mabel closed her eyes and waited for what felt like the inevitable.  This was it.  This was the worse possibly scenario that could have come out of this.  She’d be violated, thrown into an asylum for cross dressing and…

The next touch was gentle.

“Jesus, Mae,” Joseph’s voice vaguely registered in her mind and Mabel allowed a swallowed sob to the surface.  He took his jacket off and threw it over her shoulders, pulling her into a tight embrace.  “Bastard hurt you.” He lifted her chin to examine the extent of the damage and sighed.

“I don’t think anything will stick,” he determined before his expression turned to anger.  “What the hell were you thinking?  I told you to tell me whenever you left camp.”

“I’m sorry,” she managed out of her blubbering.  She felt so pathetic.  So weak.

So disgusted with her own femininity.

Joseph pulled her to his chest with his arm and sat with her in the woods until the tears turned to soft hiccups in the quiet night.

“We need to find your clothes,” he eventually determined, passing her the bottom garments that had been discarded less than ceremoniously onto the forest floor.

“What about McDonald?” she questioned, trying to look over Joseph’s shoulder, but the blonde Irishman pushed the girl along, not allowing her to see.

“Don’t worry about him,” he growled, a viciousness that Mabel had never heard lace his voice before.

It took some time for Mabel’s jumbled mind to fully understand the meaning behind his words, and by that point, they’d long traveled to their next camp location- without McDonald.

Officially, Rogers found his body while scouting.  A German ambush in the woods that Pierre had barely escaped.  Fortunately, Rogers had been nearby to save the day.

While the other soldiers congratulated him on his victory, he caught Mabel’s eye while her face was being patched up by the medic.  

They exchanged a tense nod, and that was all that was mentioned of the event.  The next day, Joseph was laughs and jokes- as usual.  

Things fell back to normal, with the pair sharing a few scouting missions and going about their usual business.

But Mabel made sure to tell him exactly where she going- from that point forward.

McDonald’s face was the last thing she saw before jerking awake in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room.

Immediately her pulse began to quicken and she darted out of bed into the main living area.  

It looked similar to her room in the Stark compound in upstate New York.

Which was where she was, she reminded herself slowly.  She was safe.

Her mind tried to rewind the last few hours, only being able to remember weeping in Bucky’s lap near a staircase.  She was coming undone; the exact thing she had hoped to avoid.

“I still get nightmares too,” a low voice commented from a few feet in front of her.

Mabel froze, trying to place who it belonged to in the darkness, before Bucky peered over the edge of the sofa.

For the life of her, Mabel had no idea what was going on.  She waited in silence for Bucky to provide her an explanation.

“You passed out after we left the lab, I didn’t want to wake you,” he explained away.  Mabel relaxed slightly.  Seemed plausible.  She was wearing the same clothes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offered softly referring to the dream that brought her out.  “They say it helps.”  

Mabel cringed internally.  No, she didn’t.  She had no intention of talking about any of this- having resolved earlier to try and figure it out on her own.

She knew the words- now she just needed to know the connections, some more obvious to her than others.  Mabel was certain the missing memories would fill in as she tried to figure out how the brainwashing got there.  But this was a mission she would handle alone.  If she was a threat, there was no point dragging anyone else into this mess.

“You’re not going to be able to do this alone,” Bucky yawned and fell back onto the sofa, disappearing from sight.  “Hydra screwed us up too much.  Trust me, I tried.”

Was he reading minds now?  Mabel took a step back.

“You are allowed to talk,” he added sleepily.  “Or just stunned into silence by my amazing deductive abilities?”

“You were worse off than I was,” she argued half-heartedly.  She’d seen some of the methods they’d tried on him.  She knew the memories were wiped.  She knew he’d suffered more abuse at their hands.

“I remember the people I killed under their control, do you?” he countered back darkly.

She didn’t.

“But do you remember how they got you to that point?” she shot back, her head suddenly aching at the frustration building in her.  This man was beginning to infuriate her.

He didn’t respond.  And Mabel knew she was right.  

“You shouted for a Joseph,” he replied instead, bringing up the nightmare she’d just woken from.  He sat back up and watched her.  Even in the darkness, she could almost see those sharp blue eyes studying her movements.  “Joseph Rogers, right?  Steve mentioned you served with his father.”

“He was a good man,” Mabel stated firmly, biting down any emotion that threatened to surge up.   “Gone too soon.  Sarah didn’t deserve that heartbreak."

“I’d only heard stories about him,” Bucky admitted.  “She always said he was playing jokes and teasing everyone.”

Mabel smiled at a few unspoken memories.

“He had a light about him,” she explained.  “He reminded me of an old friend.  It was pure, and yet he wasn’t weak at all.  Stubborn as all hell, but made you laugh so fast that you’d forget what you were yelling at him about."

“You knew him personally,” Bucky noted quietly.  “More than just fellow soldiers on a mission.”

“He knew who I was,” she moved closer to the sofa, unsure why she was revealing such personal information to him.  Wasn’t she angry with him a few moments ago?  She positioned herself on a nearby ottoman and continued talking.  “He watched out for me.”

The War was dangerous, but arguably more so for women.

“Who was McDonald?” Bucky asked quietly, once they were just an arm’s length from one another.  “You were shouting his name as well.  It was getting so violent I almost woke you up."

Mabel swallowed at the name.  She never thought she’d be hearing that name spoken out loud again, and yet here it was.  A ghost mocking her from behind his grave.

Mabel decided to save face and recite the incident like a report to a commanding officer.  She dared not reveal the depths that the scars pierced.

“He caught me bathing one night,” she began softly.  “Chased me through the woods outside of the Western front lines-” she shook her head at the foggy memory and jumped to the happy ending.  “Joseph had been scouting that night and noticed I was missing from my tent.  I had mentioned the pond a few days before so he started there and eventually rescued me.”

She hated that word; rescued.  It was like she was some weak damsel that needed protection from the world.  It reminded her of the fragile Mabel Foster who dreamed on rooftops with Samuel O’Brien, not the woman who fought for four years in the greatest conflict known to mankind.

“He killed McDonald before any damage was done,” she clarified.  “He didn’t deserve the burden… it was my carelessness.”

“You cared for him,” Bucky realized in surprise.  He readjusted his position on the couch, more awake than before, listening to the story with interest.

“He was an older brother to me, nothing more,” she assured him, her voice steady.  “I wept by his bedside during his last moments.  He thought I was his wife.  I wrote a letter to Sarah offering my condolences, but it was never sent.”

She’d gotten reckless after Joseph Rogers’ death.  It was like reliving the nightmare of Sam’s light being smothered.  She couldn’t cope, so she focused on her mission and did what she needed to do.  No matter the cost.

Countless lives were smothered by her fury and hurt- and while she wouldn’t have taken anything back- it was impossible to say there were things she didn’t regret.

“Steve’s just like him,” she commented during the lull in the conversation.  “They could be twins.”

“He wasn’t always like this,” Bucky explained, stretching his flesh arm over his shoulders and allowing a yawn.  “He was a scrappy kid growing up.  Always sick, always getting picked on.  It got better when he started art school, but with the war and his damned stubbornness...”

“He volunteered for the serum,” Mabel recalled from her reading a few nights before.  Mr. Stark had been very thorough in ensuring she understood every world-altering event and Steve Rogers’ transformation certainly topped the list.

“Grew about a foot and gained the muscles of an ox,” Bucky pointed to his own arm to emphasize the point.  “He has the ‘perfect’ version so he’s truly the embodiment of truth and justice and poorly fitted shirts.”

“And look at us,” a stray laugh escaped her.  “The Jekylls to his Hyde.”

“You actually know that story?” Bucky snickered.

“It was published in 1886, quite a few years before I was even born,” she coolly corrected him.  He let out a snort and moved off of the couch toward the curtains.  Sunlight was beginning to sneak through the edges, indicating the length of time the pair had spent talking.

“I should return to my room,” Mabel stated after a patch of sunlight trailed across her face.  When the room illuminated, she realized Bucky was wearing only a pair of sleeping pants and nothing else.  “I wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression.”

“You may as well stay for breakfast,” he offered striding toward the kitchenette in the corner of the apartment.  “Steve’ll probably be by in a few minutes and I’m interested in taking on the challenge of feeding three super soldiers.”

Mabel kept averting her gaze, using every ounce of willpower not to stare at the man’s abs and biceps.  He was in incredible shape.  

Mabel tried to distract herself with purer thoughts while she stood up and scampered toward the front door.

“I should change at the very least,” she stumbled over her own feet and caught herself on a nearby bookshelf.  “And I’m sure you need to clean up and I’d hate to impose…"

Mabel had seen plenty of naked men during her time in the service, yet didn’t quite understand why she felt her face heating up at the scene.

“I’m making pancakes,” he announced from the kitchen.  He was already adjusting dials on the stovetop and rummaging through cabinets for supplies. “You’d better be back in twenty minutes or you’re going to be stuck with Clint’s questionable scrambled eggs.”

Mabel promised she’d return and parted the apartment as quickly as her legs would take her.  His world seemed so normal compared to the man she’d seen fifty years earlier.  It was a stark contrast that inspired a bit of hope in her chest; if he could do it, could she?

The hope was squashed as quickly as it had surged when she rounded the corner of the hallway and nearly collided into Steve.

“Captain Rogers,” she greeted politely, a small nod of respect at the man.  She hadn’t quite gotten her bearings around him.  Certainly he’d been more than kind to her, going out of his way to show her the gadgets and history texts that she overlooked.

He carried a ghost in him that Mabel wasn’t ready to confront.  Not yet, at least.  He was almost too much like his father.  Kind, compassionate and positive in the most adverse circumstances.  Deep down, she was scared of getting too close to him and watching him die like his father.

She knew that she couldn’t bear to watch the life disappear out of those blue eyes a second time.

“Mabel,” he planted himself in the hallway and looked the woman over.  “How are you feeling?  Tony mentioned what had happened in the lab and I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Empathy seeped out of him, a warmth that Mabel quickly shoved aside.

“I’m much better,” she gave him a forced smile.  “We retrieved the answers we needed.  Hopefully that will make our task easier.”

“But how are you?” he crossed his arms and studied her over.  “I know the damage Hydra does.  It doesn’t just slip away with a good night’s sleep.”

A part of Mabel wanted to tell Steve everything; every thought and concern.  She wanted to confide in him like she had to his father a century before through countless nights in the trenches.

But then she remembered that she was talking to Steve, and not Joseph.

Joseph was long dead in the ground.

“Mr. Barnes has been wonderfully helpful through this,” she straightened her posture slightly, the formalities coming through like second nature.  Perhaps those days being trained in etiquette and masking one’s emotions would be more beneficial than she’d thought.  “He’s even invited me for breakfast with the two of you.  His generosity exceeds any expectations, truly."

It was an answer without a response- a trick her mother had taught her at a very young age.

“If you will excuse me, I’d like to freshen up before joining you,” and with that, Mabel parted from the hall and practically sprinted back to her room.  

She collapsed on her bed the moment her door closed behind her.  She felt like she was walking pins and needles more than she had around her over-zealous mother.  She certainly couldn’t blame a corset for the tightness in her chest and gymnastics in her stomach.

“Someone’s making sure Barnes doesn’t get too far over his head with this, right?” Tony asked the group of Avengers surrounding the breakfast table.  Steve had been talking with Sam about a mission from a few days previously when they were interrupted by the genius.

“Since when do you care about Barnes’ wellbeing?” Natasha interjected with a smirk.  “Unless you’re getting soft for those baby-blues?”

“I’m concerned about the team’s wellbeing and if he ends up distracted, we have a problem,” he explained, grabbing a fresh cup of coffee out of Clint’s hands and taking a long sip.  He passed it back and paused at the head of the table.  “So once again, is anyone paying attention to the ice twins?  Or am I the only one noticing their hyper-freaky Hydra bonding?”

“They’re both literally the most misplaced people in history, I’m pretty sure it’s to be expected that they’d be drawn together for comfort,” Natasha held the bridge of her nose between two fingers, Steve could tell that the redhead was in no mood for Tony’s conclusions.

Not this early, at least.

“And what if Foster has a meltdown while Buck’s in the field?  I gotta go with Stark on this one,” Sam voiced, earning a frown from his blonde friend.

“Would he even know?  It’s not like we’re planning on field training her,” Steve shrugged and took a bite out of the toast Sam passed to him.

“I wouldn’t leave the option out,” Tony mumbled and poured himself his own cup of coffee after trying to reach for Clint’s again and having it pulled away with a scowl.  “I don’t think she’ll be working at Burger King anytime soon.”

“I don’t think she’ll be leaving this compound anytime soon, either,” Natasha countered.  “I think we need to focus on our battles in front of us before trying to win the war.  Though I agree, if she has the proper training and experience; she could be an asset to us.”

“I thought the ‘asset’ part was what we were trying to fix?  Or did I miss a memo today?” Clint asked, draining the last part of his coffee and practically slamming the mug down.  “Bucky’s fine now and his brain was far worse.  So we poke a few needles and have Wanda scramble a few things, boom.  Fixed.”

“We aren’t taking any memories from her,” Steve declared firmly.  He pressed his hand on the edge of the table and looked at each team member present.  “Bucky worked through it, she’ll work through it.  Anything beyond that is outside of our control.”

“If she’s even up for it,” Tony muttered under his breath.  “The kid’s locked down like a vault.  I had to look through her search history to even find anything about her outside of tabloids.”

“We’ve all suffered and lost people,” Steve looked at the billionaire pointedly.  “And we’re all in one piece now, all having taken different routes to get there.  Give it time, like Nat said, we know our battle.  Let’s prep every possible strategy and aim for success.”

“Tony and Bruce wanted to meet with you this afternoon,” Steve informed Mabel after she settled at the small island near Bucky’s kitchen.  Bucky glanced up from his cooking and rolled his eyes at his friend.

“Can’t we just enjoy one breakfast without talking business?” he complained loudly, flipping a pancake onto a nearby plate.  “Mae, do you like blueberries?”

“I do,” she replied, a small smile threatening to break that icy exterior.  “Very much so.”

Bucky grinned at the stovetop.  He should have known that they shared a favorite pancake recipe.

“Buck,” Steve interrupted his train of thought and the former assassin blinked in his direction.

“Mhm?” he hummed, pouring more batter onto the pan.  He turned and placed three plates, stacked with blueberry pancakes in front of the duo.

“Are you sure this is going to be enough?” Steve teased with an arched brow at his friend.  Decades passed and the little punk still had the same sass.

“I’m not even sure,” he finally had time to fully face the pair and saw that Mabel had indeed changed into a knee length dress in a navy blue.  She sported it with a white sweater that fit awkwardly over her arms- he knew Natasha had guessed on sizes, but obviously underestimated the rate the young woman would grow to health.  Her hair was tucked neatly behind her ears with pins, in a look that matched her stern mask perfectly.  “We should make this a contest.”

“Or we can eat because I might actually die,” Steve whined, a fork digging for the nearest pile of food.  Bucky pulled it away before he could steal a bite and passed it to Mabel.

“These are for Mae,” he informed his friend with a frown.  “You get the burnt ones for complaining all morning.”

It was discreet, but he could have sworn he saw a victorious smirk flash across the blonde woman’s features before she started to work on the monstrosity of pancakes.

“Where did you learn to cook so well?” It was almost impossible to understand what Mabel was saying as she shoved more of the meal into her mouth.  “They don’t teach this in the army.”

“Maybe not the French army,” Steve teased, pointing a fork in her direction.  “Us Americans are basically professional chefs."

“The French created fine cuisine,” Mabel stared at him in surprise.   “Perhaps Mr. Barnes did a tour in France we’re unaware of?”

“Or I got yelled at by my Ma until I helped with breakfast in the mornings,” Bucky chuckled at the interaction between the two blondes.  It was strangely comforting; having the three of them around a table, sharing a meal and laughing with one another.

“Can you cook, Mabel?” Steve inquired after chewing through a few bites.  “I set fire to nearly everything I touch.  It’s a curse."

“Especially considering how much you eat,” Bucky sighed dramatically, placing another plate of pancakes on the table.  “He cleans me out of house and home.  I risk my life so I can pay to feed him.”

Mabel grinned into her pancakes before answering.

“I can make a can of beans and ration packs,” she replied through a laugh.  “I knew this trick to get them to actually taste like food.”

“Impossible,” Bucky gaped at her and shook his head.  “I’m still convinced they blended some grass and dirt and called it good.”

“The trick-,” she began and looked between the two former soldiers, building suspense.  “Is to throw it away and find a rabbit or a berry bush.”

Who knew she had a sense of humor beyond the biting comments she made to everyone?

There were so many sides to the Mabel Foster puzzle, but Bucky was beginning to see where they all connected.  The Mabel who laughed through breakfast was the same Mabel who took down eleven German infantry members in an afternoon from a single post in a tree.  The same Mabel who screamed in forests and jumped off of cliffs.

Just like how the Bucky that served pancakes was the same Bucky that fell from the railcar.  The same Bucky who killed hundreds under Hydra’s control; and who killed dozens in the name of freedom.  The same Bucky who held Mabel’s hand while facing his own nightmare of activating a super soldier.

The three of them had more in common than the chemicals running through their blood, Bucky realized as the morning progressed.  They were misfits, in a century that was shaped by their sacrifices, but not made for their lives.  And by some miracle of fate, or God, or whatever high power there was- they had found each other.

PART 7

#MCU #Marvel #Fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #original female character #OFC #Winter Soldier #Hydra #ao3 #ww1 #ww2 #porcelainstorm #Avengers #captain america

[avengershumanresources]

Dust to Dust (5)

Summary: Where did Hydra come from? An idea? A twisted dream? For an organization that spans centuries, it kept relatively quiet until contemporary times.The Super Soldier serum wasn’t dreamt up over night, but was the product of numerous experiments both unethical and violent over the course of the century. It was going to be the end of all conflicts between good and evil. Scientists died trying to determine the next level of the serum, only for it to be stolen by enemies. Back and forth until one side had the advantage.

Mabel Foster was everything the ideal woman should be in 1914. She was well brought-up, wealthy, educated and the heiress to a large fortune. When her father died in a much publicized U-boat attack by the Germans, Mabel made a decision that changed the course of history by enlisting in the French Army during WWI.

After an ambush gone bad, Mabel found herself captured by an early group of Hydra.100 years later she’s discovered in a desolate Hydra base and is taken by the Avengers for safe-keeping and questioning. Little do they realize that all of their destinies and pasts are directly connected through the nest that Hydra weaved.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC (Original Female Character)

Rating/Warnings: Mature- Graphic violence, torture, PTSD, smut

(Masterlist found HERE)

“You’re a liability.  You’re a little much for me.  So they pull back, make other plans.  I understand I’m a liability.”

– Lorde (Liability)

Central Park- Manhattan, New York, NY- May 1940

“Ah forget them,” Bucky threw a rock across the walkway.  A few passersby glanced up at the distraction and shuffled along.  The boys had been stood up for a date that Bucky was positive would have turned out well for Steve.  The girl was shy, sweet and sharp minded; the perfect match for his less than lucky friend.

But apparently she had other plans in mind for the evening.

“I’m used to it by now, Buck,” Steve shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets.  “I should probably get going though, I promised Ma that I’d grab some medicine for her.”

“She said she didn’t need it until later,” Bucky reminded him, rustling the blonde hair on his friend.  “You should really take a break and relax for a bit.”

“But she’s-,” he began to argue but his larger friend held up a hand.

“She always made sure I rested and relaxed when taking care of you, someone needs to do the same thing for you,” he reasoned sharply.  He hopped off of the park bench and scanned the surrounding area.  “I think I saw some hotdogs a little bit over.  My treat.”

“I can afford a hot dog,” Steve insisted with a scowl, but reluctantly followed after his friend.

“Sure you can Stevie,” Bucky smirked.  “But I got paid today and lord is it burning a hole in my pocket.”

“I’m getting two,” the blue eyed young man grinned and Bucky punched him in the shoulder playfully.

“For a little guy, you sure eat a lot,” he snorted, twirling on his heel to grin at a passing group of girls.

“I gotta keep my energy up to deal with you,” Steve shoved his friend along the pathway until the young women were out of sight.  “You’re exhausting.”

“And you’re a rude punk,” Bucky practically whined.  “You gotta learn to relax and have a little fun, Rogers.   The girls can tell.”

“Girls are the last thing on my mind,” Steve mumbled while the duo stood in line at a hot dog vendor.  “Well, maybe not the last thing, but they’re pretty close to the bottom."

“They can sense it,” Bucky pointed to his forehead and shifted to a serious frown.  “Some kind of mind reading or something.  They know.”

“They don’t know anything, I think you’ve been reading too many of those science fiction pulps,” Steve snorted before gesturing for his friend to pay for their food.  “You did insist on paying, didn’t you Buck?”

Bucky snorted and shook his head, taking a large bite out of his snack.  The sun was beginning to set on the park while the boys wandered the paths aimlessly.  Eventually they found themselves in the Sheep Meadow.

“Shame they got rid of the sheep,” Steve sighed with a frown.  “Would have been neat to see them.”

“Of course you’d get weepy about some sheep,” Bucky teased.  Steve didn’t reply, instead dropping down in the soft grass on the hill.

“It’s good to feel things sometimes, Buck,” Steve reminded him quietly.  “Even if it means getting weepy about sheep.”

Bucky leaned back into the grass next to his friend.  They stared up at the violet sunset in silence.

“You ever think about where you’ll be in ten years?” Bucky asked his friend in all seriousness.  Steve shifted slightly before speaking.

“I’ve always assumed I’d croak it,” Steve replied dryly.  “Though a wife and family would be nice.”

“You’re too damn stubborn to die and we both know it,” Bucky pointed out.  Steve laughed at the comment, shaking his head through the chuckles.

“You got me there,” he relented.  “What about you?”

“All the time,” he murmured.  “I wonder what my girl will be wearing when we fall in love.  What color her eyes will be…”

“Who’s getting weepy now?” Steve teased with a small punch toward Bucky.  The brunette allowed a laugh, but continued looking up at the first few stars of the night in silence.

“Yeah, I’m just secretly a huge sap,” Bucky laughed before hopping back to his feet and turning to his friend.  “Race you to the other side.”

And like always, Bucky would hold back while his friend wheezed through the steps.  And like always, he paid their subway fare back to Brooklyn.

Natasha had explained to Mabel that there were ways to get the brown color out of her hair aside from waiting for it to grow out.

This conversation arose after she caught the younger woman digging at the blonde roots of her hair and frowning in the bathroom mirror.

Needless to say, Mabel was ecstatic to go back to her natural blonde hair color.  The darkened hair had been thrown together in a panic and left a bitter reminder to her of what the past had held for her.  She was finally ready to accept the future and who she was, and that meant getting back to basics.

Wanda arranged for the stylist to come to the compound, apparently there was still a bit of apprehension in letting her back into society.  Mabel didn’t mind though.

She wasn’t sure herself if she wanted to go back.

The process was something else entirely.  Hairstylists today were basically chemists compared to the older women who carted around bows and hair fixtures in her day.  Natasha tried her best to explain the process each step of the way, but eventually was distracted by a topic of interest by Wanda.

Mabel listened to the two women chatting and closed her eyes while the stylist washed the bleach (which Mabel quickly learned, was not the cleaning product) out of her hair.  The movements were so soft and gentle that she didn’t even realize she’d fallen asleep.

That was until she was tackled against a wall, a solid metal object hitting the floor with a clank.  

Blinking in confusion, she looked around at the women.  The stylist had finished packing her supplies and stood in horror at the entrance of room.  Natasha had her hand pressed against Mabel’s wrist and an elbow in the crease of her neck.

When she looked at what she’d dropped, she realized that she’d grabbed a decorative metal figure off of the shelf near where Natasha and Wanda had been sitting.

Wanda was trying to usher the stylist out, while Natasha was trying to gauge Mabel.  The redhead stared deep into Mabel’s eyes before loosening her grip on the woman slightly.

“You back with us?” she asked with a quick scan of Mabel’s features.  

“I believe I am,” Mabel replied slowly.   “Though I don’t remember leaving.” Natasha pulled her arms down, but kept a defensive stance.  She was ready to intervene if anything else were to happen.

After Wanda practically shoved the stylist out of the room, she joined the women and looked Mabel over with a cautious gaze, her eyes flickering red.

“We should probably get you upstairs,” Natasha frowned at Mabel.  Upstairs meant the lab.  And the lab meant that there was a problem.

Suddenly Mabel no longer felt like an out-place-guest, but a monster to be cautious of.

The walk to the lab was mainly silence interchanged with murmurs between Natasha and Wanda.  Mabel didn’t blame them, she clearly had been triggered by something and had intended harm.  If she’d been in their shoes, she probably would have made the call to shoot on sight.  

Passing a reflective surface, Mabel was able to catch a glimpse of her new hair.

It was reassuring that she looked the way Mabel Foster was supposed to look, even if she’d never felt so far away from herself in her life.

“You didn’t hear?  Apparently Foster went haywire and started attack Nat and Wanda when she was getting her hair done,” Sam and Clint were sharing a pizza, chatting between bites.

“I told them it was a bad idea,” Sam tutted under his breath, not realizing that Bucky had joined the pair in the room.  “Can’t have a psycho-murderer wandering around.”

“You’re too kind,” Bucky commented, grabbing a slice for himself.  Clint snorted on his bite and started to cough through his laughter.

“Man, you know we’re cool,” Sam rolled his eyes.  “Your brain isn’t on the fritz anymore.  But I’m sure you remember the damage you single handedly caused in an afternoon."

Bucky definitely remembered.  It was impossible not to.  When someone’s mind only knows vengeance and anger, a lot of progress can be made.  Negative or positive.  Spite was a powerful weapon.

“So what happened?” he questioned, only hearing the latter half of the conversation.

“Victorian Sally lost her shit a few hours ago,” Clint summarized reaching for the last piece.  He snagged it before Sam even glanced down, and smirked victoriously in the flying Avenger’s direction.

“Edwardian,” Bucky corrected with an arched brow in Clint’s direction.  “But we only keep you around for your good looks, so don’t feel too bad.”

“I thought that’s why we kept you around, tall, brooding and handsome,” Clint threw a crumpled napkin at his teammate.

“I’d recommend stopping by the lab though.  Wanda, Steve and the science twins have been locked up there with her all afternoon and if it’s anything like your treatment-,” he grimaced.  “Maybe having someone who’d been through it before would be helpful.”

Bucky wasn’t so sure.  There were a few times he broke down in the most vulnerable ways- and having an even larger audience didn’t help.  The broken lab equipment that suffered probably could speak more truths than arguing with the archer.

“Yeah,” he shrugged.  “I’ll check it out.”

He started toward the elevator and barely heard Sam make another comment.

“They’re all gonna die.  I swear, make my words,” he insisted in a hushed tone.

Perhaps in theory, pulling her memories and seeing what her exact triggers were would have been a good idea.

But by the third hour of Wanda digging through her mind and replaying the years of abuse and torture she’d suffered, Mabel was beginning to think otherwise.

This particular memory was a gruesome one- and it didn’t even involve Hydra.

It involved Joseph Rogers final moments; and Mabel could sense Wanda’s pain as she experienced it for the first time.

The joke was on them- Mabel replayed that memory hundreds of times as a reminder of where her last shred of empathy and humanity had left her.

“Ok, Wanda take a break,” Steve’s voice pulled the women out of their connection and both girls exchanged a similar look of pain.

“I’m very, very, sorry,” Wanda murmured miserably.  She looked worn down, Mabel realized.  Perhaps Mabel’s life was more exhausting than she’d credited it for.  There was certainly a high body count that she’d been associated with.

“Buck, you can come in,” Steve looked toward the lab door, his face a mix of pity and frustration.  “How are you two feeling?” he looked between Wanda and Mabel, frowning at their lack of responses.

“I may need some rest,” Wanda admitted after a heartbeat of silence between the group.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Dr. Banner chimed in.  “There’s a lot to dig through and it seems like we’ve barely covered anything.  It’s better to keep everyone in their best shape.”

“What have you found out?” she could hear Bucky muttering to Steve in the corner.  The blonde haired man glanced over at her and then repositioned so he could better talk without her listening.

They hadn’t found out much, aside from the exact words that sent her into a frenzy with Natasha and Wanda.  So, Tony had suggested that Wanda try to pull information that may have been hidden in the depths of Mabel’s mind.

The problem was that she couldn’t even remember words being placed there, so they were dissecting as many traumatic memories as possible to find anything.

Tony had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the process, only occasionally glancing up from his computer.  His presence was primarily data related, though he did come up with the original suggestion when similar methods to Bucky wouldn’t work.

He only really moved when Wanda practically collapsed and Steve caught her before she hit the floor.  Dr. Banner volunteered to help move her to her room and the trio disappeared through the lab door.

This left Bucky, Mabel and Tony, all sitting in a terse silence.  

“How are you?” he asked, his blue eyes flickering to the pale Mabel.  

“I am wonderful, Mr. Barnes,” she replied, her tone laced with venom.  She hadn’t meant for it to come off so biting, but her head pulsed in pain from the invasive procedure.

“I’m sensing sarcasm,” Tony announced, a stray glance from his computer.  Mabel swallowed back the sharp response she had planned, instead staring down at her hands.  It really wasn’t pleasant having your most traumatic memories relived, one by one.

In fact, she was rather exhausted, but Mabel was certain that she wouldn’t be able to sleep in her own bed tonight.  It’d be another night locked in a hospital room.

“Just remember, whatever happened, it wasn’t you,” Bucky murmured under the hum of computers and lab equipment.  “It can be a lot to take it, but I’m willing to bet we’ll figure it out.”

Tony snorted across the lab.

“We’ll?” he questioned the soldier with raised brows and an amused expression.  “Didn’t realize you’d joined the team, Tin Man.”

“It makes the most sense, right?” he shrugged the comment off and focused on Mabel.  “Besides, out of all of us, I think I can relate the most.”

There was that, Mabel added mentally.  And the fact that he was the only person who didn’t step around her like she was a bomb, ready to explode.

“Do you know them?  The trigger words?” he edged closer to her, his expression fixed in concentration.

“We found out a handful today,” Tony explained before Mabel could speak. “Wanda and Natasha were chatting in Russian before little Mabel here lost her mind.  But she let loose with random violence, and wasn’t under control like you.”

“Russian for Paris, broken and central,” Tony added.

“They were talking about the bombing this morning,” Bucky noted with a hum.  He looked up at Tony before knitting his brows in concentration with Mabel. For an instant, hazel met blue before Mabel flushed and looked away due to the intimate intensity.

Bucky leaned back into his chair and released a long held breath while in thought.  He started to lean forward and shake his head silently, earning a curious look from Mabel and Tony.

“You look like you have a terrible idea that I’d love to be involved in,” Tony commented, snapping his computer shut and walking over to the duo.  Mabel watched between the two men wearily.  Her head was already spinning.  She certainly was not in the mood for more mind games.

“It’s risky though,” Bucky admitted before sending an empathetic frown in Mabel’s direction.  “Not particularly ethical.”

Then it hit her.

“You want to trigger it,” she realized out loud.

“Maybe we can get you to reveal the rest,” Bucky shrugged.  “I had to listen to every command, we can use that in our favor.”

“Or you’ll kill everyone,” Tony added casually.

Mabel paused, weighing out her options.  She could let Wanda sift through every intimate and personal detail of her life, or they could jump in and see what happened.  Honestly, Mabel trusted Bucky with her safety than anyone else.  He knew what to expect, he knew how to shut it down.

“You two will keep everyone safe, correct?” she clarified firmly.

“It’s what we do, Mae,” Tony replied with a tight nod.  “I still don’t get why Wilson has his feathers in a ruffle about this.  Nat took you down in seconds, and I’m willing to bet that Barnes can cut that time in half.”

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” Bucky added earnestly.  “We’ll keep you safe too.  At least physically.”

That’s right, Mabel mused.  They can’t exactly protect her from her mind.  

“I didn’t think they’d gotten in that deep,” Mabel finally admitted under her breath.

“They’re parasites,” Bucky reached forward and gripped her hand with his flesh hand in reassurance.  “It isn’t you.  They took the worst pieces of us and used it to their advantage.”

“What if I killed innocent people?” she whispered to him, almost forgetting that Tony sat behind her, watching the conversation with interest.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t killed people as a soldier.  She’d pointed the barrel of her gun at plenty of men; but she remembered all of them.  Every life taken, on and off the books- it was her personal sin to amend for down the line.

The fact there was a gap, a hole in her nightmares to be filled, nearly overwhelmed her.

“You were too strong for them to kill you, so they used you as a pawn,” Bucky squeezed her hand and they met eyes again.  The hardened blue that usually shone from him had softened and a small, reassuring smile crinkled the edges of his eyes.

“I recommend making a choice soon, because they’ll be back and Spangles will not be happy about this particular plan,” Tony voiced, snapping Mabel out of the daze.  Bucky’s hand was still gripping hers in comfort, and despite the embarrassment she felt of such a personal gesture, she realized that she needed the anchor.

“Let’s try it,” she decided, her voice raised in confidence.  She wanted to ask what the worst that could happen, but both her and Bucky inherently knew the danger of the task- she was more worried that Tony didn’t realize what, exactly, he was committing to.

“Oops,” Stark pressed a button on a nearby monitor and grinned at the pair.  “It looks like the lab is completely blacked out and locked out.  What a crazy accident.  Would you like to do the honors Barnes?”

Mabel could practically see his mind racing at the decision.  Yet for some strange reason, she needed it to be him.

“It’s ok,” she forced a smile to him.  “I’ll be fine, Bucky.  I trust you.”

At the sound of his name, he nodded stoically and began to speak.  She trusted him.

“Центральный, Париж, Сломанный,” he kept his hand in hers, watching for a reaction.  Tony stood to the side, watching with both amusement and curiosity.  

It felt like both men were mad for even considering such a dangerous task.

It took a second, but Mabel’s eyes dilated and she twisted Bucky’s arm behind his back sharply.

“Qui es-tu?” she demanded, leaping from her spot and seeking out the first weapon she could get her hands on.  “Reponds-moi.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Tony intervened, a mechanical armor surrounding his arm when he grabbed her wrist before she dove at Bucky with a nearby syringe.  

“Laisse-moi partir!” she snarled, her nails digging at the metal edges.   Bucky was a bit impressed.  She was faster than he would have guessed, and her healing advantage didn’t make it too easy of a fight.  If she was a bit stronger, he could have seen Hydra using her over the century instead of him.  “Ou suis-je?!”  

Despite her bloodied fingers, she continued to dig and twist at Tony until she snapped her hand free with a sickening crack.

“She just broke her wrist,” Tony stated in horror, backing away from the woman.  “On purpose.”

She simply blinked at the injury before twisting her hand roughly back into place and going after Bucky again.

“We’re trying to help,” Bucky tried in French.  Instead she hissed a slew of curses and went for his neck with the large needle that she’d somehow secured during her interaction with Tony.

“Soldat!” he tried, his voice raising.  It was a grasp in the dark, but it seemed to work.  Mabel froze in place, her arms dropping to her sides and the needle crashing to the floor.

“Pret a respector,” she replied, eyes staring forward.  Ready to comply.

“Tell me,” he paused, his French a little rustier than he would have liked.  “Tell me- who in Hydra is your handler?"

“Docteur Krauss,” came her instant reply.  “Pret a respector, monsieur.”

“What are your trigger words?” he tried, but Mabel looked like she was going to weep while waiting for instructions.  The swirling memories- the darkness.  Bucky knew it well.

“Pret a respector,” she repeated, her voice shaking slightly.  Her hands clenched into a fist.

“I order you to tell me how to control the soldier,” his heart openly broke at the sight in front of him.  She was fighting so hard against whatever demon that haunted her mind.

“Pret a respector.”

“How does your handler activate the soldier?” Tony voiced from the back of the room.  Mabel whirled on her heel to face the armored brunette.  “This is an order from Dr. Krauss.”

“Paris, casse, central, gaz moutarde, femme, explosion,” she recited automatically.  “Pret a respector.”

“Do not comply,” Bucky stated firmly.  She twirled back around and narrowed her gaze.

“Is this the target?” she questioned Tony, frowning.  The genius looked at Bucky in surprise and shrugged.

“I don’t know, are you?” he asked, returning to English.  “Any idea how we snap her out of it?”

Bucky grimaced at the thought before speaking up.  What had Natasha called it the few encounters he’d been forced out of his brainwashing?

Cognitive recalibration.

“We’ve got to hit her in the head, hard,” he answered dryly, bracing himself for the inevitable.

“That is your target, soldier,” Tony acknowledged, amusement clearly apparent.  Bucky knew the man wasn’t his biggest fan, but he never would have expected how much joy he was getting from this, especially after Mabel began to attack.

Mabel practically flew at Bucky’s chest, her legs going for his torso.  He was able to lift her without too much trouble and toss her into a nearby wall.  She hit the structure with a loud thud, but recovered quickly.  She charged for his legs, catching him off guard and tackling him to the ground.

He was holding back, but Bucky was beginning to think he didn’t need to.  She went for a swing at his face before he held her back with his metal arm.  He shoved her to the side and tried to pin the thrashing woman down before he felt something dig into his side.

She’d found his knife, and slid it in nicely between his ribs.

“Dammit,” he cursed, yanking the metal object out and throwing it at Tony’s feet.  “At least keep weapons away from her, Stark.”

“I’m not the one who feels the need to carry an eight-inch blade with me everywhere,” Tony shot back, picking up the weapon and tucking it away from her range.

“Mabel,” Bucky tried after he leaned his elbow into her chest.  She continued screaming in French, occasionally dipping in Russian and German.  Hadn’t she assured him that she didn’t know Russian?  “Foster!  Snap out of it.”

“Over your dead body,” she hissed, before biting down on his arm and drawing blood.  He pressed down on her neck with his metal arm and her head snapped backwards into the tile.

After that, everything stilled.  Tony took a few steps forward hesitantly, and Bucky released his grip from the unmoving soldier.

It felt like an eternity before her eyes fluttered open, taking in the scene around her.  A few pieces of equipment had been sacrificed in the ordeal, and at least one of the walls sported a hole.  

“You with us kid?” Tony asked after Bucky pulled away and sat a few feet away.  The super soldier hadn’t expected such a violent response, though they were able to get some of the answers they sought.  He quietly stood up and grabbed a nearby gauze for his forearm and side.  

She fought quick and dirty, a reflection of the era she was molded in.

“Yes,” she replied, sitting up with a hand on her forehead.  She leaned back on her free hand and looked to Bucky.  “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Tony was at her side, helping her to her feet toward the examination table.

“You’re not bleeding,” she pointed out, her attention shooting back to her fellow soldier.  “Mr. Barnes?”

“You nicked me with a knife,” he explained, lifting his shirt to reveal the wound.  Already it was beginning to heal amongst the other scars that lined his torso.  “And bit me.”

“Bit you,” she repeated with wide eyes.  He tried not to chuckle as she tried her best to avoid looking at his naked side.  She looked at his shoes.  “Did we find the answers we needed?”

“Have some decency Barnes,” Tony laughed, pulling down Bucky’s shirt and turning to Mabel.  “We know the words.  Now we just need to know the why, hopefully Wanda can help a little with that.  But, it’s going to be mostly you, and being willing to talk it through.”

While Bucky mended himself, he saw a flash of panic in Mabel’s eyes.  He didn’t blame her.  There was some ugliness that needed to be pulled out and from personal experience; it wasn’t pretty.

“Am I allowed to leave?” she asked absently, after Tony read off the words in English.  “To go to my room?"

“As far as I’m concerned, as long as no one says the magic words, you can have the same amount of freedom as before.  Just try to have someone with you whenever you’re outside your room,” Tony reasoned after typing up a few notes on his computer.  

Mabel slid off of the table wordlessly and stood, waiting for Tony to unlock the lab.  She sent a pointed look at him, and he got the message loud and clear.

“They’re probably going to kill us soon enough anyway,” Tony sighed, unlocking the doors.  “I recommend you two getting a head start, they’re about two floors away.”

Bucky knew the last thing either of them wanted was a lecture on personal safety from Steve.  He looped his arm around Mabel’s and pulled her through the door and down an emergency corridor toward the back staircase.

Mabel moved like a zombie- her mind in a daze and her movements slow.  She barely reacted to Bucky tugging her forward, her feet only listening one step at a time.  

They hid away in the staircase, a large metal door closing behind the pair before he turned on the young woman.  It’d been about a month since they’d first met and finally the mask she forced upon herself daily had slipped away.  What he was seeing was a shell of a woman, taken by terrorists and tortured until she shattered.  It was like looking into a mirror.

Bucky did what he wished someone would have done for him, and pulled her into a tight embrace.  Her small frame practically collapsed into him, and she buried her face into his chest, her body shaking while she tried to steady her breathing.

They sank to the floor, Bucky murmuring comforts in her ear while she broke down in his arms.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like this, but he didn’t move until she stilled.  She’d fallen asleep in a fit of exhaustion.  Twice, she’d been activated that day.  He was honestly surprised she hadn’t dropped down in the lab after their fight.  He stood up, careful to lift her body in his arms so he wouldn’t wake her.  Sleep was such a seldom luxury around here, and he was sure she needed every minute of it.

He began the trek toward their rooms, but paused outside of Mabel’s room when he realized he’d need a retinal scan to open the door.  Unwilling to wake the sleeping woman, he relented and took her to his own quarters, a smaller room tucked away on the far end of the living area.

The door slid open without too much trouble and he set her on his bed, pulling back the sheets and tucking her into place.  For someone with so many burdens, she seemed so tiny compared to him.  Tiny and vulnerable.

She rolled toward him and murmured under her breath, shifting so her hair fell over her features.  It was a natural movement, he reached forward and tucked the stray hair behind her ears.

Mabel looked so content sleeping, he’d almost forgotten to set himself a bed on the sofa.

Sure, he had a king sized bed, but between his gentlemanly guilt and her potential horror of waking up next to him, he figured it would be the best bet.

Even if every bone in his body ached after the ordeal.

Paris, central, broken, woman, mustard gas, and explosion.

He thought through the words carefully, trying to think of their connections with the woman’s past.  So simple.  Like his.  Yet they meant enough to bring her world crashing down.

Central Park, Manhattan, New York, NY- May 1911

“It’s too crowded here,” Mabel confessed with a frown.  She looked up at her companion, her arm locked neatly in his.  “Not here, but in the city.  Too many people."

“The pretty rich girl wants to run away?” Samuel teased, that smirk sending an involuntary flutter through Mabel’s heart.  “Where have I heard that story?”

“Mind yourself,” she countered with a small smile.  “My mother would lose her senses; but perhaps status and wealth aren’t everything in this world.”

“My stars,” Sam chuckled and loosened his arm, pulling Mabel to a small corner behind a shrub.  “You’re talking crazy, Miss Foster.  Are you quite all right?  Perhaps it’s the fumes?”

“Sam,” she pulled her hand away, her cheeks reddening at the sudden display, but Samuel held on tight and pulled her a little closer.  “People will see…”

“Let them,” he announced and gave her a twirl.  They continued down the flowered corridor, earning a few stares and running through the falling flowers before they made it to the Sheep Meadow.  Mabel dropped onto the soft grass, rolling to her side and laughing.  Samuel plopped down next to her and took her hand in his.  He gave it a soft kiss before gesturing out to the large field.

“We could move west, raise a huge flock of sheep,” he looked at her excitedly.  “I’m sure you have a lot of experience with livestock.”

“I held a chicken once,” Mabel chimed up excitedly.  His grin spread even further.

“Perfect, but I’ll focus on the business, you’ll have to tend to the children,” he paused and she fell backward into the grass, the plush surface cradling her head softly.

“We’ll have five,” she decided firmly.  “A big family.  Isiah, Mary, Felicity, Joshua, and Sarah.”

“Three girls might be a bit much,” he noted, his voice a little timid at the prospect.

“And two boys aren’t?  At least the girls can whip them into gentlemen,” she giggled.  Sam rolled closer to her and soon the pair studied one another’s faces.

“When do we leave?” he asked in a whisper, his hand reaching forward and tracing the edges of her face.

“Tonight,” she replied jokingly.  “Though you have to get Papa’s blessing first.”

“That might take a while.  I’m not sure the help would be a good match for the great Maxwell Foster’s daughter,” Sam rolled onto his back again and stared up at the stars that slowly began to cover the sky.  “Besides, what about Pierre?” he practically spat the name of Maxwell’s recently taken on ward and allegedly Mabel’s betrothed.

Mabel knew their status differences hurt Sam, but she had meant what she said earlier.  It meant nothing to her.  They could run away and live in poverty the rest of her days and she’d still be happier than sitting in her gilded tower without him.

She crawled over to him, leaning her forearms on his chest and looking straight into his eyes.

“Samuel O’Brien, Papa already likes you,” she reminded him.  “And he’s always ignored mother when it comes to these silly things and she’s the one pushing for Pierre.  I will speak to him, you’ll see.  We will be together.”

Sam grinned brightly and quickly grabbed Mabel by the shoulders for a quick kiss.

“I believe you’re due back at the castle m’lady,” he teased, slipping away before he could incur her lectures.  

Yet Mabel wasn’t in the mood for lectures, in fact, her heart wished she could lay with him in that grassy field for eternity, even with the sheep bleating in the background.

“You’ll meet me tomorrow though?” she sent a desperate look in his direction and he returned to her side, kneeling and kissing her hand.

“For my princess?  Always.”

PART 6

#MCU #marvel #Bucky Barnes #fanfiction #original female character #OFC #Hydra #Winter Soldier #Avengers #ww1 #ww2 #ao3 #porcelainstorm

[avengershumanresources]

Dust to Dust (3)

Summary: Where did Hydra come from? An idea? A twisted dream? For an organization that spans centuries, it kept relatively quiet until contemporary times.The Super Soldier serum wasn’t dreamt up over night, but was the product of numerous experiments both unethical and violent over the course of the century. It was going to be the end of all conflicts between good and evil. Scientists died trying to determine the next level of the serum, only for it to be stolen by enemies. Back and forth until one side had the advantage.

Mabel Foster was everything the ideal woman should be in 1914. She was well brought-up, wealthy, educated and the heiress to a large fortune. When her father died in a much publicized U-boat attack by the Germans, Mabel made a decision that changed the course of history by enlisting in the French Army during WWI.

After an ambush gone bad, Mabel found herself captured by an early group of Hydra.100 years later she’s discovered in a desolate Hydra base and is taken by the Avengers for safe-keeping and questioning. Little do they realize that all of their destinies and pasts are directly connected through the nest that Hydra weaved.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC (Original Female Character)

Rating/Warnings: Mature- Graphic violence, torture, PTSD, smut

(Masterlist found HERE)

“The history books forgot about us, and the bible didn’t mention us...”

- Regina Spektor (Samson)

It’d been a week since Bucky had last seen Mabel.

Stark and the others had been pestering her nonstop ever since her doctor gave the group the all clear.  They had thousands of questions; about the war, about her life, about the experiments Hydra inevitably conducted.  Bucky was fairly certain the woman had probably run out of blood from all of the tests he watched Stark and Banner conducting in their lab.

He felt bad, knowing exactly what the poor woman was going through.  The medical team had done the same thing to him the minute he’d woken up in Wakanda, and he was willing to wager Steve had gone through the same thing after he was found.

Bucky had been right in that the nightmares that would eventually find him.  Every night since the woman had spoken to him, he’d seen flashes of him smashing a wooden door with his metal hand, a woman’s scream and a flowered country side.

The last few nights, however, he found that same female voice promising to save him in fast, desperate, French.

Usually by that point, he forced himself awake and stared at the sterile white ceiling above his bed, thinking through what the vague images meant.  Though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he was terrified of falling under that hazel gaze again.  He wasn’t sure if it was guilt or fear of repercussions of his past, but he figured evasive action would be the best for the time being. At least until he pulled his mind back together.

Unfortunately, he only heard stories about the woman’s progress from Nat or Steve, as Bucky was too overwhelmed by the fact they’d crossed paths in their dysfunctional pasts.  Though they tried to tell him how well she was improving, or chime up about some story she’d told, he tended to tune out the conversation.  He tried his best to avoid the medical section of the compound, usually making an excuse to train or eat when Steve opted to visit her.

He hadn’t thought about what he was going to do once she was released from the medical bay; how he was going to continue disappearing when she joined them for meals or rec time.

But, Bucky figured he had a lot more time, considering how frail and sickly the woman had looked when he and Steve visited the week before.  She’d be stuck in there for months, he reasoned.  She needed nutrients, medical attention, not to mention all of the debriefings…  Months.  It had to be months.

Today was another one of those days where he’d slipped away to the kitchen while Steve met up with Stark and Banner.  Steve insisted the night before that Bucky join them, but the brunette soldier shrugged and said that Clint needed help cleaning some of the weapons.

It was a weak excuse and both of the men knew it, but Steve wasn’t about to press Bucky about.  Especially since it pertained to Hydra.  The blonde super soldier was smarter than that to agitate his friend into such fragile territory.

Bucky took a large chunk out of an apple and looked up at a nearby clock in the kitchen to see how much longer until Steve returned.  He’d been promised a sparring session and after taking it easy on Clint all week, he was anxious to really stretch his muscles.

“You’ve been avoiding her,” a female voice stated from his side.  Bucky nearly choked on his piece of apple in surprise, not one to be snuck up on.  After a small coughing fit, he whirled around and spied a familiar redhead, standing in the kitchen with her own apple in hand.

“I’ve been busy,” he corrected sharply, his tone more biting than he’d intended.

“I see,” Natasha kept her gaze on him and took a small bite out of her snack.  “Rogers has been by every day.  You must be a very important person around here to be so busy during our downtime.”

Bucky struggled to find a response, instead listening to the woman allow a light chuckle before parting the kitchen with the soft of click of heels disappearing into the distance.

Western Front- September 18th, 1917

“Shit!” Mabel dropped into the mud, clutching at her side in pain.  She’d been certain the cut she’d received from the German guard the night before had been superficial, so she hadn’t bothered to mention it to her squad after the debriefing.  She was sure she’d be able to snag a few more supplies before her next mission, but fate was a fickle bitch and she was back in the field in less than eight hours.

Tonight, her and Rogers were tasked with an infiltration mission of one of the German held research camps.  Smaller numbers meant higher risks and since the duo were considered the best marksmen in the squad, they’d been chosen unanimously to take out a key leader and steal what they could information-wise.

Joseph had been a few paces ahead, counting the number of enemies surrounding the small camp.  He glanced over his shoulder to say something to Mabel, when he saw his companion on the ground, rummaging through her uniform to check her wound.

“Jesus,” Joseph peered over Mabel’s side and allowed a low whistle at the brutal cut.  “You’ve got an infection my friend.”

Mabel shot him a look that said ‘thanks for that’ and proceeded to stuff a few bandages from her med kit into the gaping wound.

“And we’ve got a mission,” she grunted, holding the mess of bandages down and tying it off around her waist.  She shrugged her uniform jacket back on and stretched slightly to test her range of motion.

“You’re something else, Garnier,” Rogers chuckled.  “We’ve got about a dozen armed enemies up ahead, two scientists and a ton of paperwork that I’d love to get my hands on.”

Mabel gave him a grin and hefted her gun over her shoulder.

“Then we can’t keep you waiting.  I know how impatient you are Rogers,” she replied and started forward, despite the sharp pain that ached her body.  Infection or not, they needed to retrieve these documents for the safety of civilians and soldiers alike.

“Did anyone tell you that the boat sinks in the end?” Bucky teased over Steve’s shoulder, swaggering into the rec room after a long run around the compound.  The blonde hero was deeply engrossed in a dramatic re-telling of the Titanic tragedy that Wanda had begged him to watch for months.

Steve was about to retort when he saw his friend freeze.  Curious, he followed Bucky’s eye line until he found him staring at the back of Mabel’s head.

After Steve heard her talk about her family business and the cousin she lost during the tragedy, the pair began talking extensively about the discoveries and advances in pop culture made since the sinking.

One thing led to another and Steve tracked Wanda down to borrow her copy of the worn DVD.

They’d been sitting there for a little over an hour, Mabel occasionally commenting on the historical accuracy of a costume or meal, while Steve became caught up in the movie’s romantic plotline.

Mabel mumbled something about the boiler room the on-screen lovers ran through before she looked up at what had caused Steve’s distraction.

“Bucky, did you want to watch it with us?” Steve offered lightly, sensing his friend’s hesitation.  “It’s actually way better than how Wanda makes it sound-.” Before he could finish, Bucky stormed off toward the team’s residences without another word.  Steve shot Mabel a look, but noticed the woman’s eyes were trailing Bucky out of the room.  

There was clearly some unspoken ground between the pair that would need to be addressed eventually.

With a sigh and a shrug, Steve returned his attention to the movie just as the iceberg ripped through the side of the large ship.  When he tried to ask her a question, Mabel stayed mostly silent the remainder of the film, only offering enough commentary to get to the point.

Occasionally, Steve noted, she would glance up toward the hallway with a disappointed frown before her hardened gaze returned to the television.

Western Front- September 19th, 1917

Just when the pair was at a safe distance from the raid, they decided to make camp for the night before returning to home base.  It was well past midnight and the duo had taken the research camp completely by surprise.  They’d blended with the surrounding woods and managed to take out all of the foot soldiers and the scientists.

Some of the research was lost in the fray, but the majority of it- information that detailed mass executions and weapons beyond comprehension- had been saved.

Rogers dropped into the damp soil and kicked a stray log into the small fire they’d made.  He’d been working on organizing the research and storing it away for their journey the next day.  Their commanders would want a thorough debriefing after they returned, considering this was one of the biggest hauls they’d managed since the war began.

The fire crackled into the silent night and Rogers realized he hadn’t seen Garnier in quite some time.  The French soldier had been looking a little worse for wear when they’d settled down for camp, but he chalked it up to nothing a good bath in the river and a night of sleep couldn’t resolve.

After a few moments of deliberation, Joseph opted to look for his friend, just in case the Frenchman had run into trouble while at the river.

He was completely unprepared to find Garnier on the shore of the river, his uniform jacket discarded and the wound from earlier oozing violently over his undergarments.

“I’m sorry if I’d misspoken when we met,” Mabel carefully selected her words, unsure of how to address the sordid past the two briefly shared. “I hadn’t thought it through and I just…woke… up…” she trailed off when a pair of blue eyes bore into her miserably.

It’d taken some time, but Mabel finally found the metal-armed man under a tree at the cusp of the compound’s boundaries.  He’d been there for quite some time, according to the information that Steve drew from the mechanical voice that watched the building.

Some things would take more time than others to get used to, but Mabel was doing pretty well for herself.  Considering anyone else would have had a meltdown.  She’d learned long ago to try and roll with the punches.

And not look up anyone specific from her past in the war.  Not yet anyway.

“Do you remember what year it was that you escaped?” he finally questioned after a wave of silence crash over them.  Mabel took a small step forward and sat under the tree’s shade a well.  She made a mental note to keep a comfortable distance between them after seeing his rigid body language at her movement.

“You remember,” she noted quietly.  She knew it’d be a matter of time, the man who had met her a week prior had long escaped the control of those wicked scientists and madmen.  His eyes were clearer, and he just looked healthier than when she’d last seen him.

Though, to be fair, the last time she’d seen him; he was being prepped for a memory wipe and she was being sedated after biting a guard’s arm.

“There’s not a lot of details there,” he admitted, his attention falling toward the field in front of them.  “They were very thorough on the wipes.  But I remember you running and being ordered to find you."

Mabel nodded, the memory of the morning she’d made her escape still fresh in her mind.  It’d barely even been a few weeks that had passed for her, the chill of the pod still crept over her from time to time.

“1954.  I’d gotten to a village outside of Paris, I was days ahead of you,” she explained, picking at a few strand of grass that poked out by her shoes.  “Got my hands on some brown hair dye-,” she idly picked up a strand of her hair and sighed.  “I wasn’t Pierre, I wasn’t Mabel, I wasn’t anyone for a moment, but the Soldat d’Hiver had no problem tracking me down.  Perhaps it was my mistake for underestimating the weapons they were creating.”

The name made her companion tense.  He picked up a small pebble and tossed it a few hundred feet away.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he finally voiced, his tone meeker than Mabel had heard.

“Of course not,” she replied, her eyes trailing to the horizon.  “We were equally valuable assets at the time.  They needed- they needed their pet project and their soldier to be unstoppable.  I tried to talk you out of it, and I thought for a second that I’d gotten to you.”

She gave a bitter laugh and threw aside a ripped piece of grass.  

She could feel the man move and his attention shift to her.

“You told me your name,” she explained.  “It was like you knew you had to follow orders, and yet your conscious was still trying to break through.  I wish I’d known the extent of their…” she struggled to find the right word.

“Brainwashing,” Bucky supplied and she nodded.

“They had serums and potions and spells and doctors who could say a word to trigger violence,” Mabel was picking at her hands with her nails, the anxiety of the memories finally settling in her stomach.  Perhaps this was why they didn’t let her go unattended for too long?  Finally, her nails found blood.  They were waiting for her to snap.

But instead of hesitation, Mabel finally found a glimpse of warmth in the man’s gaze.

“How bad was it?” he voiced, looking away for the sake of Mabel’s dignity.  She leaned up against the tree, just at an angle to him and picked at the dirt; an attempt to save her skin from being covered in cuts.

“I still remember you, don’t I?” she tried to joke but the words fell to the ground flatly.  “They had their experiments and their tests.  Sometimes there were others, sometimes there wasn’t.  I lived, and they didn’t.  Until you came along- the soldier with the missing arm.  You screamed most of the surgery and when you woke, I tried to talk to you.”

Bucky didn’t move and waited for her to continue.

“You saw the blood and started to shout again,” she allowed a small smile at the memory.  The man had been screaming profanities at the doctors and scientists that had captured them.  It was one of the few flashes of his humanity she knew.

He’d promised to get them out of there while they were both being sedated by doctors.  “You promised to find me again.  It was very chivalrous.”

“Didn’t keep my promise though,” he grumbled, running a hand through messy brunette hair.

“I didn’t keep mine either, not that you’d remember,” she looked at her hand and saw that the cut she’d made had already healed up; before the blood had even dried on her fingertips.  “I don’t even remember much, to be honest.”

That got his full attention.

“They wiped you?” Mabel could feel him study her expression before she spoke.

“Had to make sure it was safe for you,” she mumbled.  “It happened twice, but I got my bearings back.  I think.  I know who I am.  Or who I was.”

“So who are you?” James asked up, a hint of amusement in his tone at the question.  Mabel turned and looked him square in the eye; a smirk playing on her normally masked face.

“I’m Mabel Florence Foster,” she replied.  “Millionaire, heiress, socialite, and the best damn sniper in Europe.”

Laughter erupted from her companion, an unsettlingly, but surprisingly joyous noise.  He actually threw his head back at the comment.

“We’ll see about that darling,” he stood up and dusted off his pants, offering a hand to help her up.  “Might be a little shaky after your nap.”

And for the first time in a hundred years, Mabel Foster laughed.

Western Front- September 19th, 1917

“Kid,” Joseph shook the French officer awake.  His eyes rolled over and he murmured something in English.  It took Rogers a minute to realize the younger man was trying to assure him that he was fine.

“Just- Sleep…” Garnier whispered, his eyes fluttering shut.  Joseph went to shake his shoulder again and realized how hot the man’s skin was.

This wasn’t good, he noted that the infection had spread viciously up his friend’s abdomen.  The angry looking flesh oozing pus and blood and clots; Garnier stood a snowball’s chance in hell.

“We need to get you cleaned up,” Rogers decided, trying to think through what his wife would do in the situation.  She always stressed that a wound needed a clean work space, otherwise everything would get mucked up by blood and dirt.

He helped his friend toward the river, the other man still rambling between French and English.  He called out for someone named Jonah and his mother before begging a ‘Pierre’ to forgive him.

“Come on Garnier,” Rogers urged, trying to pull the soldier’s top shirt off.  The man reacted quickly, considering his dizzied state.  He clutched at the shirt, whispering that he couldn’t remove it.  “You’re going to die if we don’t get that wound cleaned up.”

“I’m going to die anyway,” the soldier murmured sourly.  He seemed to hesitant a moment, his hazel gaze watching Joseph in the calm river.  “Can you make me a promise?”

“Of course,” Joseph knelt by his friend, trying not to notice the blood that was flowing freely into the water around them.

“Tell my family about me,” his voice cracked at the simple sentence.

“You’re going to get through this,” Joseph assured his friend with a gentle nudge.  He dug through Garnier’s uniform jacket for extra bandages and hefted the man back to the river bank.

“No,” Garnier insisted.  “Tell them that Mabel fought for them.  That I didn’t run away.”

Joseph paused at this, his hands covered in the soldier’s fresh blood.

“Mabel?” he asked, pressing down on the wound.  Since he was able to clean it, the irritation had already begun to die down slightly.  “Who’s Mabel?  Your fiancé?”

“My fiancé is Pierre Garnier,” the soldier’s voice dropped and Rogers could hear the slightest New York accent.  “I’m Mabel.  I’m Mabel Foster.”

“Of the Manhattan Fosters?” Rogers stared at his companion, his hands slipping and the Irishman letting out a small curse.  “Shit, sorry."

“I lied to everyone,” Mabel lamented quietly, in the moonlight Joseph could see a small tear trailing down her cheek.

“You probably saved more lives than most of the men we’ve encountered combined,” Joseph pointed out, still processing that he was pressing into the side of a woman.

“Promise me you’ll tell my family,” she insisted again, trying to sit up.  Joseph pushed her shoulder into the ground and shook his head.

“I’m not telling anyone anything, ‘cause you’re not gonna die and we’re gonna get the information back to base and move on,” he replied sternly.  “All right?”

“Fine,” she breathed, her head falling back and her eyes shutting.

“Oh no you don’t,” Joseph splashed some water on her face and her eyes snapped open.  “You don’t get to sleep until I get to sleep.”  He knew she’d lost a lot of blood and if she fell asleep, half of his battle would be lost.  “Tell me why in the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to sneak out here instead of sewing socks or making blankets."

Mabel cracked a grin at the comment, her eyes staring up at the star-filled sky.  

“’m terrible at sewing,” she replied.  “Better at shooting, or so Papa always said.”

PART 4

#MCU #Marvel #Bucky Barnes #original female character #OFC #ww1 #ww2 #james bucky barnes #ao3 #porcelainstorm #Hydra #Winter Soldier