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sjsmith56 · 2 months

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Brother - Chapter 1, Eyes of the Father

Summary: Taking place after the events at the destruction of the helicarriers a young woman writer finds an injured man in her garage and decides to help him.

Length: 4.7 K

Characters: Named female OFC (described physically but she doesn’t consider herself pretty), named OMC - her brother who’s in trouble, named OMC - FBI agent, recurring character, Bucky Barnes (beefy, long hair).

Warning: Mourning for dead relatives, mistrust of FBI agent, OFC struggling financially. Reference to drug use.

Author notes: There is a long time arc with this story, with some jumps forward being made. Updates will be twice a week.

🏡 🔨 📚

Late 2014.

The sweat kept dripping into Lacey's eyes and she kept using her gloved hand to brush it off. Finally she had enough and she went into the small house, found a large rag and tied it over her forehead, smoothing her blond hair under the edge. She poured herself a large glass of water and stood over the sink, drinking the water down. Then she went back outside and continued to sand the old paint off of the window trim. She noticed some of the caulking coming off and she added replacing that to her list of things to fix on the old house that her grandfather had left her. The list, which had grown considerably from the day she took possession, had already overwhelmed her meagre savings and unless she sold another article was perilously close to being insurmountable. Still, she had inherited the Williams stubborn streak and remained convinced that she could turn this ramshackle abode into someplace she could live and write in peace. Her concentration was broken by the sound of a cough and she looked up to see her older brother, Tom, watching her.

"I heard that Grandpa left it to you," he said, as he stepped up onto the porch and ran his hand over the railing. She hadn't even heard his car when he drove into the yard. "What memories I have of this place. I liked him too, you know. He didn't leave me anything."

"You hadn't seen him in over five years," replied Lacey. "None of you had really. I was here every chance I could get, and I lived with him for a year while he was dying. Someone had to take care of him because he wouldn't go into a hospice."

"I'm not disputing that you don't deserve this," stated her brother. "I just wish you had reached out to me at least. I didn't know he was dying and I would have made an effort to help."

Lacey nodded. "What have you been up to?" she asked. "By the clothes and your car it would appear you're doing well."

He shrugged. "Being a stockbroker comes with financial rewards but it's a killer career," he admitted. "It's not what I planned to do with my life but I'm good at it so ...."

Lacey stopped and put the sander down. "Why are you really here, Tom?" she queried. "I'm pretty busy trying to fix everything Grandpa couldn't fix while he was sick."

"Let me help," he said. "No strings attached. You must have run out of money already and I know that the taxes are probably due soon. I have the money and if you let me I'll help with the work. It might help me begin to like myself again."

She looked at him. Out of her three siblings he was closest in age to her and they had got along for the most part. He bought her alcohol when she was underage, had been with her the first time she smoked pot, showing her how to roll the joint and properly inhale the smoke. They had drifted apart when he went to college and fell in with a rich crowd of friends. Looking closer at him she saw the lines in his forehead and the dark circles under his eyes.

"What's going on?" she asked, coming closer. "You don't look well."

He took a breath and looked around, trying to decide what to say. "I fucked up," he whispered. "I got involved with a shady deal and I'm terrified that if I'm not arrested someone is going to come looking for me and hurt me or worse. I need a place to hide out while I figure out what to do and you're the only one I trust. Please, help me."

Leaning against the railing his whole body deflated as if he had been keeping this terrible secret for so long it had overwhelmed him. Lacey looked at Tom, and noticed his hand shook as he lit a cigarette.

"We should put your car in the garage then," she said. "It's a dead giveaway ... sorry for the words."

He smiled grimly then hugged her desperately. "Thank you," he whispered. "I didn't know who else to turn to. Mom would have freaked out. Nancy is caught up in her divorce and Terry is ... well he's always been an asshole, hasn't he?"

A bitter laugh escaped Lacey's lips at the mention of their oldest brother Terry, who was an asshole. Blessed with exceptional athletic ability he had been drafted by the New York Giants and had forged a successful career as a wide receiver. He had also surrounded himself with a circle of like-minded friends who lived to hit the stripper bars and date starlets. Everything in his life was about him and keeping the gravy train going.

While Lacey opened the doors of the ancient garage Tom backed his car in, got his bag out, and together they closed the doors, locking them with a padlock. Her brother followed her into their Grandpa's house and she left him in the small, spare bedroom. In his condition she didn't think he could sleep in their grandfather's bedroom where he had breathed his last breaths but she had no qualms about it, having been with him at the end. She returned to the porch to continue sanding and was joined by her brother ten minutes later. He had changed into blue jeans and a T-shirt. Handing him a hammer and nails she asked him to nail down any loose boards on the porch. He smiled and got to it right away. They worked together without comment until they heard the sound of thunder and put the tools away just before it started to rain.

While Tom washed up Lacey fried up some burgers for them in the cast iron pan that she placed over the gas burner. She sliced some tomatoes and onions, broke apart some lettuce leaves and put the condiments on the table. Then she pulled out a couple of cold beers. Tom opened them and took a long drink from his bottle. They both made up their burgers and took a good sized bite, saying nothing except making contented noises as they chewed. Lacey finished chewing her second bite and looked at her brother.

"Who would want to hurt you?" she asked.

"The Russian mob," he said reluctantly. "I didn't know the deal was money laundering. It was one of my colleagues that asked me to set it up. When I found out I panicked. I took off and drove here."

"It's not like you stole their money, is it?" she looked him directly in the eyes.

He didn't make eye contact at first. "I put it into a secret account," he replied finally. "In case I decided to go to the police with it. I wanted proof of the money trail and I don't have that. So I'm screwed either way."

"Fuck," muttered Lacey. "Does your colleague know about me? Or any of us? You have to figure they might come after any one of us to force you into the open."

"I didn't think of that," he admitted. "Shit, I'm sorry. I should leave. Draw them away."

"Tom, just go to the police," she pleaded. "At least they can give you protection and they probably have forensic accountants who can help you with the money trail. If not the local police then the feds, FBI maybe."

"When did you become so smart?" he asked. "I never thought of that. Look, I'll stay here tonight and tomorrow I'll go to the FBI. I promise."

She searched his face, looking for any sign of lying but as far as she could tell he meant everything he said. After cleaning up the dishes Tom went into his room while Lacey sat in front of her laptop trying to write. She still tried to write 1000 words per day while she was working on the house, not wanting to get out of the routine. After a few hours she had enough and decided to go to bed. It was raining pretty heavily and she figured it would help with falling asleep. Gently she knocked on Tom's door and he opened it.

"I'm going to bed," she said. "I've turned everything off out here. I'll see you in the morning."

He hugged her. "You bet," he said. "Good night. I love you, little sister."

"I love you, too, big brother," she replied, and turned to her room.

Settling under the old quilt that her grandmother had made she listened to the sound of the rain hitting the roof and slowly drifted off to a deep sleep. She awoke before sunrise with a start, thinking she heard the sound of a car leaving. Getting out of the bed she went to Tom's room and found it empty. His bag was gone as well. On the kitchen table was a piece of paper with Tom's handwriting on it and five hundred dollars paper clipped to it. She put the overhead light on to read the note.

Lacey,

I'm going to the FBI with what I know. Hopefully, they believe me. I'm sorry for disappointing you and for running out before you got up but I was afraid if I saw you I would lose my nerve.

I'm glad Grandpa left you the house. You deserve it. You deserve so much.

I love you.

Tom

Stepping outside she walked across the damp grass to the garage and found it empty. He really had left and she suddenly felt sick, in a frightened sense. The padlock had been left open, with the key still in it, and she began to close the double doors when she heard a noise from inside. As quietly as possible she reopened one of the doors, stepped inside, and grabbed a shovel, holding it in both of her hands.

"Who's there?" she asked. "This is private property and you're trespassing. If you leave now I won't call the police."

Stepping further inside the dim interior she could feel her heart pounding. Then she saw him, a man moaning on the floor of the garage. He was a big man, dressed in jeans, boots, and wearing several layers of clothing as if he was cold, which he likely was as he was soaked. A back pack lay beside him. His long hair covered his face and he had several days beard growth on his face.

"Please," he said, raising his hand with his palm out. "I won't hurt you. I just needed a place to hide out of the rain until I got my strength back. I saw the man leave and he left the garage open. I didn't know you were here."

Slowly she approached him and kneeled down to see him better. She saw his leg was bleeding and that he had tied a belt on it to act as a tourniquet. His voice was soft and non-threatening. He moved his head and she saw a flash of blue eyes, the bluest eyes she had ever seen, even in the dim pre-dawn light.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"James," he said in that deceptively soft voice. "I just need to rest for a few hours then I'll be on my way."

She placed the shovel against the wall. "Come on, James," she said, offering her arms to him. "I have a first aid kit in the house. You need to get out of those wet clothes as well."

He began to protest but he saw the look on her face and he slowly got up, leaning on her as she helped him stand. His size surprised her. She guessed he was at least six feet tall but he seemed bigger with his broad shoulders. He grabbed his back pack with his left hand and put his right arm around her shoulder as she put hers around his waist. Slowly they walked out of the garage and into the house, where she helped him to the couch.

"I'm sorry to bother you but do you think I could have some water?" he asked politely, looking up at her with those blue eyes.

Lacey brought him a glass of water which he drained while she went to the bathroom, bringing out the first aid kit. He looked intently at her as she approached.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Lacey Williams," she replied. "I live here. The man was my brother, Tom. He's ... in trouble and is turning himself into the FBI. I'm guessing you're in trouble as well."

He smiled slightly and she saw a flash of white teeth. "Oh yeah," he replied. "Big trouble. That's how I got shot. Certain people want me back and I don't want to go back to doing what they made me do."

"Well, I'm not going to ask for details right now," she decided. "I'm going to have to rip your pants open to fix your leg. I can fix the pants but they need washing with all the blood that's on them. You could probably do with a shower as well ... no offence."

"None taken," he smiled again and she felt a sudden heat inside her at the sight of it. "If you help me to your bathroom, I can shower and remove the bullet myself. I've done it before. I'll take you up on washing my clothes, if that's not too much of an imposition. Then I'll be on my way."

"I have a robe you can wear," she offered. "It's old, belonged to my Grandpa. I keep it to remind me of him."

He nodded and she helped him to the bathroom, then brought the robe to him. "Thank you," he said softly, then he closed the door, opening it shortly after while wearing the robe. She saw a flash of something silver coloured and he changed his position, hiding his left hand from her. Handing her a bundle of clothing he nodded his thanks and closed the door. She heard the shower come on and she waited until it stopped before putting his clothes into the washer, not wanting to use up all the hot water. She looked down at herself and realized she was still wearing what she had worn to bed. She went in her room, locked the door and changed. There were no other sounds from the bathroom when she came out so Lacey began making some breakfast. Guessing he hadn't eaten for a while she made a lot and when he did come out in her Grandpa's robe his eyes widened at the spread she put out.

"I figured you were likely hungry," she said. "Go ahead. I don't mind. Did you get the bullet out?"

"Yes, I did," he answered as he sat at the table. "It will heal quickly."

She watched him as he ate. His long hair was slicked back over his ears, and she noticed that under the unshaven face he was really quite handsome. Even with just the robe on he was a big man; his broad shoulders and chest hinted at the muscular body she was sure was underneath. His manners were good. He commented on how tasty the food was and he was well on his way to eating all of it. She noticed he wore a glove on his left hand and stared at it for a bit drawing his notice.

"You're wondering about the glove," he said quietly. "I have an artificial arm and hand. It ... bothers some people."

"Why?" she asked. He stopped eating and for a moment she saw anxiety on his face. "I'm sorry. It's really none of my business."

"It's because of what I was," he finally said, after much deliberation. "What I was forced to do. The people who gave me this arm made it very distinctive, as a sort of calling card, I guess. It was supposed to make my targets afraid."

He had stopped eating and looked intensely at the surface of the table, as if he was afraid of revealing more. Lacey said nothing, but a thought had grown in her head and she took a deep breath. Was this soft spoken polite man really him?

"You're him," she said softly. "The assassin for HYDRA that everyone is looking for, Bucky Barnes."

The man still said nothing but his demeanour had changed to that of a man filled with regret and sadness. When he looked at Lacey she could see the pain in his eyes as he slowly nodded his head. "I meant what I said in the garage," he stated. "I'm not that man anymore and I won't hurt you. Once my clothes are clean I'll be out of here and you'll never see me again."

"Who shot you?" She had an idea but she wanted confirmation.

"HYDRA," he replied. "They're still looking for me, along with the CIA, who have shoot to kill orders on me. I was in New York, trying to find a ship to Europe I could stowaway on and they cornered me on the docks. I had to jump into the Hudson River and swim to Staten Island. It was a long way and cold but it was the only way to escape them in the dark. I made it, barely. I'll try to get on a ship in Philadelphia or Baltimore instead."

Lacey swallowed. It was November and this man had just told her he swam from New York to Staten Island with a bullet in his leg. He had said it so matter of factly that she had no doubt it was true. She tried to remember what she had read or seen on TV about Bucky Barnes. After Natasha Romanoff leaked HYDRA and SHIELD files there were investigative journalists who had been trying to find out more about this legendary assassin.

"You're really as old as they say you are?" she asked.

"I was born in 1917," he replied. "HYDRA kept me frozen between assignments so I barely aged. I'm still trying to sort out my memories from before but I remember a lot of what they did to me after the war. I wasn't a person to them. I was an ... asset, a weapon."

She began to gather the empty dishes from the table and he placed his right hand on one of hers. "Thank you for the meal," he said. "I hadn't eaten for some time. It will help my bullet wound heal faster."

His hand was hot, as if he had a fever and at first she was going to say something but she realized the heat was likely a byproduct of his treatment from HYDRA. It would explain how he could swim so far in cold water. She made an impulsive decision.

"You can stay for a while, Bucky," she offered, seeing him smile slightly as she used his name. "I have a spare room, although I'll have to change the sheets on the bed. This place is out of the way and no one should come looking for you here. I can check the internet and find a ship that's headed to Europe for you."

"Why would you do that for me?" he asked, puzzled. "You don't know me."

"Let's just say I empathize with your situation," she replied. "Everyone deserves a second chance. You're different than how they describe you."

"Okay," he agreed after being silent for some time. "Thank you, I'll stay for a while."

As she washed the dishes, he dried them and asked where they went. She put his washed clothes into the dryer and came back to see Bucky looking at the books on her shelf, holding one in his hand. He gestured to her Grandpa's LPs.

"You have some good music here," he noted.

She smiled and nodded her head. "They belonged to my Grandpa," she replied. "They kind of grew on me while I played them for him when he was dying."

Her face must have shown she was still grieving because he bowed his head slightly. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said. He raised the book he was holding. "You wrote this? Confessions of a Broken White Girl."

"My first," she replied. "It didn't sell a lot but it got some good reviews."

"Do you mind if I read it while I wait for my clothes to dry?"

"Go for it," she said, then headed outside to continue with the sanding of the window frames, tying the rag around her forehead again.

She sanded for some time then saw the flash of a silver hand reach for the sander and straightened up to see a fully dressed Bucky standing beside her. "I can do that for you," he offered. "It's a thankless job but my artificial hand can take more abuse than your hand can."

Handing him the sander she saw he was right. With his artificial hand he could put more pressure on it.

"Did you finish the book?" she asked.

"No, but I liked what I read of it," he said. "Reminded me a little of Virginia Woolf except for the fact she used stream of consciousness in her writing and yours was more straightforward."

"You've read Virginia Woolf?" she asked sceptically.

"I've read a lot," he replied. "I initially read some women writers to impress college girls before the war but I did get something out of it."

"You remember that?" Lacey said sarcastically. "What did you get out of it, sex?"

He laughed and his perfect smile was very prominent. "Touché," he said. "I'll admit that I had a bit of a reputation."

Lacey laughed as well. At least he was honest. He finished sanding all the windows and asked what he could do next. Before she could say he tensed and listened, tilting his head slightly.

"You have company," he said. "Several vehicles by the sounds of it. If you don't mind I'm going to make myself scarce but I'll be nearby. I just don't want to risk being caught."

"Go," she said decisively.

She turned towards the road and didn't even hear him leave. Picking up the hammer she started looking for loose nails on the railing and hammering them back in. About a minute after Bucky left three dark vehicles pulled up and several big men with dark suits and wearing sunglasses got out of each vehicle. As the others spread out over the property four approached her. One took his sunglasses off and showed her his ID.

"Lacey Williams?" he asked. "FBI. I'm Agent Dan Jones. Have you seen your brother Thomas recently?"

"He was here yesterday," she replied. "He stayed the night and left before I got up. He left me a note saying he was going to report to the FBI. What is this about?"

"May I see the note?" asked Agent Jones. "Please?"

She turned to go into the house and was aware that he and the other three men from his vehicle had followed her in. She had put the note on her desk and handed it to him. After he read it he looked at her again, then nodded at the other three who spread out.

"Now wait just a minute," she protested. "I've been truthful with you. If you're going to search my house I want to see a warrant."

He pulled a document out of his inner jacket pocket. "Did your brother say anything more?" he asked.

"I was going to tell you but this is bullshit," she said. "I'm calling a lawyer and I won't say anything until I speak to one."

"That is your right," he said. "Your brother is in a lot of trouble. There is a substantial amount of money missing and until we find your brother we're going to assume he stole it."

Lacey kept her face grim and dialled the lawyer who handled her grandfather's estate. When she explained what was happening he said he would be there right away. Fifteen minutes later the lawyer arrived and read over the warrant. Then he pulled Lacey into the bathroom. For a moment she panicked slightly when she saw the bullet and some bloody gauze from Bucky's wound in the small garbage can beside the sink. She blew her nose with a tissue and dropped it over the gauze.

"Did your brother say anything to you about the money?" asked the lawyer, drawing her attention.

"He said he was tricked into a money laundering scheme for the mob," she replied. "Then he said he transferred a large sum of money into a secret account so he could find the money trail. I told him to report it to the FBI and let them find the money trail. He left before I got up and wrote a note that he was going to the FBI with his story."

The lawyer took a deep breath. "If you want my advice I would tell them everything," he said. "If he's in trouble you need their help to get him out of it, especially if the mob is involved. If he's the one who is in the wrong, you need to distance yourself from him immediately."

Lacey swore, thought for a moment and made a decision. She left the bathroom and approached Agent Jones.

"My brother told me he was tricked into a money laundering scheme involving the mob," she said. "He admitted to transferring the money into a secret account in order to find the money trail. I have no idea of the account details. He said he would report to the FBI so that your forensic accountants could find the money trail. That's all I know. If he's being chased by the mob you need to find him first."

Jones looked grimly at her and took out his cell phone. "Put an APB out on Thomas Williams, as a material witness in a money laundering scheme," he said, then he paused. "Are you sure it's him? Okay, cancel the APB but I want his vehicle examined fully and the autopsy done as soon as possible." He hung up and looked at Lacey apologetically. "I'm sorry. Your brother was found dead in his car just half an hour ago. He had been shot in the head. It would appear that the mob found him before we did. I am sorry for your loss."

A roaring sound filled Lacey's ears and she stood there absorbing what Agent Jones had just told her. Tom, dead. She knew Jones was saying something to her but she had no idea what it was because the roaring sound blocked everything out. He looked at the lawyer, who helped her sit and kneeled in front of her.

"Lacey," he kept saying until she finally began to hear words again. "Lacey, did your brother say anything about the money laundering, what it involved?"

"No, except it was one of his colleagues that asked him to set it up," she said as she felt a lump begin to form in her throat. "He didn't say which one. I have to phone my mother."

"We already have two agents on their way to your mother's house," replied Jones. "We're going to finish searching your property and see if your brother left any clues here. Do you have someone who can stay with you?" She nodded, remembering Bucky was nearby. "Good. I would suggest you keep on the lookout for any strange vehicles or people that approach you or your property. If you do notice anything please call me directly. Whoever your brother crossed is going to want their money."

He handed her his card and she took it. Absently she sat on the couch for the next two hours, watching but not really observing the agents search the inside of her house. She did note they didn't go into the bathroom. When the FBI was finished with their search Agent Jones again expressed his sympathies. Then he ordered his men to leave and the lawyer went with them, leaving her alone with just the sound of the birds outside.

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