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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 6 months

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*SPOILER FIC FOR LOKI S2 FINALE*

Do not read until you have watched or are otherwise ready to be spoiled. THIS IS YOUR WARNING!

Idunn & The Golden Apple

In the village of Time’s Ridge, they say when a little girl is sacrificed, she is adopted by the gods and granted any wish she makes. When the orphan Idunn is driven over the side, she blinks and finds herself before a mysterious entity known as the God of Stories. Luckily, in order to gain his favor, she brings a small sacrifice of her own before his glowing throne.

Characters: Loki, OFC (child), cameos of Thor and Mobius Genre: Tragedy, Comfort, Found Family Word Count: 3.3k Content Warnings: SPOILERS FOR LOKI S2 FINALE!, Loki gives off dad vibes, child sacrifice

This time, the annual sacrifice at Time's Ridge was almost a scandal. Woeful Idunn was only ten-years-old.

She stood on the precipice, overlooking the glowing green abyss she’d once played beside thoughtlessly, unaware at the time that it was about to become her grave. Her thick red hair was woven into two braids, laced with daisy blossoms. Idunn was wearing a gray frock meant to symbolize her mortality and humility, she kept her hands in the pocket of her simple, tattered pinafore, her left hand curled around a small ball hidden away.

Instead of weeping like most sacrifices did, Idunn was choosing to go with at least a little dignity (not that anyone was there to be awed by her maturity--being an orphan, no one really cared how she looked anyway). Perhaps she wasn’t even all that upset about being picked by the Leader to die on behalf of Time’s Ridge. A less-brained individual might be flattered by being selected.

Of course, Idunn knew better. The only reason she was here was because no one would miss her.

The green glow of the bottomless pit was somewhat new, and that was when The Ritual began, some two generations before Idunn was born and left to die by a helpless mother. No explanation was given, but the green aura of the trench appeared, and suddenly: the perpetual storms plaguing the fields ceased. People stopped disappearing mysteriously…at least until things began getting worse again. Then, only a few years before Idunn was born, a child fell into the trench and disappeared, but time and the weather stabilized again, and so it was accepted that only the gift of a child’s wish brought personally to whatever god watched over Time’s Ridge, the sad little village at the end of the universe, would bring safety back.

It was always such an honor to be picked to die, until it was your turn. Then, if you were fortunate enough to have a parent of means, your only hope to live to see the following year was to have them bribe the Leader to pick someone else.

“Idunn, Blessed Daughter of Time’s Ridge!” The Leader began his ceremonial monologue, which was surprisingly ho-hum for being the prologue to child homicide. “Today, you are being sent into the Higher Worlds to seek out aid for our small community--”

I’m not waiting for this, the little girl thought. Let’s just get it over with. I have nothing to stay for. She covertly pulled the golden ball from her pocket and held it up, slowly turning before the crowd.

“May I eat before I jump?” she asked. Gasps rang out.

“Where did she get one of those?” someone called out.

The Leader smiled sadly, shaking his head. “You may, Little Idunn. Though I am not sure as to where you found one. But be aware, silly girl, even one of those won’t save your conscious life now.”

Idunn twisted her lip, looking at the golden apple in her hand, shrugging and taking a large bite. The taste was as if the Creators themselves invented the perfect sweet. The crisp skin snapped between her teeth, and the delicious juices felt almost like a cool, gentle tea rolling over her tongue.

I just hope the weird peddler who sold it to me was right, Idunn thought bravely, looking down at the apple as the bite mark she made instantly healed itself, creating a perfectly full piece once more.

A bolt of lightning broke overhead, causing the little girl to jump backwards, startled, her courage failing her for the first time.

“An honorable sacrifice should not be afraid of a little lightning,” mocked a cruel adolescent from the crowd.

Idunn looked back over her shoulder at her glowing tomb. “I’m not overly fond of what follows,” she replied, deciding to turn around, the juices and magic sugars from the golden apple beginning to fall into her stomach and move around inside, warming her core.

Work quickly, work quickly…come on…

She breathed in and raised her voice, which boomed many times larger than her petite body would suggest she could utter. “I hate you all, and I would live forever with no guilt at all if it meant each one of you got to fall into the pit in my place. I hope the timeline frays and swallows you all whole!”

The disapproving murmurs from her assembly of executions gave her a small pinch of satisfaction. One last victory for the condemned. She couldn’t delay it any more when the cruel Leader signaled for the pounding, rhythmic drums to sound.

Fine, even if this is it for me, I don’t want to be here anyway.

The only regret Idunn had in the moment before she fell forward into the abyss was that she was born in Time’s Ridge, a place so afraid of the shifts in time and space that were otherwise so natural around their realm that they would throw children off cliffs in order to make the gods happy.

Gods, Idunn thought. Good thing gods aren’t real.

Idunn decided not to give the Leader the satisfaction of reciting the poetic Final Prayer of the Sacrifice, and instead did a graceful twist of her small body, her red braids flying about her face and standing out even in the twilight suns, falling over with just enough time to wave goodbye to the village before meeting her fate at the bottom of a fraying timeline’s abyss.

The little girl felt the sensation of falling…more falling…even more…then a blinding green light followed by the feeling of being lifted by a thin arm or branch---

Gods aren’t real. Gods aren’t real. Gods aren’t real. Gods aren't--

Infinite branches of time, universes, were binding Loki to his throne amidst a sea of green matter and light, where he would be sitting until time itself decided to rip his duties from him and end existence.

That…that would be soon, right?

Worse than the eons that were beginning to pass before his eyes without him, promising adventures he would never have, romantic nights he would never see, were the whispers, the noises. Loki could hear every spoken voice in every timeline, but they were all a low, maddening hum that rang in his ears as he sat, legs apart, in his supernatural throne room, nothing but the years for company. Of course, the voices of those he knew in life were the loudest and hardest to hear.

And he was hungry. So. Damn. Hungry.

Even Gods needed to eat, but what was there to find in Loki’s palace of emerald and gold, buried underneath countless layers of timeline branches, ensnared in the prison of Yggdrasil? Loki couldn't die of starvation, but the hunger pangs would frequently send surges of pain through his core, out his arms, and as a result, a few timelines would flicker for a moment before regaining normalcy. It was likely these places would only see inclement weather or a few years of time skipped over as a result.

It was painful, but the only way Loki could check on his few allies was through the branches tying him to his noble seat. Sometimes, he would follow the sound of Mobius’ slow voice and find his favorite timeline: where Mobius was happy, retired, living with his adult sons and their spouses and children on a cabin by the beach (three jet skis and an ATV in the garage, of course).

He smiled as he saw OB’s TVA manuals and novels being stored away in a timeproof capsule for posterity, ensuring his legacy. The little man was never taller.

He’d even caught a glimpse of Thor from time to time, and Loki had spent countless hours following him from afar as he traveled with a small band of space brigands. He even managed a chuckle upon seeing what Thor was getting up to: “Father would be embarrassed…and that music is terrible.”

Not that it mattered.

He was forever burdened with glorious purpose, just as he’d prophesied as an arrogant youth. Now, I’m gloriously burdened, Loki thought. He nearly smirked at the poetic irony, or perhaps it was justice for his past transgressions that fit the same meter. A Loki with freedom would have enjoyed the twist for what it was.

A tear formed at the corner of his left eye at the thought. Forever. Here. No food or love or friendship to keep his heart from slowly eroding away with the millennia.

Suddenly, the branches around Loki’s wrists began shaking, writhing in his grip, as if a blustery wind disturbed them. He looked up, his eyes following one of the timelines furthest away from his immediate sight: a gray and lethargic piece of the Tree of Life. As the other tendrils of time began shaking furiously at some invisible disturbance, this branch suddenly exploded into a thread of white hot light before curling in on itself and returning to its original state.

Loki attempted to get to his feet, but he was still bound by the thousands of other timelines he protected. No matter, the odd shift in the air quickly subsided, at least until a brief ‘pop’ was audible from somewhere ahead of Loki’s line of vision, buried behind the twisting strings of time.

“Odd,” analyzed the God of Stories, “but amounting to nothing.”

Alas, he was wrong. For almost immediately after his declaration that the anomaly was of no concern: a small, high voice cooed from beyond the branches.

“H…hello?”

Loki felt his heart still, his skin cool, and a strange current in the air moved about the green chamber, rustling the hem of his cape where it met his boots. It was the first time since he took his place on the throne that it did so.

No, it’s a trick.

“HELLO?”

No one, no mortal could survive being here. It’s why it had to be me…

“Is there someone here?”

No, that’s certainly another’s voice.

Loki dared to hope after all this time. He opened his mouth to reply…but nothing fell out other than a few sharp notes and breath. Had it been so long since he’d used his vocal chords?

Out of the tangle of time streams before Loki, a diminutive, pale figure stumbled over herself, gripping something yet unseen in her hand, wearing a disgusting, dirty gray slip. A little girl, no older to existence than a spring lamb.

Norns, it’s a child!

“Is this heaven?” the little girl asked, brushing a fiery red braid from her shoulder and walking hesitantly into the throne room. “Or somewhere else?”

Loki’s mouth hung open, but his words still somehow failed him.

“Are you The Creator, or some God? Are you real? I didn’t think you would be. I guess I’m glad you are.”

The questions were pouring out of Idunn’s mouth so quickly that Loki was reminded of himself as a child, when he’d ask his mother one too many questions.

“Maybe I should--”

“Who are you?”

Idunn was so startled at the Green King’s first successful words to her, she leapt backwards, tumbling over a branch that her ankle met by accident. Loki nearly attempted to rise again.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m Idunn,” said the girl, regaining composure remarkably quickly.

“...Loki.”

A moment of awkward silence went by before Idunn took another step back toward the throne. “Are all those a part of you?” she asked, her thoughts as aimless and unorganized as any ten-year-old’s.

Loki looked up into the time vines, feeling smaller and more alone than ever in the surreal presence of this little creature who’d managed to survive an entrance into open time without being torn into tiny threads and scattered across space.

“I suppose they are.”

Idunn sighed, shrugging and positioning herself at his feet. “I didn’t know gods were real. I thought they were just an excuse to--”

“--oh, gods are real, little one--”

“--get rid of me.”

Loki fell silent again, this time stunned at the bluntness of the child, and the darkness of her admission.

“What kind of miniature sorceress are you, Miss Idunn?” he asked, his voice starting to lighten in an attempt to alleviate the child’s fears. “Your powers must be fearsome if you stand before me now fully intact.”

“I’m not a witch,” Idunn conceded. “They just chose me for the sacrifice this year, and I had something to help myself survive.”

Loki didn’t know what part of this distressing declaration to address first. “Sacrifice?”

Idunn nodded, looking about the branches above her head, pointing to the one that was still recovering from the intrusion. “Time’s Ridge. They call it The Village at the End of the Universe. They sacrifice a child every year to stop the storms.”

The God of Stories was aware of the histories of many of his burdensome tethers by now, but even Time’s Ridge was a mystery to him.

“Sacrifice?” he repeated as the oblivious blatherskite before him went on, her fears quickly alleviating into a more normal enthusiasm that suited a youth her age.

“Yes,” affirmed the girl, “but the night before they took me to the abyss, a strange man came by my cell window and offered me this.”

She showed Loki the golden apple, causing his jaw to drop again. The girl was unfamiliar, but the apple was unmistakably Asgardian. A rare delicacy, the Golden Apples of Asgard gave the Gods their eternal youth and immortality. Every god had a single one on their person, for sometimes one could find themselves pulling back from the edge of oblivion by virtue of one bite.

They were so rare because they were so difficult to cultivate. Any one mistake during the process would render the apples lethal to even the Allfather. The only grower Loki knew to be alive was an elderly Asgardian somewhere out in the cosmos. How he made his way to this little urchin teetering at the edge of everything and knew to offer her the last apple in existence, Loki couldn’t even guess.

“Did he say where he got that?” Loki’s eternal hunger suddenly caught up with him again upon seeing the golden apple in her small hand.

“No. All I can remember is that he was very strong and handsome for a peddler. Only other thing I can remember is that he was blonde. Oh, and he had a big hammer with him, too. I think he was looking for me directly, like he knew who needed this.”

Loki’s cold skin shot back into a warm heat that made two more tears stain his cheeks.

Idunn looked regretful. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean to make you cry! Did you want a bite?”

Loki looked sadly off to his sides. “I cannot eat. I cannot let go of even a single one of these timelines, little one. I couldn’t hold an apple or a spoon.”

The child looked from Loki to the apple, and back. “So then I’ll help!” she said as simply as if it were the answer to 1 + 1.

Before the god could protest, or even ask, Idunn had taken it upon herself to climb Loki’s throne and sit in his lap, holding the unbitten apple before his lips. “Don’t you want--?”

Loki didn’t wait, his hunger overriding any sense of decorum, and accepted a large mouthful of fruit, almost unhinging his jaw like a snake to consume as much sustenance in a single crumb as he could. As a result, Loki had accounted for half of the apple with his bite. Idunn giggled at Loki’s accomplishment.

The food was not only the single most delicious morsel of food he’d ever consumed, but he felt it travel down to his stomach before warmly blossoming, artificially filling his stomach for the time being. The pains subsided almost immediately, and a surge of energy filled Loki’s veins.

Then, something remarkable happened that he didn’t expect. The timelines glowed gold instead of green for a moment, and each one that was even remotely loose or frayed was repaired and made stronger than it had been before. Small orbs of gold began appearing above their heads, looking as if golden apples were growing on the branches of the World Tree. Idunn gasped.

“Pretty!” she whispered. “I didn’t know these could do that!” she declared excitedly, looking down at the apple.

“Nor I,” said Loki, his gratefulness to the strange girl present in his tone. I wonder if this is affecting the beings within?

“Do you have children?” asked Idunn, suddenly. Loki shook his head, his large, horned diadem nearly whacking the girl off her perch.

“No. Do you have…parents?” he asked hesistantly in return.

“No. No one wanted me.”

Loki’s heart went out to the child. “I know the feeling.”

Idunn sighed. “Why do you think they picked me to jump at Time’s Ridge?”

Loki looked sadly down at the apple in Idunn’s fist, already repairing itself.

“I’m alone,” Idunn continued. “I had to come here in order to save everyone else while they move on with their lives without me. No family, no reason to expect to find one.”

Norns, am I looking into a mirror? Loki smiled, feeling an odd new sensation one could only describe as paternal. “Perhaps…when two unloved, unwanted people find each other, there’s a family to be found there, little one.”

Time passed, how much neither the entombed god nor the condemned child knew, but this was because neither cared. It was here that The God of Stories was able to share his own tales for the first time, and once he and Idunn moved past the initial shock of discovering one another here, in the darkest and least likely of places, his long stretches of details quickly became libraries’ worth.

Idunn may have been young, but her maturity was at least partially Asgardian. Loki suspected her heritage could have been closer to his own peoples’ than one would expect of one of the lowly residents of the edge of time. As such, Loki found his paternal instinct toward Idunn grow, and as infinite measures of time began to pass, he began encouraging her to eat and rest in between stories and songs. After all, she was only as immortal as the apples made her. She was not a god, nor a full Asgardian.

Before long, Loki felt compelled to say what had slowly begun to creep into his mind once she appeared: it’s so wonderful having someone to talk to.

Instead, he addressed what he least wanted to. “Idunn,” he said. “Unlike myself, you are free to leave here at any time.”

She sighed. “Are you tired of me now?”

He quickly denied her with a sad face and a headshake. “I suppose I just wanted to inform you that you could probably enter any one of these timelines and find a better world to live in than the one you knew…and the one that is here.”

Are you mad? thought Idunn. Why would I leave you, the first person to ever listen to me?

“No, I think I’ll stay here a while. You need someone to help you eat, and I need…”

Loki smiled and completed her thought. “...a glorious purpose?”

“Exactly.”

She nodded. “As long as I have this, and as long as you won’t tell me to jump off a ridge, then I will be here for you, King Loki.”

“Sweet daughter Idunn,” Loki whispered in relief, “just know one final thing: please don't call me King Loki.”

Idunn giggled and threw her arms around Loki’s shoulders in an embrace of perfect love and trust. For the moments she couldn’t see his face, Loki allowed the tears to fall freely.

Thus, the Goddess of Youth took her place alongside the God of Stories, giving him the strength and companionship he needed to hold reality aloft on his shoulders for however long the whims of fate would have him there.

For as long as she stayed there, Loki never knew loneliness again.

Yeah, this fic is basically "a wild daughter appears!" like Thor: L&T was for Thor, but Loki just can't and shouldn't be alone on top of the multiverse like that. Come on, y'all.

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buckitybarnes · 5 years

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You and I [Bucky x Reader] ONESHOT

Summary: Bucky hasn’t seen you in ages, and watching you march along with the enemy sends a sickening feeling to his stomach.

Warnings/Themes: Angst, fluff, humor, profanity, blood/mild gore.

Author’s Note: Has not been checked for spelling/fluency errors bc hi I’m your local lazy sometimes-writer. The song is ‘You and I’ by Barns Courtney and it’s been stuck in my head forever. God, I love it so much. pls listen

Last Chapter

He hasn’t seen you in three months.

Three long months that felt like years and years.

That’s just how it is. When you’re not with someone you love, time just slows and the sun takes its time setting each day.

He misses you, that much can be said.

He wonders if, when you see him, will you recognize his bearded face? His tired blue eyes?

His lonely smile?

He slips the blade of his knife out of an enemy sentry, wiping it clean of blood before sheathing it. His face is dimly lit by the torch hung inside the underground entrance. His blood-speckled cheek shines under the glow, as his eyes dart around in search for more.

With one quick glance at the dead body, he urges himself to move forward, lips pursed into a thin line.

He hasn’t seen you in three months. No words have been exchanged on either side.

What if you had met the same fate as that man back there?

His stomach churns as he stealthily moves on. Taking in deep, calming breaths, he rehearses a song in his head. The very last one he heard when you were around. It was the day since you ran off. You’d been singing it in the kitchen, twirling and mimicking the deep voice.

Bucky has taken this song and has committed it to memory. It was the last happy memory he had of you.

Suitcase in your hand Wave goodbye to mom and dad Never thought I would see the back of you

Mixtape's wearing down Crystal ships are sailing out Now the doors are opening for you...

He hears the sound of marching. It had to have been about twenty or more soldiers. Someone shouts a phrase in Russian and the army parrots it back.

He holds his breath and peers in from around the corner.

Just as predicted, the bunker is full of people. Half of them are training on dummies. The other half is running through a battle formation in the dead center.

Bucky can’t take them all out on his own.

Then again, he didn’t come to do so. He just wanted to see you. To get you back.

You didn’t belong in this hell house -- with these scrappy, dirty dogs.

He almost doesn’t see you, almost wants to throw up thinking that you weren’t here with the rest of them.

But then he spots your familiar form, slightly leaner than normal, but not malnourished enough to blend in with these soldiers. When they all do a 90-degree turn to the right, he sees your eyes, so dead and cold.

So unlike you.

He bites his bottom lip to keep from calling out for you. Instead, he decides to observe and find a better way to extract you.

I wanna swim, swim out into the dark night I wanna melt you down into the stars I wanna crumble, dumble like a landslide I wanna live, die wherever you are...

“planovaya proverka,” the leader shouts.

Like robots, the marching troop forms two long lines. You end up on the left, side-by-side with a big burly man. There’s only a pair of people in front of you.

Routine Inspection, Bucky translates. The hell does that mean? He can only imagine…

Aggressively, the leader slams his foot down. In clean, unbroken English, he speaks. “Step up and begin.”

Within a split second, a lady in front of you whips around to her partnered teammate and throws herself clumsily at him. Her weight slams against him, causing him to stumble back. He grunts in discomfort but recovers quickly enough to catch her incoming punch. Holding her by her fist, he twists it. The crack of bone echoes throughout the room.

Supersoldiers.

And they’re playing dirty to impress the commander.

The woman growls ferally, almost unfazed by the pain. She plants her foot on his chest and thrusts him back, but he keeps his hold, pulling her forward. They wrestle like two animals, scratching, kicking, doing anything to gain the upper hand. And when they’re both left a bloodied mess, the leader smirks.

“One of you showed great potential.” He points to the man. “Powerful moves -- not pitiful like hers. This isn’t a cat fight.” He glares down at the woman soldier, who, despite having been calm this whole session, is now breaking out into a sweat. “We don’t allow pieces of shit to live.”

“Please,” she chokes out, stumbling to her knees and bowing desperately. “N-no I’m -- I can do better.”

“So can they,” the commander states coldly. “A lot fuckin’ better.”

Without another word, she’s whacked in the head by the handle of a rifle. One of the guards pulls her groaning form up by the collar of her uniform and drags her out.

On the way, a scared, blood-curdling scream tears through her.

Bucky winces, but when he looks to you, he sees absolutely nothing.

No emotion.

Cold dead eyes.

“Next.”

And Bucky’s heart drops out of his chest when he sees you step forward with the large man.

He knows you can take a beating, can reciprocate and overpower, but it’s no less sickening to watch. Part of him wants to rush in, guns blazing. The other part knows that it would only get you both killed.

“Begin.”

Immediately, you dodge an incoming attack. In fact, you’re stubbornly defensive, blocking and dodging at lightning speed while your enemy tries to bash you like a bull. The fight is a complete opposite of the previous. Instead of two clumsy oafs fighting each other, this one is more tactical and thought out on one end.

He’s a supersoldier. You’re not.

Bucky realizes that you’re trying to use agility over brute force, tire him out at least a fraction before going in for the kill.

‘That’s my girl,’ he thinks, smiling proudly.

It goes on for another ten minutes until the commander grows restless. “That’s enough bullshitting,” he snaps at you. “Finish him off.”

Neither of you backs down, and you continue dodging against the leader’s demands. Finally, your face breaks out into a weak smile. You fail to deflect this man’s next attack and his fist slams into your gut, knocking the air out of your lungs and sending you crashing into the ground a few feet away.

Bucky breaks out into a sweat.

The commander scoffs. “What the hell happened to you?” he asks. “You lost your touch.”

Forcing oxygen back into your lungs, you remain on the ground, staring up at the commander with a twinkle of amusement in your eyes. “Whoops. My bad?”

It’s the most emotion you’ve given Bucky throughout this whole fight.

“You’ve still got that little attitude of yours,” the commander sneers, eyes full of hate and disgust. “I see breaking your finger and stabbing you in the hand didn’t do much.”

“Baby shit,” you retort, grunting when one of the guards pulls you up by the hair forces you onto your knees. The barrel of his gun presses against the back of your head. Still, you smile. “And I’m your strongest asset, I know you can’t kill me.”

Bucky fumbles with his comms, turning it on and tapping a code to call in reinforcements. He doesn’t care if he compromises your mission. He wants you out. Now.

The leader freezes for a moment before rage floods his features. You saw right through him, and he was not happy. He needed you, needed you to fight for his side because you were right. You were his strongest soldier.

So instead of killing you on the spot, he decides to make an example.

The guard keeps you held in place while the commander steps down from his platform.

Without a moment to spare, he tilts your chin up with one hand while the other balls into a fist. “You mouthy bitch.” Your eyes screw shut, waiting for the impact.

Until a song blares through the sound system, the one that was used for announcements and emergency protocols.

Lovesick melody, carry my words across the sea Tell her I miss her, tell her I'm torn in two Salt burns in my eyes, none of these streets feel right tonight I'll be your Robin, you'll be my baby blue….

He pauses in absolute confusion before a wholehearted laugh escapes your lips.

“What the hell is this?” he shouts.

I wanna swim, swim deep into the dark night I wanna melt you down into the stars I wanna crumble, dumble like a landslide I wanna live, die wherever you are

I would flag down any motorist I'd run the whole damn fight For you and I, you and I, you and I...

“Your downfall, sir,” you reply bittersweetly.

The pressure on your head lifts when a gunshot echoes across the room. The sentry behind you falls, a bullet between his eyes.

One of your comrades loads his rifle back up, and this time aims for the commander himself. He doesn’t even get the chance to speak, as a bullet embeds itself into his skull.

Chaos breaks out in the bunker.

People turn on each other, suddenly realizing they had traitors in their group.

You break out into a sprint, going for a gun from the man you had just been in a brawl with. He holds it out to you as he shoots others with his Glock.

Bucky doesn’t waste time, he loads up his own gun and shoots anyone in your path. He doesn’t know who’s good or who’s bad, but he goes for anyone that’s running after you.

And when you finally accept the weapon from your comrade, Bucky makes his way into the battlefield, dodging bullets and bodies as he approaches.

“Sorry ‘bout the punch, lass,” the man shouts over the screams of the damned.

You roll your eyes, covering his back while he covers yours. “You punch your momma with that fist, Riley? I’ve met bigger supersoldiers than you.” He lets out a belly laugh and shoots a woman running in your direction. When he sees Bucky, he aims for him too.

That is until he calls out your name.

You’ve run out of bullets and decide to use your knife instead. You slit open an enemy’s throat, their blood spraying and hitting you just slightly across the face. When you turn to see Bucky, your heart thrums against your chest. “This isn’t as sexy of a reuinion as I wanted it to be,” be you mutter dumbly.

Someone rushes after you from behind but Bucky’s faster to shoot.

As soon as their body falls, you snap out of your stupor and stand your ground.

“No, that was absolutely fuckin’ sexy,” he calls back, keeping his back against yours.

You, Bucky and Riley all form a triangle with your backs against each other as you take out enemies one by one.

“So this is the boyfriend I’ve been hearing about,” Riley jokes, his finger pulling the trigger skillfully.

Bucky feels warmth bloom in his chest. “You talk about me?”

“Bucky, I love you and Riley, you’re an asshole, but can we save this sappy conversation for later?” you stab into a body on the ground when it started to writhe, putting them out of their misery.

The battle rages on, backup from the enemy team rushing in from all entrances of the bunker.

At some point, your trio had to split to help other comrades. You’re bloodied and bruised and everything hurts like a bitch.

When the dust settles, all that’s left is your side of the battle.

Bodies of the enemies spread across the bunker, pooling the ground bloodbath. You’ve lost men on your side too. Good men. People you have come to know during your time here as an undercover agent.

Your eyes scan the massacre, dread clawing at your chest like an animal.

“Baby.”

Your gaze sweeps up to an incoming soldier. He presses his ear comms, most likely calling in for extraction vehicles.

Bucky Barnes.

You want to shout his name, run and jump into his arms, but you can’t. Your legs feel like lead.

It had been three trying months here at the H.O.U.N.D. underground facility. Three months of planning to uproot them and find allies amongst the sea of mindless robots. It wasn’t easy, but you remained strong, even without the love of your life at your side.

Now that everything is said and done, you feel so, so tired. Your bottom lip trembles as you stare at Bucky, wanting him to hold you and get you the hell out of here.

Like a mind-reader, his footsteps quicken until he’s in front of you and he catches you when your knees give out. “Hey, Sweetheart. You’re okay. Mission accomplished,” he says shakily, inspecting your form for any injuries. He finds only minor cuts and bruises. The more major, older injuries have more or less healed. Thank God.

“That’s a lot of paperwork,” you joke tearfully, looking over his shoulder to see your comrades pull dead bodies to the side. You screw your eyes shut, the tears rolling down your cheeks and soaking Bucky’s neck.

These people were unwillingly made soldiers to begin with. They had families, friends. And the ones that didn’t join your resistance were too far gone to save. In fear of torture and death, they played their roles as loyal lapdogs. They kind of reminded you of Bucky. When you made this observation while training here alongside them, you had to wonder if this is what hell is really like. And if so, how on Earth did Bucky survive this?

You recall the screams of the unsuccessful, weaker soldiers that you would hear each night in your cell. You remember your skin crawling and your hair standing on end. You remember missing Bucky and the rest of your family.

And now that you’re going back to them, you don’t ever want to let them go.

“You liked the song I used?” you whisper, slowly coming back to yourself again. You only now realize that he’s carrying you in his arms. The crisp air brushes against your skin as you take in the sight of the night sky. You haven’t seen these stars in ages. You missed them too.

“Always one for theatrics,” he laughs, his chest rumbling against you. He pulls a smile out of you, and he can feel it against his neck. His heart thumps, skips a beat, and speeds up. “The compound was lonely without you.”

“I was lonely without you all. Without you,” you murmur, eyelids drooping. But you want to keep them open, breathe in this cool air and put it all into memory. It was your last day here. The day you saved more innocent people than the ones you killed. The day you saw your Bucky Barnes again after what felt like centuries.

He pulls you tighter against him, ignoring the pain from bruising. “Get some rest. I’ve got you.” He chuckles when you shake your head and mumble a half-hearted noise of defiance. “Steve agreed not to put you on any missions for at least a few weeks. You can Netflix-binge all you want.”

“You gon’ join me?” you ask sleepily. Even after a gruesome battle, the scent of Bucky’s cologne -- the scent of vanilla and spice still remain. It always soothed you.

“Of fuckin’ course I will. I’ll sit next to you and help you with the mission files so you don’t have to worry ‘bout them.”

For a moment, you go silent, and Bucky wonders if you had finally dozed off.

“Bucky?” you whisper shakily, tears beginning to form again.

“Yeah?”

“We need a vacation. Somewhere warmer.” You squeeze him, trying to ground yourself before you start to spiral again. “Somewhere with more light too.”

He pulls back his head and you do the same. Gently, he presses his lips against yours, trying to comfort you as much as he’s trying to comfort himself. “I’ll go anywhere as long as it’s with you.” He wipes away a stray tear before pushing your head back down to rest against his shoulder. He continues his stride to the car.

Perhaps it was a coincidence, or Steve Rogers being a little shit when he started up the car for you two, but a familiar song plays on the radio and rings through the air. The melody reaches both of you and calms you down.

Just you and I, I, I, I Just you and I, just you and I, I….

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