Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel

Pairings: Bucky/OC/Steve
Steve/Bucky, Steve/OC. Bucky/OC
Note: This is a threesome. No love triangle.

Rating: T

Summary: For as long as Vera can remember, the world was made out of swirls of gold and a kaleidoscope of colour. Then fate introduced her to a myriad of people throughout time and space. It's beautiful and wonderful until—"Sometimes all it takes is one breath, and the world will change." And everything shatters.

SWIRLS OF GOLD AND SHARDS OF GLASS

1925

Veronica's face was in a solemn line as the mangled body was carelessly tossed away.

Her own body shook, tense in anticipation and anger. Soldiers with crests on their chests continued to march them down a deserted road, hands stiff on the gun. Everything was a monochrome grey, dashes of pale white and prominent black. With shaky knees, she stood up, ghosting to the corpse. Wiry hands collected the flesh and bones, tugging it closer to her.

She hummed a silent lullaby, it's song echoed throughout brick walls. Even when her arms slowly began to be hued in red, Veronica ignored that, and continued to sing. She ignored many things: the beady eyes of her neighbours, the cloudy skies, and her niece's silent heart. She heaved herself upwards, bringing the doll (corpse, niece) with her. And like the soldiers did, Veronica marched her way back to the small home; head held high, no shame, despite the public execution that happened just minutes before.

Living beneath the Soviet Union's codes and values was difficult as all possessions were stripped away from you. When things became worst, a majority of the rich left their motherland. Her brother however, who worked with the royal family, thought otherwise and stayed loyal till the end. It placed him in a pile of dead bodies waiting to be burned. As he fell, so did their economy and the country was forced to live in a strict regime. everything had been a downturn since then, Lenin stepped down and Stalin took over, forcing majority into labour camps. But she was smart and before anyone could knock on their door, Veronica managed to pack her things and drag her brother's daughter to a small town near the borders. Though still under the communist rule, it was less extreme than that of Moscow.

They didn't have much, no one did in the Soviet Union, but Veronica can still remember the times before this whole fiasco. Their house made of polished oak, during Christmas time, a row of periwinkle lights glowed in every room. Their mother bought perfumes from France while Father had the habit of buying nutcrackers for his collection. Filled with laughter and dance, their home was hearty and healthy. Then winter came and Father died of polio while mother drank herself to sleep. Veronica had caught on the message, she fled in hopes of escaping with minuscule values while her stubborn brother did not, only asking her to bring his daughter.

It had been a difficult terrain, one of deception and keeping heads down. In fact, everything had been fine until soldiers stormed their little cabin and dragged her niece into the street, usually tucked underneath her shirt only to be caught by a passing neighbour, her rose gold necklace displayed for all to see.

And bang went the gun.

Veronica gently laid her niece's head on the floorboards of their temporary home. Almost like a cherub asleep if not for the sanguine liquid matting her features. She uttered a small devout prayer, and with that, Veronica pulled out her pocket watch. Time a steady heartbeat, resounding through the room. She furrowed her brows, no matter how much she saw this it never got easier. So Veronica waited, any second now―

There was a great gasp.

Vera had awoken once more.

"Sometimes all it takes is one single breath, and the world will change."

For as long as she can remember, Vera had always been eighteen.

Sometimes nineteen, and there were occasions where her father would discuss about a twentieth. But she has never physically changed from eighteen onwards. There was never a recollection of childhood or young adolescent years. Everything was always eighteen.

Father said she had taken a rather disturbing blow to the head when climbing a tree and thus resulting to amnesia. Vera loved her Father, Grandmother had always sneered and say that her mother was a prostitute. Vera remembered being angry, a swirl of orange and gold and the screams of her Grandmother. She disappeared the next day, and no one in the household spoke of the incident. Vera still had nightmares, during those times, she would cry and hug her Father, he'd sing an old lullaby, giving comfort and warmth.

However Vera wasn't ignorant, she watched her Father's hair turn grey and fingers wrinkling. She watched as the lights, blind to everyone else, twirled and danced, accompanied by silent whispers. It wasn't normal and Vera was afraid to question about it, she didn't need another incident like her Grandmother. And then one day, by the river, Vera saw a dead bird. She caressed it and blew a breath of gold, not a second longer, the bird began to chirp. It didn't stop there, not so long ago she had tried to dance with the the lights, shifting her arm and twisted. The world around her whirled into a spiral, particles moving and with a halt and a thought, everything else turned back to normal.

Vera didn't know why she could do these things and before she could get an explanation, things went to hell. After her Father's death, she was given to her Aunt, Veronica. An unexpected child, they'd say, Aunt Veronica was in her early thirties without a smudge out of place.

Life was different, and it continued to change. Especially on that day.

The first time Vera remembered her death it was during a family raid, a soldier pushed to the side and her head was sliced through one of Grandfather's antique. She woke up with her Aunt crying above her. They didn't ask any questions or even discussed the topic, only heading towards the border. The second time it happened, Vera was in an alleyway. She was waiting for her Aunt, only to have a thief grabbing her bag. She had fought, holding her heel and stabbing it in between eyes. Only to have a blade imbed itself into her jugular. Third was in a car, fourth by a river, fifth by falling, sixth by suicide and they started to lose count after that.

Each time the lights would tiptoe to what should be her corpse and breathed life into it once more, just like she had with the bird. When on the run with her Aunt, warmth was difficult to get, so Vera would think of hearth and fire and an embrace would make its way around them. Her Aunt had felt it to, but she said nothing because she could not see like Vera could. She could not feel like Vera can, she cannot here the colours, she cannot kiss the light.

As odd as it was, neither of them asked why or searched for reason. Strange cases were dangerous in the Soviet Union. Better safe than sorry. Though, she did ask Aunt Veronica once, all the older woman did was send curses to her long dead brother and play with that pocket watch. Made a deal with the devil, she said, just be grateful you're alive. Curiosity still gnawed her, but Veronica was right, if anyone ever found out she would be in a basement being dissected. There were whispers of men searching for immortality, rumour has it, the Germans were building a superior race above everyone else. Veronica only chose to be ignorant because it was the safest thing to do, it wasn't that she was 'ignorant' per se, rather, extremely sly, she knew the right things to hear and the right things to say.

And right now, she said to cut her hair.

Vera grasped the scissors, uncaring as the blades grazed her neck, flesh instantly knitting back. She blinked, not recognising the person in the mirror. Settling the tool down, Vera bitterly wondered what her father would've thought of this. He had always loved her hair, she too had enjoyed the braids and complicated twists. It was a shame to see it go, and what came after, was an oversized sweater and rugged pants. Next to her was Veronica, age and weariness catching up. And instead of her pretty up-do and faded floral, she exchanged it for a bulkier dress and her hair was down, slightly fizzy due to the weather. Vera almost flinched when Veronica's thin fingers, once so agile, was gently placed on her shoulders.

"Vanya," Veronica whispered, "For now that is your name. Once we make it out, you shall be Vanya. As we get closer to France you will become Valerie. And then, and only, when we are in America shall you be Vera again."

(Wrongwrongwrong. Lying is wrong because—

"It is not in your nature to lie Vera").

"What about you? Who are you to me?"

"Anya, I am your older sister. Then I shall be Nikola, your distant cousin," she sighed, "America is the safest place right now."

"I know."

"You trust me?"

"I do," Vera admitted. Who else was there to trust?

"Good," she handed her a bag, "Pack little as you can brother. We leave soon."

That's right, to America, land of the free-their last hope.

Vera quickly grabbed her scarf and the matryoshka dolls, quickly putting them into one and placing them deep within her bag. Stepping outside the cottage, Vera made sure not to be caught by anyone, meeting Veronica at the outpost point.

She clutched her bag, "I'm ready."

Veronica dug under her own pack and revealed a gun and knives, "Here, hide them on your person."

The weapons were sleek and obviously taken care of. While Veronica used to always hunt with Grandfather and Father, on mighty horses through lush forests, it was extremely hard for civilians to get weapons these days. It was near impossible, and these guns didn't look Russian made. So definitely smuggled into the country.

Vera gave a glance but didn't say anything, unlike her older family members, she never did have an affinity with guns. Knives were fine, in a way, they didn't tend to blow in your faces. She internally chuckled, imagining the look on the old neighborhood boys' faces if they ever found out porcelain Vera holding weapons. If her father ever found out, not that he would since he's six feet under, he'd behead Vera. But war changes things, and with that came circumstances and consequences that Vera has to adapt to, whether she liked it or not.

With one last look at the village, they hiked far away, and Vera couldn't help but think, 'I miss home.'

1930

Vera was the daughter of a noble, she was used to a nice home with pretty dresses and delicious food. Eating her stale bread, Vera huddled closer to her clothing.

They had arrived in Germany, it had taken them months, and after arriving, they managed to find an abandoned room and scavenged for food. Following its defeat, Germany became much more different than the stories Vera has heard from her Grandfather. The government is falling since the Kaiser has fled, and political parties were tense. It was dangerous to stay outside, and food was incredibly scarce. No resources or supplies were getting into the country. And though whispers that the war was over, Veronica said that they needed to get out of the country as soon as possible. Vera agreed, the desperation that polluted this city was suffocating and reminded her too much of the many places in Russia. They did however, need to rest and at least stay to thieve off supplies as quickly as they could.

The room they had occupied was nothing really, no proper fireplace, and though Vera was fine, she could see Veronica in the corner. Everything was bare and there were many spider webbed cracks, only small pieces of cement holding everything together. It was afternoon, and snow fell, Veronica was wasting away and all Vera could do was place a thin layer of light and hope they could protect her. She ate a quarter of the bread and snuck the rest onto Veronica's plate. Their guns were never used compared to their knives, and was carefully tucked away into easily accessible places. Thankfully, they had chosen a secluded part of town, mostly abandoned due to the instability. Nowadays, many hoarded themselves together, and these parts were only inhabited by ghosts. Of hollow buildings and stained glass, with critters crawling about, and a paper light sheet of white on top of it, making every creak only colder.

"Nicola I will scavenge for more things alright?" Vera whispered to her Aunt, who forced her lids to open.

"Don't wander too far and stay in the shadows," she shivered lightly, pulling the blankets, "sister."

Vera smiled, despite her hair growing around her shoulders, if she hid it, she could be passed off as a male from a far distance. She made sure to wrap her breasts because it was better to be mistaken as a boy than a girl when it's near night time. Standing up, she headed towards the door, "Take care."

"Always."

Walking through the streets of Germany, as Veronica advised, was much better to be near the shadows. Sneaking into the richer parts of town, Vera dug into the bins and by the next few hours, managed to get scraps of food and clothing, what people threw away was astounding. And made Vera wonder about the things she had thrown out as a child. Shaking her head she huffed and blinked when a sudden impact of colours bombarded her. Staggering a step back she looked up at the sky and found it odd how fast time had passed. Furrowing her brows she massaged her temples, trying to dismiss the feel of nausea.

(Little did Vera know that—)

As she gathered her things, Vera was slightly surprised to see a crouched figure to her right. And out of instincts, Vera braced her muscles as the body leaped forwards onto her. She had always been a good fighter, on an instinctual level, though sloppy in her form, Vera managed to defend herself. And she certainly managed as the person raked backwards, but was intercepted with a long swipe of her leg. The action made her drop all belongings, and quickly, she snatched her attacker from the collar and shoved them on the wall to see-

"Please don't hurt me!"

(Scorching fire and red skin to match it's fury. Skin and bones were defined underneath a shadow of darkness. It was rage, she saw deep molten rage in those—)

-frightened eyes?

Thankfully, Grandmother made sure that Vera knew the major European languages, as well as English. And though her German wasn't as good as her Russian, it was passable, and only had a slight lift on certain words. In any other situations, she would have perhaps put the child down, but this was time of war and the brutality of it has already affected Vera. It was a tragic thing, and she hoped the the fire in this child's eyes would always blaze as it did now, despite his shaking voice and paling face.

She cocked her head, tests her German, "Children like you get punished for what you have done."

"Well women like you are supposed to stay home."

Vera narrowed her eyes and lifted him higher, "Say that again."

"Stop it, you're hurting me!"

"People get hurt during war," she gritted out and settled him down, flicking him a piece of food, "Now leave."

He blinked, "Why are you giving me this?"

"Then I'll take it back."

"No!" he blurted, hugging it, "Thank you."

And that was the day, Vera met little Johann, whose stygian hair matched his coal dark eyes burning with a flaming passion. Not one of intimacy or human comfort, but rather, of rage and a burden. He was incredibly small and Vera cannot remember an age where she had been that short, it made him look fragile, but the stiff shoulders and straight backbone said otherwise. He reminded Vera of a being that could not be cut down, and some part of her was endeared by that fact. Because, somewhere, deep inside of her, Vera wished she too could have that burning flame, it yearned for it. But there was another, that pulled her away and made her what she was today, a solid mountain.

No longer was she a child and as time passed, little Vera, who was taller than many men her age, has to grow up.

In the end, Vera who was far too tall for her age and Johann who has will in him, began talking. He didn't trust her and she gave him no reason to. It started with awkward silence and small whispers, then he asked her a question that reminded Vera far too much of the past.

He sniffed his nose, "What's a princess like you doing here?"

"Shouldn't I be asking the same?" he was awfully well put together for a street boy, that is, to compare with Vera rags and barely maintained clothes that Grandmother would be so ashamed of. The colours around him were negative and dark, only streaks of beauty in them, seeping through the cracks. It was such a sad thing to see.

"Night eats up boys like you."

"Like me?" there was disbelief in his voice, "What about you princess?"

"Valerie," she clarified, "My name is Valerie."

"Valkyrie?" Johann had an intrigued expression, "I have heard of them. Beautiful women with mighty blades who carry back the dead souls of warriors to Valhalla."

"Sorry for disappointing you, but it's Valerie, though I'm very flattered. But what is this Valkyrie you speak of?" she asked, her formal accent now laying on thick.

Johann raised his brows, before explaining of magnificent beings; of winged helmets and iron swords grasped in their hands. Riding chariots and horses, gliding down the battlefield and leading souls to the after life. It would be a lie to say that Vera wasn't impressed. From how Johann described the Valkyrie, tall and blonde, unlike any other woman, she wasn't surprised to see a resemblance in physical appearance. Though she was far from valiant or chivalrous.

He was overall an interesting child, certainly grazed from the depression. In the end, she managed to get some information from him. That he was an orphan, hated his foster family and everything imperfect. Johann certainly had a passion for mythology. From the books hidden underneath the abandoned mansion, he had said. They managed to have a half decent conversation, a phantom of what would be if there was no war. Vera told him of little things, such as her favourite colour and that she loved reading fairy tales, especially the morbid ones written by the Grimm brothers. Though she, "Prefer ones with happy endings."

Johann had laughed and said, "There are no such things as happy endings."

"It's all about perspective boy."

"You're a fool."

"Better a fool than a foolish wit."

"Dreamers like you get killed."

She huffed a laugh, "Than I'll die freely."

Not that Vera has found a way of dying.

(Yet.)

But as of now, by the end of the day, though it was a faux representation of what should be, Vera thinks that she has made a friend.

It was nice.

With a goodbye, Vera waved at little Johann and turned around the corner only to be bombarded with another sudden bombardment of colours. Vera looked up at the sky and frowned. Well that was odd.

Little did Vera know that the year she met Johann Schmidt was 1912.

Vera came to like Germany.

Aside from the depression, the fact that people stole from you and the amount of colours that invaded her vision, it wasn't as bad as she imagined it. That, or she just really like running about.

Veronica was looking better, still ill, but she didn't have the sick parlour pasted onto her skin. Vera still insisted for her to stay back and rest. During those durations, she would scavenge for food and even managed to get a job at the small Jewish cafe down the street. It didn't pay much but is was essential to keep Veronica up her feet.

Vera stayed with Johann if not taking care of Veronica. The little boy was rubbing off on her. He was far from sweet, but compared to the half dead eyes on everyone, Johann was alive.

They ran down the pavements, went into abandoned houses and jumped over fences.

Of course all good things must come to an end.

And by the end of the year Vera died.

Except she didn't.

All was rather complicated.

It all happened like a winter's tale.

Johann likes Valerie.

She was nicer than the matrons at the orphanage, much prettier too. The blonde woman was the perfect German with her matching blue eyes. At first, he had thought of her as some lanky man grubbing trash. But through the span of time they managed to, dare he say it, become friends.

Johann didn't have friends, nor family. The people he lived with were nothing more than useless pedestrians. His house was cold and filled with other children his age, the corners dark and the roof like ill fitted jigsaws. And though the back alleys of Germany was wretched with dirt and trash, it was filled with warmth whenever Valerie was there. Scavenging food was not as difficult as it sounds, and the bread may be stale, the meat tough, but with Valerie at his side it wasn't so bad. Awkward at first, Valerie was many ages older than him and she was incredibly tall that it reminded Johann a lot of the men who walked down the streets. Except her hands were not clipped with ice and her lips weren't sewn into a line. Valerie smiled and her fingers caressed in a way that made Johann think of flower petals.

They learned many things about each other. Johann told her his interest in reading and sports, competitive sports. She had laughed and told him she prefers going on adventures and was terrible at playing sports. He described that one time he managed to snuck a piece of chocolate, very rare, and it had tasted like heaven on his tongue. Valerie told him of Indian spices, which sounded like something from a completely different world. It was hot and exploded inside the mouth with a myriad of colours. Johann was poor and he knew that only rich people has been to India. And while it's very clear that Valerie is not dressed like princess, she must have a blood of a royal, that is for sure.

When Valerie found a job at the bakery, or so she said since Johann knew that the nearest bakery was in central, she spent less time with him but was greeted with more food. She also showed a picture of her sister, Nicola. Both were slender and blonde, except Nicola was a few years older than Valerie and a few inches shorter. She was unlike Valerie, softer yet strong enough that it reminded Johann of the scary librarian. Valerie soon became family of sorts, something he had never experienced before. He found comfort and happiness in her, she was far more precious than any diamond. Just for a moment in time, Johann thought that something good has finally fell from the sky for him. No not good, great. Because good things were given to mundane people. Great things are given to those who deserve it. But the good became jealous and stole it away. It happened during winter, always winter.

The Great War was taking a toll on the country. The Kaiser said they were winning yet resources became scarce since everything was given to the army and soon people grew desperate. It worsened during winter. Everyone was cold, food was limited yet needed. Theft was not rare and many turned a blind eye at murder. It happened so quickly, no one had expected it. Unlike the orphanage, the street he and Valerie always went to was filled with thugs. They had been by the park, or what's left of it, about to head home when the man came out of nowhere. The knife was held tightly as the man brutally slashed Valerie, the loaf of bread falling onto the cold pavement. An ugly scream etched itself in his mind. Johann had tried to save her, he did, but it all happened too fast and everything became dark.

He woke up in the hospital, surrounded by untouched walls and clean beds. It was another world from that of outside. Sitting by his side was the matron, stress weighing her down and eyes surrounded by shadows.

"Johann."

"Matron."

Short and curt.

The Matron heavily sighed, "You were found at the park. Your friend—"

Valerie! "How is she?"

Johann didn't like the way she shook her head, "oh child."

And then she explained. How the found him by the park with two others. One, was stabbed right in between the eye. While the other was brutally slashed, dead by blood loss. A man with no name and the kind blonde lady, the Matron had whispered. They brought her to the undertaker but the body had disappeared not long after. When the story was told, Johann couldn't help but listen in disbelief, a body can't just disappear. It sounded like a hushed runout one wild tell the scare another. It didn't sound real. Valerie was strong, she was a force to be reckoned with. She was supposed to be unstoppable.

(Not a tear left his eye.)

She became a Valkyrie.

(Deep inside he screamed, raw and unrestrained. An animal has been unleashed.)

The sky was red that evening.

Vera fiddled with her newly henna dyed hair.

It had been a gift, from the old Jewish couple down the street. Vera always liked the woman's patterned hands and sunset hair. Vera always imagined herself wearing it, but now it was more out of convenience. She knew grandmother was rolling in her grave if she ever saw her like this. Gone were the golden locks, now replaced with hues of red.

"You look great, the colour suits you."

Vera raised an eyebrow, "I've always preferred blue."

"Of course you do."

She sighed, "We could've brought Johann."

"There was never a Johann, stop with your delusions."

"There was a Johann and he was my friend."

.

.

.

The guilt still scarred her heart.

AN: Hope you liked it.

Note: Johann is the Red Skull, nemesis of Captain America.