AN:I feel that I should warn that as this fic takes place in the 30's and that one of the main characters is a woman of color there will be discussions of racism and use of certain words and language associated with racism.
It's not easy for me to write these words as I've had to suffer some of this language used towards me, but it would be historically inaccurate to ignore the reality of the time.
If that makes you uncomfortable, I understand.
Also I own nothing. Not even the title. That comes from a Hamilton songtitle
Darkness and strange howling winds battered Ororo as she fell. She held out her hands and concentrated, but to no avail; she had no control over the winds. She had no control whatsoever. The darkness enclosed her, so oppressive that she was sure she'd gone blind. She opened her mouth and let out a scream as her claustrophobia manifested, making her believe she was being crushed.
She didn't know how long she'd been falling when suddenly a small pinprick of light appeared in front of her. It got closer and larger until finally she fell into it. Squeezing her eyes closed she braced herself for the impact, but it never came. She was floating in an alleyway in an unfamiliar city. Gasping in surprise, she clattered to the mucky ground. Rolling on her back she looked up at the sky. It was blue and cloudless, just like the sky had been before…she began hyperventilating, and she closed her eyes trying to forget the blackness and the fall.
"HEY" an angry voice shouted and snapped her back into the present. She sat up in alarm. A man in a butcher's uniform was standing in the doorway. "You can't be here." He growled, waving a knife at her. Then he froze as he looked her up and down. Not unusual; Ororo's hair and eyes were often a source of confusion for people when they first saw her.
"I'm sorr-." She struggled to her feet, but her stomach rolled and she swayed unsteadily. Putting her hand against the wall, she tried to regain her bearings and her balance. Something was very off. The air, the wind currents; they were wrong. "I-" she looked back at the butcher only to find that he was still looking at her, but that his expression had changed to one of lust. She backed away, getting ready to summon lightning if necessary, but the clouds overhead didn't respond to her call. A few feeble gray ones entered her line of vision, but her head was pounding too hard to concentrate and her stomach was rolling. She felt faint.
"You hungry?" He asked and Ororo knew he wasn't offering food. "I can give you something if you make it worth my while." He continued, taking her silence as acceptance and an excuse to step forward. She shook her head, backing up and stumbling.
"No." she said. The man's expression reddened.
"Don't play games with me girl." He growled. "You're all the same. I suppose you need a lesson in -"
"She said no." A voice said from the other side of the alley. Ororo turned to look at her would be savior. He was standing on the sidewalk in the alley entry, crossing his arms and glaring at them. He was 5 4, blond, pale, and extremely skinny. At first glance Ororo had mistaken him for a child, but there was something about his face that made her look twice. He seemed familiar. Despite his small frame, his voice was strong and authoritative.
"Doesn't matter." The butcher said, grabbing Ororo's shoulder. "She's nothing but a nigra whore." Ororo felt a cold wrench in the bottom of her stomach at the slur. She twisted out of his grasp and kneed him between the legs, backing away. The other man came forward and caught her arm.
"You alright, miss?" He asked. Ororo recognized a Brooklyn accent, so she was still in New York. She nodded, pulling away from him.
"Get out of here." The butcher gasped, clutching between his legs, his face angry. Ororo was willing to do just that, but the short man stood firm and refused to budge.
"Apologize." He demanded.
"Or what?" The butcher laughed. "Whatta you gonna do, Rogers? Cough on me?" He wheezed and straightened up slowly. "the two of ya deserve each otha" He continued. "A half cripple and a ni-"
Rogers turned a bright shade of scarlet and before Ororo could stop him he'd curled up his fist and swung. The blow did little more than stun the other man, and Ororo figured that was more out of surprise than the actual force of the punch. He shook himself and shoved Rogers to the ground. The clouds and her muddled senses still weren't responding, but Ororo knew she had to remember her combat training. Logan's voice shouted at her to not rely on her ability and to fight back. Before she could a metal clanging sound rang out in the alley and the angry butcher crumpled to the ground. A tall man with slicked back brown hair was holding a metal pan in his hand.
"I had him on the ropes, Buck." Rogers grumbled, getting to his feet and brushing the dirt off his clothes." He coughed, his friend, Buck, gave him a slightly concerned and exasperated look before shaking his head.
"Of course, punk." He muttered. "Like you always do before I have to save your ass from being pummeled."
"Jerk." Rogers mumbled. Then his expression turned to one of concern. "Your job."
"Eh." His friend shrugged. "I've been wantin to do that for weeks." He kicked the inert form of the butcher, then tipped an imaginary hat to Ororo. "sides, couldn't stand back and let him insult a dame like you." He held out his hand. "The name's James Buchanan Barnes."
Ororo's eyes grew wide. James…Buchanan Barnes... Bucky Barnes which made her defender…She felt the overwhelming pounding increase and the sky darkened and began to pour freezing rain just as she felt a sick cold feeling spread and the world tilted. The last thing she saw before she passed out was the concerned eyes of the man who would be Captain America staring at her.