Notes:
This piece was requested - and dedicated - by an Anon who called them self DJK on my account. Got a request for the When_Somebody_Loved_Me_Universe? Comment below and I will consider it! Enjoy~!
The asset is waiting.
She'd just taken out another HYDRA base. And her - Mission? Enemy? Friend? - is looking for her. The asset had seen him. He came alone. He helped her. But no one is to be trusted.
She has no mission. No orders. The Winter Soldier could do whatever she wanted; she is free. But, the bubbling in her stomach, the ache of her chest...it stops her. And she can't figure out why.
The sound of the fan is so loud against the still, silent, cold room. But, the asset is in her own little world. While she doesn't have any creativity when it comes to fading into her mind, she definitely can zone out.
She is allowing herself to. Because she could never fade by accident, not when a mission-enemy-friend is looking for her.
The bitter chill of the room is nipping at her metal arm, and she flexes it. She is so, so confused. The Winter Soldier has no master, no purpose, and she doesn't know what to do next.
But that small part of her, the one in the corner of her existence, of her soul, screams for her to avenge herself. Says her to redeem herself.
Tells her to find the blond man.
And if her handlers had taught her anything, it was to follow orders.
The noise of the fan hums in use as she continues to sit still on the dusty hotel mattress. And, at the moment, she is so close to drifting into sleep. It's hard, very hard, to do that. But occasionally the asset does. Unfortunately slumber is then plagued by flashes of pictures. And it's so frustrating.
The asset is upset. One of the many feelings she just doesn't understand. She is pretty sure that it what this feeling is called. But, The Winter Soldier supposes, she is a distraught person in general.
The brunette is on her feet before she thinks about it, her movement very robotic. She decides to find him; she thinks she is ready for answers.
He's probably sleeping anyway, She thinks with a angry tone.
The asset grabs the hotel-provided hygiene products and tosses them into her backpack before she uses the fire escape.
It had taken her a while to learn that she needed things like that. Her body needed to be tended to in many different ways, and all unfamiliar. But, it has been a few months since she gained her freedom, and the asset likes to think she has enough knowledge to get by.
Could The Winter Soldier even call it that, though? Freedom? She isn't free. The brunette is on the run. People are looking for her; she is a target.
The asset lands gracefully on the cement of the alley, surveying her surroundings. She looks to the sky.
It is dark, which doesn't really matter. Day or night, the brunette sees no difference. Although, the dark is the easiest to hide in, to kill in. But it's not like she hasn't killed in plain day before.
The asset starts to search for the Man on the Bridge. But the Winter Soldier is not going to kill him. Her last mission.
Her first failed mission.
Not yet. Perhaps not ever. She wants to know, to remember. The asset will not be Jamie Buchanan Barnes. That is not who she is anymore, and the past cannot be changed.
It is not hard to find the man. Even if her past handlers told her almost every time where her target was, the Winter Soldier still has spectacular tracking skills.
She makes a safe house nearby. An abandoned building that she decided to spend the night in. Everything is in order.
The man must think a bit like the brunette, because his room is connected to the fire escape too. The blond might be expecting her. The asset wouldn't be very surprised, but she still needs to have control over the situation. Her metal arm shines dimly in the moonlight, and she pulls at her shirt with a hiss of irritation and shame, causing her to accidentally rip the fabric clean off.
It would be more comforting if it was pitch black out, because some people aren't sleeping and could spot her, however it was still unbelievably easy to walk in the shadows unnoticed.
It is not difficult to open the window either, since it was left slightly ajar. The asset now knows she is welcome, as she spots the man sleeping, leaving her to believe he does this every time he searches for her.
But this man - there is a distant familiarity, a scrawny kid with dusty blond hair sneezing into a handkerchief - is still dangerous. Her handlers had told her that he fought to take away freedom, but it was probably just another of the many lies they told her. She thought she was doing the right thing, but, the asset argues that she doesn't have the best judgment.
Now she stands over his unconscious figure. The only sound is their breathing, but it's very hard to identify who's making what sound, because the asset realizes that their breaths are in synch.
She doesn't know how long she stands there watching him. It could've been minutes, or perhaps even an hour, but the second she gets ahold of herself the asset is straddling him, pressing a blade to his neck.
When his eyes snap open he panics. Knowing that the weight on top of him is holding him down. When Steve realizes that it's Bucky, he goes shock still, but the adrenaline continues to pump through his veins rapidly.
Just to confirm that she is actually there, Steve says very softly, very cautiously, "Bucky?" Her reaction is instant; the knife digs into his throat a bit more and she hisses lowly.
"Don't call me that," the brunette growls angrily. Steve shifts his head back a little, trying to subtly put distance between him and the blade.
Bucky doesn't like that apparently, and the blade digs into this neck again. "Stop moving!" Steve complies, and gulps before replying, "Okay. Okay, sure. What...why are you here?" He settles for asking.
She stills, the fire in her eyes flickers and Steve feels the pressure of the knife lessen slightly. The blond sighs very softly, forcing himself to keep still. Bucky is pondering her next move, he should be thinking of a way to escape, but all he can focus on is her appearance in the dim moonlight.
She hasn't cut her hair since the last time he'd talked to her. In fact, it's longer. Bucky is visibly cleaner, so she must of figured out the need for hygiene. Guilt twists in his stomach when he thinks about all the things she probably had to relearn. "I want to know who you are."
The super soldier blinks dumbly, and replays her question in his head. "I am Steve Rogers. I am your friend," Steve answers evenly. And Bucky scoffs, causing the blond's eyebrows to knit together. "A friend. I don't have friends."
Steve presses his lips together tightly, but the rest of his muscles start to relax. Despite the knife still digging into his throat, he doesn't really feel very threatened anymore. The adrenaline has slowed, and now he's more uncomfortable than anything.
"I don't know you," Bucky states, "I don't remember you." That pinches the blond's heart, and he holds back a very unmanly, strangled sob. "Then...what do you remember?" He carefully asks, and the blade is lifted even more, but it seems like Bucky doesn't realize this.
It feels like hours have passed before she whispers, "Pain."
The super soldier feel the weight of grief and regret in his chest. His eyes dampen as the switchblade is taken completely off of his neck, but otherwise the brunette stays still.
"Blood. Falling. Screaming," she mutters in a unidentifiable tone, "I remember agony and fear and you sit here and dare tell me your my friend?"
Steve is at a lost for words, so he simply states back at her silently, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. A beat passes before Bucky looks like she is seeing Steve for the first time, and his heart fills with hope until -
"You left me."
Wetness slides down the Avenger's face, and a sob vibrates in his throat. Bucky is crying too, but she looks angry as well, and suddenly the knife is back on his neck in a flash. Her grip tightens, and the circulation in his right arm is labored as the metal continues to bite into his skin.
"You weren't there! I screamed for you! I...I remember how fucking terrified I was! And - and even after that, I knew... I always waited for someone..." Bucky rambles, taking strangled breathes once and a while. When she pauses, the brunette's expression of angst and rage fades into confusion, like she doesn't know why her eyes are leaking.
The asset brushes off the unfamiliar feeling that is sadness as she continues to rant. "...I thought someone was going to save me..." She whispers thoughtfully before rage fills her tone once more, "But nobody ever came! And...and to think I was waiting for you! That I was waiting for the one who left me in those mountains to die!"
Steve feels so horrible. The emotional pain is rolling off him in waves, and he doesn't even feel the knife cutting his throat a little. Tears are streaming down his face without shame, and he wants nothing more than to tell Bucky how sorry he is, to hold her and say that everything will be alright.
But it seems Bucky still has more to say, "Why...why didn't you look for me?" She whispers dejectedly, her eyes blinking rapidly.
"I did," The blond chokes out sadly. "Bucky, I did. We - we couldn't find you! It was...it was already too late. They took you and - and this...this is my fault... I am so, so sorry, Bucky!"
A suppressed sob rips through Steve's lungs. His body shakes with it as the blond's eyes shut.
The Winter Soldier's rage slides straight into bafflement once more. She doesn't understand! She should slit his throat this second but...what is this heavy pressure on her chest? This liquid her eyes are producing? Why is it so hard to breathe?
I have to get out of here, The brunette thinks, her eyes pressing together as another tear slips out. In one swift motion, she is off of Steve, and forming a running stance.
The blond realizes the second Bucky is off him that she is fleeing, and in blind panic, he leaps off his bed to tackle her.
Steve grabs Bucky, both soldiers letting out a grunt from the impact, and attempts to pin her to the ground.
Focusing all of his weight in his knees and hands, he effectively traps the brunette. She lets out a huff that would be cute under different circumstances. After she completely stills, they stare into each other's eyes.
And Bucky looks at Steve so expectantly, and he swears that their is a timid glimmer of hope in that stare. "Don't," he whispers, his tone a mix of sadness and desperation. For a moment Steve doesn't think she heard him, if he even said it out loud to begin with.
The Winter Soldier's eyes are still locked with his, and he begins to repeat himself, but takes a shaky breath instead. He's still weeping, and the blond's tears are falling onto Bucky's face, mixing with her own.
"Let..." He begins, and that one word is filled with so much emotion that he wonders wether or not he needs to continue. A beat passes before he attempts to elaborate. "Let me..."
Fix you? I need to phrase this very carefully, Steve thinks foggily.
The super solder's grip unintentionally softens, and Bucky takes advantage of this. Steve notices her sudden movement in time however, even though it was amazingly small, and retightens his hold on the brunette.
"Let me help you," he says with his teeth pressed tightly together. He almost sounds a bit angry, but anyone would he able to tell that he isn't by the expression he is currently sporting.
She looks back at him with softer eyes, and her lips press together tightly. It would be more than easy to escape the sloppy style that Steve refers to as trapping, but, the Winter Soldier is conflicted, and she doesn't know if she should leave just yet.
"I-I know people! And-and they could help you g-get better! I'll be there too! And...and...I can't just...leave you like this. I already messed up once, Buck...I...I can't fail you again..." He rambles, his tone going from desperate to guilty.
The asset knows that once upon a time ago she had something, someone, but that was then and this is now. Real life doesn't have happy endings, her previous handlers made that pretty clear.
Handlers...
Is that what this is? In his own way, is...Steve...trying to recruit me for the agency he works for? I could have orders again! A purpose! That...that has to be what is going on, Bucky thinks.
"Please, Bucky. I know everything must be mixed up in there...but I promise, you can trust me. I can help you," the blond presses on, still using that rambling tone.
The asset wants to trust The Man On The Bridge, but it really doesn't matter what he promises. People lie and cheat and deceive. That's just how it goes. But, she really doesn't need to continue her vendetta she has going; taking down HYDRA bases around the world. Bucky has destroyed a good lot, and between her and others she knows are doing the same, they will all be wiped off the map soon enough.
Except it's not soon enough. It's seventy fucking years too late, Bucky thinks spitefully.
A scowl forms on the brunette's face, and she hisses angrily. "Help me? I'm not her! I am not who you remember! I don't need any fucking help, I just want to...to make this better! I'm destroying HYDRA for good, and whether you help or not is your choice."
Steve swallows painfully, but decides to try once more. Because the blond can't give up, he could never give up on Bucky. Not again.
"Buck," he whispers softly, squeezing her, "this time we can fix this mess together."
The asset goes shock still, a flash of a rickety apartment and dusty couch flashes before her eyes, and she closes them. More pictures - a memory, Bucky reminds herself - of that same place, too blurry to make out, flicker hazily behind her eyelids.
Before the brunette realizes it, she is crying hysterically, clutching Steve's broad torso. Steve loosens his grip and hesitantly brings Bucky into his lap, so that way they can sit up.
Nether of them do anything for a long time, the only sound in the room being the woman's sobs, but the distant white noise of cars and people echo outside. Once the Winter Soldier's cries of angst subsided, she whispered out, "Please." Steve knows what she is asking, so he doesn't answer the rhetorical question.
And so they sat there on the hard floor together as the earth turned, giving the sun permission to bathe the city in honey.
It was kind of poetic to think that those two broken souls, tangled in each other's arms, had never felt more at home in that moment in a very, very long time.
Steve smiled dumbly against the asset's messy, dark locks. Because if he tried hard enough, closed his eyes and ignored his muscular frame, blocked out the sound of twenty-first century cars and hard metal digging into his stomach, it was always like they were back home again.
Just two kids from Brooklyn against the world.