Hello! This is my first story on this site after reading on it for well over two years now and I will admit, it's cliche in the sense that it's stuffed with (non-romantic) OC daydreams but maybe someone will enjoy it. For now, this is just a prologue thing to see if I should continue. Other chapters will be longer, but will take more time to write because, ya know, life in general. So, takes place after CA:WS and our favorite metal-armed assassin has settled in substantially. (And I guess I'm ignoring some parts AoU for now, because I can. Clint's family still applies, but all the avengers new and otherwise still converge at the tower.) PoV will toggle, be warned.
Rated T for safety. Nothing explicit. No pairings.
Whether it's necessary or not, I own nothing but my two OCs. All credit to Marvel.
"Targeting system's off."
One slender shadow says to a slightly larger, extending the rifle up to where he had positioned his own weapon. After adjusting the necessary components, he aimed the finely tuned machine on the turret of the building. He nodded with satisfaction and passed it back down to his masked associate.
"Try that out."
He says gruffly. She balances the massive gun and peers through the newly adjusted scope through her red goggles. She then proceeded to make a few minor tweaks to her favored rifle. There is a buzz in both their ears and with military discipline raise their hands to reply when needed.
"Mission status."
The mechanical voice on the other end commands. The boy replies first, using his free hand to tighten the strap across his black uniform.
"Waiting on the target."
His partner, the girl, waits in silence at the lack of immediate orders. Her brother's answer was less than military, and that was always met with punishment for both of them.
"Proceed."
They both let out small, silent sighs of undoubted relief, both rolling their mechanical shoulders in anticipation. They both sensed the closeness of their most recent target. They don't dare speak another word, but the silence of the abandoned cross way and gently flashing yellow stoplight was unbearable even for two highly trained HYDRA assassins. When slightly skidding footsteps begin to echo around the weed-infested sidewalks, both narrow their masked eyes, locking full attention on the street corner opposite the building they perch atop. Not long now… She counts in unison with her brother.
"One. Two. Three."
The target comes finally around the corner, and the two open fire.
Bucky knows exactly why he liked the abandoned streets and alleys of the city. There was a certain peace and familiarity to them. He liked being with Steve of course, but they were by no stretch attached at the hip. Bucky enjoyed his newly acquired freedom, and the very last thing Steve wanted to do was crowd his best friend- the former assassin fought like a cornered bear if it ever came to that. Bucky didn't do it for his quick temper, rehabilitation or trying to get over his memories… He did it for his own pleasure. He liked to walk the streets at night, and so he did. A freedom HYDRA never gave him. He relished in every second of walking the long uncrowded streets for maybe miles in one night.
-
He was in one of his more sour moods, grumpy over having constant nightmares, so he went walking. First out of the general neighborhood of he and Steve's apartment, avoiding people out of habit. When he reached the point where roads and whole clusters of brick buildings were closed off, he jumped a few chain link fences to travel one of his favorite routes. He walked this particular path quite often, not too long as to be gone all night but long enough to get a good exercise in before he Steve and Sam went on their morning runs- well Sam cursing at them for simultaneously yelling "On your left" and "On your right" as they passed him over and over. The corners of his lips tugged upward into a content smirk at the memory. He was nearing the yellow flashing light, a favorite spot to just stand and bemusedly look up at the hopelessly broken stoplight. His paced picked up. His feet scuffed lightly on the cement. Bucky never liked to walk with sound coming from his own self, it could be the easiest way to be detected on a mission. That was just one of the tiny habits he picked up after 70 years as the Winter Soldier. Another trait gained from his many years of "service" was his uncanny sense of hearing. He could hear a gun being aimed to fire long before anyone else- a few attempts on his best friend's life proved that skill to be quite useful. When he heard young voices discussing weapons, an alarm went off inside of him. Bucky stopped at the very corner of the four way street and sure enough, the loud bang of two guns thundered from the roof of one of the buildings.
"How the- How did we miss!?"
The shock in her brother's voice was ever present. They never missed… They never failed a mission.
"More importantly… How did he evade?"
She said more quietly into the com device in her fitted mask.
"Mission report! Mission report now!"
Their commander howled into their ears.
"Mission-"
His sister began before a pause. He was expected to finish the report. And he would, for his sister's sake.
"Mission failed, sir. Returning to the extraction point."
They both looked at each other darkly, though both of their faces were obscured from view, anyone could see the shame, and even fear of what came next. They packed their gear with utmost haste and calculated precision, as if the whole thing had been rehearsed over and over. Their sprinting was aided immensely by their mechanical joins, buzzing and whirring with each stride across the rapidly decaying roofs of the old buildings. Both of them felt fear. Both with different reasons. For her, the pain of punishment- a memory wipe. For him, the distress he knew it caused his younger partner. He could stand it, forgetting everything other than her, and the prime directive to follow orders. She always remembered more than her brother, usually explaining to him what had just happened and why.
After quite a few jumps over gaps between buildings, they took turns jumping from rusty platform to rusty platform of a fire escape where a huge black van was open and full of armed guards ready to take them back to base waited. As soon as they jumped into the crowded vehicle the door was shut, blocking out the dim light of streetlamps and replacing it with darkness. Pulled to opposite sides of the van to be restrained and stripped of weapons. Both of the young teens complied with their faceless handlers as the van lurched from side to side with sharp turns. The commotion in the van stilled after they exited the city and into the country. Their masks have been removed, allowing their young faces to show.
Bucky blasted through the apartment door, clutching his right shoulder, and down the small hallway looking for Steve. Blood is soaking his brown jacket and left hand. He didn't get out of the way fast enough to avoid a massive gash to his remaining arm. A deep seated panic was beginning to set in. Though he was a hardened and strong soldier there were things that made him as fragile as a lost child. The fear of losing something more to HYDRA was one of those things. And more than that, losing his best friend, the one who brought his tortured mind out of the Winter Soldier's shadow to help him remember. The possibility of HYDRA getting to Steve before he could was very real. They'd tried it before.
"Bucky?"
Steve walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a small dish towel.
"Steve…"
When he said Steve's name it was almost a whine. Bucky threw his arms around his friend and embraced him to the point it almost hurt. It did hurt. Bucky's arm was burning at the site of the wound. Steve pulled his friend away and held him at arm's length to look him over. Pure horror descended on his face just at the sight of the pooling blood on Bucky's jacket.
"What happened Buck? Bucky?"
His friend's pupils were dilating rapidly, he would have fallen in a heap right then and there if Steve hadn't been bracing him in a standing position.
Steve was in a rush to stop the gushing blood. Bucky was on the couch, barely clinging to his consciousness while Steve prepared Hydrogen Peroxide and two rolls of gauze from the first aid kit in the bathroom. Bucky never handled medical treatment well, and this was no exception. As soon as the kit was set beside the now crimson stained couch Bucky was trying to resist Steve's efforts to help.
"Buck, we gotta get this cleaned up."
Steve soothed in a brotherly tone, like Bucky used to do for his after he received one of his beatings in 1940s Brooklyn. The exhausted soldier sighed and leaned his head back on the armrest of the couch, and gingerly pulled his jacket away from the bloody mess. Steve couldn't help but cringe when he saw what had been inflicted. The wound went deep. Way beyond anything Steve knew how to care for. The hospital was out of the question. Regardless, the super soldier did his best to clean and bandage his friend as well as get him some clean clothes to change into. One long hour later, Steve was washing his friend's blood from his hands. The sun was just leaking through the window. Steve's phone buzzed from the table in the living room. He turned off the tap and quietly reached for the phone.
"Hey man. Where are you?"
"Rough night."
He replied, looking at Bucky who was sleeping somewhat soundly.
"What's goin' on man?"
Even through the phone Sam sounded worried.
"Bucky was shot."
He said darkly, now glaring at the haphazardly wrapped wound on his friend's arm.
"Why isn't he at the hospital?"
Sam accused, the vague revving of an engine could be heard.
"You know I can't do that Sam."
Sam sighed on the other end.
"Then at least get someone who knows what they're doin' man."
"I'll do my best."
"I'm on my way."