The author would like to note that this is just fanfic and is not in any way financially profiting from this particular fic. The characters belonging to Marvel belong to Marvel. However, all characters created by me belong to me. Yanno how it is.


Chapter 4: Rain on a Leaky Roof

He sat in the barn, holding the t-shirt, trying to decide what he wanted to do. What did he want? Well, for one, he wanted the pounding behind his eyes to stop. He wanted his whole body not to ache and throb like one gigantic bruise. He wanted his stomach to settle. He wanted the noise, the whispers, the screams, the memories in his brain to fall silent. But beyond that, he didn't know what he wanted. He knew what he had to do. He had to survive. Had to keep moving. Had to avoid falling back into Hydra's grasp at all costs. Right now, he had to get well enough to be able to keep moving. Everything else, what he wanted, was secondary. Yet, here he was contemplating what that t-shirt meant, and what Ramirez giving it to him meant. He had a choice.

He paused, wincing as his spine began to prick, his whole body twinging. Pressure changes. A storm was coming. He put the shirt aside and pulled off his right glove. Running his hand through his hair and over his face, he breathed deeply, the smell of humidity and damp before the storm rolling in and filling his lungs. His chest ached with the deep inhale, but the smell of clean, fresh air made the exertion worth it.

Then the storm started, at first nothing more than a patter. Then it swelled, magnifying to a roar on the roof overhead. He closed his eyes, momentarily pondering just standing out in it, soaking in the water and the stinging sensation of the rain falling against his skin. How long had it been? How long since he'd just stood in the rain for the pleasure of it.

He paused. He could feel it, the electricity in the air, crackling sharp. He flinched as the lightning flashed, and the thunder boomed around him. He could hear the buzzing crackling of the electrodes around his skull, and he tensed, his body preparing for what would come next. His hand was shaking, palm sweaty; he could feel his heart race, pulse-pounding dully in his throat. He could feel his breathing start to hitch. The pain, his body was waiting for the pain. His mind felt ready to cleave itself in half, preparing to void itself of his memories. Wipe him. Start over.

Jumping to his feet, He paced the length of the stall, blinking as he tried to focus, tried to ground himself. Another flash of lightning followed by a low rumble of thunder. It rattled the barn and in his chest. He stopped his pacing, glancing around at the single light that illuminated the barn. It flickered from the storm, casting an eerie shade around the stall. You're okay. He told himself, trying to focus on anything but the sound of cracking and booming thunder.

Then he heard it, the slow, drip drip drip on the wood floors. Then it was just like a switch had flipped in his brain. A compulsion. A need to find the source of the drip and to fix it. He stopped, looking down, scanning for evidence of a leak. He walked from the stall and glanced around, eyes focused down on the floor, ears bent, fixated on the sound of the drip. Pausing at a wet spot on the floor, he looked up, flinching as a drop of water fell on his face. He wiped his face, hand shaking substantially less. The loft floor had a steady drip of water. He was getting closer.

He exhaled sharply at the sound of another clap of thunder. Focus. Breathe. He put his right hand to his left shoulder, the seam of flesh and metal itching, his palm burning, his head pounding. He staggered to the loft ladder and started the climb up. The loft floor was pooled with water, and soft spots had formed from prolonged exposure to the elements. He was getting closer. His eyes scanned the barn roof, looking for any indication of where the water might be seeping in from. The roar from the rain outside was near deafening, but he froze at the sound of Ramirez running into the barn.

She was wearing a black rain jacket, but beneath it, he could see wet hair clung to her flushed face. She grabbed a bundle of lines with clasps at the end and rushed back outside. She's bringing in the horses. He turned squarely toward the ladder, wondering if he should climb down and help her. Wordlessly he climbed down and opened all the stalls doors and then climbed back up to resume his search for the origin of the leak. Two by two, as was her normal custom at the end of the day, she walked the horses into the barn until they were all back in their stalls.

Her breath was heavy and condensed in the air as she shut the door behind her, the rain still roaring just outside. Shaking off, she went to the large wood lit a fire before pulling off her jacket. She then went to the radio and turned the dial, searching for a different station.

Satisfied, she turned around to stall ten. "Matt?" She called. Approaching the stall, she peered in, her face contorting into a deep frown. "Matt?" She called again, this time with more of an edge to her voice.

"Here." He answered.

She turned and looked up, surveying him uncertainly, trying to piece together what he was doing.

"The roof has a leak." He said flatly, answering her unasked question of 'what the fuck?' Which, to be fair, he would've been wondering the same thing.

"Oh." Her expression darkened, the lines around her eyes and mouth more grave. "Shit." She mouthed so softly; he wouldn't have heard it had he not been watching her carefully. "How bad is it?" She asked with a heavy dose of dread.

He glanced pointedly at the growing puddle of water near her feet. She glanced down and then up to the loft where he was. Her expression worked in silent calculation. Honestly? She needed the whole roof replaced. It looked well overdue, and from what he could tell this was just the latest in a long line of problems she'd had with the roof.

"I know it needs to be replaced altogether. I have the materials...I just...I just..." She turned, swearing under her breath.

"I can patch it."

"What did you say?" She turned back, staring, almost as surprised as he was to hear those words coming out of his mouth.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, planning out exactly what he was going to say. Mouthing it a few times, he took a deep breath. "If you have the tools and materials, I can patch it. It should hold until you get a chance to replace the roof."

"Are you sure? I mean, you don't have to do this." She protested weakly.

"You just said you have the materials." He said. "I can patch it." He paused. "As repayment," he added slowly.

"No." Her expression went stony. 'No. No, you don't hav—" She paused as her phone started ringing. "Shit. Excuse me." She turned and walked to the office.

He contemplated what he'd just seen. The absolute horror and dread that had crossed her face that had then nearly given in to panic. She knew the roof was bad. She knew it needed to be replaced.

Christ, doesn't this woman know how to ask for help?

And you do?

That wasn't the point. So what was?

She needed his help, and this was something he could help her with. He didn't know animals, but he knew carpentry. He knew that. He could help her, and he wanted to help.

Perhaps, selfishly, he wanted a dry place to stay, and he wanted to limit the number of people who knew where he was hiding out. But there was something fundamental about wanting to help out, something very James Barnes about helping this woman.

He turned away from the edge of the loft and focused on the ceiling. "There you are." He muttered as he found the leak, the plywood under the shingles had started rotting away from the exposure to the elements. The entire thing would need to be replaced and soon.

He climbed down from the loft and went to the barn door. Scanning the ranch's landscape through the rain, spotted the tool shed. Pulling up the collar of his jacket, he charged out into the driving rain. The water stung his face, and he blinked to keep the rain out of his eyes. He slipped into the tool shed, shutting the door behind him. His eyes scanned the disorganized shelves, searching for the right materials and tools he would need to patch the roof.

He pulled off his right glove and ran his fingers over the different implements. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, just that he would know when he saw it. There was something soothing in the motion, running his hands over the wooden handles worn smooth by use. He pulled his hand away and rubbed his fingers together. A fine layer of dust covered everything in the shed including the roofing materials. There was also an ample supply of sheetrock that had gone to rot, PVC pipes and unopened cans of paint. In addition to the dust, there was also rust building up on some of the tools.

She'd confirmed that she was out here alone. What had happened to her husband, Underdahl? What had they planned to do with all of this stuff? Why had those projects been abandoned?

At length, he selected the materials and tools he needed and headed back out into the rain.

Thunder and lightning flashed overhead, and he winced, picking up his pace as he headed back toward the barn. He entered the barn and climbed the loft ladder. The dripping from the leak had quickened.

He'd have to wait until the rain stopped before he could repair the damaged section. While he waited, he could create the two missing shingles.

He glanced around the loft wasn't an ideal working place, but it did give him a good vantage point of the rest of the barn so no one could sneak up on him.

Fortunately, he'd found a template in the tool shed, so he was able to work from that. The rain had soaked through his clothes, but the warmth of the woodstove and the heat from the massive animals below radiated up to where he was working, making it comfortable despite being drenched.

The wind howled whistling through the many cracks and crevices in the roof, and the thunder made him cringe, but he had a job to do now and focused all his will power on finishing.

He worked the wood, slicing down what he'd grabbed into the shape he was looking for. This was familiar; only he wasn't entirely sure how. There was something comforting about working with his hands. He also apparently knew what he was doing, as his hands manipulated the tools and wood with ease, almost as if it was second nature. He knew what he was doing; he just wasn't sure how he knew.

What had Barnes been before he was...well killed? He'd been a soldier, an American soldier during the Second World War. Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th. Okay. But what else? What had he been before that? Before the war, before Zola...and him, The Winter Soldier.

He tried to focus, but the harder he tried to focus on the specific memory, the more it seemed to allude him, only succeeding in making his vision spin and his head pound. It was so close and yet infinitely unattainable, just out of his reach.

Regardless, it was satisfying to watch the shingle take shape. To create rather than destroy. It's a shingle, two shingles. He reminded himself. Only a shingle. Nothing more nothing less. This wouldn't absolve him. Helping this woman wouldn't absolve him of what he'd done. But it was a start, wasn't it? No. Now he was being ridiculous. As if a single vaguely selfless act could even begin to touch the decades of horrors and atrocities he'd perpetrated. But this was a choice, wasn't it? He didn't have to do any of this.

He paused as the sound of footsteps approaching the ladder. He'd been so engrossed in what he was doing that he almost didn't hear the woman re-enter the barn.

"Hey." She announced her presence softly, doing her best to ease herself into his surroundings. "May I come up? I come bearing gifts."

He nodded, moving away from the ladder and loft's edge to give her adequate space.

"Ma'am." He nodded again in acknowledgment as she emerged from below. Her hair was still wet and sticking to the side of her face, and her chest rose and fell as if she'd just been running. She smiled, hauling her satchel onto the loft floor, slowly opened it to reveal the contents inside.

Two bottles of water and a dozen or so cylindrical objects wrapped in foil "Burritos. Easy to consume while you're working. How's your stomach doing? Do you think it can handle something that heavy?"

As if on cue, his stomach growled, and he realized that he was hungry despite the nausea earlier that had caused him to throw up. "We'll see." He said shortly.

She nodded sympathetically, glancing around at what he as doing. "You know you didn't have to do this." She motioned vaguely to the roof.

"You didn't have to do that." He said pointedly, motioning to the food she'd just brought up with his chin.

"That's not the same thing at all." She protested

"Payment for services rendered," He said flatly.

"I wasn't going to charge you." She replied crossly.

You probably should. He thought, but wouldn't say it out loud. After all, it wasn't like he had money he could pay her for feeding him and giving him a relatively dry and warm place to stay. This was literally the bare minimum he could do in exchange for what she was doing for him, free of charge, no questions asked. "I don't mind." He mumbled.

She nodded, looking down and away, "Thanks." She said in a small voice. "I do appreciate it."

They stood there in silence, uncertain of what to say. "Do you want help? She asked slowly after a moment.

"No. I can manage on my own."

"Because I can help you if you want me too." She said.

He paused, looking up at her, met her gaze. He knew she was talking about the roof. That's what she meant. The roof. That was her only meaning. But he could almost swear that she meant help him. Like, help him help him. How was he going to decline? How was he going to tell her no? After all, she was already doing so much, how could he tell her no?

Fortunately, he didn't have to. Her phone rang, making both of them flinch. "I'll be back. Enjoy lunch." She rushed down the ladder, leaving the satchel with the food and water on the loft floor. He exhaled slowly as her footsteps faded as she returned to the office. He could hear her talking; it was higher than her normal tone. There was something on edge about it, manic almost.

He looked down at the satchel. It was an old canvas, soaked through because of the rain, well worn with signs of patching and half-hearted repair. He looked up at the roof. On one of the trusses, he could spot three sets of initials meticulously carved into the wood, and yet the rest of the roof was in nearly the same state as the canvas satchel. The tools, the roof, the satchel, all telling the same story, but what it was, he couldn't be entirely sure what it was.

She had a lot of old shit she couldn't take care of? Perhaps, but there was something else at play here.

Maggie exhaled, hanging up the phone, massaged her temples.

It could've been worse, it could always be worse, but the rain certainly hadn't helped the day. She'd hoped to get some things around the place done outside, but now because of the storm that wasn't going to happen. Likewise, she'd had to reschedule five sessions because of the rain, and now to top it all off, the barn roof was leaking again.

Well, at the very least, Matt was dealing with the roof, though she wasn't entirely sure of if his help was a blessing or a curse. Really, it was just prolonging the inevitable. The reality that the roof had to be replaced but that she didn't have the funds to do so or the time and know-how to do it herself.

Maybe I could pay Matt. The thought bounced around in her brain before the sensible part of her put it to a stop. No. You know nothing about him, and you can't take advantage of a homeless veteran. At least she assumed he was a veteran and homeless. And anyway it wouldn't be taking advantage if she was paying him.

Regardless, it was messy. Even without the scary hobo in her barn, it was messy and complicated. There was money, but also time, and of course, she'd have to house the horses somewhere else during the roof's replacement.

She moaned softly, putting her head down on the desk amongst the snowdrifts of unopened mail, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stymie the pounding just behind her eyes. She could hear Matt working in the loft.

What's his story? She couldn't help but wonder. Why on earth was he in this part of New York, and seemingly content to remain a resident in a barn? He was unwell that she knew, but he was also without an apparent support network of any kind. Perhaps offering him work might not be such a bad thing. It would give him paid work and would solve her roofing issue. Then when he finished, she could likely give him a shining recommendation, and he might be able to pick up more steady work in the area if that's what he wanted.

It felt wrong, selfish, exploitive almost. She would pay the man; it just wouldn't be at market value. But, she reminded herself, she was giving him free room and board. As he'd so kindly pointed out, she didn't have to do this, but to do otherwise, she felt would be a betrayal of Ranch's mission, of her mission.

She picked her head up and reached for the nearest scrap of paper and removed the pencil from her hair. She ran numbers a moment, reaching for the coffee mug sitting on the only bare corner of the desk. Sniffing experimentally, she took a big gulp of the cold, stale coffee.

Well, the coffee was shit, but she was going be able to afford to pay the scary hobo living in her barn a decent wage, so it wasn't all bad.

Downing the rest of the coffee, she rose and returned out into the main area of the barn. All sounds of work had fallen into silence, and now only sound was the pounding of the rain on the roof and the radio crackling out Bidi Bom Bom.

"Matt?" She called out walking toward the loft ladder.

"Ma'am?" She heard him shift up in the loft above her.

"Permission to come up?"

"Sure."

She climbed the ladder and found that he was sitting next to the leak applying roofing tar. "So." She began slowly, once she made it onto the floor of the loft. "How's it going?"

"Applying a temp patch." He answered shortly.

She nodded, watching him work a moment, trying to summon the courage to say what she wanted to say. This was a bad idea, a really really bad idea, but it was the best one she had, the only one she had at the moment. "So, I was thinking." She began slowly, he froze, his whole body tensing. "Oh. Oh. It's not bad." She rushed, "I'd like to pay you to fix my roof." She blurted out all at once.

"What?" He looked up at her, brows furrowed, sharp blue eyes piercing her with their gaze.

"I…well…you see the condition of the roof, and you seem to have the know-how. I'd be happy to pay you to replace the roof." She explained.

He looked away and down, his lips moving, his eyes focused on the floorboards. "You should probably hire a professional carpenter."

"I—just—please—." She stopped herself before she could continue. It was stupid, and she sounded desperate. She was desperate. Asking some rando who'd stumbled into her barn to help her fix her decrepit barn roof wasn't exactly on the top of the list of non-desperate things to do. Maggie paused and took a deep breath, trying to ease the manic edge from her voice. "I appreciate your help today," She continued after a moment. "and as I said earlier, I would be happy to pay you for your work on the roof, regardless."

He nodded. "That really isn't necessary."

This was not going at all how she'd hoped. To be fair, Maggie wasn't entirely sure what exactly she'd expected was going to happen in this exchange. It wasn't this, that's for sure. "I-I-I I understand." She exhaled slowly. "Just thought I'd offer."

He said nothing, returning to the roofing tar and the leak.

"All right, good talk." She turned back to the ladder.

"Why do you want my help?" His voice stopped her, and she turned back around to face him.

Shit. What was she going to say? "I figured you could use the cash to get where you need to go, and I need a new roof. It seemed like a mutually beneficial solution to both of our immediate needs." She said omitting the fact that she couldn't afford a new roof, that the whole barn was held together via patch jobs, pure spite, and stubbornness, and that she was fucking desperate.

"Once the rain stops, I'll replace the two shingles you're missing." He said after a moment.

"Sounds like a good plan. Thanks." She nodded, collecting the empty water bottles, and satchel returned to the ladder and down to the office below.


A/N: Would you guys be at all interested in the playlist I've created to go with this nonsense? I dunno. Just a thought.

As always, I hope you enjoyed, more next time, with the adventures of Bucky Barnes and this ranch, has some problems and also poor Ramirez who just wants a damn rest. We get to meet Bill and Mike, who, much like Suzanne and Maggie, are truly too good for this world.