#bb os

You were well aware of the biker gang problem in Brooklyn and the areas surrounding it. It had been ongoing for as long as you could remember. So, in hindsight, it was your fault for opening a bar in the middle of town. For a while, you kept under the radar, only drawing in the crowd of college kids from the university ten minutes away, and the older gentlemen in town who needed a place to go after work. But then, almost out of the blue, one gang known in particular for being in charge of the city’s drug trade took interest in your bar, and it suddenly became their place of pleasure outside of business.

The bell rang out, and you didn’t bother looking up from stocking the alcohol shelves against the wall.

“Sign says closed,” You said firmly as you kneeled down to pick up a bottle of vodka from the box next to you.

“And yet you left your door unlocked,” A familiar husky voice retorted. A chair scraping against the floor indicated he was sitting down.

“How was I supposed to bring my stock in?” You asked. “Through the walls?” The chuckle that came from behind you made you roll your eyes again. His worst quality was how smug he was, and you were sure to let him know whenever you got the chance.

“How’s about a drink, baby girl?”

“You can come back in three hours when I open at noon and have to serve you,” You told him, continuing on what your work. When he finally said your name, you reluctantly turned around.

Steve Rogers was pacing around the entrance with his phone to his ear, speaking in angry, low whispers. It wasn’t until then that you noticed that Sam Wilson didn’t follow the other two inside, opting to stay out and smoke a cigarette instead. Sitting at the counter, leaning as far into the bar as he could with his piercing blue eyes never tearing from you, was Bucky Barnes. His usual bandana clad hair was down today, disheveled by the ride. Under his black leather jacket, he was wearing a plain white tee shirt, and you knew before looking that he was wearing dark blue jeans and black boots. There was something different about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, making you narrow your eyes.

“What’s different?” You asked, bringing your hand to your chin. He leaned backward, bringing his hands up.

“You tell me, dollface,” He said. As soon as he spoke, it dawned on you.

“You trimmed your beard.” And he had. Though he never kept it unmanageably long, his beard was now trimmed down and rounded his face. He didn’t keep it this full when you had met him, and you always wondered whether he had grown it out because you told him you preferred them full.

“Can’t get anything passed you,” He quipped, bringing his hands down to the bar top and folding them innocently. You stared down at them. You’d seen him do it a thousand times before, but never when talking to you. It was his tell, how he let a person know that he was talking business without directly saying it.

“So you aren’t just here for a friendly chat,” You remarked, turning back to your work. When you glanced back at him, he raised his shoulders to his ears.

“What makes you say that?” He asked, a wide grin filling his cheeks. “Maybe I’m just here to see my favorite bartender.” You didn’t take the bait.

“What do you want, Bucky?” You asked, giving him a hard stare before bending down to grab a bottle of whiskey from a box. You heard a sigh pass his lips, and though you weren’t looking, you knew his eyes never left you.

“I need you to tell me about the Hydras who were here last night,” He said in a defeated tone. Red Hydras. The rival gang in charge of Brooklyn’s underground weapons trades. Any kind of weapon from hunting to military grade, they oversaw it all. You shrugged as you moved a few bottles around.

“They came in and sat down at the bar. Made some small talk. Bought a few rounds. Left a very nice tip. Left,” You said simply. A few moments passed without a response from Bucky, and when you looked over your shoulder, you saw Bucky staring at you with serious eyes, his lips pressed firmly together. You turned so you were facing him completely. “Why?”

“Who were they?” He asked. When you shrugged again, he scoffed. “Describe them.” Throwing your head back in annoyance, you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back on the shelving behind you.

“There was a woman, she had dark, long red hair. Gorgeous. She was a smooth talker, very charming,” You recalled. Bucky nodded, and you could tell by his face that he knew exactly who you were referring to. That brought you no comfort. “She was with a man. Short. Clean shaven. Messy, light rown hair. Sarcastic. Doesn’t talk much but it’s mostly jokes or sass when he does.” He nodded more, leaning back in his seat.

“Romanoff and Barton,” He said. There was a pang in your chest. You knew those names. “Did you see them do anything? Hear what they talked about?” Anxiety began to fill your chest.

“They mostly talked to me,” You said slowly. “They asked about what made me decide to open a bar. If I’m from here. The guy asked me if I’m single, I told him yes.” Bucky flinched slightly, but you kept going. “The woman asked if I live above the bar. I said no. Wasn’t about to tell a stranger that.” Bucky stood up and paced as you watched him. Hugging your arms to your chest, you suddenly felt cold. “I don’t understand.”

“Steve,” Bucky barked, as if you didn’t speak. Steve had been long off the phone at this point, not that you nor Bucky had noticed, and had simply been leaning against the wall and texting when Bucky called for him. “I want men here at the bar twenty four hours a day, you understand?” Steve nodded, pushing himself off the wall and bringing his phone back to his ear as he walked out the front door. The pace of your breathing began to increase as you watched Bucky pace.

“What’s going on?” You demanded in a loud voice. At first, he didn’t answer, instead continuing to pace across the hardwood floors at such a pace that the room began to spin just watching him. After over a minute of quiet, he began to slow.

“I think they’re coming after us…” His voice was loud, but when he looked up at you, his face had softened, along with his tone. He came to a stop. “By targeting you.”

You didn’t say a word or move a muscle as you stared at Bucky. This was, of course, the risk that came with you allowing the Guardians of Hell to take refuge in your bar. Before they came, you didn’t allow gang activity within five hundred feet of your door, let alone inside. That was before the man with blazing blue eyes and dazzling smile made you soft.

But something didn’t feel right with you. If the bar was the target, posting guards would only make them target it more.

“I’m not letting your people stand guard at my bar,” You stated after the silence went on for too long. “It’s not happening.” Turning away from Bucky, you forcefully grabbed a box of alcohol and promptly left the room, avoiding the look of pure shock that spread across his face.

Not even a minute passed in the stockroom before he bounded in after you.

“I wasn’t asking you if I could,” Bucky snapped. You were shaking your head as you set the box down on top of another one. “I’m telling you that some of my men are standing watch. Period.”

“It’s my fucking bar, Bucky,” You told him, turning around. “I’m not scared of some prying gangsters. I can take care of myself.”  

There was a long period of quiet, where you and Bucky just intensely glared at one another. Something changed in his eyes, the anger suddenly disappearing, and then he turned, closing the stockroom door and locking it. When he turned back to you, his expression changed to a deep sadness. In two quick strides, he approached you, taking your wrists in his gentle grasp and leading you to a small stack of boxes, where he had you sit. He got down on his knees, so now he was looking up at you, his hands moving from your wrists to your thighs.

“What do you want?” He asked in a quiet voice. It was uncharacteristic of him to anyone else, but you had heard him speak in this tone so many times that you couldn’t begin to list them all. “What do you want me to do?” You looked up at the ceiling, sighing deeply before looking back down at Bucky. He looked so desperate, so full of fear. Almost subconsciously, your hands found his. He flipped his palms up, his fingers delicately wrapping around your own.

“I don’t want you putting too much into this,” You said quietly. “I can take care of myself.” He shook his head.

“I’m not saying you can’t, but this is beyond you,” He said, his voice pleading. “Please. Please let me handle this.” You wanted to argue, to tell him to fuck off and that you don’t need his protection. But the look in his eyes made you choke on the words you had yet to say. You had known Bucky for a long time, but not once had you ever seen him look this scared. And something about it filled you with so much fear that you could feel it in every nook and cranny in your body. Pulling your hand from his, you pushed his hair away from his face, letting the dim lighting hit his pretty blues. Your lungs emptied into a sigh.

“Fine,” You agreed. “But if your men interrupt business, they’re out.” He smiled, and his face was like the sun, lighting up the little stockroom. You leaned down, bringing your fingers to the side of his face, and planted your lips to his forehead. A sigh left his mouth at the contact, and you knew he closed his eyes. When you pulled away, he pulled you towards him, snaking his arms around your torso and burying his face into your tummy. The smell of gasoline and leather filled your nostrils, and you inhaled deeper. There was something invigorating about it, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it sexy. Combing your fingers through his hair, you felt his grip on you tighten, his fingers grasping the back of your shirt. There was a question eating at the back of your head, and you almost didn’t ask it. But you knew you needed to.

“So are they after me because this is a Guardians spot, or because they know about us?” You asked in a quiet voice. Bucky shook his head, his face rubbing against your shirt.

“No one knows about us,” He said. “I’ve been careful. The boys still don’t even know.” You stared at the wall. It was only towards you that Bucky’s realistic nature failed him.

“Are you sure?” You asked him. He pulled away from you, the grip on your shirt moving from the back to the front. He pulled you down until he could wrap his other hand around the back of your neck, and rose himself up to bring his lips to yours.

Kissing Bucky always felt like the first time, because deep down, you always feared it would be your last. They always felt so sneaky and scandalous. Chaste kisses in the stock room. Kisses on your neck when he’s in your bed and his bike is hidden behind the fence out back. Heated makeout sessions in the bar when the two of you have a half hour alone, until it turns to something more.

It was never supposed to be love. The beginning was untamed sexual tension that turned into a one night stand. And then two. Three. Then he began to spend the night after the fifth. By the time he had told you he loved you for the first time, you had lost count of how many nights it was. You always found yourself wondering how the two of you had never been caught, with the way you’d brush your hand against his when you’d walk passed him, or his hugs would linger a moment too long. Even the banter at times could’ve given the two of you away. But if there was suspicion, no one showed it.

You pulled away, much to the disappointment of Bucky, who stared at your kiss swollen lips longingly. When he looked back up at you, he smiled again.

“I’m sure.”

Starting the minute Bucky left, there were always two of his men on guard at the bar. For a while, it was Sam and Steve. Around two, they were relieved by Thor and Banner. Now, at five to eight, when the after work rush had just began to calm down and you had a minute to breathe again, in walked Lang, Quill, T’Challa, Danvers and Carter. You huffed. Of course you knew he’d put more than just two for the evening shift. Carol, Peggy and T’Challa all rounded the pool table, while Scott and Quill each took a seat at the bar, a few seats away from each other.

“Gentlemen,” You said in greeting, nodding at them.

“Lady,” Scott retorted playfully, as Quill grumbled a response. You smiled at Lang. He was such a gentle and friendly person, and every single time you interacted with him, you found yourself wondering how he got caught up in such a business like this.

“What can I get for ya?” You asked. They both ordered their usual drinks, as you suspected they would. As you poured, you eyed Quill. Normally loud and rambunctious, he was now being quiet yet alert, looking around the bar every couple of minutes.

“You alright there, Peter?” You asked as you handed him his drink. He waved you off.

“Me? I’m fine,” He assured you, scoffing. “Just standing guard. Or I guess sitting guard.” You didn’t fully believe him, but you decided not to pry.

“How’s the lady?” You asked him. He turned a slight shade of pink.

“‘Mora’s great,” He said, his tone quieting slightly. “Really great.” Usually the way to get him talking was to bring up his girlfriend of three years. You almost asked if they were having problems, but then thought against it. It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it. You turned to Scott.

“Brought almost the whole crew, I see,” You commented as you grabbed a rag and began to wipe down the bar. “Almost surprised Parker isn’t here.” The smile on Scott’s face faded, making your stomach sink.

“They have him spying,” He said so quietly that you almost didn't hear him. But unfortunately, you did. Eyebrows meeting your hairline, your eyes strained from how wide they were.

“He’s a child and they’re having him cross the borders?” You hissed, leaning forward towards Scott. “What the fuck are you people thinking?” Scott leaned backward, shrinking away from you.

“He’s in his twenties, he’s definitely not a kid-“ He started but you smacked your hands against the bar top. A few heads turned to stare, but you ignored them. Scott rose his hands in innocence. “He volunteered! You’d have to talk to Barnes. He’s the one who let him go.” You shook your head. The number of times you told Bucky that Parker was too young to be apart of this was uncountable, but he always told you the same thing that Scott was telling you now. He’s an adult who wants to partake. They start them young.

You began to pace around the small space behind the bar. Scott and Quill both watched.

“He should be in college or some shit,” You grumbled, mostly to yourself. “He should not be running around with a bunch of gangsters who barely have any consideration for their own lives, let alone his.” Snatching up a dirty glass, you began to angrily clean in silence, leaving the men to their drinks. Quill shrugged off his leather jacket and laid it across his lap.

“Are you going to try to tell Peter that he needs to do normal twenty one year old stuff?” Scott asked as Quill knocked twice against the counter, signalling another. “Because I wish you good luck with that one.” Quickly washing your hands, you sighed as you walked to the shelves.

“You guys should be talking to him,” You insisted. “He looks up to you. He’d listen to you.” As you began to pour his drink, Quill scoffed.

“We can’t talk that kid out of nothin’,” He said, shaking his head. “It would be like talking to a wall.” You rolled your eyes as you put the bottle back and turned to set it down in front of him.

“I’m sure none of you even bothered trying to talk him out of it,” You accused, as Quill threw the glass back. “I just don’t-“ You froze, something catching your eye as the heat leaked from your body.

Peeking out from under the V-neck Quill was wearing, was a tattoo that you had never known he had.

A Red Hydra.

The mark of the notorious rival gang of the Guardians.

You stared at it, unwavering, as Quill set his glass back down. His eyes followed your stare to his chest, and he quickly adjusted his shirt and threw his jacket back on. When his eyes met yours, they had grown dark.

“It’s either he joins now or he joins later,” He told you, his voice low. “Either way, he’s gonna learn the way of the trade, and you’re gonna have to as well.”

He didn’t need to directly say it. You knew the true meaning behind his words; say anything and I’ll kill you right here.

You thought of your phone next to the register. Of the gun you had taped to the underside of the bar. Of the four other gang members who were also in attendance. Was he the only one playing double agent? You couldn’t be sure. Killing him in front of them guaranteed you’d be shot without question. Quill had been a member of the gang for years now, and they looked at him as family. As you turned away, you wondered how long he kept this charade going. If he had been a traitor all along or if it happened sometime in the middle. Did the Hydras plant him? Or did he do this all on his own? The questions didn’t stop rolling through your mind. Each one a fresh punch to the face.

In the midst of it all, you thought of Bucky. How crushed he would be that not only was one of his own stabbing him in the back, but he was doing it by putting you in danger. The question still stood on how Quill knew about the two of you. But now it didn’t matter. The truth was out. And you were more than likely not going to make it out alive.

There was another knock at the counter, and when you mindlessly turned, Scott was looking at you with a kind smile. You tried to return it as you cleared his glass from the counter. As you grabbed the bottle to pour him another, you tried to think of the best course of action. But your mind was running a blank. The only thing you could think of was calling Bucky, but making the call behind the bar wasn’t the best choice. Moving your hands behind your back, you began to back up until you hit the counter the cash register rested on.

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom,” You said, looking between Quill and Scott as you grabbed your phone from behind your back and slipped it into your pocket. “Don’t let anyone rob me, Lang.” You gave him a firm look before heading towards the hallway leading to the bathrooms.

“Aye aye, Captain,” You heard him call after you.

When you were out of sight, you ran to the bathroom. The door swung closed, and you leaned your back against it to keep it shut. You opened your phone and scrolled to his contact name and opened a new text message. Fingers shaking, you had to retype the message multiple times because of the typos.

911 at the bar. Quill is a Hydra. He told them everything.

The door jerked slightly, making you look up. Before you had a chance to do anything else, the door burst open, throwing you forward. Your phone flew from your hands, crashing to the bathroom floor across the room. A hand grabbed you by the back of your neck and slammed you into the wall. The hot breath against your ear made a chill shoot up your back.

“You think I’m afraid to kill you?” Quill’s voice whispered into your ear. “You think I give a shit that you’re dating Kingpin Barnes?” His grip on you tightened as he shook you, pressing you further into the wall. “Doesn’t mean a fucking thing when he’s not here protecting you, does it?” With as much force as you could muster, you threw your head backwards, making contact with the side of Quill’s. He stumbled away from you, and you fell to the floor, the areas where his hands were stinging with pain. Scrambling across the floor, you reached out for your phone. You had it in your hands, and you went to unlock it again, but it was ripped from your hands. You turned in time to see Peter smash it against the counter, dropping it to the ground and stomping on it a few times for good measure. He kicked the broken remnants of your phone across the floor, letting it skid only a few feet away from you. He cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows raised.

“Don’t do anything stupid, now,” He said before turning and slowly making his way to the door. “No one can save you.” You didn’t watch him go, instead staring at your broken phone. The only thing crossing your mind was when you told Bucky that you wanted to put up a payphone in the bar, and he laughed and asked you who would use it. The echoes of his laugh haunted your mind. You were really regretting your decision to listen to him.

Walking back out to the bar, you tried to keep casual as you went back to cleaning. Quill was back at his stool, sipping his whiskey as if nothing had occurred, and Scott looked clueless as he bobbed his head to the music. Was there some way to let Scott know that you were in danger without alerting Quill? Not likely when Quill hadn’t taken his eyes off you since your return.

As you cleaned, your mind didn’t stop racing. Was he doing to kill you? Burn the bar down? Or was he going to take you hostage, until Bucky met whatever demands the Hydras had? You wondered what Bucky himself would do. Would he do anything in his power to save you? Or let you die to keep his family together?

“Rum and Coke, please?” Peggy asked sweetly as she approached the counter, startling you. Her bright face faded slightly when you flinched. “What’s wrong?” Though you didn’t look to confirm, you could feel Quill’s eyes glaring daggers at you as you grabbed the Coke from the mini fridge under the bar. You shrugged as you poured the run first, not looking away from the stream of alcohol flowing from the bottle.

“Nothing,” You said nonchalantly before holding the glass out to her. She didn’t move, instead raising an eyebrow at you. You huffed. “I’m fine, Peggy.” It was clear that she didn’t believe you, her face not faltering as she took the glass from your hand. She gave you one last questioning glance, but all you did was shrug before she sighed, turning and walking away. Begrudgingly, your eyes jumped to Quill, who gave you an approving nod. Suddenly you felt nauseous.

The more the night progressed, the more anxious you felt. Every time the door opened, you’d whip your head to see if it were Bucky, and you were disappointed every single time it wasn’t. You could feel Peggy keeping her eye on you as the hours passed, but all that did was make you more anxious.

By the time midnight had rolled around, it was just you and the Guardians, which didn’t surprise you. It was a Tuesday, and most patrons didn’t stay past eleven on a weeknight. Scott had joined the pool game when Carol had dipped out, and T’Challa was playing darts. Quill, unsurprisingly to you, didn’t move from his stool.

As you put away the last of the glasses you had washed, Peggy had walked over to you, leaning against the bar with her hands folded.

“We’re going to head out, Bucky said he’s on his way. He’s going to take the last watch,” She said. You searched her eyes for any sign of suspicion, but they showed none. She leaned in close, lowering her voice. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Instantly, you nodded.

“I’m good,” You lied, your tone as convincing as you could muster. She didn’t look satisfied, but she nodded, pulling away from the counter.

“Be safe, okay?” She said, her voice full of concern. Nodding, you gave her your best smile and watched her approach Scott, who was putting away the pool balls. You found yourself wondering how she got caught up with the Guardians. She moved to town in her twenties from England, and now she was a gangster. Nights change fast.

Turning back to your cleaning, you gathered the trash bag filled with empty bottles, carrying it out through the stock room and out the back door. As you threw it into the dumpster, you listened to a loud group of motorcycles jump to life, the revving sounds filling the quiet evening air. While you listened to them ride away, a rush of relief filled you. Heading back inside, you grabbed an empty milk crate from the corner and filled it with full bottles to refill your empty shelves behind the bar. Different brands of whiskey, gin, rum and vodka filled your crate, you grabbing them from their designated spots almost robotically before leaving the room. Propping the crate against your hip, you closed the stock room door behind you. Just as you went to turn, you froze, your eyes locked on the wooden door.

Somehow, in a way you would never be able to explain, you knew that you weren’t alone. And somehow, you could feel the gun pointed at the back of your head.

Sighing deeply, overwhelmed with acceptance, you slowly turned around, staring into the barrel of Quill’s gun.

“So do I have to sit through your speech about why you’re doing what you’re doing?” You asked in a blank voice. “Or are you just gonna shoot me?”

“If it were up to me, I would’ve already shot you,” He admitted. Swallowing hard, you kept your hard expression.

“Must be sad to go between two gangs where you have no power in either of them,” You told him. “Just another pawn in their game, and you’re just...letting them control you. Sad isn’t quite the word for it. More like... Pathetic.” He clicked back the safety, but you didn’t bat an eye.

“Keep it up and I just might forget my orders,” He growled. You shrugged, kneeling down and setting down the heavy crate of alcohol bottles next to you.

“You’re gonna die either way, so it doesn’t really matter whether you kill me or not,” You said as you sauntered behind the bar, leaning against it with your elbows on the counter. “Do what you will.” Inside, your entire being was on meltdown mode. Your hands were closed into fists to hide the fact that they were shaking, and you could hear your blood pounding in your ears. But on the outside, you were unwavering. Quill’s head cocked to the side slightly.

“What makes you think Barnes is gonna kill me?” He asked you, his voice laced with venom. You shrugged slightly, standing up straight and dropping your hands to your sides. Slipping your hand under the bar counter, your fingertips grazed against the rough wood until they hit cool metal. You smiled.

“Who said anything about Barnes killing you?” 

His eyebrows furrowed together in time with you ripping the gun from the tape under the bar, turning off the safety as you whipped it forward and pulled the trigger. Quill fell backward as the bullet pierced his shoulder, a loud groan bouncing off the walls.

You dived to the floor, listening as Quill scrambled to his feet. His breathing was so heavy that you could hear it from across the room.

“Talk a lot of shit for someone who can’t aim,” He called out, his voice strained. A large thud echoed out. When you peeked over the counter, he had flipped a table to use as cover. He saw you, throwing his hand up and haphazardly firing in your direction. You dropped back down, cursing at yourself.

“Says the one with a bullet in his shoulder,” You quipped, readying yourself to fire again. You stood, finding him already scaling the edge of the room towards the bar. Running backwards, you aimed and repeatedly pulled the trigger. Bullet holes lined the walls as you went as they missed him. He returned fire, holes exploding in the walls near you. A bullet struck your thigh, making you stumble and scream out. You held your hand to your bleeding leg as you rounded the corner down the hallway, blood leaking from the cracks between your fingers.

Kicking the bathroom door open, the sound echoing, you let it shut without going inside. With your side pressed against the wall in the shadows, you kept your gun up and aimed, your finger on the trigger.

“Hiding in the bathroom,” You heard him say. His footsteps were loud as they got closer. “Did we not learn from last time?” As you expected, his gun was down as he entered the hallway, turning in your direction. All he had time to do was raise his eyebrows and widen his eyes before your finger pulled the trigger. His head flew backward as his body went limp, crashing to the floor.

Sliding to the floor, you let the full pain of your wound hit you. Tears stung your eyes as you hyperventilated, your breaths shallow and staggered. Pushing yourself up off the floor, you stepped in a puddle of your own blood as you approached Quill’s body, absolutely still. You tried to ignore the blood that haloed his head, as well as the fact that he was the first person you had ever killed, as you dug through his pockets, sighing in relief when you found his phone. Your hands were shaking as you unlocked it, no password needed, and went to his contact list. No time was wasted as you hit Bucky’s name, bringing the phone to your ear. As the line rang, you brought yourself out to the bar and grabbed a towel, pressing it to your leg as you sat down on the floor. The ringing stopped, and you heard shuffling on the other line.

“Quill,” Bucky barked into the phone, adding a sigh before continuing. “Parker’s been compromised, I just got him to Hill’s. Are you still at the bar?” It took you a second to register that he had stopped talking, as the pain in your leg was so overpowering that it was hard to focus.

“Bucky, it’s me,” You said through your teeth. “Quill’s dead.” There was a long pause. You laid your head against the cabinet door. Bucky said your name in a questioning tone.

“What happened?” He demanded. It was almost as if the anxiety dripping from his voice was leaking through the phone and onto you, for just the sound of it made your nerves begin to act up again.

“Quill was a Hydra, Buck,” You told him, pausing to give him a chance to take it in. “I saw the tattoo, it was on his chest. He knew about us. I don’t know how but he knew and he’s who told and he was going to kill me.” Inhale, exhale. You breathed slowly through the pain, closing your eyes.

“But you killed him first,” He replied slowly. You nodded, forgetting for a second that you were on the phone.

“Yeah, I did,” You exhaled. You heard him sigh on the phone.

“That’s my girl,” He said quietly. Through the pain, you smiled. He sighed again, and you could picture him wiping his face with his free hand. “I can’t believe that bastard. He was like a brother to me.” There was another pause. “Are you hurt?”

“He got me in the thigh but I th-“ A distant sound made you stop. A distant, familiar sound. “Did you send someone here?”

“No...I was about to head over myself.”

The roar was loud, indicating more than one. You felt your heart fall out of your chest.

“Someone’s here,” You said as you saw lights shine through the window, the engines abruptly cutting off. Your body tensed as your adrenaline began to course through your veins. “I have to go.”

“Who-“ But you ended the call, shutting Quill’s phone off and shoving it in your pocket. Crawling across the floor, you opened the empty cupboard below the shelves, rushing in and closing it behind you.

The bell on the front door rang out, heavy boots slowly crossing the floor. You put a hand over your mouth to mask your heavy breathing. One set of footsteps sped up and then abruptly stopped.

“Quill’s dead,” A male voice said, the voice muffled slightly, but still loud enough for you to tell who it was coming from. Barton. “Barnes must’ve been here.” You shifted uncomfortably in the cupboard, trying to position yourself in the least painful way without making a sound.

“Stark isn’t going to like that,” Romanoff remarked as the bell to the door rang again. A chill ran up your spine as you stopped moving.

“Stark isn’t going to be happy about what?” A new voice asked. When you cracked open the door to peek out, your eyes widened at the sight of Tony Stark, leader of the Hydras, standing a few feet away from Barton and Romanoff. You had never seen him in person, only hearing stories of the horrors he committed. A ghost story. Seeing him now just a few feet away in your own bar was a surreal experience. He was looking down at the floor, his face twisting into a grimace. “Ah. No. Him getting himself killed does not make me happy at all.”

You reached for your gun, but it wasn’t anywhere to be found. Wracking your brain, you realized that you dropped it shortly after you shot Quill. Your palm found your face as you sighed quietly. What a dumbass move, you thought to yourself.

“Should we still kill his girl?” Romanoff asked. Stark shook his head without hesitation.

“No, he did what we asked,” He told her. “He got us dirt on Barnes. We don’t need to kill her. She’s gonna wish she was dead soon enough anyway when she finds about about this.” He cocked his head at the body before looking around the bar.

“What about this place?” Barton asked. Stark gestured for them to head towards the door.

“You know what to do,” He said, the door ringing one last time as they all filed out, the door swinging shut behind them.

Throwing the cupboard open, you pushed yourself out. Your jeans were soaked with your own blood, the pain from your thigh shooting up your spine. You tried to stand but you fell back down. The pain was just all too much. Grabbing the counter, you pulled yourself up, leaning on it for support. The motorcycles were still parked out front, but there was no one to be seen in the dark.

Before you had a chance to think, the windows exploded, glass shattering everywhere. You jumped so hard you fell to the floor, catching yourself on the bar top. The objects thrown sounded like bricks when they hit the floor, you finding it safe to assume that’s exactly what they were. As you pulled yourself up, more objects flew in through the window. When they hit the floor, they exploded, setting everything within close proximity on fire. Panic came raining down on you as more molotov cocktails came souring in through the windows. The sound of glass shattering outside let you know that the entire bar was now on fire, inside and out. Within what almost felt like seconds, the whole room was engulfed. Through the chaos, you heard the sound of motorcycles roaring to life and fading into the sound of the cracking flames.

Using the bar to support you, you made your way to the door. Smoke filled your lungs, causing you to start coughing, as you pulled your shirt over your face like a mask. But the thin material did little to help protect you from the black air.

Everywhere you turned, there was fire. Blocking the windows. Covering the door. You looked around helplessly, your eyes burning from the smoke. The stockroom door caught your eye. As fast as you possibly could, you made your way towards it, the only exit the flames hadn’t quite reached yet.

A beam from the ceiling fell down in front of you, causing a slightly shriek to leave your mouth. You carefully went around it. The only thing you could see was ranging hues of orange and yellow, and you began to get light headed. Losing your footing, you almost collapsed into the stockroom door before throwing it open. The shelves rattled as you used them to support you as you made your way to the exit. You threw the door open, almost throwing yourself outside and collapsing to your hands and knees. The moment clean air hit you, you immediately began to cough uncontrollably, until you eventually threw up on the ground. For a second, you stayed still, staring at the ground as you hyperventilated, a slight wheeze to every breath. It still hurt to breathe, and you knew the coughing had long but subsided, but the clean air felt nice in your lungs.

You began to crawl, going as fast as your wounded leg would allow. When you turned back, there was a trail of your own blood behind you. How much had you lost? There was no way to be sure. All you knew was that it was getting more and more difficult to to move. Your legs felt like jelly, and your arms were beginning to feel the same. There was no telling how much longer you could go without stopping the bleeding.

You stopped, turning to sit against a building a few meters away. Everything in you felt numb, literally and figuratively, as you stared at your bar, now completely engulfed in the fire. All of the money you had put into cleaning it up. All of the past eight years. Up in flames. The urge to cry was there, but you didn’t have the energy.

For a second, you thought you were imagining it. It wasn’t until you looked and saw a single headlight getting closer and closer that you realized you were indeed hearing a motorcycle approaching. Instinctively, you cowered in the shadows in fear the Hydras had returned. The motorcycle pulled into the parking lot, the street light hitting the silver finish and the red star on the side. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. He never was.

“Bucky,” You tried to call out, but it wasn’t loud enough as he continued to stare in horror at the destruction. You swallowed hard, building up your energy. “Bucky!” It came out as a wail, and if you weren’t so banged up, you might’ve been embarrassed by it.

His head whipped around, not wasting any time before he was running to you. He dropped down to your side, pulling you onto his lap. You hadn’t realized you were covered in soot until you looked down at his hands and saw they were black from touching you. He immediately whipped out his phone, dialing 911. You tried to listen to what he was saying, but you were dozing in and out of consciousness. When he put the phone down, he looked down at you.

“An ambulance is coming,” He said. His voice was so frantic that your heart broke. His hold on you was tight, and you could feel him shaking against you.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Your head was against his shoulder, your arms crossed over your lap. As you tried to look up at him, your head felt heavy. Was he apologizing for not being there? Or because he blamed himself for the target on your back?

“It’s okay,” You whispered. “It’s okay.” He shook his head rapidly.

“It’s not,” He choked on his voice.

“What happened to Parker?” You asked, trying to distract him. Your hand reached across your lap and found his, wrapping his fingers in your own. He sighed, his breath staggered.

“They found him and-“ He froze, sighing sharply. “He’s in the hospital but he’s gonna be fine.” He looked down at you. “I should’ve sent someone else to take care of him...he’s just a kid, I- you were right, we shouldn’t have let him join.” He chuckled. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re always right.” You nodded into his shoulder.

“That’s true,” You mumbled. He laughed again, this time a little louder. It was your favorite song that you wanted to play on repeat.

“God, I love you so much,” He said, shaking his head.

“I love you too,” You said, your eyes drooping again. You looked back up at him. “Bucky, I want to go to sleep.” His eyes widened slightly as he began to shake his head again.

“No, baby,” He said in a frantic voice again. “You have to stay awake. The ambulance is on its way. Stay awake.” You shook your head.

“I...I gotta sleep,” You said. He began to pepper your face with kisses, causing you to laugh slightly.

“You.” Kiss. “Have.” Kiss. “To.” Kiss. “Stay.” Kiss. “Awake.” Kiss. A weak laugh shook your body.

“I’ll try,” You mumbled. He held your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he stared at you with his wide, tearful blue eyes.

“It should’ve been me,” He told you. “It should’ve been me they hurt. They should’ve never gone after you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You shook your head.

“Nooooo,” You said, words slightly slurred. “Not you.” As you looked at him, you thought about the sunshiny smile he had given you just that morning. All of the times he had ever smiled at you like that ran through your mind. There was a lot of them. You smiled at the memories. “Can you…believe…we’ve been together...for...almost two years?” He huffed, a strained smile filling his cheeks.

“And a lifetime more, baby girl,” He said. “But you have to fight this, okay? You have to live.” You shook your head again, closing your eyes.

“I’m not...gonna die,” You said. “I just…am gonna sleep.” He began to shake you, yelling your name. But it did nothing as your mind shut off, unconsciousness taking you while in Bucky’s strong, loving arms.

________________________________

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Your ears were pounding, but that wasn’t enough to drown out the memory of what you had just seen. All you could hear was the sounds of their screaming. Would they ever go away? Or would you have to live your life listening to it? You knew that you were going to dream about it that night. And probably all the nights for the coming week.

But it wasn’t the sight of your adoptive parents being killed that got you, it was the person who did it that left you stunned. Opening your phone, you scrolled through the endless texts you two had exchanged in the months it had been since you had gotten together.

It wasn’t him

It wasn’t him.

It wasn’t him.

That was the mantra running through your brain, like breaking headlines at the bottom of the screen during a newscast. Of course you knew it wasn’t him. But how were you expected to get the image of your boyfriend killing your parents out of your head? Or the fact that him and Steve left your brother to die in the jet they also stole from him after nearly destroying his suit, his only form of protection?

On the other hand, Tony knew better. Not only should he have not attacked two super soldiers and expected to win, but he also knew that Bucky wasn’t in his right state of mind when he killed their parents. You understood his reaction, however. If you had watched the video while Bucky were there, who knew what you would’ve done.

The elevator dinged, and the doors rolled open. You stood unmoving for a second, the elevator almost closing on you before you finally pushed off the wall and threw your arm out, stopping them.Your legs carried you through the lobby of the building seemingly on their own. The front doors were opened for you by the door men, you walked outside to a world that felt different than the one you knew when you were walking in some hours ago. Mindlessly, you walked to your car, which was parked on the street. Rounding the back corner towards the driver’s side, the entire right side of your body slammed into the side of your car. It stunned you for a few seconds, as you didn’t realize you were walking that close to your car, but finally you continued on, climbing into your car and driving off. You hadn’t the foggiest idea where you were going, you just knew you needed to go somewhere else.

With the air conditioning on full blast, you were trying to get the fever from your cheeks to dissipate. It wasn’t working, but the cool air felt good against the heat radiating off your skin. The sound of your ringtone blared from the passenger seat. Without looking, you knew who it was but you didn’t dare pick it up. You needed time to think about what exactly you wanted to say.

Howard and Maria Stark adopted you as a baby. When you got older, it became clear that while Maria did it because she wanted another child, Howard only agreed to it because he needed press for his company, and what better way than to take in a defenseless baby orphan? Maria was the best mother you could’ve asked for, and while he had his shortcomings, Tony was an amazing older brother. He didn’t ever admit how much he loved you, not until he became an adult and realize how awful his father truly was. After that, he began letting you know more often how much he cared for you, and you did the same for him. You were only ten years old when the Starks had died, and somehow Tony managed taking care of you while going to college and running the company. You had a lot of admiration for Tony, and you felt like you owed him in a way.

It was only a year ago that you came across Bucky Barnes in Bucharest, Romania. You were studying under a close friend of Tony’s for eighteen months at the University of Bucharest, and you were six months in when you met him going up the stairs while you were going down of the apartment building you both resided in. He was mostly soft smiles and careful glances, a man of few words, but there was something about him that made you want to know more. An air of mystery surrounding him, with his closed off body language and the way he was always looking over his shoulder. Tony told you not to get mixed up in the drama of the locals while you were away, but there was nothing local about this man. So you made an exception.

Anytime you left your apartment, you were hoping you would run into him. And many days, you did. With the confidence instilled in you by your brother, you always sparked a conversation. He talked to you more and more with every single conversation. It was never anything too personal or overwhelmingly interesting, but it was better than nothing. And it wasn’t like you weren’t eating up every word. The first time you asked him to coffee, about two months after the two of you met, he politely declined, much to your disappointment, but you didn’t press. Instead, you continued to talk to him every time you saw him. It took three weeks, but eventually, he asked you if that coffee offer was still on the table. It took two more months of the two of you going on little dates and hanging out for you to ask if he wanted to be something more. He was hesitant at first, but it didn’t take much to persuade him.

Your phone started to ring again, and you let it go once again. He knew that you knew. Which means he could wait. You knew you had driven far enough when the traffic began to dissolve, and you found yourself driving down suburban streets. It wasn’t familiar to you, but you drove around anyway. Something about it calmed you.

As you pulled into the parking lot of a random park, your phone began to ring for a third time. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed it and answered it, bringing the phone to your ear without giving any sort of greeting to the person on the other line. After a few seconds, you hear him say your name, and it hit you like a knife to the chest. He said it again, a little louder this time.

“Please…” He tacked onto the end in a small voice as your head fell back onto the headrest. There was desperation behind it. You didn’t realize how hard just hearing his voice was going to be. Maybe you should’ve let it go to voicemail again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked in a low voice, trying hard not to get emotional. He stammered on the phone, nothing he said even close to coherent. You waited impatiently, your leg bouncing up and down in anxiety.

“I didn’t remember for a while...And when I did, I just-” He paused for a while, inhaling sharply. “I just didn’t want things between us to end… I was hoping it was never brought up.” Tears stung your eyes, and you cursed under your breath.

“You told me about the Winter Soldier thing after I told you about my family, and I understood!” You cried, only stopping to sigh. “Why didn’t you believe I’d understand this? I deserved to know, Bucky.” You could practically see him, burying his face in his hands with his elbows resting on his knees. It was his classic pose whenever he was upset. Touching his face was his nervous tick, and you picked up on that early into your relationship with him.

“Because they’re your parents,” He said slowly. “How was I supposed to deal with knowing that I was the reason you were orphaned for a second time?” He stopped, and you could tell that he was trying to gather himself before he got too emotional. “I thought you’d be upset because it was me who did it, and not remember that it wasn’t me. Like Tony-“ At the mention of your brother, you cut him off.

“You left him to die,” You hissed, suddenly remembering. “How did you think he was going to get home after you and Steve destroyed his suit? Pepper had to go find him.” His response was immediately, narrowly almost cutting you off.

“He tried to kill me!” He shouted, which on one hand, you fully understood. But on the other…

“He had just found out his parents had died from your hand in the most unconventional way, he clearly wasn’t thinking rationally,” You retorted. “He showed me what you did to his suit. It was obvious neither of you were trying to just subdue him.” You heard him sigh as you closed your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

You watched the children play as you remained silent. The park wasn’t crowded, only five or so kids around with their respective parents. Three children played on the big play castle, while two were going as high as they could on the swing set. Innocent.

“I know, Bucky.”

Two of the children were ganging up on the third child on the play set as the duo on the swings laughed together.

“I’m going to Wakanda, Steve knows someone there who’s going to take Hydra out of my head,” He told you. Your head fell to the side a little, leaning down towards your shoulder.

“That’s really good, Bucky,” You said, a dreamy sound to your voice. It wasn’t that you weren’t listening to him, because you were. It was that things had gone downhill so fast that your head spun, and you were in that mindset of everything was so fucked up, you were just accepting your fate. “That gives us time. That gives you time to get better. And that gives me time to adjust to...this.” You swallowed hard. Hopefully he was gone for a little bit. Time was something you knew you’d need a decent amount of.

The two children ran off, leaving the third in the dust.

One of the children jumped off the swing set, the bottoms of their shoes skidding forward and taking them down to the ground.

“I’m going to be better for you,” He continued, choking up. “I’m going to be the man you deserve.”

That got your attention. You leaned forward from your seat slightly, your eyebrows knitting together. A hundred thoughts were running from your mind, all of them different iterations of one.

“I’m glad you’re getting better for you, Bucky, but don’t kid yourself,” You told him as you watched the kid stand up off the ground and begin to run around the playground, abandoning their friend on the swing set.

“What do you mean?” He asked, his voice hesitant. Your head fell against the headrest once more as you stared up at the sky. It was a cloudy day, but there wasn’t any sign of rain. It was cooler out, at that perfect in between temperature that was neither too hot or too cold. Part of you wished you could enjoy it.

All of the good times with Bucky ran through your mind. The little dates the two of you went on. The first times. The first time he let you hold his left hand. The first kiss. The first time you spent the night at his apartment. And then, the night you two told all. You told Bucky about your family for the first time, all about the company and how your parents died, about Tony and how much close you and him had become. You could envision the look on his face quite clearly. The look of empathy that he had, because he knew all too well about loss. In your time with Bucky, you had learned that he wasn’t a good liar when it came to you. As he got more comfortable, he wanted to tell you everything. And most time’s he did. You knew that he would’ve told you if he had remembered. And even if he did remember and didn’t tell you, you loved him. In the long run, this was something you knew, in time, you could learn to forgive him for.

Shifting in the driver’s seat, you turned towards the passenger side, imagining him sitting next to you and watching you with his big, baby blues. Despite everything, large part of you wished it was real.

“You’ll always be the man I want and deserve.”

_______________________

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BUCKY