#legacy weapon

I still wasn't used to calling it that.

When we moved in, I got my old room back. The same room I used to hide in while Tony's parties shook the walls and alcohol flowed like water.

I stood in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee when Bucky walked in, grabbing the mug out of my hand and drinking from it.

“James-” 

He didn't even apologize. Just looked at me like I was the strange one for objecting. Unfortunately, it was normal.

The rest of the team poured in slowly into the kitchen, most of them in silence but I genuinely think Walker has never been quiet a day in his life. 

“So, you gonna tell us how you got the serum or are we just supposed to blindly trust you?”

Whatever stupid joke I was making died before it reached the end of my sentence. “What?” I asked

“How did you get the serum?”

“Now, why would I tell you that? You know the important part, Walker. Got the serum at 14 and puberty enhanced the effects” 

John wasn’t satisfied with that answer and Bucky noticed. 

Bucky's expression changed for half a second, something mild, something easy to ignore, something nobody else would have noticed.

I did.

“Stand down, Walker. No need to push”

“James, I don’t need saving from Walker”

“Hey-”

“I know, but he needs to stand down”

I finished my coffee and went to my room, Bucky hesitated before following me to the room.

“You have to tell them eventually” Bucky says carefully, walking on eggshells as he speaks out.

“And tell them what, James?” I look at him “the truth” Bucky replies coldly.

“You know I can't,” I say, running my hands through my hair. “How do I begin to explain that my own father tested me until he found a serum that worked and sent me out into the field like a killing machine, James? How do I explain that?” pacing around the room, knowing he’s right, but not finding the way to say it.

“Just like you did with me, doll.” Bucky says softly, standing in front of me to stop my pacing.

“James, it’s not the same”

“It’s exactly the same” he bites back "They're your team now."

"Buck—"

"No. Listen to me. They trust you. They walk into fights knowing you'll be there. You gotta give them the chance to do the same."

“James, it’s not that simple. I told you mid-healing in Wakanda, where we cried more than talked, not during team bonding ice breakers” I finally sat at the edge of my bed, Bucky crouched down in front of me holding my hands. “I like this team, Buck, I don’t want to lose this because I couldn’t keep my emotions in check”

“And you’re not gonna, but you need to tell them, or it’s gonna bite you in the ass” Bucky says softly, looking at me dearly. His thumbs brush over my knuckles, grounding me like he always does.

I don't know when that became normal.

Bucky stayed until my breathing evened out, until I stopped pacing the room like I was trying to outrun my own thoughts.

But he couldn't make the decision for me.

So I did what I always did when I didn't know what to do.

I worked. And I stayed in my room the rest of the day. Working on liaison emails, trying to find some sense of normalcy after moving into this forsaken tower again. I did what I usually do, drowned in work, just this time around Buck would walk with lunch and dinner as I worked tirelessly on my computer. There’s a lot to do when you're fighting for your rights and others like you. 

I stared at the glow of my computer screen, the same sentence on the same document for the last ten minutes.

I wasn't tired.

I wasn't even close.

The elevator hummed quietly on its way to the sublevels. A loud reminder that I was the only one still awake. 

As I approached the training center I heard punches making contact, “Can’t sleep?” I asked. 

“Yeah, seems you can’t either” John replied back. “Nah, not really. Mind if I join you?”

I slipped the gloves on, tightening the straps with my teeth before raising my hands.

John didn't wait for a signal.

His first jab came quick, testing.

I leaned back just enough for it to skim past my nose before answering with a hook to his ribs. He absorbed it with a grunt and came back with a cross that forced me to duck.

"You pull your punches," he observed.

"So do you."

"Not usually."

"Congratulations."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

We circled each other again.

John had military precision. Every strike had a purpose, every step measured. Mine looked messier, almost improvised, but years of fighting people bigger than me had taught me one thing—unpredictability was its own weapon.

He feinted high.

I fell for it.

His glove tapped my shoulder before I could recover.

"Point to Walker," he said.

"Oh, don't get cocky."

I answered with a quick combination to his torso that had him taking two steps back.

"There she is," he laughed, shaking out his arms.

"For someone who claims not to be competitive, you're awfully smug."

"I never said I wasn't competitive."

We reset, the room falling quiet again except for gloves meeting leather and shoes squeaking across the mats.

After another exchange, John lowered his guard just enough to catch his breath.

"...I'm sorry," he says.

“What for?”

“Being so insistent with the origin of your serum.”

“It’s okay, it's just a bit of a sensitive topic.”

I threw a straight punch toward his jaw. He caught my wrist instead of dodging, held it for half a second, then let go. We both knew either of us could've hit harder. 

“Val called you a legacy, what did she mean by that?”

John threw another jab.

I ducked beneath a hook, pivoted behind him, and tapped his shoulder with my glove. 

I breathed out a laugh, “That she’s insane.”

John actually laughed at that, “yeah, but besides that.”

I sighed, no use hiding now “That my father’s an asshole.”

I rolled my sleeves up to cool off, exposing the faded constellation of scars that climbed both arms.

John's eyes dropped to them.

I didn't bother pulling the fabric back down.

I lowered my hands for a moment, rolling my shoulders while John bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. He didn't press. He just waited. It was the first time all day someone had given me the space to answer instead of demanding one. 

Then I continued.

“I’m my father’s legacy in Hydra, proof that the super serum could be better, and evolve over time.”

John hesitated just long enough for my fist to connect with his ribs.

Neither of us acknowledged the hit.

"His hypothesis was that a younger subject would continue adapting to the serum throughout puberty." I flexed my hand inside the glove. “He turned out to be right”

“Are you telling me your life story or reading a mission report?”

I laugh, “its easier to explain that way”

John's expression softened. I blame his softness on being a dad.

“It shouldn't be.”

The words caught me off guard.

For a second, I forgot to keep moving.

He took the opening, his glove tapping my shoulder before stepping back instead of following through.

“I wasn't trying to pry,” he said quietly. “I just... wanted to know who I was trusting. Who I'd be walking into fights with.”

I nodded.

“I know.”

Silence settled between us again, broken only by our breathing.

“I was eight when he started drawing blood.”

The words came before I could stop them.

“He said it was for research.” I swallowed. “By age twelve, he'd stopped calling me his daughter.”

John didn't interrupt.

“He called me Subject One.”

The room suddenly felt colder.

I pulled my sleeves back down, hiding the scars beneath the fabric again.

“I think we're done for tonight.”

John didn't argue.

As I reached the door, he spoke again.

“I trust you.”

I looked back over my shoulder.

“You didn't have to tell me any of that.”

I managed the smallest smile.

“I know.”

When I stepped back into the hallway, the tower was still asleep.

For the first time in years...

One other person knew.

Maybe Buck had been right.

The Sokovia Accords sit in front of me. Thin pages pretending to be a “promise”. A government vow to keep the world safe.

I start reading.

Blah, blah, blah, enhanced human. Blah, blah, regulated deployment. Asset ID #472913.

My name never appears. Just classifications. Categories. Permissions.

The word human repeats so often it starts to feel smaller every time it shows up—less like a truth, more like a restriction. A box they’ve already decided I fit into.

I look up and exhale slowly.

“Tony,” I say, already tired, “this isn’t protecting everyone. It’s definitely not protecting me.” I hesitate, then add quietly, “This sounds like a cage.”

“(Y/N/N), it’s not like that. You know that.” Tony finally meets my eyes. His voice is softer now. “I’m trying to keep you safe. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

The words land heavy in my chest.

“I—” I swallow. “Can I think about it? Just… sleep on it?”

Tony exhales and drags a hand down his face. For a moment, he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. Then he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

The Avengers Compound feels hollow afterward. Too big. Too quiet.

Half the team is gone—scattered, on the run, and Tony is already talking about recruitment, about rebuilding, like you can replace people the way you replace armor. I’m the last one who hasn’t signed.

I never thought I’d miss structure. Never thought I’d miss being swallowed by a government agency, or sleeping in six-by-two bunks on a ship that never really stopped moving. At least back then, someone always told me where I stood.

Now, standing in the echo of what used to be a team, I’m not sure if refusing to sign makes me free… or a target.

That night, I lay in bed staring at the stack of papers on my desk. They feel like they’re staring back at me, looming like a sleep paralysis demon. I sit up and run my hands over my face before finally getting up.

I leave my room and knock on the door that usually has answers.

But Steve isn’t there anymore.

He’s off somewhere with the “Winter Soldier” —or whatever remains of him. I rest my forehead against the door, suddenly feeling like a lost child again. Only this time, I’m not one.

The Accords sit back in my room, waiting.

And for the first time, I feel the full weight of being a legal adult settle into my chest. Nat steps out of her room and stops when she sees me standing in front of Steve’s door.

“Did you sign them?” she asks.

“Not yet.” I turn to face her. “And honestly, I don’t know how you did.”

The words come out harsher than I mean them to. Nat doesn’t flinch. She just watches me for a moment.

“It’s a lot more complicated than that.”

“Is it?” I say, heat creeping into my voice. “You live in a gray area. You’re trained, not enhanced. You get more clearance.” I laugh under my breath, sharp and humorless. “But I get a leash”

The hallway goes quiet. Nat’s expression tightens, not angry. Calculating. Careful.

“That’s not what this is,” she says evenly.

“That’s exactly what it is,” I shoot back. “You sign and you get oversight. I sign and I become an insurance policy.”

She exhales slowly. “I signed because I’ve seen what happens when you don’t.”

I shake my head. “You signed because you still get to choose.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. She hands me a phone, a simple keypad phone, and walks off. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

I tuck the phone into my pocket, its weight solid against my hip. I take a deep breath, deciding I should probably rest.

By morning, the compound is already buzzing. Tony’s trying to rally the stragglers, talking about missions and recruitment, but I can barely hear him. He says something about a spider kid who can help us, and I really couldn’t care less.

My thoughts keep circling back to what Natasha said, and I swear the phone is burning a hole in my back pocket. I pull out the outdated little device. There’s only one number saved.

Steve.

Of course it is. That’s such a Steve move.

I hover over the call button, thumb hesitating. Maybe he’ll have answers. Maybe he’ll say something that nudges me in the right direction. Or maybe this is how I end up in the Raft.

I’m still government property. A technicality.

An eighteen-year-old technicality—old enough to be held responsible, old enough to be punished. Expected to answer for actions that would qualify as espionage, international violations, war crimes.

Actions I took under a government organization that no longer exists.

For four years, SHIELD authorized everything I did. Signed off on it. Buried it. I was a minor, operating under orders, protected by jurisdiction and classification. A child weaponized by a system that took responsibility for the fallout. Now that entity is gone.

And with it, the protection.

We get the alert before we even land. Unauthorized access attempt. Stark Industries hangar. Quinjet bay. Tony doesn’t say it out loud, but we all know what that means.

“They’re going for transport,” Rhodey mutters.

“Of course they are,” Tony replies. “Cap never stays put.”

By the time we touch down, the airport is already too quiet. Wide open space, too much room for things to go wrong. Vision scans ahead, calm and methodical. Natasha’s silent beside me, unreadable.

This isn’t a conversation. This is containment.

We spot them near the hangar entrance — Steve, Sam, Wanda, Clint, and Barnes.

They’re exactly where the intel said they’d be.

Tony steps forward anyway. He always does. “You’re making this harder than it has to be, Cap. Walk away. We’ll figure this out.”

Steve shakes his head. “You know I can’t do that.”

That’s when I understand: this was never about changing minds. This was about buying time.

The moment Steve shifts his stance, the tension snaps.

“Alright,” Tony sighs. “Then we’re doing this.”

He glances over his shoulder. “Underoos.”

Something drops from the sky.

Red and black. Too fast. Too loud. Too young. Too inexperienced.

The kid lands, stumbles, then immediately starts talking like this is the greatest day of his life.

Spider-Man.

Rhodey lets out a stunned laugh. I just stare.

“So that’s Dungarewski,” I mutter.

The first blow lands seconds later. The shield hits concrete, and suddenly the airport isn’t empty anymore — it’s a battlefield.

“(Y/N), with the kid,” Tony orders. “Don’t let Barnes and Wilson get to the jet.”

“On it.”

Spider-Man webs Sam midair, hauling him sideways. Barnes moves instantly, metal arm tearing through the webbing as if it’s nothing.

I intercept before they can regroup.

This isn’t personal. I don’t hesitate. I don’t hesitate because hesitation gets people killed.

Barnes turns toward me, assessing, calculating. He fights like someone trained to end things fast. No wasted movement. No anger. Just efficiency.

I match him blow for blow, forcing distance, keeping him away from the hangar. He’s strong, stronger than the files suggested, but he’s not reckless.

That stands out more than it should.

Then Vision fires at the runway.

Wanda screams.

The fight fractures.

Everything stops being clean after that.

Steve sprints for the jet, Barnes close behind him. Nat isn’t with Steve—she’s intercepting T’Challa, firing to hold him back.

What is she doing? I just had to run over there. I try to help Nat but she pushes me off. “Go!” she screams at me, pointing to the jet. I look at her, I look at the jet, and finally I look at Tony.

“(Y/N), stop!” Tony’s voice crackles in my ear.

I reach the ramp just as Barnes turns, metal hand gripping the edge. Steve hauls him inside.

I should let go.

I should stop.

I should-

Instead, I jump.

The ramp seals shut behind us, cutting off the roar of the airport. I walk to the co-pilot seat like this was always the plan.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked.