#m0rticiansdaughter

He was sat up straight on his knees on the hard floor of the lower deck, with you holding onto the couch cushion in front of you like it was a lifeline you couldn’t afford to let go of. Your nails dug deeply into the fabric of the sheet that covered the couch, body getting jolted forward with each harsh thrust of Bucky’s hips. His vibranium hand gripped onto your waist tightly, while his flesh one was clasped tightly over your mouth.

Despite the resistance of his strong hand, your whimpers still tumbled out. You couldn’t help yourself. A low grunt sounded from behind you, while you felt the coldness of metal leave your waist and join the warmth covering your mouth.

“You’re not as quiet as you think.” he growled.

Your eyes squeezed shut and you couldn’t help but clench around him, his words feeding your arousal. You both knew you probably shouldn’t be doing something so scandalous in Sam’s family boat, but it wasn’t easy to refrain from giving into the temptation between you two.

The quiet squelching that came from between your bodies with each movement of his hips didn’t make it any easier to stay silent, either. Bucky’s warm breath ghosted over your ear as he panted heavily, hands still securely held over your mouth to silence you. The feeling of his velvety cock dragging along your walls with each punishing thrust only served the tight, knotty feeling that started twisting low in your tummy.

“Try to be a little quieter for me, sugar, alright?”

He did it almost unconsciously, almost like he forgot where he was, who he was with, because he seemed to panic right after it dropped onto the grey sheets and scrambled up off of the bed. You were a bit too stunned to speak. You weren’t necessarily disgusted by the deep red colored scar tissue that was sunken in and tight with healing. You were more surprised that he had suddenly let his guard down.

Carl, on the other hand, took your silence and stunned expression the wrong way.

Now, the two of you sat awkwardly on the bed──or, well, you did. Carl was pacing around your bedroom by the end of the bed, anxious. You keep trying to tell him it didn’t bother you, just shocked you. He didn’t believe it.

“You’re disgusted, I can tell.”

You brows furrowed as you shifted to sit on your knees, legs pressing in your soft covers.

“I’m not disgusted! I was just surprised that you took it off…” you tried to re-explain.

“Am I noble enough for you now?” he suddenly ask, stopping and finally looking at you again.

Your head tilted and you began to get off the bed, shaking your head.

“What?”

“Am I good enough for you now?”

Your eyes softened and you moved a hand up, pushing his bangs away from his face.

“What makes you think you haven’t been?”

He looked down and shrugged, almost embarrassed of his question.

“I don’t know.”

You lifted his chin with one finger, making him look at you once more.

“You’ve been good the whole time. Besides…I think your scar makes you look cooler.”

His cheeks visibly turned a soft pink, trying to bite back a smile as he shook his head.

“Yeah, right…”

You didn’t like the way he responded back to you.

You lifted onto your tippy toes just that smallest bit, tipping your head up and gingerly pressing your lips against his equally soft ones.

“Yeah? I’ll show you how much cooler it makes you…”

You had been expecting a normal day─leaving for your shift as a nurse-in-training at the hospital, like every other weekday. Not three Russian men showing up at your door and dragging you away without explanation, shoving you into a vehicle before you even had the chance to call for help. Taken to a facility you had never heard of. Somewhere you definitely were not supposed to be.

"Please─! You must have the wrong person!" You cry, protesting and trying to tug your wrist out of the agent's hold.

"Shut it." The sharp order came from the agent ahead.

Before you could get another plea out, you were shoved forward, the agent's grip on your arm forcing you into place in front of a large glass window.

On the other side of the glass was a man restrained in a reinforced chair, metal securing him at the wrists and torso. Long hair hanging in front of his face. Fluorescent lighting glimmering off his metal arm that had you staring in stunned silence.

He looked tense, predatory. Like he was ready to pounce on somebody as soon as he was allowed up.

«Пора бы уже найти ему нового смотритель. Это давно следовало сделать». (it's about time we found him a new caretaker. we should have done this a long time ago.)

You felt frustrated at not knowing what the two men were saying, the Russian words unfamiliar to you. You wished you could understand.

«Отпусти его. Держи его так, чтобы он не пытался напасть». (let him go. hold him so he doesn't try to attack.)

The agent who had just spoken turned to look at the one keeping you held in place, a smirk coming across his face.

«Надеюсь, он не будет с ней слишком груб». (i hope he won't be too rough with her.)

───

Your hands trembled as you sat on the steel stool behind the tub, squeezing shampoo into your palm.

The man, who you now know as the Winter Soldier, sat inside of said tub, not a single word having been uttered to you the entire time.

Being left alone in a room with him had you feeling uneasy. Scared. Afraid of what this strong-looking guy, who was obviously more than capable of taking somebody out just with that metal arm of his, could do to you.

You had only gotten told what your new job was before you were shoved into this "wash room", that looked more like a decontamination room in your eyes.

The Winter Soldier's caretaker.

Patching his injuries up after missions he gets sent on.

Bringing him food when you're ordered to.

Changing his clothes or tactical gear.

Tracking his rest patterns.

Observing his responses to touch and voices.

Trimming his hair when it was needed.

Bathing him, just like you were doing now.

You didn't know who this man actually was, who he was before he had obviously been turned into some kind of project for these sick people.

But all you knew was that you were nervous being around him.

God only knew what he would do to you if you made the wrong move.

And you were about to find out...

You rubbed the shampoo between your hands, slowly reaching out to touch his scalp and lather the wash into his hair. But as soon as your fingertips made contact, he reacted to the touch like a trigger had just been pulled.

His head jerked, body turning in bath, the water sloshing violently from the sudden movement, and his teeth clamped down hard onto your wrist.

"Ah─!"

The pain was immediate─blinding, crushing─the stool tipping back from how fast you stood up.

You tried to jerk your arm back, but he didn't let up. If anything, he bit harder. His fingers shot up to your forearm, vibranium clamping down just below your elbow, pulling you closer to the tub.

Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes at the bruising pain, breath catching before a strangled noise left your throat. You felt warmth trickle down your wrist, seeing crimson run down your skin when you looked.

Your other hand shot out, pressing against his forehead firmly in an attempt to push his head away, despite how slippery your palms were from the shampoo.

A low growl came from him at the force of your palm, his fingers tightening around your arm painfully.

A panicked whimper left your lips at the sensation.

For just a second, something shifted. Just a brief pause.

His grip faltered, not releasing, but uncertain, like the pressure in him had briefly lost its direction. His head shifted slightly as if recalibrating, and the hold on your arm loosened just enough for instinct to take over on your behalf.

You pulled, as hard as you could, his teeth scrapping down the rest of the way on your skin as your arm finally slipped free.

You stumbled back from the force of yanking yourself free, your hip hitting the stool behind you and knocking it to the floor, as you followed quickly after.

Your hand reached up to hold your wrist, blood leaking from the teeth marks left on your skin.

He stared down at you from the side of the tub, his face showing no signs of emotion as he watched you.

You looked down at your punctured wrist, breathing heavy as you simply stared down at your fresh wound.

───

You still could remember the pain from that bite like it was yesterday, even though it was nearly three months ago by now.

He's warmed up to you since then.

Not by much, but enough to the point where he isn't trying to hurt you anytime you touch him anymore.

But he still had his guard up high enough to be tense every time you touched him, enough to make you flinch when he lifted a hand up.

You've been trying your hardest to get him to trust you more than he does, trying to get him to realize that you're a safe space, a safe presence for him.

The more you've been working for HYDRA, under their complete control, the more you've learned about who the Winter Soldier really is.

You found out his actual name through one of the HYDRA agent's a few weeks ago─James Buchanan Barnes.

Found out that he had been a sergeant in World War 2 before this.

That he's been under the control of HYDRA since 1945.

It was 2013.

You felt for him, really. You felt bad.

Because he didn't want this, he didn't want to become who he was made into. He doesn't even remember who he was at all.

That's part of the main reason why you wanted him to get comfortable with you. To let him realize that you won't do anything to him like everybody else at HYDRA does.

The feeling of warm fingers wrapping around your left wrist had you flinching, snapping you out of the daze you had been in.

You looked down to see the soldier staring at your arm, specifically at a dark purple bruise that had bloomed there.

He didn't say anything─not like he hasn't said a single word to you over the time you've been here─only stared. Stared as if he could tell that the bruise wasn't his doing. That it was someone elses.

───

«Двигайся». (move.)

You stumble momentarily as you're dragged out of the monitoring room, the tone in the agent's voice angry as he shoves you ahead of him.

«Ты же знаешь, что тебе нельзя заходить в комнаты, в которые тебя не просили заходить». (you know you're not supposed to go into rooms you haven't been asked to enter.)

"What were those words?" You question, grunting as the agent's grip tightens on your arm.

You hadn't meant to go into the monitoring room. You just happened to come upon it when you were heading to one of the many medical rooms in the building. You weren't looking at the signs on the wall beside the doors.

You couldn't help but snoop when you recognized where you were.

"That is none of your business, мисс." (miss)

"I'm the one taking care of him, I deserve to know!" You exclaim, brows furrowing as you stare up at the taller man.

You have a right to know what those ten words you read meant. Why they were in the soldier's information papers.

You weren't stupid. You knew they had to mean something. They weren't just random words, you could tell. They were too specific.

Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный. Возвращение на родину. Один. Грузовой вагон. (longing. rusted. seventeen. daybreak. furnace. nine. benign. homecoming. one. freight car.)

The agent's grip tightened once more, making a quiet gasp leave your mouth as he tugged you closer to him.

«Вы уже знаете об этом активе всё, что нужно». (you already know everything you need to know about the/this asset.)

───

The Winter Soldier glances up at you over his shoulder.

You couldn't quite read his eyes. You never could. But they looked slightly less emotionless than they always seemed to.

You tilt your head to the side, blinking at him, brows furrowing in confusion at what he was doing.

You've never seen him act so...concerned? Even if it was just the smallest bit. You could tell it was there somewhere.

As he continued to simply stare at you, you looked away to grab the plastic cup on the floor, submerging it under the water of the bath to fill it up.

"Tip your head back..." You say softly, keeping your voice as gentle as possible.

He complies, looking forward again and tilting his head back like you had told him to. His eyes close as you carefully pour the warm water over his scalp.

You slowly slip your arm out of his grip, bringing your hand up to his scalp to gently rinse out the leftover bubbles of shampoo.

Nothing but the sounds of water dripping back into the tub and your occasional shifting on the stool filled the room.

...

"...who?"

Somehow, everything fell quieter for a moment.

You didn't reply. Not yet.

Because for two months, he hadn't spoken a single word to you. Not while you washed the blood from his hands. Not while you changed the bandages on his shoulder. Not while you sat in the silence of a room and you spoke softly just to fill it.

And now, there it was.

Low, slightly rough from disuse. Quiet enough that you almost thought you had imagined it.

"You...you talked..." You whisper, the words leaving you before you could even think about what you had wanted to say.

He didn't reply for a moment, his eyes trained on the warm bath water he was sitting in.

Then, he turned his head to look over his shoulder again, his gaze lifting to yours.

"Who?" He said again, quieter this time, but more certain than before.

His question hit you harder than the first time he asked.

You swallowed before answering him quietly.

"...an agent. A couple days ago."

His expression didn't change, but something in him seemed to still for just a second.

His hand reached up to grab your wrist again, moving it down so he could see the bruise once more.

His thumb moved briefly over the bruise, a light touch that you wouldn't expect to come from his hands.

You watched him carefully. Watched how he practically examined the bruise that was blossoming on your skin.

You spoke softly in an attempt to reassure him from whatever was running through his head.

"It's nothing...I'm fine."

"No." He mumbles.

Your lips part, blinking as he looks up at you once more.

And somewhere in those eyes, an unfamiliar look lingered on your face.

guys please comment if you want a second part to this or for me to make this into a mini series...i gladly will, i am ITCHING to do a second part...

© 2026 m0rticiansdaughter

«Ты так хотел знать». ("you were so eager to know.")

You look over at the HYDRA agent that stood beside you, a frieghtened expression on your face that you attempted to hide.

«Не делай вид, что испугался, теперь, когда ты увидел то, что мы пытались от тебя скрыть». He smirked. ("don't pretend that you're scared now that you've seen what we were trying to hide from you.")

───

You sat patiently in the medical room, spinning side to side on the metal stool you were on.

It was protocol after every mission the Winter Soldier was sent on──any injuries he had sustained, you would look over and patch up.

You had a feeling that this mission that he had been sent on in particular would leave him with more injuries than usual. Sent to go and kill Captain America. Super solider against super soldier.

You weren't quite sure how well that would end.

And you had an even worse feeling in your chest at the fact that he still hasn't been sent in yet. It was getting late, he should have been back by now.

You tapped your feet against the concrete floor, trying to entertain yourself as you waited. But the feeling of worry began to fill your chest.

Had he even made it out of that mission? Was he seriously hurt that he couldn't get back?

No...he was incredibly strong, there was no way. He always came back.

Just then, footsteps sounded down the hallway outside, and panicked sounding voices were heard.

«Что значит, он ушел?» ("what do you mean he's gone?")

You perked up, listening intently.

«Мы потеряли след, он скрылся!» ("we've lost track of him──he's gotten away!")

«Надо было догадаться, что Стив Роджерс его отрезвит...» ("should have known that Steve Rogers would sober him up...")

You flinch as the door is suddenly swung open, blinking over at the two HYDRA agents that now stood in the doorway.

"What's going on...?" You ask slowly, brows drawing together as you stand up.

"The asset is gone." One of the agents said, breathing heavily.

"Is...is he dead?" You questioned softly, afraid of the answer.

"We don't know. But we've lost track of him. No medical attention needed anymore."

You watched the two men walk out of the room, leaving the door open.

You stood there and thought about it for a moment...he couldn't be dead.

The tracker that HYDRA had on him was embedded into his tactical vest, meaning he would have to take it out himself for them to loose track...

Did he finally escape? Was he safe?

Your questions and concerns would only go unanswered...

...for two years.

───

«Приносим свои извинения, но «Зимнему солдату» нужен его замена». ("we apologize, but the Winter Soldier needs a replacement.")

The agent's apology wasn't serious. They had no regrets doing this.

You could barely even hear the deep voice through the pain.

Your fingers curl into your palms tightly, teeth clenched and back arching off the steel chair you were strapped into as the device was lifted from your face.

You pant heavily, sweat dripping down your temple as a man walks around the chair. Words being spoken out in Russian had you feeling weird. Your eyes lifted to the man, and the longer he talked, the less you felt...real?

«Актив?» ("asset?")

...

«Я готов отвечать». ("ready to comply.")

───

There were times when he thought about you, and times when he didn't.

He tried to remember as much of you as he possibly could.

Your touch. Your voice. Your gentleness. Your eyes.

Your name.

He couldn't remember your name. Not at all. Not yet. He was trying to, but it just wouldn't click.

But he could remember what you were to him. His caretaker. Someone who was kind towards him, unlike anybody else. The one who saw some of the most vulnerable sides of him.

He couldn't help but wonder how you were doing. What they were doing to you.

He's had the urge to go back, just to find you, but he couldn't risk it. Not after he finally got away and is starting to remember who he really is...

───

«Миссия отчет». ("mission report.")

You stared ahead, past your assigned handler. Quiet.

«ты сделал найдите актив?» ("did you find/locate the asset?")

«Нет». ("no.")

The man sighs, glancing towards the agent standing beside him.

«Нам нужно найти способ снова его отследить». ("we need to find a way to track him down again.")

Silence follows.

An agent comes up behind you, undoing the velcro of your tactical vest.

The handler stands abruptly, smoothing his pants.

«Мы собираем записи с камер видеонаблюдения по всей стране. Постарайтесь найти хоть какой-нибудь след». The handler begins, glancing around at the other agents. ("we will collect surveillance camera footage from across the country. Try to find even the slightest trace.")

«Подойдут и любые сообщения о том, что кто-то видел мужчину с металлической рукой. Тогда мы пошлем её за ним». ("any reports of someone seeing a man with a metal arm will do. then we'll send her after him.")

«понял». ("understood.")

───

You secure the velcro of the soldier's waist holster, your hands careful as they worked around his body.

He was quiet, cold eyes staring straight ahead as you prepared him for his mission.

You turned, reaching towards the metal table behind you to retrieve his gun. You slide it into its appropriate holster, sighing before you place a hand up on his shoulder.

"You're good to go, asset..." You whisper, looking up at his face.

He didn't respond. Didn't react. Just began walking towards the door where two HYDRA agents stood waiting.

You always hated it when you worked with him when he was freshly wiped. Even though his responses were always short when he did speak, you much preferred those short conversations over his distant silence.

«Отлично сработано, дамочка». ("well done, ma'am.")

You give a small nod, looking down at your shoes with a quiet exhale.

«Конечно...» ("of course...")

───

«Я вижу агента Хейса». ("i see Agent Hayes.")

«Хорошо, Ассет. Стреляй, когда сочтешь нужным». ("alright, asset. shoot when you think it's time.")

You adjust the sniper, squeezing your left eye shut while you look through the scope with your right.

You kept your eye on the target──SHIELD agent Nora Hayes.

Assigned to kill due to her knowledge about HYDRA and her threats to leak the information for everyone to see.

Your finger slides over the trigger, being precise with your movements, before you squeezed.

A faint thump came from where she fell.

You lifted the sniper away from your face, standing up.

«Цель устранён». ("target eliminated.")

Silence followed over the other line, before the agent came back through.

«...мы определили местонахождение солдата». ("...we have located the soldier.")

part three will be out soon! this part is a bit shorter because i am saving all of the drama and action for the third part...and also because i have severe writers block right now.

© 2026 m0rticiansdaughter

general taglist: @m0urning-d0v3 @im-making-this-up-as-i-go-sue-me

marvel taglist: @makytka

He made sure you stuck by his side, but he also made sure to give you your space. You stood and observed from the corner of the dining room, watching as Carl stood with the two other boys with a smile on his face, something you rarely ever saw on him unless he was with you. You were happy that he managed to become friends with the other teenagers fairly quickly.

Your eyes wandered to the ground, teeth subconsciously biting the inside of your lip. The overstimulation of everything going on around you eventually got the best of your body, dragging yourself away from the dining room and quietly slipping out the back patio door. A small picnic table caught your attention, and you found yourself making your way towards it.

Meanwhile, inside, Carl glanced behind him to check on how you were doing. As soon as his eyes landed on the corner who had been standing in for the past 15 minutes and he saw it was empty, a look of concern quickly replaced the happiness that was there just moments ago. His eyes flicked around the room, searching for that familiar face. But he just never spotted it.

He excused himself from Ron and Mikey, leaving the dining room and entering the kitchen. He looked closely at the 12 other people standing in that kitchen, and none of them were you. Panicked, he spotted Rosita and approached her with a troubled look painting his face. He asked if she had seen you, and she simply pointed towards the glass back patio door. Without as much as a 'thank you', Carl headed towards the door and peeked outside. Relief filled his chest when he spotted your figure sitting atop the picnic table in the backyard.

You peered up when the sound of the door sliding open filled the air, watching as Carl stepped outside and began to approach you. Your fingers toyed with a loose string at the hem of your burgundy henley. The old wood of the picnic table creaked gently with Carl's added weight. You looked over at him, seeing his gaze lingering on your fingers at the bottom of your shirt.

"...what's wrong? Too many people?" he asked quietly, glancing up at your face as his hands moved to stop you from tugging on the loose thread of the soft fabric.

You shook your head slowly, briefly watching his hands cover yours before looking back into his eyes.

"No...well, yeah, that too...but that's not it." you replied, eyes searching the backyard and what you were able to see from over the fencing.

"Then what is it?"

You were quiet for a few seconds, thinking of how you wanted to word your sentence. Eventually, your voice came out soft, yet firm.

"...I don't know how well I trust this place. I trust the people, but...it's weak here. What if something bad happens? Nobody here knows how to fight properly...this place is going to fall one day."

Carl glanced down at the ground. He thought and said the same thing you did when the group first arrived in Alexandria. He knew how hesitant the entire group was and still is. But he figured, with some practice and lessons, everyone here could know how to properly protect the place.

"That's why they have us." he said, as if it were the most obvious thing ever.

A small sigh leaves your lips, watching as his eyes lifted back to your own.

He could see the conflict in them, could practically hear all of the "what if?'s" bouncing around in your head. He exhaled and turned his body more towards yours. He reached a hand up to tuck a strands of hair behind your ear, eyes scanning your features.

"I promise we'll figure everything out..." he whispered, watching as your lips pursed together tightly.

You looked at him with a uncertain look in your eyes, before you finally nodded a little bit.

"Yeah..."

It was just that the place felt too good to be true. It felt like a dream. Carl wanted to protect this place, this community. In your head, you vowed to protect it as well.

And maybe it wasn't so bad...

───

It was bad.

And Carl didn't have your help anymore.

Alexandria was in shambles, the smell of suffocating smoke and strong gunpowder wafted through the air, orange glows from multiple fires lighting the community up. His steps were uneven, stumbling more than he was walking. The collar of his shirt was dampened with sweat. His head felt like it was spinning with dizziness. Every bone in his body ached heavily. His breathing was heavy, a mix between pure exhaustion, weakness, and inhaling smoke.

The pain of the bite on the right side of his stomach had him occasionally lifting a hand to cover it, as if that would do anything to make it more bearable. His brows were pulled tightly in a worried furrow, watching as the saviors destroyed Alexandria. Tears brimmed his eye, threatening to spill over at a moments notice. He kept moving despite his struggle, avoiding the many fires around him and tossing smoke bombs to better hide his movements.

He had felt like he failed this community.

Not being able to protect it from Negan's cruel actions.

He managed to get everybody to safety by helping them down into the sewers, but he still felt guilt settle deep in his chest, not being able to ignore the awful feeling of failure.

He managed to limp over towards the church, hand reaching to touch the cold brick wall for stability as he leaned his back against it, head resting on the solid surface. He closed his eye, his lips parted in quiet pants as he attempted to regain as much energy as he could.

He couldn't let himself give up now. He had to fight through it just a little longer. Just a little longer...

He lifted his head back up, opening his eye again. Instead of being met with the sight of white smoke and the glows of burning buildings, he was met with a different kind of glow.

Through the fogginess of the smoke, something was glowing a pale white. It was subtle. Soft. But undeniably noticeable. He thought he had just been seeing things. He blinked, leaning forward just slightly. The light never moved or disappeared. It was still. A sight that made an unsettling feeling fill Carl's chest.

Just as he went to push away from the wall, he heard it.

"Carl."

He startled, looking over to his right where the quiet voice came from.

But nobody was there.

His breathing got heavier with adrenaline, hand tightening on the strap of the cross-body satchel with the tiniest bit of fear controlling his fingers. He turned his head again to look back where the soft light had appeared──but it was gone.

Instead, it was replaced with a figure. Closer this time.

He squinted, bracing his hand on the brick wall behind him as he took a hesitant step forward to get a closer look. He watched as the silhouette slowly emerged from the smoke, and the familiar body that he saw had his breath come out slower, had him feeling like his heart could explode right inside of his chest.

He recognized that face. Those eyes. That outfit──

And the body that stained the front of that fitted top. The three holds ripped through the grey fabric. The wounds.

He knew all too well where those came from...

───

The loud sounds of gunfire crackled all around the community, mixing with the awful sounds of the Wolves wild screaming and war cries and maniacal laughing as they attacked the innocent people of Alexandria.

You were sneaking your way past the attackers, ducking behind trees and using your weapon when needed. You were trying to find Carl, who you'd lost earlier when everything first started. But a certain sight had you holding off.

You could see a little boy──maybe ten years old at most──running and hiding from one of the Wolves. You knew you had to help him, save him. You couldn't just leave a little boy to fend for himself.

So, you followed the man who had his eye out for the kid. You tried your best to make minimal noise as you followed close behind, trying to keep your presence hidden so you were able to sneak up on the guy. You had been able to do that successfully...until the man got sick of teasing the boy and ultimately decided to run at him. Your body acted on instinct and stepped out from your hiding spot behind a large tree, slipping your gun out of its holster on your hip and chasing after the man.

Meanwhile, Carl was putting up his own fight.

He had been hiding in the house with Enid, whom he forced to stay with him in order to protect Judith. And to also keep her safe as well. He had only stepped outside when he spotted Ron sprinting away from one of the Wolves men. He came outside while Enid followed close behind, and a shot rang-out from the M4 held in his hands, sending a bullet straight into the man's leg. The man dropped in pain, and Carl took that as his opportunity to step off the porch and approach the man that now lay in the grass.

His panting was soft yet deep, his steps slowing to a halt as he stood over the guy, but kept distance between them. His eyebrows were taut close together, jaw tensed as he focused on the threat at hand. The man was looking up at Carl, pleading for him to help him. Though Carl could see the look in his eyes──mock fear──and his expression only became more defiant. He kept his gun aimed at the man, at his head──

But his focus broke when he heard a voice call out to him from his right, and his turned his head at the familiarity of it.

"Carl!" you shouted as you spotted him, looking down at the small by who clung desperately to your finger as you quickly guided him up the street to where you knew he'd be safe.

The man was still close behind right on your tail, but you worried more about getting the boy in a safe environment first than killing him.

You looked down at the boy and gently pushed on the back of his shoulder, telling him 'go, you'll be safe with him.' and watched as he ran the rest of the way up the street towards the three other teenagers.

While you turned around and pointed your gun at the man behind you and fired, the male Carl was dealing with had his larger hands wrapped around his gun in seconds when he got distracted, trying to pull it from Carl's grip. He struggled against the pull, the fight for the carbine feeling like a game of tug-of-war as he grunted. His finger found the trigger again and pressed, firing a shot at the man's head. He dropped dead on the ground with a light thud.

You watched as the man you had just killed dropped onto the pavement beneath him, and just as you were about to spin around to look at Carl──

White-hot pain surged through your body. Every muscle tensed up. The gun slipped from your fingers and fell to the ground with a clatter. Your lips parted as if to try and scream, but nothing came out. Your hands shook as your head tipped down to look at your stomach.

Dark red liquid seeped through your shirt, feeling a large, unfamiliar hand on your left shoulder from behind. Your knees buckled as the weapon dragged out, and sunk back in again──twice, a third time, before another shot rang out and the man dropped behind you.

You didn't register the sounds of heat footsteps pounding against the pavement or the panicked sound of Carl's voice yelling out your name. You simply dropped to your knees with shaking hands lifting to gently graze your fingers near where the knife stuck out of your torso.

Carl dropped to his knees in front of you as soon as he was close, hands lifting to cup your face and make you look at his face instead of at the knife poking out of your stomach. His widened eyes stared down at the blood seeping through your shirt, the obvious wounds standing out. His hands shook as he panicked, freaked out.

Your eyes lifted to his, feeling a hand move from your cheek to the back of your head. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling with every inhale and exhale. You could hear his whispered 'no's' under his breath, obviously unaware of how to react.

"You're okay, you're okay..." he breathed out, finally looking at your face instead of on your wounds.

"Carl..." his name tumbled from your lips in the quietest way he's ever heard from you.

"I'm right here, you're going to be okay...I promise, I promise..." he mumbled quietly, trying to ignore the stinging in the corners of his eyes.

He attempts to maneuver you so he could pick you up, wanting to get you help.

"We...we can make it to the infirmary, we can make it──" he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince you or himself when he rushed that out.

Because he knew you couldn't make it to the infirmary.

And you knew that too.

You wince as pain shoots through you at the feeling of Carl attempting to move you, resisting against him.

"Stop- stop..." you mutter, breathing hard as your eyes close.

He stops immediately, and finally──he lets his eyes fill up with tears. Warmth trickles down his cheeks when he blinks, moving a hand up to the back of your head once more when you move to rest your forehead against his shoulder. He knew what the outcome of this was going to be. But he tried to convince himself that it wouldn't happen. That you wouldn't go.

But you both knew the reality.

He pressed his face against the top of your head, his vision blurring, mumbling your name against your hair, his voice breaking. You soon lift your head up with what little energy was still lingering in your body. Your breathing was soft. Shallow. Quiet. Your eyes lifted up to his.

You didn't want him to be upset. You always hated seeing him like that...

With the small amount of life you clung onto, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, soft but sad, and your eyes filled with tears just as his did. You lifted a trembling hand up to his face, fingertips brushing ever so softly against his cheek, leaving it wet and stained with your blood.

He visibly swallowed at the affection, tears brimming his eyes heavier than before as his brows furrowed. And when the weight of your body slowly slumped against his, he felt numb and incomplete.

───

"No..." he muttered, shaking his head as his hands lifted to cover his face as he looked down.

Guilt surged through his body.

He had to be dreaming. You couldn't be there. You couldn't.

But you were.

He uncovered his face and blinked once, twice, before he began to tear up. Your name fell from his lips in a shaky whisper, his head tilting just slightly as you stepped closer and closer.

He knew he was hallucinating. He knew he was.

"I told you it would fall one day, hadn't I?"

Your voice felt foreign to hear.

He shook his head.

"You're not here..." he mumbles, almost in a fearful tone.

A light smile spread across your lips at your boyfriend's denial of his hallucination, tilting your head.

"Just accept the sight of me while it lasts..."

He blinked, a warm tear rolling down his face as you stepped closer to him, until you were face to face. You were dead. But you felt so...real. You looked so real. He watched as your eyes wandered around his face, observing how he looked, gaze lingering on the bandage that wrapped around his right eye──or lack there of.

He flinched back against the wall slightly as you reached a hand out, but couldn't help but melt into the cold feel of your hand when your fingers touched his cheek.

"I see you're close to the end..." you whisper, words coming out as more of an observation.

Carl couldn't even form anymore words. He was solely focused on you──his dead girlfriend, who felt so real in this moment of his vulnerability. His eye fluttered closed as he tried to grasp onto reality.

When he opened it again, the feel of your fingers was no longer, and you were gone...

───

The sewers were damp. Cold. Deafeningly silent.

Nobody spoke a single word, too exhausted. Too consumed by dread and sadness to say anything. To do anything but sit there.

Carl blinked slowly, his hat resting on the ground beside him. He was sat slumped in a corner, exhausted and accepting the fate he was now destined to meet.

Death.

He knew it would happen sooner or later, one way or another. But he never wanted it to be this early. This soon.

All that he had been thinking of earlier was the safety of everybody else, the safety of Alexandria. But now, all that was on his mind was you.

The guilt he still felt pooling in his chest was an all too familiar sensation. He felt it that day, holding your dying body in his arms. He felt it every single day after. And he still feels it now. If he had just been quick enough, if he had just noticed the other man approaching from behind you sooner...but he hadn't. Maybe then, he'd be able to save you, and you wouldn't be dead. Maybe things would be different now. Maybe he wouldn't be sitting her right now, fatigued, feverish, on the brink of being dead at a moments notice.

He let out a quiet sigh as he closed his eye, hands resting lightly on his thighs.

He couldn't get your face out of his mind. It wasn't like he was complaining. He'd do anything to see you again, and not just as a figment of his imagination. Even if it meant he had to die to see it.

Just as his eye opened again──

There you were.

Sitting pretty on your knees in the corner opposite of him. Hands on your thighs. Staring longingly at his face.

Still with those awful wounds through your stomach.

The soft, dim lighting from the two lanterns sitting in front of him illuminated your face, making your eyes glimmer.

"You seem tired..."

His lips parted softly as he stared at you, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch your soft skin that he craved to feel the warmth of one last time. He inhaled quietly, going to say something back, but your voice stopped him.

"Shh...you don't want everyone in here thinkin' you're crazy, talkin' to yourself, do you?"

Carl fell silent at your small statement.

He knew that if he started to speak, to reply to what you were saying to him, everyone down here with him would look at him crazy. Because they didn't know you were there. But he did. Only him.

He watched as you got on your hands and knees to crawl over to him until you were sat more towards his right. You reached a hand up again, and this time, he didn't flinch away from it. He accepted the feeling of your fingertips on his warm cheek, the feel of your other hand going to hold one of his that rested on his thigh. The look in your eyes was soft. Gentle. Something Carl knew he wouldn't ever forget.

"You don't always have to be strong, Carl..." you whisper.

"It's okay to feel defeated. To feel guilty...it's okay to rest."

The words that fell so effortlessly comforting from your lips had Carl's chest aching. As if someone had reached in there and squeezed his heart with all their might. He leaned into the feel of your hand against his face, his eye beginning to well up with tears again.

"You can let go...you don't have to fight it anymore. You don't have to fight to survive anymore. Just accept this...freedom."

He closed his eye as he found himself leaning further into your palm, not being able to ignore the heavy feeling in his chest for much longer.

Your hands lifted, fingertips brushing his sweat-dampened bangs off his face. You leaned down, pressing a feather-light kiss to the overheated skin of his cheek. The feeling was surreal to Carl. A feeling he's missed far too much. The last thing he ever wants to feel before he accepts the reality of how he felt.

"I'm here..."

───

Your voice wasn't necessarily the last thing that Carl got to hear. Your kiss and touch wasn't necessarily the last thing that Carl got to feel. But they were the last things he thought of──

before he pulled that trigger.

Carl's room felt empty as Michonne stood in it. It didn't feel right. Rick couldn't even come up into his room because he knew that if he did, he'd breakdown all over again.

She wasn't looking for much in particular. Just remembering.

The graze of her fingertips against the blanket that lay on his bed, the way her eyes watered when she saw one of his flannels hanging up near the closet. It gave her a heavy feeling deep in her chest, in her stomach.

Then she decided to search further.

She got down on one knee, fingers curling around the edge of his blanket and pulling it up. When peering beneath the bed, she could see a box. A small, cardboard box. She reached under and pulled it out, looking down at it with a curious furrow in her brows. Her hands were gentle when sliding the lid off, setting it carefully on the ground. What was inside only made that knot in her stomach feel tighter.

Polaroids.

Small items that she had assumed belonged mostly to you.

A box dedicated to your presence.

Setting the box on the floor, she picked a photo up with shaky fingers. She observed it. A candid. A picture you probably never knew Carl ever took. Sitting out on the front porch with Judith.

A small, sad smile tugged at Michonne's lips, and she looked further.

Candids of you doing simple tasks like reloading a gun, laying on the couch while you napped, playing with Judith. Pictures you were clearly aware he took, like one of you smiling at the camera, brushing your teeth while you gave the camera an annoyed look that Michonne assumed was towards Carl, and one of you excitedly pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she looked down at her lap, closing her eyes as she attempted to keep the tears at bay. What was in this box that he had kept hidden away under his bed was clear proof to Michonne that he cherished you deeply. Every day.

As hard as it was having him gone, it gave her that small bit of comfort in heart at the fact that he wasn't alone anymore.

He had you.

You only ran into him last night because of Rebecca, who had insisted you come downtown for drinks and thought it would be nice to secretly have Leon with her without your knowledge. It was just a drunken hookup, it was never supposed to happen. But it did. And you thought that the least you could do the next morning was to make him breakfast.

But it seemed that he didn’t want breakfast. He wanted to talk…more like argue without meaning to.

“Don’t act like last night was just a mistake that you can clean up with eggs and coffee.” Leon muttered quietly, watching you stand at the counter with a slightly perplexed look on your face.

You were trying to pretend that last night wasn’t a big deal, because you didn’t want to make it a big deal. Why? Because it was never meant to happen.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen, Leon. We were drunk…that’s it…”

“We were drunk.” Leon repeated, countered, mocked almost.

“Yes. We were drunk.” you sassed back, shifting your weight to one foot and turning to look at the tall man who stood in the doorway of your kitchen.

He lets out a deep sigh, his hair falling in front of his eyes as he tipped his head ever-so-slightly to the right.

“You always do this.” he exhaled.

“You always…pretend things don’t mean anything when they start to get…real.”

You felt yourself rolling your eyes before you could stop your actions.

“You think I don’t let shit get real? I spent so long waiting for you to.” you rebutted, tired of the arguing.

“But it feels real to me now, it felt real to me then!”

The tension in your jaw eases slightly with the words that spilled from his mouth, his voice raising up an octave.

“...did it?” you say in a flat, dull tone, almost not believing him.

Those cold, narrowed down eyes you’re so used to seeing, soften. They go soft as he looks at you, obviously attempting to hide the fact that you got to him.

“Yeah…it did. I know I sucked at showing it.” he hesitantly muttered.

Your own eyes started to warm and soft around the edges when he admits that. You didn’t know whether to continue to fight back…or to give in to his tenderness and apologize.

You weren’t really sure which option you chose when your next words tumbled from your lips.

“I won’t believe it until you prove it.”

You give a firm, mechanical nod.

"We have word that he is being taken there from Bucharest, Romania." he continues, folding his hands behind his back as he slowly walks away.

"You will be alone on this mission. But you will have guidance from обработчик." ("handler.")

«Стоп». he orders your handler. ("stop.")

«это хорошая длина. теперь сделай волосы менее рваными». ("that's a good length. now, make the hair look less choppy.")

Your handler pauses for a moment, before they comply and work on layering your now short hair.

A few seconds of silence go by, before the agent speaks up again.

"Bring my asset back in one piece. Understood?"

«Да, сэр». ("yes, sir.")

───

The aircraft was mostly silent, the only sounds the occasional Russian muttering from agents and metal clicking together as you assembled your sniper rifle.

The pieces slide together effortlessly, your hands used to the task.

You were completely focused, the HYDRA agents sitting around you forgotten.

5 hours left, and then you'd finally be in Berlin.

«Актив». ("asset.")

Your head immediately perks up at the sound of one of the agents rough voices, looking at him with those cold eyes of yours.

Eyes that didn't used to be so emotionless. That used to express more than just anger and determination.

«Скрытность и бесшумность — вот что главное». ("discretion and silence─that's what matters most.")

You nod, eyes flitting back down to your rifle as you reloaded the bullets with precision.

«У тебя есть план, да?» ("you have a plan, right?")

«Да». you reply lowly. ("yes.")

«Хорошо...» the agent trails off, looking down at his hands that rested in his lap, before looking back up at you. ("good...")

«Сделай это побыстрее». ("do it quickly.")

───

"You can't just wipe him again─he's already unstable!"

You struggle against the strong hands holding your arms back, trying to resist him from dragging you away from the door.

«Тебе здесь нечего сказать». ("you have no say in this.")

"I take care of him, I should have a say!" you yell, clearly frustrated and angry.

They couldn't just wipe him again, he's far too unstable for it! He's been out of cryostasis too long!

And you hated seeing him get wiped just as he started to remember, started to remember someone that was clearly important in his life.

You were livid.

The Winter Soldier's pained screams sounded out, reaching your ears even through the heavy-duty door that separated the two of you.

«Иди, подготовь медицинский кабинет». the agent orders, turning you around and pushing you ahead. ("go get the medical room ready.")

«засранец!» you shout, shoving the agents shoulders harshly before you turned on your heel and stormed down the long corridor. ("asshole!")

The agent simply shook his head, turning to open the door as he muttered under his breath.

«Сука...» ("bitch...")

───

Your steps were quiet as you walked around the perimeter of the centre, cold eyes scanning your surroundings. One hand held a gun, while the other clutched an access card you had stolen off of a security guard after taking him down quietly.

Just as you moved to use that access card on the security door you approached, it suddenly opened on it's own.

You pause, glancing around.

And then an alarm sounded from inside of the building.

Deciding to not stall and wonder what happened, you took your easy way in and stepped forward.

You toss the access card to the side carelessly, shifting to hold the gun in both hands. You adjust the suppressor on the barrel as you sneak around the inside of the building.

The further in you get, the more doors you see that are supposed to be closed, are opened. Any door that would need an access card were open.

The sound of shards of glass crunching beneath your boots was all you heard, aside from the loud, blaring alarm. You glance down, following the broken glass on the tiled floor.

A gunshot suddenly rang out from a room close by, and you immediately redirected yourself.

As you approach the open door, you spot your mission.

Violent. Fighting.

Just as brainwashed as you were.

Your eyes scan around the room, spotting three other people trying to contain the asset.

Two men and a woman.

Finally, making them aware of your presence, you step fully into the lobby, lifting your glock and shooting at one of the sprinklers on the ceiling in an attempt to create a distraction.

As cold water begins to spray all around the room, soaking everything, you begin walking over to the asset.

His head snaps your way, and he turns away from the man he was just standing in front of, beginning to stride your way.

Before he can fully reach you, your hand shoots toward his wrist, fingers locking around the vibranium in an attempt to restrain him. He reacts immediately, flesh hand smacking the gun from your other hand, sending it flying onto the floor.

You quickly grab onto the front of the shirt he was wearing, but he was quick to use a powerful kick to your abdomen to push you back. His metal arm slips from your grip, and you balance yourself against a nearby table.

It was clear he wouldn't go down without a fight.

You hop up onto the table behind you, your foot slams flat against the assets chest as soon as he's close enough. His vibranium hand lifts, gripping your ankle and pulling your leg.

You grunt as your back slams down on the solid surface of the table, moving your free leg to wrap it firmly around the assets waist. You hear a huff come from him, your eyes lifting to his face.

Water drips down from his hair onto your forehead, trickling down your temple as your hands lift to claw at his jaw. In the midst of the chaos, his eyes flick down to your right arm, and he falters.

You look down as well, seeing what he was distracted by──the scar left behind of a bite mark.

In the few seconds that the two of you were distracted, a man lunged at the asset. You sit up quickly, watching as the assets attention was no longer on you, and was now on the man who attacked.

You take advantage of the new distraction, sprinting towards where you gun had been laying on the wet, slippery floor. You lean down, picking it up, but when you turned around to aim, the asset and the man who had lunged at him were gone.

You look around frantically, but he was nowhere to be seen.

«Ассет, доклад». your handlers voice suddenly crackles through your earpiece. ("asset, report.")

Giving no response, frustrated, you stare at the broken exit, breathing hard.

«...он сбежал». ("...he got away.")

───

Bucky's head lifts slowly, a low groan coming from his lips.

His eyes flutter, slowly moving around in confusion. He glances to his left, only to see his arm stuck beneath a heavy industrial vice. His flesh hand braces against the side of it, his brows furrowing.

"Hey, Cap!" a male's voice rings out, making Bucky lift his head.

Two men suddenly enter from either of the open doorways, and one Bucky immediately recognizes all over again.

A small, strained sound comes from his mouth, followed by a quiet exhale, his flesh hand falling from where he had placed it on the edge of the machinery.

"Steve..." his voice came out, a bit softer than expected.

"Which Bucky am I talking to?" Steve asks, nodding his head slightly in the man's direction.

Bucky's eyes lift to his friends', blinking slowly.

"...your moms name was Sarah..." he pauses for a moment, before a little smile started to come across his lips and his words came out in a gentle chuckle. "You used to wear newspapers in your shoes..."

Steve's lips pull upwards just slightly, before his head tilts. "Can't read that in a museum."

"Just like that, we're supposed to be cool?" Sam asks, his tone having a bit of a sarcastic lilt to it, looking at Steve.

"What did I do..." Bucky sighs, his lips pursing together.

"Enough." Steve answers, earning a deep sigh from Bucky.

"Oh, god, I knew this would happen..." he tips his head down. "Everything Hydra put inside me is still there...all he had to do was say the goddam words."

"Who was he?" Steve asks.

"I don't know..." Bucky answers quietly.

"People are dead." Steve says. "The bombing, the setup, the doctor did all that just to get ten minutes with you. I need you to do better than 'I don't know'."

Bucky is silent for a second, trying to think. Trying to remember.

"He...he wanted to know about Siberia..." Bucky breathes out. "...where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where─"

"Why would he need to know that." Steve interrogated, interrupting Bucky.

"...because I'm not the only Winter Soldier..."

"Well, I assumed that much. There were two of you, from what I heard." Sam huffs, looking between Steve and Bucky.

Bucky's brows draw together in confusion, looking up at the man.

There was another asset? In the centre?

"...there was?"

"Yeah!" Sam threw his hands up. "Some crazy lady trying to restrain you or something..."

Bucky pauses, glancing down at the dirty concrete floor beneath him.

And suddenly, it click.

He remembers fighting a woman in the lobby of that centre. And he remembers seeing the scar of a bite mark on her right arm...

He mumbles a name as everything finally registers in his head.

"Who?" Steve asks, now confused himself.

Bucky mutters the females name again, lifting his head in a slight panic.

"She...she was my caretaker. My assigned caretaker, in Siberia..." he trails off, his breathing becoming uneven as he starts to put all the pieces together. "They must've..."

"...made her your replacement after your escape..." Steve finishes his sentence for him.

"Jesus Christ..." Sam mutters, turning to the side as he paces around the abandoned room.

The pace of Bucky's heart begins to speed up, he felt like it could beat straight out of his chest.

If HYDRA had really made his caretaker into his replacement after his escape two years ago...he could only imagine what they had been doing to her...

───

You took in a sharp inhale through your nose, the pinch of the needle piercing your skin feeling heavier than it should have.

You exhale through your mouth, your head tipping down weakly as the commotion of HYDRA agents and medical technicians drown out around you.

Your fingers curl tightly into your palms, nails digging into your skin hard.

You felt numb. Like you weren't real, like you weren't alive.

Honestly, you haven't felt real in months. Not since you were forced to be a caretaker, and especially not now, not when you're being turned into the exact subject you had been caring for.

But there was absolutely nothing you could do. You didn't have control over your life anymore. HYDRA did.

Your eyes flick to the needle in your arm, blinking wearily as the medical technician sitting in front of you draws your blood.

«Когда закончите, мы вернём её в криостаз». an agent says while approaching the medical technician. ("when you're done, we'll put her back into cryostasis.")

The technician nods in response, and you slowly lift your head to look up at the agent. He gives you a smirk, leaning down to be eye level with you.

«Мы почти довели тебя до совершенства». he says. ("we've almost perfected you.")

«Совсем скоро ты станешь таким же, как Джеймс...» ("very soon, you'll be just like James...")

───

As the hours ticked by, you impatiently waited for agents to track down the asset once more.

You had gotten scolded over your earpiece for losing the asset not long ago, and it only made your anger rise.

«Как ты мог его потерять!?» ("how could you lose him!?")

«Ко мне заглянули неожиданные гости!» ("i had unexpected company!")

Just looking back on the conversation had you huffing a breath of frustration.

The mission hadn't been totally failed yet, but it felt like it. You almost had him. If it hadn't been for that man, you could have completed this mission hours ago!

Just as your anger builds up more and more inside of you, your handlers voice comes through the earpiece.

«Аэропорт Лейпциг/Галле». he starts. ("leipzig/halle airport.")

«Дорога займет два часа. Выезжай прямо сейчас, и, может быть, эта миссия увенчается успехом». ("the trip will take two hours. Leave right now, and maybe this mission will be a success.")

You huff at the way he speaks to you.

Shaking your head, you mumble under your breath as you begin to search for a ride.

«Дик». ("dick.")

───

You had a perfect view from where you stood atop the highest level of the parking garage, looking through the scope of your sniper rifle.

You didn't know how easy this would be, not with so many other people standing around that you didn't quite know.

But all you knew was that you had to get the asset.

You adjust the sniper, getting just the perfect position...and then you pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the concrete ground between both groups, a way to make your presence clear, making every stall and lift their heads in confusion.

You drop the sniper, and without hesitation, you vault over the concrete barrier of the parking structure. Several stories below, the next level appears. Your boots slam against the lower ramp hard enough to crack concrete and dust loose before you immediately keep moving.

You kept going until you were far enough down that you didn't need the barriers anymore, and you jumped down to the ground. Immediately, you begin to stride straight towards the asset.

Towards your mission.

And Bucky simply stares.

This wasn't good. Not at all.

It was clear you were brainwashed, being controlled.

Everyone seemed utterly confused, and even more on edge and ready to strike.

Just as your walking past people, a hand shoots out to grab your arm, clearly trying to stop you.

You place your hand firmly against their chest, clearly a man, and shove him back with no hesitation.

Your hand then shoots out and grabs onto Bucky's arm, who attempts to break free.

«Объект найден». you say lowly, speaking to your handler through your earpiece. ("asset retrieved.")

Bucky says your name, reaching a hand out to grab your wrist.

But you didn't respond.

That wasn't your name anymore.

You drag him away from the group, your strength only overpowering his because he doesn't want to fight you.

He wouldn't ever willingly fight against you.

"I know you're still there." he says, stumbling as you tug him along.

You don't give a response, only tighten your hold on him as you keep walking.

But you wouldn't be walking for long.

Thwip!

You halt, your lips parting in a silent gasp as your knee buckles, grip loosening on the assets arm.

You glance down, just to see an arrow sticking striaght through your knee, having entered through the back.

As much as you try to keep yourself standing, your leg gives out, and you falling onto the ground. You brace yourself with your hands, trembling breaths slowly leaving you as you shift to sit properly.

A voice calls out. Someone runs up to Bucky and drags him back. And there wasn't much you could do. You couldn't stand back up.

Your hands move down to cradle your knee, warm blood coating your hands. By the time your eyes lifted back up, the asset was too far away with whoever had dragged him back.

And your mission was failed.

Again.

For good.

───

Bucky glanced up at Steve from where he sat on the medical examination table in the Wakandan lab, blinking up at his best friend.

It felt weird no longer having his metal arm attached to him. Half of his body felt so light...

"You sure about this?" Steve questions, approaching Bucky.

Bucky looked away for a second, before back at Steve. "I can't trust my own mind."

He pauses for a second before continuing. "So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing...for everybody."

Steve gives him a small nod, glancing down at the shiny floor beneath him. Silence fell over the two men, before Bucky lifted his head up again.

"Steve?"

Steve glances back at Bucky, blinking at him. "Yeah?"

Bucky swallows, looking down at his lap. He wasn't sure how Steve would even be able to do what he asked for...if he could even figure out the location...but...

"...please, find her and bring her here. She needs the same treatment as me...and I can't just leave her under Hydra's control."

Steve blinks at Bucky again, his brows furrowing slightly.

He knew exactly who he was talking about──the woman who had tried taking him both at the centre and the airport.

"Buck─" he sighs.

"Please." Bucky practically begs, tilting his head. "...please."

Steve takes a deep breath.

He didn't know if he should listen to him or not. But...if Bucky really wanted her here too...

"...fine." he finally mutters, looking at his best friend again.

Buck gives a small smile. "You promise?"

"Promise." Steve replies, pausing for just a second, before he continued.

"...I'll find her."

i suck at writing action scenes, i am so sorry...and i got lazy towards the end... also been watching the mission: impossible movies...i'm obsessed. who wants an ethan hunt fic.

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