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the shooter wasted no time, moving with complete certainty, dragging the man to the nearest car like a sack of meat, knife already out, gleaming in the light. the tire hissed, the car sank a little, and the man, still bound by bucky's makeshift restraints, thrashed like a worm on a hook.

he made no move to stop him then either. bucky watched with an almost morbid curiosity, and an even darker compliance, listening as the man descended from defiance, to anger, to desperation, to fear. screams dissolving into tears. he'd been here before. only he'd been the one holding the knife then.

the car sank lower, the man sobbed, and bucky twitched the same time frank pulled the man out from under the car by his leg. bucky stared as frank asked if he cared if any were left alive. he didn't know. he couldn't tell if the guilt he felt was because it was wrong—or because a part of him understood exactly why it wasn't. ❝ i don't care what you do. but they aren't going to keep those people alive if they don't have a buyer. ❞

bucky made a face. something akin to anger, or disgust as the shooter explained who they were up against. ❝ then we better get moving. ❞ bucky said, walking briskly towards one of the dealers cars—a stereotypical black suv, ❝ hit them hard and fast, make sure they have no time to kill or use them as hostages. you know where this warehouse is? ❞

Frank doesn't say much, just walks over to whoever got pointed out and starts dragging them towards the nearest car. A knife gets quickly taken out from his vest and he punctures the tire; resting the man's head underneath the car. A small hiss is let out as the vehicle moves slightly and the man starts struggling with him; just bound arms swiping at him to get away. The car looming over them as it slowly moves down.

"Where are they? They were supposed to be handed over to those assholes at the Crossroads church and they didn't make it. What happened!" He barked at him, holding him in place as the 'boss' struggled with Frank.

[Fuck you!]

Frank takes the knife out and makes another puncture in the tire, the car moving even more now. "You think your head can survive the weight? You know you'll feel every inch of it happening. The car slowly crushing your fucking head as it bursts open finally crushing your damn brain. You know you survive 15 minutes after?"

[Fuck you! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!]

The man screams before crying as the car moves closer and closer.

[I don't know! I don't know! They didn't show up! We stashed them at our warehouse with our merchandise! We had nowhere else to put them, they fucked us over!]

Frank punctured the tire again and watched as the car slowly descended down on the man, his screams filling the air before he pulled him by his leg away from the car.

"—You care if any of them are left alive?" He asks the stranger, looking at the way he moved, he had a feeling he didn't. It's not like they had the time to be fucking around anymore.

"I'll take you up on your offer,too." He added, knowing he meant he'd help with the women when they found them. "We get them to safety and find out more later. This church," Frank shook his head, his jaw set tight. "They start indoctrinating low tier drug offenders, give them the salvation speech and then have them do shit like this to prove their loyalty. If those assholes didn't show, it means something went wrong on their end."

she was a walking, talking contradiction. all softened edges and harmless eyes, but the way she said they, as if she wasn't tethered to them, like she wasn't still reading from a script handed to her in some cold room lined with glass and clipped words and invisible chains, and always with that look—like she knew him. like she understood.

❝ they never are. ❞ he said dryly. he'd lived through countless conflicts and they were always the same. led by men and women with too much power sending other people to die so they can get more. ❝ you can tell whoever sent you here, i'm not done either. ❞

he watched her watch him, two oposing forces pushing and pulling against each other. whoever she really was, and whoever she really worked for, bucky didn't think it mattered in the long run. ❝ you say you're not here for a weapon, but you talk like you're taking inventory. ❞ the bracelet. the carefully measured breath. the way she looked away right before the real line—i don't want to be next. that was the hook. the hunted always made the best bait. ❝ if that's true, what's stopping you from taking care of the problem yourself? ❞

clea didn’t flinch.  the edge in his voice didn’t faze her;  it was familiar,  expected.  she'd read the file,  sure — but it was the man in front of her she’d come to see,  not the myth.  the myth didn’t smirk like that.  the myth didn’t ask the real questions.  she leaned back,  slow  &  deliberate,  the corner of her mouth tilting just slightly — not a smile,  not exactly.  something more like recognition. 

❝of course you could walk out, ❞ she said easily,  her tone light,  but not dismissive.  ❝ &  they know it,  too.  that’s why they sent me instead of someone with a badge  &  a speech about cooperation.❞ her fingers brushed the bracelet at her wrist again,  idle,  thoughtful.  ❝they,❞ she echoed,  with the faintest lift of a brow,  ❝are like the ones you already suspect.  the ones who like their monsters behind glass.  same people who tried to own you,  rewrite you,  leash you.  they're not finished.❞

her gaze held his,  steady,  even as her voice softened,  dipped just enough to shift the rhythm of the room.  ❝&  no,  i don’t need you to kill anyone.  or topple anything.❞ she paused,  letting that land.  ❝i’m not looking for a weapon. ❞ another breath.  ❝i’m looking for someone who understands what it means when the wrong people start collecting ghosts like us. ❞ she looked away,  briefly,  as if it cost her something to say it out loud.  ❝you want to know what’s in it for me?❞ her eyes returned to his,  sharper now,  more honest.  ❝let’s just say … i don’t want to be next. ❞

something in his chest seemed to kick like a live wire when she laughed. it had a dangerous kind of confidence to it, like the click of a safety coming off. not loud, or boastful, just certain. he kept his pace even, boots quiet against the concrete, watching her silhouette glide ahead throught the gloom.

❝ outta the two of us? absolutely. ❞ he said. she tossed him a sidelong glance, all mischief and challenge, and he felt it again—that flicker. rooftop jobs usually meant snipers, extraction points, high-value targets. now it was books, and banter. she cradled the books to her like they were the blueprints to a softer world and when she said don't you dare skim, it sounded like a threat, but felt a lot like trust.

❝ i've fallen from higher, ❞ bucky remarked dryly, the easy grin on his lips softening his dark humour into something congestible. he followed her up the ladder, jacket fabric straining against his metal arm as it pinched between plates but otherwise, the climb was easy enough. and she wasn't wrong. the view was beautiful. the city skyline illuminated by flickering lights like bathed starlight.

kara’s laugh came quiet but sure,  a slip of silver in the dark,  like the glint of a blade catching moonlight.  she didn’t look at him right away — just kept walking,  steady  &  certain,  gaze lifted toward the rooftop’s outline ahead like she was chasing constellations only she could see.  ❝you think i’m the one who’s gonna tap out?❞ she asked,  feigning disbelief with a lift of her brow.  ❝bold of you.  i don’t start things i don’t intend to finish,  barnes. ❞

she let the moment stretch before cutting a sidelong glance his way,  that teasing curve curling at the edge of her lips.  ❝but i’ll let you have your illusions — for morale,❞ she added,  dry,  theatrical.  the books in her arms shifted as she adjusted her grip,  fingertips brushing the weather-worn covers with the kind of reverence reserved for sacred things.  ❝we’ll trade off.  you read me the first chapter,  i’ll read the second.   &  when the words get good,  don’t you dare skim. ❞

she reached the base of the ladder  &  turned,  backlit by the soft spill of streetlight,  hair tousled by the breeze,  eyes bright with mischief  &  promise.  ❝hope you’re not afraid of heights, ❞ she said,  voice light but edged with something electric.  ❝because this book club? it’s got a view. ❞

it was a jarring thing to be seen. she was looking at him the same way people looked at a wreckage after the smoke cleared. not horrified. not curious. just . . . seeing it for what it was. he'd spent years perfecting the art of being unreadable, it was strange to have her open him up to the right page so quickly. he didn't flinch, but his gaze flicked—just once—to the window beside her, tracking nothing. an old habit. ghosts didn't show up in glass, but that didn't mean they weren't watching.

❝ i had to relearn everything, ❞ he said, voice low and worn. he wasn't talking about muscle memory, knives, guns, languages that came back faster than his own name, those things were easy. but other things. how to sit without waiting for orders. how to want something without being punished for it. how to tell if he liked or disliked something and making decisions based on that instead of necessity. now drinking shitty coffee in an aging diner and remembering how to talk to people who weren't trying to kill him was a victory.

❝ simple life isn't so simple for people like us, ❞ bucky said, ❝ but it's a start. ❞

kara watched him,  really watched him,   &  for the first time since stepping into that diner,  she saw it — the same war-torn silence beneath his words that echoed inside her.  he wore his survival like old armor,  battered  &  ill-fitting,  but familiar.  the kind that didn’t protect you from everything,  just enough to keep moving forward.  she’d been so focused on her own fracture that she hadn’t remembered he had the same cracks mirrored in him.  different names,  different ghosts,  but the same kind of ruin.  the kind that teaches you to doubt your hunger,  your wants,  your worth. 

she looked down at her hands,  then back up at him,  quiet for a beat.  ❝you’ve had to relearn this too, ❞ she said softly,  not quite a question.  ❝all of it.❞  there was no accusation in her voice,  only recognition — a kind of dawning understanding that pulled the sharpness from her edges.  she hadn’t been alone in the dark after all.  he’d just learned how to live in it longer.   &  maybe that was what he was trying to teach her.  not how to escape it,  but how to carry light in the meantime.  a flicker.  a match struck against the inside of the ribcage. 

her fingers tightened around the mug.  ❝that’s why you brought me here. ❞ not to fix her.  not to promise something clean  &  untouched.  but to show her what survival looked like when it wasn’t being measured in missions or obedience.  to show her the messy,  ordinary way forward.  the healing that didn’t look like victory but like two people arguing about breakfast in a booth that smelled like grease  &  time. 

the engine ticks as he killed it, too loud in a place where things came to die. she was already halfway out the door, frustration wrapped around her like a second skin as she held her phone high in an effort to get cell service. it was futile, but bucky didn't mention it as he climbed out of the drivers seat. he stayed by the car, pale gaze sweeping their surroundings slowly.

the cornfield surroundings swayed slowly in the distance as he scanned the tree line, but there was nothing but silhouettes and the taste of rain. the place didn't have a name, and it hadn't shown on the GPS, let alone on any map he'd studied. he glanced back at her. maria wasn't wrong. friendly conversations really weren't his thing, but he didn't like the idea of her walking into the gas station alone. something about the town felt wrong. it felt like the kind of nowhere place that people disappeared into.

❝ so you can do the talking, ❞ bucky said as he shut the drivers side door and locked it. ❝ and i'll stock up on roadtrip junkfood. ❞ // @castlevowed , continued from here .

he didn't have to stay. arguably, it would have been smarter if he'd disappeared before the shooter arrived, circled back, and observed from a distance. but the shooter hadn't been targetting him, therefore, they must have been after the gangs. enemy of mine enemy, or something like that. bucky was crouched over one of the survivors, rummaging through his pockets for anything useful.

❝ only loose cash and bullets, ❞ he said, looking up as the shooter approached. there was something off about him, the same way there was something off about bucky. not broken, not exactly, but set wrong. more like a jaw that had been knocked out of place and healed without care. too hard. too tight. and the eyes, he'd seen eyes like that reflected back at him in the mirror too many times.

❝ i didn't call the cops. it's not a hit. and lately . . . i've been doing this a lot. don't really have a name for it. ❞ whatever this was, he was still figuring it out. bucky stood slowly, watching as the shooter dug his foot into one of the goons sides hard enough to make him whimper and twitch. bucky made no move to stop him. ❝ half of them work for la fierra. she's been supplying the coast with guns and explosives. didn't know about the women. ❞ and wasn't that a fucking oversight on his part. bucky's expression hardened, jaw tight, angry. pale gaze swept the area, inspecting the faces of the men that he'd bound and disarmed until he spotted the straw buyer.

❝ if anyone's gonna know where their boss is, it's him. ❞ bucky pointed. ❝ cops'll be here sooner rather than later. i've got a container on highland drive. ❞ the implication was clear: bucky was willing and able to help secure the women intended for utah.

"Got anything on our guest?" Frank radioed Micro again.

[ Nope. Got nothing. Which is really saying something, Frank. I'll keep looking, but so far I'm just getting weird garbage.]

"What do you mean?"

[ Well...the kind of stories people in the community tell each other to even scare us. Undying assassins, spooky disappearances, unknown and forgotten government projects that still run in some zombiefied way. This guy, his training, he should be known, but I'm not finding a damn thing, Frank. Someone's hiding him, or he gets help from someone and they are way up there in a very big chain. ]

"Alright, I get it. We don't know jack shit about him." Frank grunted and lowered the volume on his radio. Didn't want Micro's voice to come out while he's talking to the man. One thing for sure is that he's got some kind of code or strict guidelines because he didn't come rushing towards him after he shot and killed one of those assholes.

"Got anything good?" Frank asks, walking towards the man. He can see now that a few of the bastards are still alive, there's a twitch on his face, his trigger finger tapping, but he doesn't say anything about it. The way this man moved, he wouldn't get a shot off to kill the rest before hitting the sand like these idiots did.

"First: did you call the cops? Second: is this a hit? Third: I don't do this shit often. I don't even know what the fuck the protocol even is at this point. I doubt it involves us sticking around here for long. I'm trimming down the family tree. I just needed one of these assholes," his foot started digging into the side of one of the men who were bound," to tell me where their boss is. They were bringing a shipment of women from down south up to a cult in Utah. This is one of their stops before they make the handover. I need to know where those women are."

he'd seen cold before, brooklyn in january, the hudson iced over, boots soaked through with slush, hands stuffed into too-thin coat pockets. but this wasn't just cold. it was something meaner. it gnawed at the edges of a man, not content to freeze him but intent on hollowing him out from the inside. his nose was already raw, bright and angry form the constant drag of his sleeve across it, and his fingers had gone stiff hours ago, turning a ruddy pink that throbbed beneath layers of blood and dirt. even the gloves he'd scrounged up from a dead german didn't do much more than hold the cold in place.

bucky's mouth twisted into something caught between a grin and a grimace. eugene looked about as good as bucky felt. eyes sunken, lashes rimmed with frost, lips cracked. red nose, red hands. dirt and blood both clinging to him like a second skin, and still, he managed to toss that dry wit like it was nothing heavier than a smirk. ❝ can't blame a guy for trying, ❞ he said, stepping in closer. the pews were gone. cots now lined the nave filled with the wounded, the sick, the dying. it stank of blood, sweat, and desperation.

❝ no morphine, just a bullet with a nazi's name on it . . . and this, ❞ he dug into his pocket, came up with a half-eaten bar of chocolate, and slapped it gently into the good doctor's palm. his fingers lingered a second longer than they needed to—maybe for warmth, maybe because he hadn't touched another human being that wasn't screaming in what felt like years. then bucky stepped back, squinting when eugene spoke around his cigarette and chattering teeth. in war, morphine made you the wealthiest man on the battlefield.

❝ i'll ask around and keep an eye out, ❞ bucky said, ❝ word is we'll be heading out before sunrise. maybe i'll get lucky. what else you need? ❞

nose is poised in the center of face, a bright shade of red, skin angry from the continual rub of sleeve to combat the persistent sniffling that lingers in a climate only growing colder. his hands are the same way, dusted with a shade of pink that cannot be avoided, darkened only by dirt and blood encrusted beneath nails and in cuticles. fingers are stiff as they work to roll scrapped sheets collected from the village nearby that had turned their church into a place for the wounded ... and while their supplies weren't much more generous than the dwindling stock of the other men, he wasn't one to complain.

besides, anything was better than nothing at this point; torn sheets, scrapped linens, medical supplies picked off surrendered germans - long as it did the job.

x ❚❙❘ how about a kiss before i go ?

❛ ah, sergeant barnes, 'fraid i'm all outta those. ❜ he shifts stare out toward @wintrb0rn from beneath the wide-mouthed brim of well-worn helmet. tired eyes & doe-lashes set idle on the other man as if he isn't damn near freezing and plenty in need of a good night's rest ( a good year's rest at this point ). the humor isn't lost on him, he welcomes it's chattering nature with a sort of fondness. when men were laughing, they sure as hell weren't screaming - a trade-off he'd give up damn near anything for all things considered. stained sleeve rises, it wraps tight in his fingers, hot breath blooms around the corners of mouth as he wipes at flesh before fingers move on to seeking the comfort of lucky strike poised behind ear.

❛ outta an awful lot of things, actually. ❜ cigarette roles between frigid figures; he hangs it betwixt lips, paper clamped lose between teeth. sure doesn't make him easier to understand, not that such seems to impede most of the men he works beside in making out what he's saying. ❛ you bring me some morphine, and maybe i'll find a spare. ❜

it was always raining in gotham. it came down in sheets, cold and bitter as if it were trying to wash away all the gunk and trash that filled the streets. what gotham lacked in charm it more than made up for with backstreets and drainage tunnels. gotham was good for that—disappearing. it had a thousand corners that no one looked into too closely. not unless you were looking for something.

he should've known his luck would run out eventually, he just didn't think it would be a handful of baby faced goons with something to prove. four, two with bats, one with a jagged piece of pipe in his hand. improvised weapons that weren't carried just for show.

❝ you don't want to do this, ❞ bucky warned just loud enough to be heard over the pelting rain. the four of them laughed. real teeth-baring, dumb as youth that thought they were invincible, laughter. then one of them swung.

bucky caught the bat mid-air without thinking. not with the metal. not yet. just a gloved hand and the right angle. he twisted the wrist, fast, and the goon screamed as the tendons gave up, pipe dropping onto the asphalt with a resounding clang. // @bcywonder , ♡'d for a starter .

he didn't flinch, he rarely ever did. not when people raised their voices, not when they started flailing like they might be carrying a contagious form of hunted by mine enemies. he just watched, quiet and measured with a single brow raised in silent question. booster's outburst seemed . . . misplaced and strained. there was more to the random attack than was on the surface, booster had obviously been the target but his attackers had been, strange. trained and well-armed, and yet not only did bucky not recognise their particular brand, he also didn't recognise their weaponry.

bucky folded his arms across his chest, one shoulder leaning against the wood of a floor to ceiling sized dresser. the stench in the motel was familiar. old sweat, burned wiring, fear trying to hide behind sarcasm. bucky knew the smell better than he cared to admit. it was the kind of smell that stuck to ones skin like regret. ❝ they come after someone i'm standing next to, that makes it my fight. ❞ he said carefully.

booster had handled himself in the fight, that wasn't up for debate, but now that the danger had come to a brief pause, bucky could look at him—really look at him this time—and he saw the fray around the edges of a carefully sculpted facade. the patchwork suit, worn and scorched, the dangling earpiece. the exhaustion crawling just beneath the surface. bucky saw it all because he'd worn that same look a thousand different ways.

when booster turned from the window, that false bravado peeling off him in layers, bucky's expression softened. sure, walking away would be the smart play. cleaner. safer even. his gaze lingered on booster's hand, the way it gripped the window frame like it was the only thing tethering him to this moment.

❝ until this is over, you're stuck with me. ❞ bucky said, and it wasn't because he had to, but because he chose to. ❝ so, tell me what we're up against. ❞ // @goldbiz , continued from here .

he'd taken the sentries out first, moving in quickly before the two groups could notice their missing men, by the time he'd stepped out into the fray, there were only six men remaining. the fight was almost entirely one-sided as bucky moved between them with devastating precision, incapacitating his enemies with brutal efficiency until a shot whizzed over his shoulder.

the bullet penetrated the throat of a man that had snuck up behind him. bucky snatched a hold of the mans jacket before he could fall, using him as a human shield as he turned to stare at where the shot had come from.

a beat. two. nothing. not aiming for him then. a good shot, an expert marksman, evidently not a member of either of the groups attempting to trade guns. bucky dropped the body unceremoniously to the ground, stepping over him as he gargled his last futile breaths. there wasn't much else he could do except wait for the shooter to join him, so bucky secured the scene instead. disarming and binding the survivors of the gun deal before he moved to inspect the equipment while he waited.

@wintrb0rn

April 19, Las Vegas, Nevada.

Somewhere far from the strip, a meeting between two groups of dirt bags in the desert is happening. Frank is quietly watching from far away, his scope on one of them as he gets ready to pull the trigger. Before his finger can even twitch, there's a blur of a man punching the shit out of them. Small pops of gunfire go off; he can see the light from their muzzles in the dark.

Frank's jaw is clenched tight. "Micro, who is that?" He taps his radio, but he hears nothing but static before a voice cuts in.

[Don't know. Can't get a good read on his face. Maybe a hitman?]

He looks into his scope again, and quickly fires a shot at one of the men creeping up from behind with a gun. Nothing but blood flies into the air as the bullet goes through the man's throat. "Not a hitman. He wouldn't be attacking both groups, and now he's got my position." He says, looking at the man turn his head towards him in the hills.

"Guess, we'll see what his deal is. I didn't see blood splattering everywhere. He might be one of those 'I don't kill' types. Fucking, Saints, everywhere."

for a moment, the girl looked as if she were ready to surrender. hands raised, palms forward as her pursuer slowed to a stop just outside her reach. bucky hadn't known exactly what he was going to find when he'd followed the soldiers from their safe house, he'd figured he'd tail them to whatever side hustle they were working. he'd figured out pretty quickly that it was a kidnapping job.

he recognised the look on her face when she finally spoke. defiance woven into the crack of her voice even as stray sparks of electricity rolled up the length of her forearms and tangled around her fingertips. the sparks were fleeting and if he hadn't seen something similar once before, he might have thought it was a trick of the light.

bucky had seen enough.

he dropped down from the fire escape he'd perched himself on, landing silently behind the soldier that had chased her through the streets of the city for almost six blocks. over her pursuers shoulder, he met the girls eye moments before wrapping his arm around the mans neck. the soldier didn't have time to scream, or even to fight. his eyes bulged out of his head, hands floundering for a weapon that bucky quickly snatched out of his waistband. ❝ i like your spunk, kid, ❞ bucky said conversationally as the soldier thrashed in his grip for a few futile seconds, ❝ but there's more where he came from. ❞

@wintrb0rn //> plotting-starter.

  Her run ends at the bricked cap of an old alley, escape ladders too far overhead for her to reach. The only window boarded up. The door she collides with decidedly, firmly locked. She looses several curses and turns to the mouth of the alley as her pursuer makes the corner.

  She takes a step back before she can stop herself, the heel of her shoe grinding against the end of the alley. Then she sets her feet and squares her shoulders. Tucks her chin a little, to keep her focus set and aim the nastiest glare she can get into her sharp eyes down the alley at him.

  His stance reeks soldier, even if the shaggy hair and simple clothes don't. She knows what she knows of the type. Boots and bad tempers. A willingness to throw little girls around because someone with the right number of little embroidered marks on their hat or jacket or whatever the fuck said so. It's the rules. The order. The orders. She brandishes her hands. It almost looks like surrender, fingers and palms wide, but it's a warning.

  “I'm not going back.” One way or another. A few stray sparks flicker up from her elbow and leap for oblivion from her fingertips, so fast and faint it could have been a trick of the light. “Kill me or fuck off, I'm not going back!”

❝ you think i can't walk out of here right now? ❞ the soldier asked, a trace of a challenge woven into his voice. whatever power her bosses or their bosses' bosses thought they had was nothing more than wishful thinking. he'd taken apart more than a single police station with less. the only reason he was sitting in that interrogation room, the only reason he'd even stepped foot into the station was because he wanted to.

❝ oh? and who's they, huh? ❞ bucky asked, a humorless smile that was all teeth tugging at the corners of his mouth. he suspected she was good at her job, perhaps even an expert in her field, a shining star. but he'd come face to face with people like her over and over again. people who spoke beautifully, eloquently, who said all the right things in all the right ways. but there was always an angle. some agenda hidden inside all of the carefully interwoven hints and unspoken promises.

❝ and what's in it for you? you gonna share this information with me for what? need me to kill someone for you? destabilise a country? destroy an embassy? ❞ that humorless smile remained, as sharp as the curve of a knife, ❝ i don't work for anyone anymore. ❞

clea’s gaze remained steady,  neither pressuring nor retreating,  her words carefully measured.  she saw the quiet resolve in him — the winter soldier,  a man who had been honed by pain  &  time into something beyond ordinary human limits.  she wasn’t naive enough to think she could break him,   &  there was no need to try.  he was the one who had to decide if he wanted what she had to offer.   

her voice was soft,  like a gentle invitation,  but it carried weight — an offer he couldn’t ignore.  ❝no one is keeping you, ❞ she said,  her words almost soothing.  ❝but you’re already in a position where you don’t have full control,  even if you think you do.❞ she leaned forward slightly,  her expression unhurried,  as though she were discussing a simple fact of life.  ❝i’m not offering you shelter or protection.  i’m offering you information — things you need to know,  things they don’t want you to hear. ❞ she let that hang in the air for a moment,  watching him,  her eyes reflecting an understanding that was almost too knowing.  ❝you don’t have to trust me,  but you should know this: you can’t outrun what’s already hunting you.  not forever. ❞ she tilted her head slightly,  her voice lowering.  ❝i can help you avoid it.  or,  at the very least,  i can tell you how to fight back. ❞

his brow furrowed seriously, his mind working through scenario after scenario. with the information she'd provided him with, it was going to be a shitshow no matter what they did. they simply didn't have the manpower or the equipment to ensure that everyone got out of the kill zone before their enemy set the bomb off and any sign of trouble would guarantee the bomb be set off early. ❝ too loud. no guarantee our bombs wouldn't take out some random civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time, ❞ he said almost absentmindedly.

bucky glanced at her, watched the way she pressed her fingers into her collarbone and rubbed at what he could only assume was a phantom injury. something old that had healed over but still gave her some kind of grief. he had similar wounds. ❝ i can get you in without being seen. these guys aren't suicidal, they'll want to put as much distance between themselves and the blast zone as they can. means you'll have time to diffuse the bomb. ❞

his brow was still furrowed. despite suggesting the idea, he was clearly still unhappy with the odds. ❝ while you do that, i'll take them out and clear out civilians as i go. we'll need something to disrupt their communications, keep them deaf and blind to what's happening around them. ❞

that's not going to work .. did she hear him correctly? A small frown formed on her features, well this was certainly a first. Yet Amelia knew that Bucky was far more experienced than she could ever be. The young Holmes gave a small nod of her head half in agreement and half in thought. "A diversion? We could always place some bombs on their trucks within the perimeter, that would distract them, take their eyes away from anything important" although that would take some planning and she was sure that she would need permission from her uncle to even get such weapons.

Amelia ran a hand through raven waves, a soft sigh passing rose coloured lips. Her hand instinctively rubbed the top of her left collarbone, where a scar was placed permanently upon her body. Her other hand began to tremor, she wasn't going to allow others to endure what she also had to endure by James Moriarty. She clenched her fingers into a fist, in a bid to stop the shaking. "We just need to be sure to slip in, and slip back out with those people safe." Hazel hues met his gaze, offering the smallest of smiles.

"Or if you have any suggestions, I am all ears" Amelia was tough, or at least that was what she wanted others to see, yet there were moments where vulnerability slipped through the cracks, and if one was to look close enough they would see the tired eyes of a soldier who woke up with nightmares, and a woman who distracted herself by throwing herself into adrenaline situations.

❝ you've put a lot of thought into this. ❞ bucky said, arching a brow as he examined the menu, ❝ i just like the crunch. ❞ he remembered what it was like in his early days after hydra. remembered struggling to even recognise when his body was hungry after so many years living off of hydra's nutrient paste and protein bars, let alone what he actually enjoyed eating. ❝ most of the places i've gotten pancakes from, the center's always been undercooked. i prefer savory stuff anyway, ❞

he took a sip of his burned coffee. bitter and harsh, and all his. that was another part of this little lesson. making a simple, mundane choice and living with it even if it wasn't satisfying. one step, one action, one choice at a time until things felt right.

❝ it's not about going backwards, kara. ❞ bucky said when he lowered his cup. he leveled his gaze with hers again, eyes that had lived through over a hundred different wars, and countless other conflicts, there was a wealth of experiences hidden behind the depths and he was drawing upon it all to try and move forward. ❝ there's no going back. who you were before, that person is gone. it's about finding our who you are now . . . and apparently you're someone who thinks a lot about pancakes and waffles. ❞

kara huffed a quiet breath — not quite a laugh,  not quite disbelief.  ❝waffles are too structured, ❞ she mused,  scanning the menu with unseeing eyes.  ❝all those perfect little squares,  like they're waiting to be filled just right.  like there’s a correct way to eat them. ❞

she let the silence stretch between them,  her gaze flicking past him to the diner’s window,  where the neon glow of the city blurred against the glass.  ❝pancakes just are.  no borders,  no expectations.  you drown them in syrup,  cut into them however you want.  they don’t ask anything of you. ❞ there was something almost wistful in her voice,  as if she was talking about more than breakfast.   

her fingers skimmed the worn edge of the menu,  tracing over the plastic as if it might give her answers,  as if she could map out a new life as easily as choosing from a list of diner specials.  make something new.  she had spent so long trying to recover what had been taken from her,  as if she could stitch the past back together  &  slip into it like an old coat.  but maybe there was nothing to go back to.  maybe she had to build something from the wreckage,  from the bones of what remained.   

❝i don’t even know where to start.❞ the words came quieter,  like she was afraid of saying them too loud,  like admitting it made it real.  ❝it’s not just failing that scares me.  it’s not knowing if there’s even anything left to build.❞

 &  yet,  she had asked for pancakes.  simple,  familiar.  something warm,  something that belonged to the world of the living.  maybe that was enough.  maybe that was where it started. 

it was easier to be present when the city's heartbeat pounded all around them. the distant call of sirens, the buzzing of florescent lights, the rolling of engines and other strangers burning the midnight oil. the city always felt somehow more real at night. or at the very least, bucky felt comfortable occupying the spaces of the city at night. bucky tipped his head to one side, curious as she asked incredulously if he thought that their night-time book club was a one time deal.

he watched her out of the corner of his eye. beside him at first, slipping easily into place as if they had done this a hundred times before, then slightly ahead. there was an intensity to the way she spoke and the way she moved that gave away how determined she was to make this into a habit. it was . . . unexpected, but not unwelcome.

❝ you'd be right about that, ❞ bucky said carefully, ❝ feels wrong not to finish something you've started, no matter what it is. ❞ he smiled when she flashed him a daring smile, all sharpened edges and intense eyes. ❝ you talk a big game, palamas, but i've got stamina. you're the one who's gonna need a nap between chapters. ❞

kara stepped out first,  the hush of the abandoned library fading as the pulse of the city greeted them — distant sirens,  the occasional murmur of voices carried on the wind.  she cradled pride  &  prejudice against her ribs like a secret worth keeping,  letting the weight of it settle as she glanced toward him,  eyes sharp,  knowing.  ❝oh,  you think this is just a one-time thing?❞ she mused,  the corner of her mouth curving as she slipped into step beside him,  easy as breathing.  the night stretched before them,  quiet  &  endless,   &  she had already decided — this wasn’t just a single evening’s indulgence,  a fleeting moment swallowed by the city’s restless hunger.   

she moved ahead,  just enough to make him follow,  her voice drifting back to him like the echo of something inevitable.  ❝two books,  barnes,❞ she reminded him,  tapping pride  &  prejudice against the spine of a tree grows in brooklyn where it still hid in his pocket.  ❝that’s at least a couple of nights.   &  i don’t think either of us are the type to leave a story unfinished. ❞ the words carried a weight beneath the teasing,  something unspoken yet understood.  they had both left too much behind,  too many pages torn out,  too many endings they never got to choose.  maybe this,  small as it was,  could be different.   

she shot him a look over her shoulder,  dark eyes glinting with challenge,  with invitation.  ❝better pace yourself, ❞ she warned,  all playful arrogance now,  half-daring,  half-taunting.  ❝wouldn’t want you losing steam before we even get to the good parts. ❞ then she turned back ahead,  leading him toward the rooftop,  the city’s glow stretching out before them like a world of stories waiting to be told. 

he sat still, shoulders squared, jaw locked, still as death. he'd learned to outlast the worst kind of interrogations, the ones that broke men from the inside out. this wasn't that. not yet. but it smelled like the start of something close. he watched her, his expression neutral and unreadable even was she spoke, words a double edged sword and smile that was all slow edges and dangerous knowing. the silver at her wrist caught the light, a rhythm of movement that should have been casual but wasn't. a distraction maybe. a tell. or both.

he exhaled through his nose, slow. controlled. he didn't answer, something akin to blunt defiance lacing itself into his gaze. if she was fluent in silence then she'd know he had very little intention of bowing under the weight of time.

❝ no one is keeping me, ❞ the man said, voice rough as spent gunpowder, ❝ i'm right where i want to be. ❞ hydra thought they were chasing him. thought he'd slipped, let himself be hauled into the station compliant and docile, an easy target. but while they'd been chasing him, he'd been hunting them. the real fight hadn't started yet, but it would.

❝ what about you? ❞ he asked conversationally, ❝ were you made to be kept? ❞

056: a police station in the middle of the night. -`♡´- › @wintrb0rn

the fluorescent lights overhead hummed with a hollow,  mechanical rhythm,  casting the police station in a sickly,  artificial glow.  clea sat across from him,  legs crossed,  fingers lazily tracing the silver charms at her wrist — just another rhythm,  another pattern.  her hazel eyes gleamed,  not with kindness,  but calculation,  drinking in every micro-shift in his posture,  the way his metal fingers curled,  the tension in his shoulders that never truly left.  ❝you don’t have to talk, ❞ she murmured,  her voice velvet-soft,  but edged with something serrated.  ❝but silence is a language,  too.   &  i’m fluent.❞ the two-way mirror behind her reflected their tableau in distorted light,  an audience lurking unseen.  she didn’t bother looking.  let them listen.  this conversation wasn’t for them.   

it wasn’t the police holding him here.  not really.  the moment bucky barnes set foot in this station,  the real players had taken notice.  ghosts in government files,  voices that operated just beneath the skin of the world — people who didn’t believe in loose ends.  he fit the profile too well: a relic of war,  a weapon out of time,  a mind too dangerous to be left unchecked.  if he didn’t walk out of here soon,  he wasn’t walking out at all.  clea tilted her head,  a slow smile ghosting across her lips.

 ❝they’re waiting you out,  hoping time will wear you down.  but you  &  i both know — time’s never been their weapon.  it’s always been ours. ❞ her voice dipped,  quiet,  sharp.  ❝you don’t have to trust me.  but if you let them keep you,  you’ll be theirs.   &  you weren’t made to be kept,  were you,  soldier?❞

it was difficult to hear her utter the same questions and uncertainty that plagued his every thought since regaining some semblance of identity. how often had he asked himself the same question? pondered the same inevitability of disbelief and raw undiluted regret and guilt and pain? he felt not unlike the blind leading the blind. hopelessly underprepared and praying she didn't notice.

❝ make something new. ❞ he knew he would never be the same man that he once was. he remembered how the war had changed him. hardened him, made him callous and vindictive. unapologetic in his fury. and his time as hydra's weapon, their personal attack dog, had left him haunted and broken. he could never go back to how he had been before all the blood and violence, but maybe he could forge a new version of himself that wasn't so . . . lost. the same had to be said for her as well.

i want to believe you, she said. he wouldn't tell her that he wanted to believe him too. bucky offered her a half smile when she said pancakes, nodding in agreement as he glanced down at the menu. ❝ i'm more of a waffle guy. ❞

kara curled her fingers around the warmth of the coffee cup,  as if it could bleed into her,  as if it could thaw something frozen deep in her ribs.  she turned his words over in her mind — fail,  try again,  fail again —  &  felt the weight of them settle into the hollow spaces she didn’t like to name.   

❝i don’t know if i believe that,❞ she admitted,  voice quiet,  shaped from something raw  &  uncertain.  ❝coming back implies there’s something left to come back to.❞ she traced the rim of her mug with the pad of her thumb,  eyes fixed on the way the steam curled upward  &  disappeared.  ❝what if there isn’t?❞

the thought lodged itself in her chest,  thorned  &  bitter.  she didn’t look at him,  not yet.  instead,  she listened to the quiet,  to the sound of the world continuing without her permission — the scrape of a knife against toast,  the low murmur of a conversation she wasn’t a part of,  the distant hum of a jukebox playing a song no one was listening to.  a place that didn’t need her.  a life that had gone on without her.

 &  yet,  she was still here.  still breathing,  still speaking,  still wanting — god,  wanting.  something to hold on to,  something to tether her to the world,  something that made all the blood  &  ruin  &  loss mean something.  she had never known how to exist without purpose,  without someone else dictating her movements,  her thoughts,  her very identity.  without that,  what was she?  

her fingers flexed,  released.  a breath in,  a breath out.  ❝i want to believe you. ❞ the words weren’t quite hope,  not yet,  but they weren’t despair either.  maybe that was enough.  maybe wanting was the beginning of something that could be real.  ❝ … pancakes. ❞ it was a start.

this time when the smile came, it was easier, intentional. he watched the way that her eyes seemed to brighten with a challenge, an unspoken dare breathed out between them. she slipped passed him with practiced ease, light footed and smooth as silk, answering his teasing with some of her own.

he watched her for another handful of short seconds. the way she glanced back at him, how her fingers brushed over the abandoned shelves. he followed after her—something that was becoming effortless—and peaked over her shoulder as she drew pride and prejudice from one of the shelves. he remembered seeing the bright orange covers the hotel taft used to hand out to its guests like a gideon bible or a complimentary set of matches.

❝ who could say no to a little jane austen to finish the night? ❞ bucky retorted as he fell into step beside her. he didn't remember much of the novel itself, bits and pieces of the narrative and the writing style trickled into the forefront of his mind as they made their way to her designated rooftop spot. ❝ in one night? that's ambitious even for you. ❞ he said, amusement lacing itself into his voice as he spoke.

kara let her smirk linger,  the kind that meant trouble in the gentlest way.  ❝ alright,  no voices, ❞ she conceded,  tilting her head as if weighing the terms of their unspoken deal.  ❝ but we take turns. ❞ a flicker of challenge lit her eyes as she stepped past him,  brushing close enough for the scent of old paper  &  night air to settle between them.  ❝ &  since you’re so particular about your books,  i say we start with a tree grows in brooklyn. ❞

she didn’t wait for his answer,  only cast him a glance over her shoulder,  teasing,  daring,  as she stepped toward the doorway.   her fingers skimmed along the shelves as they made their way out,  movements lazy,  absentminded — until they weren’t.  she paused,  plucking a worn copy of pride  &  prejudice from where it had been tucked between heavier,  less inviting spines.  she held it up just enough for him to see,  lips curling at the edges.  ❝for variety, ❞ she remarked,  slipping it under her arm as she pushed open the door.  ❝unless you’re afraid of a little romance.❞

outside,  the night air pressed cool against her skin,  the city stretching wide  &  endless beyond them.  the rooftop she’d promised loomed ahead,  waiting,  their own private escape above the world.  ❝but don’t worry,  barnes.  i’ll read the good parts. ❞ a beat.  a wicked little grin.  ❝&  by that,  i mean all of it. ❞

he didn't know her well enough to object on whether or not she was always right, but he was relatively certain that she was right about this. he exhaled slowly, a habit more than anything else and while his expression remained carefully neutral, it was clear that his mind was racing, running through scenarios and weighting the risks against necessity.

❝ that's not going to work, ❞ bucky said, voice firm, ❝ i can't clear the building without setting off every alarm they've got. the second i start moving people, someone's gonna notice. cameras, guards, hell—just one wrong move and we're screwed before you even get to the bomb. ❞

it was an ugly thing to realise that killing people was a hell of a lot easier than saving them. ❝ we need a diversion. something to pull their attention, force them to readjust. like a better target. ❞

Amelia knew that she could talk for England, bouncing off facts and conclusions that sprawled into her head as if it were nothing, the odd looks that she often got, yet here Bucky was looking at her as if she were normal. "I'm always right" Amelia responded, for she had calculated every aspect inside of her mind. "..If we don't stop this from happening, then a lot of people are going to get hurt, and if I call my uncle and make it a national emergency.. he will be too slow, too many protocols and hurdles to get over" Amelia paused.

"we are going to have to do this ourselves..we don't have a choice" She could hear it now in the back of her head, Amelia Jessica Holmes you are reckless! The sound of John Watson's voice often invaded her mind, to try and give her some sense of simple reason. "I have dealt with people like this before, we will have to tread carefully and not be seen. Once I'm in there, I can disarm the bomb and you can help get everyone out. I suspect from that point, we will have, five minutes before they notice that something has gone wrong and probably ten minutes to truly be out of the building before hell breaks loose" She gave a small cock of her head, a slight smirk formed across her lips. "But that's always the fun of it, isn't it?"

❝ i think we've found enough books for one night, ❞ bucky said, ❝ we can always come back. this place doesn't look like it's going anywhere anytime soon. ❞ he added. her second option had bucky releasing a breath that wasn't quite a laugh but had the shape of one, something easy, something light.

❝ reckless, huh? ❞ the word rolled past his lips with ease. he leaned in just a fraction, a movement that wasn't meant to intimidate, but to tease.

❝ you want me to read to you, palamas? ❞ his voice was low, edged with something almost smug, but warm all the same. the tease came almost effortlessly, easier than it should've. a year ago, hell, even a few months ago, he would've let the silence settle there, but not now.

❝ if we're gonna do this, you should know—i don't do voices. ❞

kara watched the way his fingers curled around the book,  the deliberate care of it.  like he was holding something fragile,  something that mattered.   &  maybe it did.  maybe it was more than paper  &  ink,  more than a story — it was a bridge,  a tether to a past that hadn’t been entirely stolen.  she didn’t say anything,  just let the silence stretch,  let him have the moment.  some things didn’t need words.   

but when he looked at her,  something different flickered in his expression — lighter,  a ghost of something unburdened.  it made her chest ache,  just a little,  the way it always did when she caught glimpses of what could have been,  what still might be.  he tucked the book into his pocket,   &  she tilted her head,  considering his challenge.   

❝next adventure … right,❞ she exhaled a quiet laugh,  glancing around at the hollowed-out remains of forgotten stories.  ❝well,  we could always stick around,  find the weirdest book title in the place. ❞ her gaze flickered back to his,  something warm beneath the teasing.  ❝or i know a rooftop,  one of those places no one’s supposed to go but everyone does anyway.  good view,  bad idea.  but we could read there,  if you’re feeling reckless.❞

❝ then i'm not saying it right, ❞ bucky mumbled, because what he was asking her to do was the hardest thing he'd ever attempted. coming back from a lifetime of war, blood, pain, and violence was a constant work in progress and most of the time he felt as if he were performing for some invisible judge, jury, and executioner. ❝ it's not easy. it's the hardest thing you'll ever do. you'll fail, you'll try again, you'll fail again. ❞

bucky turned the mug of coffee absently in his hand. watched the steam rise from the surface and tried not to lose himself in the ordinariness of the motion. he didn't look at her when she asked about him, instead, his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. truth be told, he tried not to think about it.

❝ i don't know, ❞ he said finally, ❝ but i believe it matters that we try. ❞ he nursed his jaw for several short seconds before he met her eye again, ❝ i don't have all the answers. i'm making this up as i go, but i do know this: you're not too far gone that you can't come back, kara. ❞

kara let the silence stretch between them,  let it settle around her like a weighted blanket,  unfamiliar but not unwelcome.  no history.  no past.  just now.   she traced the rim of her cup with a fingertip,  watching the way the steam curled  &  disappeared.  ❝you make it sound easy. ❞ the words weren’t an accusation,  just an observation.  she wondered if he really believed it — that the weight of the past could be shrugged off so cleanly,  left outside like a coat too heavy for summer air.   

her fingers flexed against the ceramic.  ❝maybe it is.  for some people. ❞ she glanced around,  watching the other patrons — people who belonged here in a way she never could.  the man at the counter flipping through a newspaper,  the couple sharing a plate of fries,  the waitress moving through it all like she had done this a thousand times before  &  would do it a thousand times again.  ❝i don’t know if i can be one of them. ❞  but she wanted to be.  what she wasn’t sure of was what she wanted from him.  reassurance? permission? maybe just the chance to sit here  &  pretend,  for a moment,  that she belonged.   

the waitress set a menu down in front of her with an absent smile,   &  kara nodded her thanks.  the gesture felt small but significant.  normal.  she wrapped her hands around the warmth of the coffee cup,  inhaling the scent of something burnt  &  bitter  &  real.  she looked up at bucky again.  ❝&  what about you?❞ her voice was quieter now,  but steady.  ❝do you believe that? that we can just …  exist?❞  her gaze shifted from him. ❝ do you think we can ever have … more? ❞

you pick books like you pick your words, sharp. a little raw, she said. maybe he did. maybe that was how he picked all things, but kara didn't seem to mind it. be let the weight of the book settle, milk and honey wasn't the kind of poetry that soothed—it cut, left its mark, words that bled if you held them too long. he figured it was why it had felt right. some things weren't meant to be easy.

but then she pulled out a tree grows in brooklyn, and for half a second, his breath caught. she placed it in his hands and his fingers closed around it slow, deliberate, as if he was concerned that if he moved too fast it'd vanish. books had a nasty habit of disappearing, being left behind, taken, or like the library, forgotten. it had been a long time since he'd seen this particular book and while it wasn't his old copy, it mattered. a link back to an different time. a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, boyish and charming as he turned the book over in his hands and met her eye.

❝ i guess you do, ❞ bucky agreed tucking the paperback into his breast pocket for later, ❝ which means, you get to pick the next adventure. so what'll it be? ❞

kara turned the book over in her hands,  considering it.  poetry.  it wasn’t what she expected,  but it fit in a way she couldn’t quite put into words.  ❝you pick books like you pick your words,❞ she remarked,  flipping through the pages.  ❝sharp.  a little raw. ❞ there was no teasing in it,  just quiet observation,  the kind that sat between them without needing to be acknowledged.  she thumbed through a passage,  letting the weight of his choice settle before she finally looked up.  ❝i’ll take it. ❞

she let the silence stretch,  long enough for the weight of his pick to settle between them,  before she reached behind her,  pulling her own real find from where she’d tucked it away.  the thin volume of poetry shifted in her grasp as she held up the worn copy of a tree grows in brooklyn.  ❝but i did take you for this type, ❞ she said,  softer now,  a quiet triumph in her voice.  the book was old,  its spine softened with use,  the pages yellowed at the edges,  but it was whole.  whole in the way that mattered.  ❝thought you might like to have it again.❞

❝found it buried in the back,  tucked away like someone meant to come back for it.❞ she didn’t say what she was really thinking — that maybe it had been waiting for him.  she placed it in his hands without flourish,  without expectation.  just a quiet offering.  his fingers closed around it,  lingering,  and that was enough.  kara nudged him lightly as she turned back toward the stacks,  a ghost of a smirk playing at her lips.  ❝guess i win this round. ❞

he leaned back in the booth, the vinyl creaking under his weight and his gaze steady on her as she studied their surroundings. he let her words settle, let the silence stretch between them, thick as the late-night air. i see a place that doesn't need me. he knew that feeling well. places like this didn't wait, didn't give a damn who walked through the door or who never came back.

she searched his face, looking for something, but bucky had spent years making sure people found nothing. still, she pressed, peeling at the edges, pulling at the threads to get to the center of it all. ❝ it's part of the idea, ❞ he acknowledged, ❝ you sit down, you exist for a while, and none of it hinges on who you used to be. ❞ he tapped a finger against the table absently. ❝ no history, no past weighing you down, just now. ❞

there was more to it, other bits and pieces he was able and willing to share, but not yet. for now, he wanted her to sit with it. the concept of existing in a space that so many others did as well. the waitress, a woman pushing late fifties with greying hair around her temples and a friendly smile despite the shadows of exhaustion around her eyes, poured them both cups of burned coffee and encouraged them to view the specials menu. he thanked her. mundane. ordinary. human.

her gaze swept the room,  taking in the flickering neon sign reflected in the window,  the linoleum scuffed from years of tired footsteps,  the old man nursing a cup of coffee like it was the only thing tethering him to the world.  it smelled like burnt grease  &  something sweet,  like pie left too long under a heat lamp.   

❝i see a place that doesn’t need me.❞  the words felt like they weren’t meant to be spoken aloud,  but they slipped past her lips anyway,  quieter than she intended.  her fingers curled,  then relaxed against the edge of the table.  ❝but you brought me here anyway.❞ a beat.  a breath.  ❝why?❞

she searched his face,  looking for something — an answer,  maybe,  or proof that he had one.  there was something careful in the way he watched her,  something patient,  like he knew she’d get there on her own if he just gave her time.  but she didn’t want time.  she wanted to understand.   

her gaze dropped to her hands,  the way they rested against the tabletop,  steady but foreign.  ❝places like this…❞ she started,  then exhaled,  shaking her head.  ❝they exist with or without us.  people come in,  sit down,  drink their coffee,  complain about the weather.  it doesn’t matter what we’ve done,  or where we’ve been.  we could disappear,   &  this place would go on like we were never here at all.❞

her voice was even,  but there was something frayed at the edges of it.  she wasn’t sure if she wanted to believe it or if the thought of it terrified her.  her eyes found his again.  ❝is that the idea?❞

the bell over the door chimed softly as he stepped inside. the city noise vanished behind him and he was swallowed by the scent of old paper, dust, and something faintly floral. the place was cramped and lived-in, shelves packed so tightly they formed narrow corridors of leaning books, some stacked haphazardly on the floor.

bucky adjusted his gloves as he swept the room. patrons were sparce, he spotted her easily amongst the books. corinne delacroix, an elementary teacher. hardworking, kind, quiet, and if he was to believe his contact, in imminent danger.

a record player somewhere in the back crackled out an old tune, something soft and tired. he moved forward, inspecting the bookshelves, picking something at random—first edition alfred tennyson, not exactly in his price range—while carefully keeping her in his line of sight. // @rosewiltd , a semi - plotted starter .

the rain had turned the alley into a maze of shallow rivers, a forensics nightmare as it swept away any evidence that might have been left behind. he'd promised his neighbor to look into their missing kid. twenty-one, barely more than a name on a grainy photo, and gone without a trace. bucky crouched beside the warehouse door, the padlock was new, but the scratches around it weren't. someone had forced their way in before.

bucky grasped the lock and it shattered like plastic in his hand. it was the smell he noticed first as he slipped inside. the air was thick with the scent of oil and metallic—machinery or blood. a single work light hummed in the far corner, illuminating a table stacked with what looked like documents and some kind of ledger. he reached for the ledger just as he heard a pair of footsteps behind him.

he froze, gloved hand hovering over the ledger as he took in the sight of the stranger at the door he'd just broken into. // @d4ughter , a semi - plotted starter .

the nights in gotham weren't just dark—they drowned in shadow, swallowing men whole and leaving nothing but a cold whisper behind. he'd worked in cities like gotham before—berlin, moscow, madripoor—but gotham was something else. a different kind of beast with different kind of monsters.

he moved through the warehouse like a ghost, boots silent against concrete, a black silhouette against the night. hydra had been quick to use gotham as their backdrop, smuggling weapons, money, and other nastier things and he had no intention of letting them remain.

the floor is a maze of steel crates, some marked with shell corporation insignias, others left blank and unidentifiable. overhead, a single flickering bulb swung slightly, casting long, jagged shadows, and that was when he saw it.

a man, swinging from the rafters by his ankles. he hadn't done that. footsteps to his left alert him to a patrolling agent and bucky slipped quickly around one of the steel crates, raising to his full height to wrap his arm around the agent's and cut the weapon from his body in a single motion. he took him down quietly, but the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. a warning that he wasn't alone. // @bruz3r , a semi - plotted starter .

so . . . that was the game. a challenge made—she leaned into his knife, reckless and with no fear of injury, nor pain, nor death—and answered. he reached, cybernetic fingers wrapping like a vice around her wrist and forced the sai's fang away from his neck. ❝ you're not my target. ❞ he made no motion to stab her, but nor did he remove his knife from where it lingered against her stomach. ❝ and if i was yours, you wouldn't waste your time talking. ❞

The blade kissing into her skin elicits a grin from the assassin. She anticipated such a reaction. She had never been face-to-face with the Winter Soldier before, but she was not unaware of him. It was a matter of time before the top assassins for Hydra and the Hand found themselves atop the same rooftop. "The same could be said for you. You left my heart beating." She pulls herself into his blade, feeling the cold metal cut a little further into her skin. The assassin doesn't flinch. Her expression as cold as the Soldier's.

Elektra is no stranger to death. Death is a second home with the first being far beyond reach now.

he smiled, tight lipped and still slightly grim, but it was a smile nonetheless. he watched her go, only once she was out of sight did he turn his eye to the shelves of books. it took him longer than he would have liked to admit to really pay attention to what he was looking at. he picked his way through, trying to remember the last time he actually read a book for leisure at all.

eventually, she returned to him and bucky arched a brow as she presented him with her find. the teasing was gone now, but he knew the feeling well—the hesitation before offering a piece of yourself. he took the book from her hand and blew out a breath, the velveteen rabbit. his expression softened, thumbing through the pages absently.

❝ okay . . . i'm impressed, ❞ bucky admitted, ❝ i didn't think this place would have it. ❞ he turned the book over in his hands before presenting her with his own find. milk and honey by the poet rupi kaur. what is stronger than the human heart, he'd read while thumbing through the pages. ❝ we might need a third opinion. ❞

kara stepped further inside,  the dim light filtering through cracked windows,  tracing the curve of her cheek as she smirked over her shoulder.  ❝oh,  you’re on, ❞ she said,  voice laced with something playful but edged in challenge.  her fingers trailed along the spines of forgotten books,  their titles half-erased by time,  their covers worn soft like well-loved things.  there was something about places like this — untouched,  abandoned,  yet still breathing with the weight of words left behind.  ❝winner gets to pick the next adventure, ❞ she added,  glancing at him as if daring him to up the stakes. 

she disappeared into the stacks before he could answer,  moving through the rows with an ease that came from years of seeking refuge in places like this.  a quiet sanctuary,  where no one asked who you were before or what you might become.  her fingers stopped on a book with a cracked leather spine,  its gold lettering dulled but still there.  the velveteen rabbit.  she exhaled softly,  thumb brushing over the title.  a story about being loved into something real.  a story about survival.  about what it meant to endure. 

when she found him again,  she held it up without a word,  her gaze steady.  a moment passed between them,  something unspoken stretching in the quiet.  ❝i think i win, ❞ she said finally,  but her voice had lost its teasing edge.  there was something else there,  something weightier,  as if she was offering more than just the book.  a piece of herself,  maybe.  a quiet understanding,  waiting for him to take it not knowing that behind her back she held yet another surprise. ❝ you find anything?❞

he watched her as she studied him, expression unreadable, eyes sharp but not unkind. bucky couldn't be certain what it was that she saw when she looked at him but she looked at him like he had the answer to an unspoken question. maybe he did, and maybe he didn't. the blood at their feet was already beginning to set, thick and dark, and it would stay there for a while longer but eventually, it would disappear as all unclean things did.

bucky nodded, stepped past her and over the body, out of the shadows and into the cold, neon-lit street. he led the way out of the crime scene, keeping a casual pace and walking through side streets and back alleys as if it were second nature. they walked for a long time before his destination came into view.

the diner was nothing special—chrome-rimmed stools, and faded vinyl booths—it smelled like burnt coffee and cheap bacon grease, but bucky liked it for the same reason most people overlooked it: it was steady. real. a pocket of normal.

he slid into a booth near the window with a clear line of sight to the front and rear entrances. ❝ what d'you see? ❞ bucky asked when she joined him, nodding to their surroundings with an expectant glance.

kara exhaled slowly,  watching the blood spread into the cracks of the concrete like veins beneath fractured skin.  it would dry,  flake away,  be washed into the gutters until only the memory of it remained.  but the act — the choice — would linger,  another mark upon a soul already worn thin.  she had spent years telling herself that she was beyond redemption,  that the things she had done,  the things that had been done to her,  had calcified into something immovable.  but then bucky spoke,   &  the certainty wavered,  just slightly,  just enough to let in the smallest sliver of something else.  try.   

she turned her gaze to him,  searching for something she wasn’t sure she would recognize.  he knew — knew what it was to be made into something unrecognizable,  to wake up in the ruins of a life he could barely call his own.   &  yet,  he stood before her,  not unbroken,  but whole in a way she had never believed possible for herself.  if he could come back from it,  then maybe — maybe — she could too.  the thought was terrifying in its own way.  it was easier to be a blade,  a weapon with no need for softness,  no need for hope.  but hope,  she realized,  had already taken root the moment she had let him pull the gun from her hands.   

her fingers curled into fists,  then released.  there was no erasing what had been done,  no undoing the ghosts she carried,  but perhaps there was more than just this.  more than the endless cycle of blood  &  consequence.  when she spoke,  her voice was quiet,  but steady.  ❝then let’s start. ❞ not surrender,  not absolution — but a step.   &  for now,  that was enough. 

the desert wind howled like a wounded thing, whipping sand against his face as he crouched at the edge of the excavation site. it was crawling with men, not mercenaries. not common grave robbers. trained, conditioned, battle hardened. hydra personnel moved differently than most professionals, there was always a cold lick of obsession, of mad superiority that stuck to them like a bad smell.

and that was when he saw her. a woman, dark curls, sharp brown eyes, and barely restrained contempt. a civilian, a hostage or prisoner, either way, she didn't belong there.

bucky was already moving, switching objectives quickly as he shattered the distance between himself and her, a shadow against the sand dunes he avoided the floodgate lights, skirting patroling guardsmen unseen and unnoticed. he reached her in seconds, crouched behind a half-buried obelisk and spoke in a whisper. ❝ don't react. ❞ he said as way of greeting, ❝ can you run? ❞ // @disasteregyptologist , semi - plotted starter .