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knightofmidnightsun · 6 months ago

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When I go, bury me six feet in snow [1] | HELMUT ZEMO

Summary: You, Bucky, Sam and Helmut had a simple plan and yet… It all went wrong. Now you're in the middle of an unknown land, surrounded by snow and with Zemo as your only company. What could be worse than that?

Warnings: Description of injuries and blood. angst. a lot of angst, be ready. description of and violence, injury/pain, description of burning wounds, description of hypothermia and drowning in cold water, self-blame/guilt

Word count: 9K

Skeletons, skeletons series: [1], [2]

The sudden, searing pain in your back snapped your eyes open. It took a full minute for the blurriness in your vision to fade, allowing you to comprehend your surroundings.

Snow. It blanketed everything around you, a vast, desolate whiteness. The sun glared down, its blinding rays almost too intense to bear. For a moment, you couldn't remember why you were there, in the middle of this unknown land. But as the pain in your back spread to your legs, the memories began to creep back in.

You had been on an aircraft. Chaos had erupted, a blur of violence that left you disoriented, unable to distinguish friend from foe. You recalled familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, all intent on knocking you down, with James, Sam, and…

Then it hit you—the plan.

The fucking stupid plan. You kept repeating the phrase to yourself as you got strength to stand up. For a moment, you almost fell before deciding to continue where you were and embraced your knees, the tiredness filled your bones and nerves. It was impossible to get up without feeling like the bones in your legs would break in any second.

When you finally thought you were ready to try standing again, you choked on a mouthful of icy water. Yeah, maybe it was better to stay put for now.

"Cap," you pressed a trembling finger to the earpiece, trying to contact Sam, but were met with silence. "Sam? Are you there? James?"

Again, nothing, you groaned. Where the fuck they were? Why Sam and James weren't answering you?

"We lost their signal" The voice made your skin crawl. You knew exactly who he was.

A flood of memories from the aircraft surged back: clinging to the edge as the wind howled around you, your fingers gripping the metal as if your life depended on it—because it did. You had seen Zemo, his hand closing around your wrist, pulling you back from the brink, only to be shoved by another attacker, falling with you into the icy sea below.

It wasn’t a dream. It was all too real.

You and Zemo had fallen from the aircraft. Sam and James were still up there, as far as you knew, but now they were outnumbered. Anything could have happened to them… Even…

You swallowed hard, hating yourself for how badly you’d botched the mission.

As you fell, you had prayed for an end, for the sea to swallow you whole and let your body vanish into the abyss. But here you were, still breathing.

Both of you, alive. On a frozen beach, soaked to the bone after nearly drowning.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Zemo approaching, brushing snow off his clothes. His purple mask was gone, likely lost in the water, or perhaps he had discarded it, deeming it unnecessary now that the fight was over.

At least he wasn’t in any better shape than you. That was some consolation.

"Do you know where we are?" You asked him, forcing yourself not to shiver as the cold gnawed at your bones.

"I… No, I do not," His voice carried a note of discontent, a rare admission of uncertainty from someone who usually exuded control, "Perhaps Antarctica, if I recall the aircraft’s route… But I can’t be sure."

Even Zemo, with his fur coat and multiple layers, was shivering. His clothes were as soaked as yours, and it did nothing to help your situation.

“Great,” you muttered, scanning the endless expanse of snow. There was nothing—no buildings, no signs of life, just an infinite white void. “I can’t believe I’m going to die of hypothermia in the middle of nowhere with you. If you hadn’t held me back…”

“Hold on,” Zemo interrupted, crossing his arms, his gaze sharp. “Who was the one who got distracted and was the first to be thrown off the ship? That was you, as I recall.” He took a step closer, scrutinizing you as you struggled to stay upright. “I was trying to help you, and look where it got me, hm? You should be thanking me.”

He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the desolate landscape around you.

You were tempted to ignore the pain in your legs just to wipe that smug look off his face.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you shot back, turning your head away. Your hands cracked as you clenched them into fists, the cold seeping into your bones. “I didn’t want to cause any trouble for you. I was ready to fall and die or get back to the aircraft and plan an escape.”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. He was silent for a moment, as if weighing your words.

“Neither of those things happened,” he said finally, a plume of cold breath escaping his lips. “Our priority now is finding shelter before we freeze to death.”

“But what about Sam? Or James? They’re still up there, as far as we know.” You pressed your hands into the snow, trying to summon the strength to stand. “We need to think of a plan to help them.”

“We can’t help them if we’re dead,” Zemo replied flatly, resting his hands on his hips. “Finding shelter is our only option.”

As much as you hated to admit it, the baron was right. There was no way to survive the journey back to Sam and James if you froze to death first.

Your limbs trembled uncontrollably as the cold invaded every nerve, turning them to ice. It was a pain sharper than any burn.

“Alright,” you conceded, wrapping your arms around your torso. “Just… Give me a second.”

You took a deep breath and pushed against the icy ground, trying to stand. The moment you put pressure on your legs, searing pain shot up from your calves to your thighs, as if your very bones were being torn apart. Your muscles screamed in agony, nearly knocking you back to the ground.

You bit your lip, stifling a cry, but your body betrayed you. Your knees buckled, and your feet slipped on the ice.

For a moment, everything went black. The world narrowed to the sheer, overwhelming pain in your legs, threatening to drag you into unconsciousness. But then, you felt a firm grip on your arms, steadying you, holding you up.

Zemo’s hands were surprisingly gentle yet strong. He lifted you as if you weighed nothing, his breath visible in the frigid air as he rushed to your side.

For a brief moment, there was a flash of something in his eyes—panic, perhaps, or worry—before his expression returned to its usual guarded blankness. His brows furrowed as he studied you, trying to assess the situation.

You were too focused on the pain to care what the baron was thinking.

“Oh mein Gott,” he whispered, his voice low but laced with concern. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Well, you could tell the pain wasn’t because of the sea dragging you to the coast. Despite the coldness, if that was the case, your arms and torso would hold the same pain.

The damage had been done long before you hit the water.

Your mind drifted back to the fight on the aircraft. James had been battling Max Fury, Sam had been trading blows with Lightmaster, and Helmut had been deflecting attacks from Doctor Octopus. That left you facing the Tin Man—now known as Crimson Cowl, though he was still Ultron in all but name.

Despite being an android, you had been holding your own against him. You weren’t a super soldier, but your mutation gave you agility and elasticity. You could leap high, dodge quickly, and move with a fluidity that made you hard to pin down.

Your friends used to say you were like sand slipping through their fingers—impossible to catch.

You had been doing well against Ultron… Until you weren’t.

The android had grown impatient with your dodges and the minor annoyances you threw his way. Your goal wasn’t to defeat him—you knew that was impossible—but to buy time until James or Sam could deliver the final blow.

But Ultron was a machine, built by Tony Stark, and smarter than most people. You should have known that eventually, he would memorize your pattern and anticipate your next move.

It happened in an instant. As you prepared to leap to your next position, a blinding blue light seared through the air. The next thing you knew, your legs were on fire. You screamed, the agony tearing through your lungs as the laser burned through flesh and bone.

You faintly heard someone call your name, but it was distant, the words muffled. The last thing you remembered was one of Doctor Octopus’ robotic arms slamming into you, knocking you off the aircraft. The rest was a blur.

“My regeneration won’t work with both the burn and the hypothermia at the same time,” you muttered, daring to look at your legs, still covered by the remnants of your uniform.

The damage was bad. Worse than you had imagined.

“All the more reason to start moving,” Zemo said, raising his brows as if to emphasize his point. “Hold on to my shoulders. I’ll try to do something about your legs to buy us some time.”

“You don’t need to,” you muttered, your jaw trembling from the cold. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, yes,” Zemo replied, guiding your hands to his shoulders. “I can see that.”

Before you could protest, he tore a strip of fabric from his coat and knelt down beside you. At first, you didn’t understand what he was doing, your mind too numb with cold, until he began wrapping the cloth around one of your burns, tying it tightly.

He repeated the process on your other leg, his movements quick.

“Since our clothes are soaked with cold water, it’ll help cool down your wounds,” Zemo explained, rising from where he was and taking your arms so he could help you walk properly. “Before we go, we’ll need to shed some of our clothing as well. Despite the temperature, it’s better to carry as little soaked fabric as possible.”

You shuddered at the thought, your teeth chattering uncontrollably. The idea of removing any layer of warmth, no matter how wet, felt like a death sentence. It got worse when you imagined you had to go through this with Zemo from all the people.

But you knew he was right. The waterlogged clothing clung to your skin like icy shackles, draining what little warmth you had left.

Reluctantly, you nodded, letting Zemo’s hands guide yours to the clasps of your jacket. It took all your concentration just to undo the first one, your fingers clumsy and stiff from the cold. Faintly, you could feel his cold fingers against your skin, bringing a little to almost nothing of warmth, his hands moved with practiced efficiency, his gaze focused on the task at hand.

In a way, his calm demeanor in the face of such dire circumstances was almost comforting. But it was fleeting—a brief, circumstantial comfort in a ride-or-die situation.

The moment your jacket fell to the snow, the cold hit you like a slap. You gasped, hugging yourself instinctively as if your arms could shield you from the elements. The wind cut through your remaining layers, turning your skin to ice.

Zemo didn’t flinch. He shed his coat and outer layers with the same methodical precision, his movements devoid of hesitation, as if the cold tormenting you barely registered with him.

When he finished, he glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your condition. For a second, you thought he would jest.

“We’ll move as quickly as we can,” he said instead, more to himself than to you, “Lean on me. I’ll support your weight.”

You hesitated, your eyes narrowing as you focused on his shoulders. “I can do this on my own. I’ll be fine.”

“As fine as when you first got up?” he asked, and your lips pressed together in silence, refusing to answer. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

Without further hesitation, he took one of your arms and draped it over his shoulder. You noticed that his skin, though chilled, still radiated some warmth. The baron wasn’t exactly the person you wanted to rely on, but as you clung to him, you realized he was the only thing keeping you from collapsing into the snow.

“You will thank me later,” Zemo smirked down at you.

Despite your will to punch him, you prioritize your life.

Each step was a struggle, your legs barely cooperating as you trudged through the drifts. Zemo’s grip on you was firm, almost too tight, as if he feared you might slip away at any moment. Your feet felt numb, each movement sending jolts of pain up your calves, but you forced yourself to keep going. The thought of stopping, of giving in to the cold, terrified you more than anything.

You glanced at the baron, time and time again, remembering what happened in the mission. What went wrong and triggered the fight, Sam and James trying to fight as they planned for a solution that would save all of you from dying, Zemo buying time and you… Well, you were trying to do your best to think about an escape plan as you dealt with the android. In the end, you were trying to help, in some way, to not be a burden.

And that was exactly what brought you in that situation. You and Zemo, your gaze locked at him again. You recalled the feeling of his fingers clasping your wrist, trying with all his might to pull you back to the ground but falling with you instead.

After that, all was a blur, you felt the air lack your lungs as you screamed. You felt arms holding you tight and a breath next to your ear. You really thought you would die after that. Except that, you didn’t.

“Do you think we’ll find anything out here?” you asked Zemo through chattering teeth, desperate to fill the silence with something, anything, to keep your mind off the cold and the pain.

Zemo didn’t answer right away. He was focused on the horizon, scanning the endless white expanse for any sign of shelter or civilization. The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, before he finally spoke.

“There must be something. A research station, perhaps, or a temporary base. This region isn’t entirely uninhabited.”

It was a slim hope, but you clung to it, letting his words push you forward. You had to believe there was something out there—a place where you could rest, recover, and find a way back to the others.

But with each passing minute, that hope began to fade. The snow stretched on endlessly, the landscape unchanging. Your legs ached, muscles screaming with every step, but stopping wasn’t an option. The cold was relentless, like a predator stalking its prey, waiting for you to falter.

You couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened on the airship, about your friends, and what could have become of them. By now, they could be prisoners, tortured, or worse… dead. All because of that stupid plan—it was doomed from the start, but still…

If something had happened to them, you’d never forgive yourself. You’d rather die here and tell Zemo to go on without you.

“Keep moving,” Zemo urged, his voice sharp. He gave you a slight tug, pulling you closer as if to share what little warmth he had. “We can’t afford to stop now.”

“I’m tired, Zemo,” you groaned, your voice trembling as the cold seemed to freeze the tears in the corners of your eyes. “The cold… It’s draining me. Maybe we’ve finally found my real weakness.”

“Don’t say that,” Helmut shook his head, his tone firm. “You’re insufferable, but I won’t let you die here.”

“Maybe you should,” you closed your eyes, your feet dragging through the snow as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is my fault after all. It’d be better if you leave me here and go by yourself, find some shelter, and try to save the rest of our crew.”

Zemo stopped walking, forcing you to halt as well. His grip on your arm tightened, but he didn’t say anything at first. The silence between you was thick, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions that neither of you could afford to acknowledge.

“I’ve lost too many people on my account already,” he finally said, his voice low and steady, though there was a trace of something deeper, something almost vulnerable in his tone. “I won’t lose you as well. Especially not because of your self-pity.”

The words stung, not because they were harsh, but because they were sincere. Zemo’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stern.

“You’re not the only one who’s made mistakes. This mission was flawed from the start, but we’re in this together now,” he said, moving closer, his breath visible in the frigid air. “So, stop blaming yourself. That won’t solve anything.”

“How could it not be my fault?” you asked in a strained whisper, “Do you remember how the plan started to go south? I brought this on us. Who knows what’s happened to Sam and James? What could they be doing to them? By the time we find somewhere safe, they could already be dead. You’ll find shelter faster without having to drag me along as dead weight.”

Zemo’s eyes hardened, his grip on your arm tightening. He took a step closer, his presence imposing and bringing you more shivers than the cold.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice cutting through the cold air with a sharpness that made you flinch, “We all made choices that led to what happened. Blaming yourself won’t change the past, and giving up now certainly won’t help your friends.”

You tried to pull away, but he held firm, forcing you to meet his gaze. There was no trace of mockery in his expression, no condescension—just a raw, unyielding determination.

“Don’t you ever suggest me to do such a thing again.” Zemo whispered, his voice low, almost a growl. “Understand?”

Despite everything, you could see a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes, a glimpse of the man behind the mask.

“We’re not dead yet,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “We still have a chance. But only if we keep moving.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. Zemo’s words were harsh, but they were the slap of reality you needed. He was right—giving up wouldn’t save Sam or James. It wouldn’t change anything.

With a deep breath, you nodded, accepting the painful truth. “Alright,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Zemo’s grip on your arm loosened slightly, and he gave you a small nod of approval. Together, you started walking again, each step a painful reminder of your injuries, but you pushed through, determined not to slow him down.

The cold was relentless, but so was Zemo, his presence beside you reminding you to not stop no matter what. You kept your focus on the horizon, refusing to let your mind wander back to the guilt, carving its way into your chest.

As the two of you trudged through the snow, the silence was broken only by the sound of your labored breathing and the crunch of snow beneath your boots. The world around you was eerily quiet, the storm having passed but leaving behind a desolate, frozen wasteland.

Suddenly, Zemo halted. You almost stumbled, but his arm shot out, steadying you once more. Looking up, you noticed his eyes narrowing as he focused intently ahead.

“What are y—”

Before you could finish, Zemo pulled you down with him, pressing you into the snow behind a small drift. The cold burned against your already frigid skin, and you struggled to suppress the groan of pain that threatened to escape your lips. Your burns flared with agony, the icy ground amplifying the sharp, relentless pain. But you swallowed it, forcing yourself to stay quiet as Zemo leaned closer, his hand firmly covering your mouth.

He nodded towards the snowy expanse ahead, his eyes narrowing as he pointed to a single point in the distance. Your vision was still hazy from the pain, but you squinted, trying to make out what he was seeing.

There, amidst the endless white, was a figure—a person dressed in a suit that was all too familiar. Dark blue, red stripes, a white star… Shit.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, and your blood ran cold.

“Of all people,” you muttered, dread coiling in your stomach.

Zemo’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, a silent signal to stay alert. “This complicates things,” he said under his breath.

There was John Walker, the U.S. Agent, his uniform enhanced for the freezing conditions, standing out starkly against the snow. The sight of him sent a jolt of fear through you. If he was out here, that meant they were already searching for you, and they hadn’t found your bodies yet. They knew you were still alive.

He wasn’t too far from you and Zemo. He intently watched his surroundings with narrowed eyes, inching closer in your direction. That wasn’t a good thing.

Your breath caught in your throat, every muscle tensing as Walker’s gaze swept over the area. Zemo’s hand remained on your mouth, a silent reminder to stay quiet, to not make a sound. You could feel the tension radiating from him, a coiled spring ready to snap.

Both of you hid back to the small drift, you’d need to start your prayers.

Walker’s steps were deliberate, each one bringing him closer to where you and Zemo were hidden. The snow crunched under his boots, a sound that seemed deafening in the eerie silence of the frozen wasteland. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound almost drowning out everything else.

Zemo’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression cold and calculating. He slowly moved his hand from your mouth, replacing it with a finger to his lips. The message was clear: stay silent.

You nodded slightly, barely daring to breathe as Walker came dangerously close. The snow drift that hid you wasn’t large, and if Walker got too close, he would easily spot you. The weight of Zemo’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing grounding you, keeping you from bolting out of sheer panic.

The world seemed to narrow to the sound of Walker’s footsteps, the crunch of snow, the biting cold, and the tension between you and Zemo as you both held your breath, praying that he would pass by without noticing you.

You could almost sense his presence looming over the snow drift that hid you and Zemo.

Then, just as it seemed Walker was about to discover your hiding spot, you heard another set of footsteps crunching through the snow, approaching Walker from behind. Your heart raced as you strained to listen.

“Walker,” a gruff voice called out, and you recognized it immediately—Abner Jenkins, better known as the Beetle. The sound of his mechanical suit hummed lowly as he approached.

You heard Walker’s steps pause, followed by a low, annoyed grunt. “What is it, Jenkins?” His voice was tense, betraying his frustration at being interrupted.

“We’ve got orders,” Abner replied, his tone clipped. “Madame Hydra wants them alive. We’re to take them back to her—no exceptions.”

Then, you and Zemo heard the distinct sound of a shield being stowed. It took a moment for you both to realize that Walker had been holding it the entire time. God knew what his intentions were if he had found you before Beetle stopped him.

Zemo’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly at the mention of Madame Hydra. You could feel the unspoken understanding between the two of you: this was far more dangerous than you had anticipated.

“And what about the others?” Walker asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were wary of being overheard by anyone else in the area.

“They’re searching too. We’ve spread out to cover more ground, but the baron and the girl likely headed this way. We need to find them before we are met with a storm.”

For a moment, there was only silence, the tension in the air thickening. You could hear Walker’s heavy breathing, followed by a begrudging sigh. “Fine. Let’s move. We’ll search further ahead.”

The sound of their footsteps crunching through the snow grew more distant, fading away into the howling wind. You and Zemo stayed perfectly still, not daring to move until you were sure they were gone.

After what felt like an eternity, Zemo finally released the breath he’d been holding and carefully removed his hand from your shoulder. “They’re hunting us,” he murmured, his voice low and cold. “And it seems they’re not the only ones.”

You nodded, your thoughts racing. “But that means Sam and James are alive too. They said Madame Hydra needs us all alive, they already have them or they escaped as well.”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed slightly, calculating the situation. “True, but that also means we’re walking into a trap if we continue in that direction. They’re likely covering the area ahead.”

“So we go the other way,” you said, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.

Zemo’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded. “It’ll take longer, and it’s more dangerous in this weather, but it’s better than facing Walker and Jenkins head-on.”

With the decision made, the two of you began to carefully backtrack, moving away from where Walker and Abner had gone. The cold bit into your skin, but the sense of urgency kept you moving. You couldn’t afford to be caught, not by them.

Not when you knew there was so much more at stake.

The biting cold gnawed at your exposed skin, a relentless reminder of just how perilous your situation had become. Each step you took away from the place where Walker and Abner had nearly discovered you felt like a small victory, but the fear gnawing at your insides refused to subside. The wind howled around you, a mournful sound that seemed to echo the dread coiling in your gut.

Zemo's presence beside you, his arm supporting you, was the only thing grounding you in the moment. His movements were calculated, deliberate, as if every step was a move in a larger game. He seemed impervious to the cold, his expression calm and focused, in stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you. You knew you couldn’t afford to let your guard down around him. Zemo was as dangerous as the environment itself, maybe even more so.

After all, this was Zemo, Helmut Zemo—the man who had manipulated and deceived some of the most powerful people you once knew. But out here, in this frozen wasteland, what choice did you have left?

The burn wound on your side throbbed with every movement, a constant reminder of the injury you had barely survived. The pain was sharp, radiating from the angry, blistered skin, but it had dulled to a persistent ache, almost as if it had become a part of you. Zemo had helped bandage it, his hands steady and sure as he worked. He had saved you, in his own way, but the trust between you was fragile, a thin layer of ice over treacherous waters.

As the two of you trudged through the snow, the cold seeping deeper into your bones, your mind kept cycling back to Madame Hydra.

Her name alone sent a tremor through your already trembling form. You didn’t know much about her—few did—but what you had heard was enough to fill you with a cold dread that rivaled the harsh weather. The fact that she was involved meant that things were far more complicated than a simple mission gone wrong. You couldn't shake the feeling that this was all part of some larger plan, that you were pieces on a chessboard in a game only she knew how to play.

Zemo had to know more than he was letting on, but now wasn’t the time to press him for answers. Not when every moment of delay could mean Walker, Abner or any other member of the Master of Evil catching up with you. Not when the only thing standing between you and certain death was the man whose arm was currently draped over your shoulders, keeping you upright.

“Keep moving,” Zemo’s voice was low, almost swallowed by the wind, but there was an urgency to it that snapped you back to reality.

You nodded, your breath coming in short, labored gasps, each one stinging your lungs with the frigid air. The pain in your side flared again, but you bit down on a cry of pain. You wouldn’t give in to it. Not now. Not when there was still a chance.

The idea of seeing Sam and James again was the only thing that kept you from collapsing in the snow. You pictured their faces in your mind, the way they had always been there for you when everything else had fallen apart. They were your family, the only thing left in this world that mattered to you. The thought of them out there, possibly alive, was the small flame that kept burning inside you, refusing to be extinguished by the cold or the fear.

Zemo’s grip on your arm tightened slightly as you stumbled, bringing you back to the present. You glanced at him, catching the briefest flicker of something in his eyes—concern, maybe, or calculation. It was hard to tell with him, but whatever it was, it wasn’t cruelty. Not yet.

You were still useful to him, and for now, that was enough. It was what was keeping you alive, right? You were Sam and James’s friend, you were a mutant with good abilities when not injured by burns, you knew a thing or two that he didn’t yet. He needed you as you needed him.

It was the only reason for him to had chose to reach for you when you were hanging by the edge of the airship. His eyes wide open when they met yours, without any hesitation cowering over the edge and reaching his hand to grip your wrist, in an attempt to stop you from falling off the ship. Someone like him wouldn’t do such a thing for her.

If you died, none of your friends would forgive him, that had to be the reason for him to be so kind to you so far. Helping you to get up, taking care of your wounds, sustaining her body as you walked together…

There was any other logical explanation.

The snow continued to fall in thick, heavy flakes, covering the landscape in a white blanket that stretched out as far as you could see. The world had been reduced to shades of white and gray, the horizon barely distinguishable from the sky above. It was easy to lose your sense of direction out here, easy to give in to the overwhelming feeling of isolation.

But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

Then, out of nowhere, something called your attention.

An orange glow appeared on the horizon, faint at first, almost imperceptible through the swirling snow. You squinted, trying to make it out, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of it.

Fire. Light. Shelter.

“Zemo,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out, “there, do you see it?”

He followed your gaze, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the distant glow. “Yes,” he said after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. “It could be a fire. Perhaps someone is there.”

A glimmer of hope ignited within you, though it was intertwined with anxiety. A fire could mean warmth, safety, or a place to rest—yet it could just as easily signal danger, another trap in Madame Hydra's web, waiting to ensnare you... Another peril to complicate your situation.

Zemo seemed to sense your hesitation. “We have to investigate,” he said firmly. “It may be our only chance. But we proceed with caution.”

“Okay,” you agreed, though the word felt heavy, laden with the weight of everything that could go wrong.

The two of you pressed on, your steps slow and cautious as you moved toward the distant glow. The snow continued to fall, thickening the air around you, muffling the world in a cold, suffocating silence. Each step felt like a battle against the elements, your muscles aching from the strain, your body screaming for rest. But you couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until you reached that fire, that glimmer of hope in the endless white.

As you trudged forward, the glow on the horizon grew brighter, more distinct. It wasn’t just a trick of the light—there was something there, something real. The thought sent a surge of adrenaline through you, giving you the strength to push forward despite the pain in your legs and the exhaustion that threatened to drag you down.

But as you drew closer, something else came into view, something that made your heart sink. A large, dark expanse stretched out before you, the snow-covered surface shimmering faintly in the dim light. It was a lake, frozen solid under a thick sheet of ice.

The fire you had seen was on the other side, inside a small wooden house taunting you with its proximity.

Zemo stopped beside you, his gaze fixed on the frozen lake.

“What do we do now?” you asked in a low voice, you glanced at the baron, “If we go through the lake, we might fall into the water but if we try to contour it, we could never find another way there or any other place for the matter”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed as he considered the options, his mind clearly racing through the possibilities. The frozen lake stretched out before you like a vast, treacherous barrier, its surface deceptive in its stillness. The fire’s warmth seemed tantalizingly close, yet the journey across the ice was fraught with danger.

“We can’t afford to lose time,” Zemo finally said, his voice edged with urgency. “The cold will kill us if we stay out here much longer.”

You knew he was right, but the thought of crossing that ice sent a chill down your spine. One misstep, and you could end up submerged in the freezing water below, with no chance of escape. It would be a slow, agonizing death.

“But if the ice breaks…” Your voice trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging heavily in the air.

Zemo glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a hint of resolve in his gaze. “We’ll move slowly, test every step. If the ice shows any sign of giving way, we’ll retreat. But we don’t have the luxury of finding another way. Not in this weather.”

You forced yourself to nod, there was no real alternative, you had no other choice. The idea of backtracking and trying to find a way around the lake seemed impossible, especially with the storm worsening by the minute. The cold was biting, seeping into your bones, and you knew that any delay could be deadly.

Zemo's face was a mask of stern resolve, his features composed into a calm that bordered on the unsettling. His brow was slightly furrowed, eyes narrowed in concentration as he assessed the situation. The line of his mouth was tight, giving nothing away, but if you looked closer—if you dared to search beyond the surface—you could see it.

A faint crease at the corner of his eye, a subtle tension in his jaw that hinted at something more. It wasn’t fear, not exactly, but a glimmer of concern that he couldn’t entirely hide. It was the kind of worry that didn’t scream out, but whispered in the quiet spaces between his thoughts. Whatever he was thinking, it was enough to push him forward, enough to make him the first to step onto the uncertain ice, determined to lead the way despite the risks.

You released your grip on Zemo's shoulder, realizing that both of you together would put too much strain on the ice. The weight concentrated in one spot was a risk neither of you could afford.

The separation made each step harder, more uncertain. With each inch of distance that grew between you, the more vulnerable you felt, the bitter cold gnawing at your strength.

Zemo, sensing the need for caution, took a step ahead, then stopped to look back at you, his gaze never wavering until you caught up. Only then did he move forward again, the pattern repeating with each careful step.

The wind howled around you, whipping snow across the frozen lake, and your heart pounded with each delicate movement. You matched Zemo’s rhythm, taking your time to ensure the ice held beneath your feet. But your progress was slower, your body weighed down not only by exhaustion and pain but by the growing fear that the ice might not hold.

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed across the lake, splitting the silence. Your eyes widened with alarm and Zemo froze, as the ice beneath his feet began to fracture. Quickly, he shifted his weight, moving to a more stable section before the crack could spread further.

“Don’t step here!” he warned, his voice cutting through the wind.

It wasn’t like you were planning to do so.

You avoided the spot, carefully navigating around it as your pulse quickened. At first, it looked fine, you both were going well so far. You didn’t take your eyes off Zemo's back, not for one second, just like he didn’t stop looking back at you time and time again. Not at all.

Then, from afar, a distant voice reached your ears. The voice was very far from you both, you couldn’t discern for sure who was and what the person was saying, but it came from where both of you were before. So, it wasn’t difficult to not assume the worst.

“We have to be quick,” you whispered to the baron. Even knowing it would be a difficult task to you, you knew that there was no better alternative.

Zemo nodded, it wasn’t the time to disagree with you.

You picked up your pace, each step a calculated risk on the treacherous ice. The cold air bit at your exposed skin, your breath visible in the frigid air. The ice groaned under the weight of your footsteps, each sound sending a shiver down your spine. The memory of the crack beneath Helmut's feet was a constant reminder of the danger that lurked beneath the surface.

As you moved, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the sense of impending doom hanging heavy over you. The distant voice continued to echo in your mind, urging you to move faster, to escape whatever threat loomed behind you. But the ice was unpredictable, each step requiring your full attention, leaving little room for anything else.

You glanced back at Zemo, his determined expression mirroring your own. He was focused, his eyes scanning the ice for any signs of weakness. You could see the strain in his features, the tension in his body as he led the way.

As you hurried across the ice, the ominous crack beneath Helmut's feet earlier seemed to chase you with relentless determination. The fissure, which had once seemed distant and harmless, now raced towards you with terrifying speed.

Then, it happened. Of course, it would.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the crack reached your feet, and before you could react, the ice gave way entirely, plunging you into the frigid abyss below.

The icy water enveloped you, its cold grip a thousand needles stabbing into your skin, seizing your lungs in a vice of unbearable agony. It was a pain more excruciating than the searing flames that had scarred you, a sensation of burning from within as water replaced the air in your lungs. Panic set in as you thrashed, trying to find the surface, but the water was disorienting, pulling you down into its dark depths.

Your vision blurry, the world above a distorted, unreachable realm.

You could feel the burn in your chest as you struggled to hold your breath, the cold seeping into your very core. It was like being on fire, the water a cruel, icy inferno. You fought harder, desperate for air, for warmth, for life.

In a snap of fingers, you didn’t want to die anymore and were fighting to live.

Just when you thought you couldn't hold on any longer, through the haze of your despair, you felt it—a strong hand gripping your wrist, pulling you back from the brink before the waters guided you away. The touch was firm, reassuring, and it brought you back to the present. You remembered Helmut's concerned eyes, searching for yours when you were suspended in the air, holding the edge of the airship with all your might.

You would never dare admit it, but at first, you had thought he would take your hands off the edge and let you fall. But you were surprised when he started to pull you back before being hit and falling with you out of the ship. The determination to save you was what doomed him to be there with you but the glint in his eyes reassured you that he didn’t regret it.

You clung to that memory as you were dragged from the water. The relief of knowing that perhaps he did care for you. Perhaps.

You broke the surface, gasping for air, coughing up the icy liquid that had filled your lungs. Helmut's voice cut through the haze of your shock, steady and grounding. "Are you alright?" he asked, his grip on your wrist unyielding as you trembled violently.

You nodded, though your body betrayed you, shivering uncontrollably as the cold seeped deeper. You felt as though you might succumb to death at any moment.

Helmut's eyes scanned the area, calculating the distance to the shore and assessing the condition of the ice. His jaw tightened with resolve as he realized the urgency of the situation. He seemed to be weighing the risks, determining if you could make it across before the cold claimed you. Obviously, you’d start to see your nails following in the middle of the way and when you reached the land… God knows what would be of you.

You saw a flash of determination in his eyes, despite the odds, a hint of a plan forming in his mind. It was as if he had already decided what needed to be done, even if it seemed reckless. You could almost see the gears turning in his head, calculating the likelihood of success and the potential for disaster.

Before you could ask what he was thinking, without hesitation, Helmut tightened his hold on your wrist, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Cradling you against his chest, he simply took off across the unstable ice, each step a gamble as the surface threatened to give way beneath you.

“Stop it,” you shouted, your eyes open wide when met by the crack in the ice left by every heavy step that Zemo took, “You will kill us both, stop it.”

Your protests and screams of defiance fell on deaf ears as he ran, the ice cracking ominously but miraculously holding until you reached solid ground on the other side.

What the…?

Once safe, you could only stare at the baron in stunned silence, your mind grappling with the whirlwind of events. It was difficult to process what had just happened with you, what you saw and what could have been of both of you.

Zemo was insane, but he was a smart type of insane.

Helmut's voice broke through your daze, "We need to get you warm.”

He continued to carry you until you reached the hut.

The hut was small and rough, built from weathered timber and stone, tucked away as if nature itself had hidden it. The air inside was thick with the scent of wood smoke and damp earth, mingling with the faint, lingering aroma of recently cooked meat. Animal pelts, a sign of a hunter's presence for sure, were strewn across the floor and draped over the few pieces of rough-hewn furniture. A rack of hunting rifles and a collection of traps hung on one wall, their metal gleaming faintly in the dim light.

The fire in the stone hearth was still smoldering, the embers glowing a dull red, suggesting it hadn't been long since it was tended. A pot of stew, now cold, sat to one side, its contents barely touched. The hunter had likely left in a hurry, not more than ten minutes before your arrival. Helmut's eyes swept the room, taking in the details, his mind working quickly.

He set you down gently on a sturdy wooden chair covered with a thick fur, moving swiftly to restart the fire. The cold had seeped into your bones, and you shivered uncontrollably as you watched him work. He shrugged off his coat and your shirt, hanging them nearby on an iron hook to dry. Each movement was deliberate, efficient, as if he had done this many times before.

You knew he hadn’t. It wasn’t in his record anything about almost dying in a cold environment.

Helmut found a few logs of wood stacked neatly in the corner and added them to the dying embers, coaxing the flames back to life. The fire crackled and popped, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The warmth began to spread slowly through the room, providing a small but welcome relief from the biting cold.

You watched him through a haze of shivers, he found a heavy wool blanket and wrapped it around you, then knelt to remove your boots and wet socks. The initial sting of the cold was sharp, but as the warmth from the fire began to reach you, the agony of hypothermia started to ease. Your body was wracked with shivers, muscles spasming as they fought to generate heat.

Helmut stopped to watch you, gauging your condition. Seeing you still trembling uncontrollably, he didn't think twice before stripping off his own shirt, the last layer on his torso. He settled beside you, pulling the blanket over both of you and wrapping an arm around you to share his body warmth.

You protested, your voice a shaky whisper, "You'll get cold too... Why are you doing this?"

"It's the quickest way to warm you up," he explained, his voice calm and steady. "Skin-to-skin contact will help raise your body temperature and save you from hypothermia faster."

For the first time since the fall, you felt your regeneration slowly starting to act, trying to push the cold away from your nerves. So, you didn’t argue with him about that, letting him hug you and hid beneath the blanket by your side.

You shared a strange but comforting silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire in front of you. Gradually, the cold receded, no longer an unbearable ache in your bones. You still felt the chill, but it was no longer the paralyzing freeze that had gripped you before. You began to feel far better than before, your body responding to the warmth, your movements less restricted by the cold.

The warmth also reminded you of the burn wounds on your legs, the pain a dull throb now instead of the sharp agony it had been. You flinched at the sensation, letting your legs drop completely to the floor instead of hugging them.

Zemo noticed, of course.

"We'll take care of those burns properly," he said, taking a look at them beneath the tears of his coat, "Once I'm sure you're alright, I'll find a medical kit around here."

You knitted your brows, watching his face beneath your eyelashes. He remained with the same eyes full of uncertainty, concern, clearer than before. The ones you had met in the airship and found when he held you close before colliding to the cold sea.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked again, your voice laced with confusion and low.

Helmut looked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he sighed, his eyes softening slightly. "It's important to treat burn wounds properly to prevent infection and promote healing. You need to stay hydrated, keep the—."

"No, I mean…” You interrupted him, pressing your lips in a thin line, “why are you helping me? Why do you care?"

For a moment, there was only the sound of the fire, the crackling of the wood as it burned. Helmut's eyes met yours, and you saw something there—something unspoken but deeply felt.

“What do you mean?” he asked you back, furrowing his brows.

“You could had ignored me when I was at the edge of that airship, instead you chose to ignore that Doctor Octo-something and came to me, tried to help me even if it meant you going down with me as well,” you shook your head, bewildered by your own words, neither you believed they were true, “Then, when I couldn’t even get up because of these burns, you helped me move forward, without questions or hesitation”

“I—” Zemo opened his mouth, but you were quick to stop him from saying anything.

“The same thing in that lake, there could be John or one of the others when we heard that voice, the smarter thing you could had done when I fell, was to go without me and survive alone,” you sighed, meeting his gaze again, “But you didn’t do it, instead you risked your own life to get me back and ran with me on your arms until we arrived here”

Helmut didn’t look away from you, his lips sealed as he processed what you had just said.

“I still don’t understand your point,” finally, he says, taking a tighter hold of the blanket.

“Why?” you asked again, “Why did you do all of those things for me? I thought you hated me.”

Zemo’s eyes held yours, and for a long moment, he didn’t speak. The firelight danced in his gaze, casting shadows across his face that made him look even more unreadable than usual. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, as if he was carefully weighing every word he was about to say.

“I don’t hate you,” he finally responded, his voice quieter than you expected. “If I did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

You frowned, yes, you did know that, “It doesn’t explain why you’ve risked so much for me.”

He sighed, a long, weary breath that seemed to carry the weight of more than just this conversation. “You’re part of this mission. And as much as I disagree with your methods, or your allies,” he paused, almost as if choosing his words carefully, “I’ve seen your commitment. Your… Hm, courage. I respect that.”

His words were measured, calculated, but there was something underneath them—something that felt almost... Personal. But before you could dissect it, he continued.

“We’ve all made sacrifices. This mission, these battles—it’s taken something from each of us. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. It wouldn’t make sense to leave you behind when we’re so close to the end.”

The logical reasoning made sense, and you wanted to believe it was as simple as that. But there was an undercurrent in his words that tugged at you, something unspoken that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“You trust me,” you said, more a statement than a question.

It… It couldn’t be it, right?

Zemo’s expression softened just slightly, but it was enough for you to notice.

“I do,” the confession sounded like a sacrifice for Helmut, but he kept going, “You made decisions even when your friends pointed out the risk, how untrusting it would be. Despite that, you did, time and time again.”

“You shouldn’t trust me,” you said, looking away, “I was the first to get exposed by John and the others, he instantly noticed me and that’s why the whole fight started.”

“But he wasn’t going to attack until I fired at him, before he could think about hitting you,” he pointed out in response, “Is that really why you’ve been self-reproaching since I found you? I thought you had changed your mind after I talked to you there. I’m more guilty than you are, as Sam, as James…”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Zemo had a way of cutting through your defenses, making you question the very things you were sure of. You had been blaming yourself, replaying the events in your mind, searching for the moment you could have done something to keep everyone safe. But here he was, taking part of the burden, as if he, too, felt the weight of every choice made.

It was unnerving, this sudden realization that maybe you weren’t alone in this guilt.

“I still don’t understand why you saved me,” you confessed quietly, the words escaping before you could stop it.

Zemo’s eyes flickered with something—something almost vulnerable, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Because leaving you behind wasn’t an option,” he replied, his voice steady, resolute.

The room felt smaller, the fire’s warmth pressing in on the two of you. The tension hung between you, thick and heavy, but neither of you made a move to break it. You studied his face, trying to find the exact moment when the man who had once been your enemy had started caring about you—really caring. But all you saw was that same enigmatic expression, guarding whatever he truly felt.

Maybe he didn’t even know himself.

“You’re not so bad, Helmut,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, “Not at all”.

But he heard you, his lips curving into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

“And you, mein schatz, are far more trouble than you’re worth,” he teased lightly, though there was no real bite to his words.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. The moment passed, and as you both settled into a more comfortable silence, you felt a strange sort of contentment—a realization that somehow, amidst all the chaos.

“I trust you too,” you whispered to the silence, a quiet confession.

As you closed your eyes, exhaustion finally took hold. The thought of Helmut didn’t leave you as you drifted into sleep, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest despite the cold.

Neither you left his mind when he watched you closing your eyes and resting your head on his shoulders. He looked away, not able to hold back a smile.

next chapter: Wasting our chances >>

#helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x you #zemo x reader #zemo x you #mcu x reader #mcu x you #john walker #sam wilson #bucky barnes #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #mcu fanfiction #helmut zemo #tfatws

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marvellover76 · 1 year ago

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Zemo: I had planned on tearing the Avengers apart from the inside out. Making them hate eachother as they remained oblivious to my intentions. Now I go after the Flagsmashers and the remains of the super soldier serum.

Sam: *horrified*

Bucky: *not even phased*

Zemo: *looks over at y/n* Turkish delight?

Y/n: *shrugs* sure why not.

#why am i making this post #it's 2am #zemo x reader #zemo x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #tfatws

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sambuckydrawer · 6 months ago

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Bucky: Go fuck yourself !

Sam: screw you son of a bitch !

Bucky: the only b l know is you, bastard !

Sam: can someone kill you ?

Zemo, who are quietly sit on the sofa: please, take a room

Steve, next to him: aren't they together?

Zemo: I hope so

Steve: they are not!?

Zemo: why? Did you think so?

Steve: l saw they kissing each other like two minutes ago

#sambucky #winterfalcon #incorrect quotes #helmut zemo #baron zemo #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes #buckysam #sam x bucky #bucky x sam

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sunnymusicalien · 8 months ago

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Zemo: If I may…?

Y/N: No!

Zemo: Ok…but…

Bucky + Sam: NO!

Zemo: *Breathes in* The Pizzaguy knocked at the door for the third time now.

Y/N: Why didn‘t you say something earlier?!? We‘re starving dumbass.

Zemo:*rolls eyes*

#marvel incorrect quotes #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #helmut zemo #baron zemo #zemo x reader #bucky barnes #sam wilson #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws

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buckysdollsworld · 9 months ago

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The Adventures of Bucky Barnes and Y/n Stark | Madrippoor | Bucky's Doll

GIF’s not mine

Content warnings: 18+, MDNI, alcohol use, oral sex, dom/sub dynamic

My first post let me know your thoughts!!

You were at a club in Madrippoor, on a mission with Sam, Bucky, and Zemo. You all were going to meet with Selby.

“Remember, stay in character,” Zemo says quietly as we walk to where Selby is.

“Baron welcome welcome, I wasn’t expecting you here tonight and you’ve brought friends I see.” Selby grins staring you down with a predatory demeanor.

“Ah, apologies I did not introduce you yet. Selby this is our friend y/n.” Zemo began, you don’t make eye contact but, give a polite smile.

“A quiet one I see. I like that come here, my dear.” Selby commanded, you simply walked over but glanced at the others before approaching her.

You knew you had to do as told but were quite hesitant, unsure what would come next. Selby grabbed your wrist pulling you to sit next to her. "Now Baron, what is it you came here for?" She looked towards Zemo while still having a grip on you

"Well my dear, I have come with an offer. You see we need some information on the super soldier serum..." Zemo was cut off

"And let me guess, you need my help?"

"Precisely" Zemo gives a smug smile.

Selby gives a mischievous grin before saying "Well, what is it you have to offer?"

"Glad you asked. As for what I have to offer well, I can give you our little friend here. She's quite good company." he smirks, and your gaze goes to him quickly in slight fear, this was never a part of the plan.

Bucky steps forward like he is about to say something but stays quiet, clenching his jaw clearly holding back. Selby grins at the thought of owning you

"Alright, Baron. Will she do anything I ask or will we have to break her in?"

"No need she is quite the obedient one, isn't that right y/n?" Zemo looks at you with a smug smile you shyly nod.

"Aw come on, use your word my pet" Zemo gestures for you to speak

"Yes sir" you reply in a soft-spoken voice.

"Before you hand her off I'd like a demonstration just so I know I'm not being lied to," Selby says not quite convinced of my submissiveness

"Of course, come here my pet" Zemo commanded you went over to him immediately but you glanced at Bucky knowing he hated every moment of someone touching what's his.

Zemo looks to you "Kneel" he demands you get down to your knees staring down he takes his hand and gently but firmly grabs your chin tilting your head up to meet his gaze. From there Zemo runs his thumb across your bottom lip

"Let's show what that pretty little mouth can do" With that he brings his other hand to his waistband beginning to undo his pants.

Bucky was barely holding it together he had his hand in a fist his jaw clenched. Zemo smirks while pulling his rock-hard cock out it was on full display he tugged at your bottom lip before releasing his grip on you. You look up at him before sticking your tongue out your mouth dropping open he brings his cock closer putting his hands at the back of your head and forcing you forward. Your mouth wraps around Zemos shaft as he thrusts into your mouth gagging you with his length. He grabs all of your hair turning it into a makeshift ponytail and pushing you down further on his shaft Selby has an evil grin on her face watching intently sipping her cocktail.

"Such a good girl" he groans drool starting to run down your face your mind somewhat melting away as you taste the saltiness of precum.

Zemo's head tilts back slightly he groans feeling so much pleasure as your head bobs on his cock finally he comes releasing his load into your mouth "Swallow" he demands his voice low and ragged you meet his eyes and swallow

"Good girl" he pulls his cock from your mouth and wipes the mix of his seed and your saliva from your chin. Zemo puts his cock back into his pants adjusting himself Selby smirked with amusement. It was obvious she was intrigued by you and your submissive nature she also loved getting a rise out of Bucky who was clearly angered by the whole ordeal.

"I must say Baron she is quite the obedient one. We have a deal" Selby grins walking over "Perfect. She's all yours" Zemo backs away from you.

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volklana · 11 months ago

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Marvel Cinematic Universe: Masterlist

Series

Bucky x Reader / Tony x Reader

What Do You Say When Words Are Not Enough? (Masterlist)

Bucky x Reader

Ride (Masterlist)

I Could Drown Myself in Someone Like You (Masterlist)

Tony x Reader

Falling In Love In A Coffeeshop (Masterlist)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Honey Whiskey

I’ll Be Looking At The Moon But I’ll Be Seeing You

Gimme More

Ooh Baby, The Music Sounds Better With You

It Feels Like Jealousy

If You Want Me

Rockabye Baby

Dog Years

Everything Has Changed

Rockabye Baby

Nervous

I Feel It In My Bones

When You Were Young

Healing Incantation

You Are In Love

Love Me Like You Do

Don’t Leave Home

You’re My Everything

I Wish I Was The Moon Tonight

Can’t Help Falling In Love

Tag! You’re It

It Hurts

Break In

Break In (Part Two)

Let ‘Em Say We’re Crazy

Don’t Say A Word

Beyond All Reason

Plus One

Hotter Than Hell

Gasoline

Can’t Stop Drinking About You

I Just Wanna Make Love To You

Steve Rogers x Reader

I’ll Be There

Right Here Waiting For You

You Let Her Go

Sick and Tired of Always Being Sick and Tired

I Can’t Fight Them All

I’ll Take Care of You

I Don’t Know You But I Want You All The More For That

You Want Her. You Need Her. And I’ll Never Be Her

Steve/Bucky x Reader

I’m Falling Again

I’m Falling Again (Part II)

Tony Stark x Reader

Rooting For You

I Heard A Boy Say Please Don’t Hurt Me

Why Does Love Always Feel Like A Battlefield?

Spooky Scary Skeletons

Bruce Banner x Reader

Bruce Put The Happy In Happy Birthday

Dance Dance Dance

Sam Wilson x Reader

Better

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

The Lady In Red

Coming Home

I Just Wanna Look Good For You

Zemo x Reader

I’ve Got a Burning Desire For You, Baby

Honey Whiskey

#bucky x reader #tony stark x reader #steve rogers x reader #natasha romanov x reader #bruce banner x reader #sam wilson x reader #zemo x reader #mcu fanfiction #avengers x reader

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manestjerne · 10 months ago

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The book of regrets part one

Summary: You're an avenger, Tony's younger sister. When things finally get quiet, Bucky reaches out for you to help him.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: guns, swearing, a little angst, mentions of mental disorders, angry behavior, injuries, lying

A/N: Okay, so Steve is gone, but the endgame never happened, no one's dead, I can't cope with that, okay?

It was supposed to be a one-shot, but I lost it after around 4k words, so there'll be more parts, that's why I finally created a

masterlist

I was sitting at my desk, going through some of the newest research Bruce sent me when my phone buzzed lightly. I moved my head slightly, my thoughts still on the research shimmering on my laptop’s screen.

You up?

I locked my eyes on the notification from an unknown number, knowing it usually means trouble. I slowly wrapped my fingers around the phone and picked it up, ready to look for some info about the number, but my hand clenched tighter when it started buzzing again. I stared at the screen for a few seconds before picking up and moving it slowly to my ear, not saying anything.

„Hey, hope I’m not bothering you too much.”

„Bucky?”

I felt my shoulders relax, not even realizing how tensed I was a moment before. The familiar voice echoed lightly in my head, he was the last person I was expecting.

„I’m sorry.” He paused for a second and I could almost hear how his jaw clenched before he started talking again. „Remember when you said I can count on you if I need anything? That’s a perfect moment for that.”

„What did you do?”

I whined quietly in response, knowing he’s in real bad trouble if he’s asking me for help. He never did that, it was always Nat or Wanda, sometimes the others, but he never asked me, to not put me in danger. I was wondering why did he change his mind suddenly.

„Look, you don’t have to come, but I’d appreciate that…” He paused again like he was struggling to just talk to me. „…asshole. I’ll send you the details if you’re interested.”

I smiled to myself at the insult, knowing he’s just trying to show me that he doesn’t care if I come. I looked at my phone again when he hang up, waiting for some sort information about what he wanted me to do, but only an address and time showed up on the screen when I felt the little buzz. I looked at the clock.

„Two hours, great.”

I mumbled to myself, realizing the drive will take me about an hour and a half. I stood up rapidly putting all the necessities I my bag. I was prepared for that, honestly I was waiting for something like that to happen. After Steve left, things among the Avengers got pretty quiet and I missed the rush of adrenaline I got during missions. After 15 minutes my duffel was packed and I glanced at the room one more time to make sure I didn’t forget anything. I walked out through the kitchen when I heard a voice behind my back.

„Where are you going?”

Tony asked not lifting his eyes, still focused on whatever calculations he was working on.

„Nat’s” I shrugged my shoulders like it was supposed to get the blame of lying to him out of my head. „I’m staying for the whole weekend.”

„Just don’t get into any trouble. Love you.”

He still wasn’t looking at me, and thank God he was so focused on his work. I felt guilt crawling up my spine and folding my mind with his last words, but I couldn’t tell him the truth. He wasn’t really fond of Bucky and we would argue, which I didn’t have time for. As a brother he was just trying to protect me and I was glad he did, but he was really overreactive sometimes and I needed a break from staying at home for so long.

„Love you too.”

I mumbled before rushing to the elevator.

„Hey Nat, what are you up to?”

I asked through the hand-free set as I was driving, checking the gps way too often.

„Not much, why?"

She laughed at my directness.

„If anyone asks, I’m staying at your place for the weekend, okay?”

I wasn’t planning on hiding anything from her, I knew she wouldn’t snitch about it, so I just chose to say exactly what’s on my mind.

„Oh, you fucking troublemaker. What are you up to now?”

I knew she rolled her eyes as she said this. I smirked at her reaction.

„Not sure, but some grumpy old man asked for my help and I’m too bored of sitting on my ass, since you stopped taking me on missions.”

„Bucky reached out to you?” She sounded surprised, which wasn’t a common emotion for her. „Is it about the whole New Captain America shit?”

„About what?”

I froze, realizing I’m not up to speed. I spent the last few days isolated in my room, trying to help Bruce with his research, it was really time-consuming. She laughed at my reaction and I promised to give her an update when I knew more. I spent most of my ride talking to her, which was one of my favorite things. Either listening to music or talking with Natasha while driving was a perfect way to clear my mind, one of my favorite ways to escape the reality.

„Okay, I guess I’m here.” I said when I parked my car at an empty parking lot. „I’ll update you when I know anything. Just don’t rat on me, love you.”

„Just don’t get yourself killed, love you too.”

She hang up as I reached for my bag and left the car, slowly looking around. It seemed like I was alone, when I spotted a warehouse in the distance. A large field was separating from what I guessed was our meeting spot, so I couldn’t get any closer with my car and decided to walk on foot, cursing under my breath when I realized how far away it was. My breathing was getting heavier with each step when I reached the warehouse, still not seeing anyone, when a firm voice behind my back snapped me back to reality.

„I didn’t think you’d come.”

I jumped, forgetting how smooth he can be. He snuck up on be from behind without any trouble, but I blamed the exhausting walk for my distraction.

„Why’d you call me then?”

I rolled my eyes, looking at his face as he furrowed his brows thinking about a satisfying answer.

„Because I knew you won’t freak out.”

What he said wasn’t even a bit of a satisfying answer, I still knew shit, but I turned my back to him when I heard the large door opening, realizing we’re not alone. Seeing a familiar face put me off guard and in a second I had my gun pointed at Zemo, without even thinking about it.

„The fuck is this?”

I scoffed not lowering my gaze, feeling the blood boil in my veins. Last time I saw Bucky, I helped him chase Zemo and now he brought me straight to him.

„Relax.” He said softly behind my back. „We need him just as much as we need you. Put the gun down, murderer.”

„We?”

I asked, but as an answer, a tall man walked out of the warehouse, going through some notes he was holding.

„Okay, we’re all set. Are we still waiting for her or is she-„ He stopped mid-sentence when he looked up and saw me, my fist still clenching on the gun I was pointing at Zemo seconds before he came here. „Shit, sorry. Didn’t know you’re already here. Nice to see you again.”

„Uh-huh, and you are…?”

I asked carelessly and heard Bucky sigh, as he was now standing next to me.

„Girl, we’ve literally spent like three days together when we were trying to get him his mind back.”

He said with a scowl, nodding his head in Bucky’s direction.

„Oh, yeah. Sam.” I said when I finally remembered where do I know him from. „Sorry, I wasn’t really focused on making new friends then, kinda busy with some family drama.”

The Civil War was an awful memory for me, as I betrayed Tony by getting on Steve’s side. We worked it out after a while, well, in the end I supported the Socovia Accords, distracting the whole team and letting them go after Zemo. I spent so much time helping Steve find Bucky and then continued to risk my life by helping him, only to find out, he's the person who killed my parents. Well, not exactly, I knew the difference between Bucky and the Winter Soldier, that’s why I got over it much quicker than Tony, but it still ached my heart. I would probably do it again, I knew he deserved my help, but I wish they told me before Zemo did.

„We should get going.”

Bucky said and took the bag off my shoulder in one, smooth motion. I let him do that, now fully focused on the private jet we were walking towards. It wasn’t anything new for me, as a Stark I was used to this kind of luxury but I had to ask.

„Where’d you get that?”

„It’s mine.”

Zemo replied calmly when we were walking up the stairs.

„Oh.”

I mumbled quietly, loosing any further interest in the jet.

I sat on the seat I found the most comfortable and Bucky threw my bag at my feet before sitting down opposite and piercing me with his gaze. I smiled softly in reply, knowing it’ll piss him off, and it worked perfectly as he rolled his eyes once I did that.

„Can you now tell me where we’re going?”

I looked closely at Bucky for the first time I saw him. He looked pretty miserable, but that wasn’t anything new, I was more worried about the bruises and scratches all over his face, now clearly visible in the bright light. And I knew there were more, hidden under his thick layers of clothing. I flinched when Sam threw a file on my knees. I opened it up and looked through the papers. It took me some time to read it all carefully, trying to remember any details that might be useful later. My eyes were flickering between the lines, comparing a few pages at once, trying to figure out more connections than they’ve already found, but their research was pretty solid.

„Karli Morgenthau? That kid kicked your asses?”

I looked at Sam before trying to figure out Bucky’s expression, but none of them replied.

„Why me? Why am I so perfect for this?”

I asked pretty annoyed, since they stopped replying any of my questions.

„Because we saw, that you know how to fight a super soldier. You proved it more than once.”

Bucky said after a minute of awkward silence. I replied him with a blank stare, knowing he’s referring to me fighting Steve, when he went too harsh on Tony, that night in Siberia.

„You don’t have to do that, we can get you a flight back as soon as we land.”

He rolled his eyes with that and I replied with a huff, bringing my knees to my chest to shift into a more comfortable position, knowing we’re going have a long flight. I closed my eyes and tried to sink in the silence, but I was feeling quite uncomfortable, so I decided to take a guess.

„Stop staring at me, freak.”

I knew I was right, when I opened my eyes and saw the grimace on his face. Bingo.

„I told you to stop doing that Buck, it’s freaking people out.”

Sam chuckled from the sit on my right, but my eyes were still on Bucky. He looked at Sam for a quick second, before catching my gaze again.

„She’s not freaked out because of my staring, just geniually afraid.”

He said with a teasing grin, but I knew he was waiting for an honest answer, hoping I won’t figure that out.

„Good point, I usually don’t trust people who shot me in the past.”

My response was calm, my hands resting in the pocket of my jumper to hide the trembling. He got abashed by that, now wondering if that’s the truth, or maybe I knew what answer he was hoping for. He was praying in his mind for me to deny, knowing we all went through a lot with him as the Winter Soldier. But in his eyes I was the most fragile one, never been on a real war, just a spoiled little girl. He gave me one more careful look, but I did everything in my power to not let him know that I’m lying. I wasn’t afraid of him, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me now. I was sure about that, but if he wanted to play that game, acting like he doesn’t care? I had no point proving him otherwise.

„So is her name in your book too?”

Zemo was first to break the silence. Bucky snapped his head in his direction, but I said nothing, acting like I don’t care what they’re talking about.

„It’s not.”

Bucky hissed in response. I decided to not ask any more questions, just closed my eyes and rested my head on my shoulder, hugging my knees close to my chest. I felt that I started drifting away, giving up and deciding to ask more questions about the Flag Smashers when we reach our destination. I flinched and opened my eyes, feeling a soft material suddenly landing over my head. I took it off and looked at Bucky questioningly.

„Take a nap, we have some real shit to work out.”

I responded him with a smile and covered myself with the blanket he just threw at me, but he rolled his eyes and looked away. We didn’t hate each other, it wasn’t the point, but neither of us was going to give up and we only pushed ourselves further with all the teasing. I knew he’d do a lot for me, to protect me. But still we played our characters well, acting like we hate each other, when there was no need to care. I wasn’t sure why tho, sometimes I felt like I’m just fooling myself that he actually cares about me. That I’m too worried about him, to realize that I’m not important to him at all, trying to protect my bruised ego. I let my head fall back and closed my eyes again, hoping no one will interrupt this time.

It felt like I just fell asleep, when a strong hand landed firmly on my shoulder.

„We’re almost there.”

Sam said in a soft voice when I opened my eyes. I looked around and realized everyone is looking at me.

„What? Was I snoring?”

I asked rolling my eyes before folding the blanket and putting it back under the table.

„We were just wondering…” Zemo started slowly, I forgot how annoying his accent was. „… how many guns did you take with you?”

„What kind of a stupid fucking question is that?” I snorted „Enough, but I believe they won’t be necessary.”

„What do you mean?”

Zemo asked confused, but I was focused on Sam, his impression turned sad quickly, lowering his gaze to the ground and shaking his head slowly.

„They’re just a bunch of kids, you’re not planning on killing them, are you?” I huffed. „I’m not an assassin, that’s not why you called me. There must be another way.”

„So you’re just going to talk them out of killing innocent people? Sounds like a good plan.”

Bucky snorted, but I knew he was on my side here.

„She’s right.” Sam said quietly when we started landing, but we all could see Zemo’s impression, he was not pleased about what we've just said. „We just have to take control of the situation and calm everything down, killing them won’t solve the problem, there’ll be more.”

„But that way we could teach them a lesson.” Zemo said carelessly. „The car is waiting.”

„Where the hell are we?”

I asked when we left the plane. The weather confused me as the warm breeze grazed my face.

„Riga.”

Zemo replied peacefully when we were walking towards the car.

„It’s Donya Madani’s funeral today, that’s our chance to find them.”

Sam added to dispel my doubts. The ride wasn’t long, but very quiet, too quiet for me. Living in the Avengers Tower and being so close with Tony made me used to loud surroundings. I was always complaining about that, only missing it when the silence was too long, too loud. I took my phone out of my pocket and opened the chat with Natasha.

Just tracking a bunch of rebellian kids, I’ll be fine:)

I shut down the screen and started fidgeting with my phone, when Sam finally broke the silence.

„How’s Wanda, she was pretty broken the last time I saw her.”

I turned my head his way before noticing Zemo’s stare in the rare mirror, but I ignored it.

„She’s better now, not fine, but better. Found her peace in Vision I guess, little traitor moved out.”

He chuckled at my answer and I let out a sigh of relieve as the car wasn’t so quiet finally.

„How’s your sister, you have one, right?”

He looked at me confused, but then probably remembered I’m a Stark, I can get information on anybody, whenever I want. He smiled softly and nodded his head.

„Having some trouble now, but we’re trying to figure it out, only getting better.”

„I didn’t know you have a sister.”

Bucky looked at us over his shoulder, he sounded a little offended.

„Wondering why, you two are such besties, should know everything about each other.”

I answered sarcastically and Sam snorted again. The rest of our ride was quiet again, but the atmosphere wasn’t so tensed, letting me enjoy it more, before Zemo parked in a narrow street, in front of an old, but luxury looking tenement. I lazily got out of the car, letting Sam take my bag. Our walk to the building was short, but my attention was brought by a small, silverfish ball laying at the side of the street. I took a look around carefully when we were getting closer to the entrance door, when Bucky spoke up.

„I’m gonna take a walk.”

He said casually, but I knew what his destination was. Sam and Zemo nodded, opening the door. Sam gave me a questioning stare before entering, but I didn’t move, just replied with a meaningful smile and he nodded again, closing the door behind him. I turned around when Bucky was squatting, taking a closer look to the object that brought my attention earlier.

„It’s about Zemo, isn’t it?”

He flinched at my voice, not knowing I stayed outside.

„Go inside, I’ll do the talk.”

He rolled his eyes and turned his back my way again, starting to walk towards the nearest corner. I sighed and followed him, almost running for a moment, before catching up.

„You shouldn’t have done that Bucky, that’s too much.”

I said firmly and brought my head up to look at him, but he didn’t mind looking back.

„You think it’s not too much for me?” He sighed before honoring me with a quick glance. „We need him, he got us closer than we could’ve gone alone.”

„You could’ve just called me earlier, you know I could help.”

He stopped unexpectedly and looked me in the eyes.

„I hoped it won’t be necessary at all, I don’t want to put you at risk again.”

„Stop acting like anything that happened there was your fault. I’m not a damn kid, I know what and when I can handle, it was my choice to help Steve and I regret nothing.”

The words coming out of my mouth quickly, he was annoying me with trying to blame himself for everything, protecting me when it wasn’t needed.

„You should regret that, I killed your parents.”

He replied harshly before walking away. He confused me with his words, I needed to process what he said for a few seconds before following him again.

„You didn’t, that was the Winter Soldier and we both know the difference, so stop fucking whining, I thought you went to the therapy to work on your PTSD.”

My answer was unexpected for both of us, his flesh fingers wrapped around my jaw as I stopped talking, but I couldn’t blame him.

„You know shit about the difference, and you’re the one whining at the moment, so just go to the apartment and let me talk to them before I lose my temper.”

His hand left my face as soon as he stopped talking, but he didn’t move, still staring at me with his cold eyes, surprisingly filled with guilt, not anger.

„Should’ve used the metal arm, you’re not going to scare me that way.”

I shrugged my shoulders and continue walking in the direction he chose.

„I’m not trying to scare you, just stop being such a fucking tease, damn it.”

I shook my head in response when we took the corner.

„Ayo.”

I noded at her slowly.

„Miss Stark.”

She replied politely before turning to Bucky.

„I’m here for Zemo.”

„We need him.”

I replied without hesitation, ignoring Bucky’s annoyed look.

„You shouldn’t have done that, he still has his debt to pay.”

She wasn’t looking at me and I saw a muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitch before he answered.

„I apprecieate everything you did for me, he is just a means to an end.”

His voice was calm and respectful, his eyes fully focused on the tall figure in front of us. I never saw him talking with anybody like that, wondering what exactly happened during his stay in Wakanda.

„He killed king T’Chaka and now you set him free? After all you went through to free yourself? You chose a wrong way here.”

I saw how she brought him down with just once sentence, still acting confident, but we both saw as he just wanted to shrink and disappear to avoid continuing this conversation.

„T’Challa chose for him to live and I’ll put him back in prison myself when we’re finished.”

I responded firmly, trying to take over and not make Bucky do anything he wanted to escape at that moment.

„No.” Ayo cut me off harshly. „We’ll take care of him now. In Wakanda. Eight hours.”

She emphasized her last words and I felt shivers crawling up my spine. As much as I respected the whole Dora Milaje, how grateful I was for what Shuri ever did for us and how much I wanted to appreciate what the last king and his whole tribe did for me when I needed it, I was scared. Their help proved how devoted they were to just live in peace, they made me respect them and all their work. I turned my back to her and started walking away, Bucky following not long after me.

When we reached the building I rested my back on the wall near the door and went through my pockets to find a pack of cigarettes, before putting one in my mouth and lightning it. I inhaled the smoke searching for some kind of relief as it spreaded through my lungs.

„I’ll catch up.”

I noded at Bucky, but he didn’t leave, looking at me closely.

„I thought you quit.”

He furrowed his brows and crossed his arm on his chest.

„Nasty habit.” I shrugged, letting the silence last for a few more seconds before speaking up. „I started again when Steve left.”

His gaze felt to the ground immediately, I knew how much it hurt him. They only person who really cared all these years, his only chance of finding comfort, believing he was something more than just HYDRA’s weapon, leaving as suddenly as he appeared in his life again.

„He left me something.” I said slowly putting my hand I my pocket, grabbing the cold, thin metal with my fingers, hesitating if I should do it, but I knew he deserved this piece of him back. „Here.”

His eyes widened as he saw the dog tag I was holding. Taking a closer look he could see his name engraved on it.

„I wanted to give you this earlier, but well, never had a chance to do it.”

My fingers clenched tighter on the chain for a second, before I let him take it. He examined it closely before opening his mouth.

„Where did he got it? Why did he gave it to you, not me?”

I knew there were much more questions in his head, but I didn’t know the answer to any of them. I sighed softly before taking another drag.

„I don’t t know. We’ll never know.”

I looked at the cigarette between my fingers, realizing I finished it much faster than I expected. I put it out in a bin and gave Bucky one more reassuring look, while he was still turning the little sheet of metal between his fingers.

„Let’s go.” I squeezed his arm softly before entering the building.

We didn’t know how Zemo got any information about the address, but we were finally standing in front of the building, the memorial was supposed to happen in. I heard a soft, friendly voice behind my back, when we all turned to face it.

„Bucky! Sam!” The blonde man paused for a second taking a closer look at me „Miss Stark? Woah, what an honor.”

I raised my eyebrow and looked at Bucky who rolled his eyes, looking more annoyed than I’ve ever seen him.

„Who the fuck are you?”

My eyes wandered all over his body, feeling my fists clench, seeing another man wearing Captain’s America suit. He had no right to do that, he had no right to put his hands on the shield. I thought about what Nat told me earlier, the whole New Captain America shit. I never thought she’s so serious about it.

„My apologies, I never introduced myself, people mostly know me now.” He smiled showing his white teeth and I felt a grimace of disgust forming on my lips. „I’m John Walker, Captain America. This is Battlestar.”

I snorted at the little nickname his friend got for himself.

„You’re not Captain America, you’ll never be.” My voice filled with hate and disrespect wiped his smile away for a second. „And you still have the nerve to walk around with that shield on your back, you have no self respect, do you?”

I felt quiet chuckles coming from both Bucky and Sam as my anger was starting to grow every second I kept looking at the muppet standing in front of me.

„I knew I’ll enjoy their first meeting.”

Sam whispered, but I couldn’t focus on their reactions, my knuckles starting to turn white from how hard I was clenching my fists.

„Basically, this shield is a government property, and well” he chuckled proudly „since I’m the government, I have all rights to use it.”

„This shield was made by my father and the government took the rights illegally after his death, so basically you should shut the fuck up before I lose my temper.”

Bucky groaned proudly as I repeated his words from earlier, I turned his way completely ignoring the farce behind my back.

„You’re not cooperating with them, are you?”

„Well, basically…” John started „…you have to do that, government orders.”

„You’re such a dog for mister president, huh?” I grinned through my teeth „Little muppet just following him around and completing all the orders. Just don’t get in my way or I’ll have to get rid of you, and I really worked hard on my reputation for the last few years, don’t make me ruined it again.”

I started walking towards the building, Bucky and Sam following me closely until me met with Zemo, after entering through the back door.

„Now, you don’t get in my way, or I’ll take the necessary measures.”

He followed us inside, probably thinking of a come back the whole time.

„Yeah, arrest me, whatever. Just shut your mouth before I help you.”

I took my gun out checking again if it’s loaded, praying I won’t have to use it.

„Excuse me” I groaned turning his way, as he had he audacity to open his mouth again. „Did you break out a prisoner? How dumb are you, bringing him to me? What is he doing here?”

„He’s definitely being less annoying than you.” I got a quiet chuckle even from Zemo this time. „He escaped alone, we had nothing to with it and you shouldn’t be worried about that.”

„I demand your respect, you can’t treat me like that. I’m taking care of the order now, wether you like it or not, so you better-"

I cut him off with a loud laugh, but Bucky and Sam got defensive immediately, taking a step closer to him.

„She better what?”

„Okay, you know what?” His impression turned into a fake, friendly smile again. „We should just work this out together and then I’ll arrest him. I won’t take you if you cooperate with me. So what’s the plan?”

I rolled my eyes and looked at Sam, he was the one to speak up first.

„I’ll go talk to her, just don’t interrupt us, there has to be more than just a murderer in her, I’ll get it out.”

His words were calm and firm. He knew what he was talking about, before becoming an Avenger he used to run a therapy group for veterans, he just knew how to deal with people like her.

„I’ll go with you, but we do that alone, no interruptions, no help, unless we say we need it. Let’s not get these kids killed.”

„He’s an ex-soldier, used to this kind of situations, who are you, thinking you can handle it?”

John asked irritated, I knew it was only because I made demands, he was just trying to putt me off guard.

„I’m a woman, so believe me, I can talk to people better than any of you.”

I said carelessly and Bucky scoffed, I rolled my eyes at him.

„Ten minutes.” John said taking out his handcuffs and walking towards Zemo. „And he stays here, I’ll deal with it when we’re finished.”

I followed Sam to the main hall, where Karli was standing alone, probably aware that we’re coming.

„We’re sorry for your loss.”

Sam started when we came closer to her.

„No, you’re not.”

She scoffed angrily, taking a step back.

„Karli, we’re just here to talk, please listen what we want to say.”

„I know who you are. You’re not fond of talking, none of the Avengers are. You don’t understand what we’re doing, what we’re fighting for.”

She was frustrated and probably scared. I knew there were people watching us, making sure she’s safe. But they were hiding for now, giving us the space to continue.

„You can’t fight for your rights by hurting other people, we’re here to help, just let us.”

I continued slowly, taking a step towards her once more, and she didn’t back off this time, I saw it as a good sign.

„People who are getting hurt deserve it. You should know how it works.”

I sighed, I knew how many innocent people were hurt by the Avengers, by us trying to save the word, sometimes just causing more damage. I understood clearly what she was referring to.

„You’re not making the word a better place by doing all this. We can go through it together, not killing anyone.”

She was looking less tensed as Sam was speaking, gently resting her hips on the table behind her.

„How would you like to do that? There’s no place for us, there won’t be without a war I’m about to start.”

„I'm the one to help you here.” My words were careful, trying not to offend her, but firm at the same time. „I have all you need, I have money. I understand your point of view, you’ve been abandoned after the blip, and I honestly understand what you’re fighting for, your point of view isn’t so strange to me. But there don’t have to be so many victims. Innocent victims.”

I emphasized the last words as she was listening to me more carefully now, but still not convinced by anything I’ve said.

„That money is covered in blood, I’m not taking charity. I’m fighting for more people than you can imagine, they need me. They need my help.”

„Right now, your hands are covered in blood Karli, is that what you’re fighting for?”

She got quiet after Sam’s words. She needed a moment to process it, but she was trusting us slowly, I could see the change in her impression. I rested on the table next to her, still giving her the space to think about it, to leave it all and accept our help. Try to figure it out together, without violence and hate. Suddenly I heard loud footsteps approaching us, realizing it’s over, she won’t trust us, not now, not after what she sees. The door swung open as John entered the room.

„You traitors! I almost believed you.”

She shouted as more people started flooding the room. She pushed me from the table I was sitting on and I landed on the ground, completely giving up, covering my face so her punches wouldn’t reach it.

„You don’t understand Karli. We’re not working with him, he’s trying to bring us down to, just listen!”

I screamed at her, refusing to his her back, not wanting to fight her. I tangled my leg with hers, bringing her to the floor as I stood up.

„Just listen.”

She looked behind me, seeing John coming our way as she jumped up and started running.

„You fucking idiot!”

I yelled, trying to run after her, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back. I looked around, seeing Bucky and Sam handling it pretty well, I decided to go after John and Karli, but it was too late. I found John standing in a corridor alone, panting heavily next to a broken window.

„She’s gone.” He said between deep breaths. „She’s gone and it’s your fault.”

„We almost had it, she was talking to us, she was willing to trust us. You fucked it, not me.”

I said turning away and walking back to the main hall.

„I won’t hesitate next time I see her.”

I ignored him, walking into now almost empty room.

„You alright?”

Sam asked when I gave him a hand to help him get up.

„Perfect.”

The three of us were walking back to the apartment alone, knowing Zemo is probably waiting for us there. Sam was walking faster, a few steps ahead of me and Bucky.

„Why didn’t you fight her back?”

Bucky asked quietly, not looking at me, but his brows were furrowed as always. I knew he was blaming himself for fighting them, when he saw me just giving up on Karli.

„Steve did the same with you, when you were the Winter Soldier. I was there to help her, not to fight her.”

He hummed in response, probably thinking about the time when he had to fight Steve, when he had the urge to kill him, but something stopped him from doing that.

„I think that’s why he gave it to me.” He was now looking at me, as I pointed my finger at the silver dog tag on his neck, shimmering lightly in the bright rays of the sun. „He wanted me to remember who you really are, to help you if you need it when he’s not around.”

„Then why’d you give it to me?”

He looked at me confused, but a soft smile started forming on his lips.

„I don’t need a reminder of who you are, but I think you do.”

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19thcenturylover · 4 months ago

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Wingbaron yuri but cats

I'm still on this ship, but I'm a bit embarrassed to keep drawing it and I don't have many ideas, also I'm a little focused on an au of this but aja AJDJJD. But anyways, I made this drawing a month ago but I forgot to post it and tbh, it's one of my favorites of the year :3

Kitty yuri :P (I wanted to do something more detailed and I loved it)

And this fast doodle for my au jiji :3 (Sam's wings are "organic" in this kitty versión,, yea :P

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mgenchanted · 15 days ago

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The falcon and the winter soldier and Zemo

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iliumheightnights · 2 years ago

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hear me out,,,

Sam Wilson and Bucky barnes fighting over reader and that they both work with because they both think that he’s interested in them but in reality, he’s secretly dating zemo <3

Okay but hear me out...

Bucky: "Really? Him?"

Sam: "Yeah, him?"

Zemo: "That's right. Me."

M/n: "Don't worry. I like you both too!"

Zemo: "We don't mind sharing."

#sam wilson #bucky barnes #helmut zemo #the falcon and the winter soldier #x male reader #x male!reader #x reader #reader #malereader #male!reader #male reader

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knightofmidnightsun · 6 months ago

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Wasting our chances [2] | HELMUT ZEMO

Summary: You and Helmut has to find a way to get back to your friends and retrieve the artifact once and for all.

Warnings: Description of injuries. angst. a lot of angst again, be ready. description of and violence, referenced sexual harassment, trust issues

Word count: 11K

Skeletons, skeletons series: [1], [2], [3]

You moved in silence, each step measured and deliberate, as if the airship itself was listening. The metallic hum of the engines vibrated under your feet, a constant reminder of the danger lurking in the shadows. Every breath you took felt like a risk, the tension in the air so thick it was almost suffocating.

Helmut led the way, his movements precise and controlled, with James and Sam close behind. You followed at a distance, your eyes constantly scanning the dimly lit corridors for any sign of movement. The mission was simple: infiltrate, retrieve the artifact, and get out before anyone realized you were there. But something about this place felt off, as though the walls themselves were watching, waiting for the perfect moment to betray you.

James suggested splitting up to cover more ground and find the artifact quickly. Though the idea made sense, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. The Masters of Evil might not have known you were there, but the silence was too loud, too charged with an impending threat.

You passed through rooms filled with books, weapons, and maps, each more ancient and arcane than the last. But there was no sign of the artifact. The urgency of the situation weighed heavily on you, the words of Doctor Strange echoing in your mind: the artifact was powerful, dangerous, and in the wrong hands, it could bring untold destruction. But he hadn’t told you what it was, only that it was a page from a book steeped in dark magic, exuding an evil so potent you would know it when you saw it.

Then, you understood what he meant.

As you entered another darkened hallway, a wooden box caught your eye, sitting innocuously on a desk at the far end. It was locked, but that wasn’t what made your heart race. The air around the box seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, a whispering presence that sent chills down your spine. The whispers, low and indistinct, grew louder in your mind, as if the box itself was trying to communicate with you.

The closer you got, the more the air seemed to thicken, pressing in on you from all sides. Your powers stirred inside you, a swirl of black and white energy, sensing the wrongness of the box. It was as though your very essence knew exactly what was inside the box, an instinctive recoil that made your skin prickle with unease.

Yet, at the same time, there was something about the box that drew you in, a dangerous allure that tugged at the edges of your mind.

You hesitated, your eyes hovering over the box as the whispers turned darker, more insistent. The energy within you flickered, confused, caught between the urge to pull back and the strange temptation to uncover what was hidden.

Each step closer seemed to dull your senses, the black and white energy that usually guided you now sluggish, as if sedated by the presence of the box. It flickered around you, almost fading away from your touch.

The closer you got, the more it felt like your powers were slipping away, sinking into a murky void. However, your mind was so far away that you couldn’t bring yourself to step away.

Just as you were about to reach out, a sudden spike of awareness cut through the haze. Your powers flared, a jolt of black and white energy that hit you like a warning, sharp and urgent. Something was about to happen, something dangerous, but the realization came a second too late.

Your foot nudged something on the floor—a box teetering on the edge of a chair that crashed to the ground with a resounding thud, echoing down the corridor. Panic surged through you, your powers now fully awake but unstable, reacting to the threat too late.

The noise was far too loud; if you had heard it, so would the Masters of Evil.

You forced yourself to focus, reaching out with your powers. The familiar black and white energy began to swirl around you, but it was faint, like a flickering light on the verge of going out. As you reached for it, the energy felt slippery, elusive, as if something was dulling your connection to it.

A wave of dizziness hit you, and your vision blurred. The whispers from the box grew louder, their dark tendrils winding through your mind, sedating your powers even further. You could feel them slipping away, weakening with each passing second. The clarity that usually accompanied your abilities was fading, leaving you with nothing but a desperate, primal urge to hide.

The smartest thing to do at the moment, the only thing you could focus on, was to hide.

You found yourself ducking behind one of the old bookcases abandoned around the hall, your body moving on its own.

Your breath caught in your throat as you heard footsteps. Slow, deliberate, they echoed down the hallway, each one a countdown to your discovery. You peeked around the edge of the bookcase, and your blood ran cold.

John Walker.

He moved with the calm confidence of a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run. The shield at his side glinted ominously in the dim light as his eyes scanned the hallway, narrowing when they reached the fallen box. He didn’t call out, didn’t rush. He just kept walking, each step bringing him closer to you.

The energy inside you surged again, the black and white colors swirling together, urging you to stay hidden, to wait for the right moment. You pressed further into the shadows, but it was no use. His gaze locked onto your hiding place, a slow, sadistic smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” His voice was low, mocking, dripping with malice. He took another step closer, savoring the moment. “It’s been a while since our last meeting, hasn’t it, sweetpea?”

You couldn’t move, couldn’t think. His presence was suffocating, the way he stepped closer to you, the way his eyes seemed to bore into your very soul...

It wasn’t the shield that terrified you, though you knew how deadly it could be.

“The last time we met, you tried to immobilize me and tower over me before I headbutted your nose,” you muttered, eyes narrowing in his nose. The hit lingering in the way it got healed since the last fight of yours.

John’s smile only widened at your words, the memory of that encounter clearly doing nothing to deter him. Instead, it seemed to amuse him, fueling the twisted satisfaction in his eyes. He took another step closer, and you instinctively pressed yourself further into the bookcase, wishing it could swallow you whole.

Instantly, you regretted indulging him.

“Ah, yes. You’ve always been quite the fighter,” he said, his voice laced with a sickeningly sweet condescension, “But we both know how that would have ended, don’t we? No need to play tough now.”

The last time you had met, John John only had his punches and kicks, his shield thrown away from both of you as he held your arms and hands over your head and towered over you. Right there, you knew what you had to do, the energy flew from you, guiding you quickly to act before thinking about it.

But now, his shield was right there at his side.

Every fiber of your being screamed at you to do something, anything, but you were frozen, caught in the web of his gaze. Anyway you ran would be worthless, you were cornered in all ways and meanings.

He was close now, too close. You could see the faint scars on his face, remnants of battles fought and won, but it wasn’t those that held your attention. It was the way his eyes darkened with something more sinister, something that made your skin crawl. The shield in his hand felt like an afterthought now, a mere tool in his arsenal, but not the one that concerned you most.

“I’ve missed this,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he loomed over you. “The chase. If you wish, I can give you five seconds ahead, but you already know how it will end this time, no? With that little trick of yours.”

That was the problem, your little trick —your powers— were slipping away, leaving you unsure if you even had a chance against him anymore.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, even though it felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, staring into a dark abyss.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you spat, though your voice betrayed the tremor of fear that you couldn’t quite suppress.

“Is that so?” He chuckled softly, a sound that sent chills down your spine, “Are you sure?”

Your muscles tensed, every nerve on high alert as his words sank in. The moment stretched out, a silent standoff where every second felt like an eternity. You could feel your powers stirring within you, a desperate attempt to brace for whatever came next, but the energy was erratic, unpredictable.

Glancing, you were capable of seeing the intangible energy shaking around you, trying with all its might to help you out of there despite its state.

Just as you felt the darkness closing in, you sensed it. A change in the air, something piercing the breeze and aiming with certainty.

Then, you heard—a sharp crack that pierced the tension like a lightning bolt.. John recoiled, a pained grunt escaping his lips as he staggered back, clutching his shoulder where a thin line of blood began to seep through his uniform. He turned his face to something behind him, muttering a swear.

You blinked, the world around you snapping back into focus as the shock of what just happened settled in, your energy trembling and crawling back under your skin. Your gaze darted in the direction John was looking—toward the entrance of the hall where Zemo stood.

Gun in hand, a thin wisp of smoke curling from the barrel. His eyes were locked onto you, assessing the situation with a calm that contrasted sharply with the chaos unfolding.

For a split second, the world seemed to stop. Zemo’s expression was unreadable, a mask of control that gave nothing away, you wished you could read his mind and see what he was thinking.

Was he mad at you for exposing yourself? Did he know what John was about to do? How long was the baron there? What had he seen and listened to before firing that gun?

Zemo gave no answer away, he only stood there, gaze shifting from you to Walker.

Who was already recovering, standing in the way between you and the box. Yeah, you had completely ruined the plan.

“We need to hurry,” Zemo shouted, lifting his brows at you, reloading his gun, “Go on.”

Hurry you did, kicking John in his legs and making him fall before running to Zemo, following him down the airship. The sound of heavy steps following you.

You watched all your friends running out of their own hidden spots, exposed as you were after what you had done.

But something was wrong. The powers that usually guided you through danger were barely a whisper now, leaving you vulnerable. Each breath you took was heavier than before, more uncertain, and the world around you seemed to blur and twist. The dizziness returned, stronger this time, making your head swim.

As you reached out to your powers once more, desperate for any sense of direction, a void filled your eyes. Suddenly, you were falling from the airship. You blinked in surprise, a louder scream escaping your lips as you desperately tried to think of a solution, some way to go back.

But there was no way to go back. Looking down to where you were falling, you saw an infinite blue—sea.

You closed your eyes, feeling the panic settling in once again. The wind rushed past you as the ground loomed closer, your heart pounding in your chest. The sensation of falling, of losing control, was all-consuming.

And in that moment, you felt it—the last remnants of your powers slipping away, completely sedated, leaving you utterly defenseless. Your legs burned from Ultron's last blast, but there was no warning, no instinct to guide you this time. Only the cold realization that you were on your own.

Then, someone embraced you, comforting you from what was about to happen.

Despite the tranquilization, in the back of your mind, you faintly heard the whispers from before, the same ones that had followed you when you were in that hall, falling from the airship.

The sea rushed up to meet you, but before the impact, the scene changed swiftly.

The air grew thick with the scent of earth and blood, the metallic tang sharp in your nostrils. You opened your eyes to find yourself on a mountain, the sky above you a deep, bruised shade of purple, as if the world itself was bleeding.

You were no longer in your clothes, jacket and boots, but dressed in a simple white gown, its fabric clinging to your skin, soaked through with blood.

In your arms, you were cradling a baby, its small form fragile, delicate.

The child's face was hidden, swaddled in the folds of your dress, but you could feel its warmth against you, a comfort contrast to the cold wind that whipped around both of you. On your other hand, you clutched a page torn from a book, the parchment worn and stained, covered in strange, ancient symbols that seemed to shift and writhe before your eyes.

You didn't know how, but you understood them—the words, the concepts. They were etched into your mind. However… Even so, you couldn’t put into words or form coherently in your mind what they translated into.

A heavy presence loomed behind you, pressing down on you like a weight impossible to bear. You could feel its breath on your neck, cold and unforgiving. A hand—a claw—dug into your shoulder, the sharp nails biting into your skin.

Reminding you of what you were supposed to do.

"I'm scared," you wanted to shout, but the words caught in your throat.

You could feel the presence behind you shift, a voice whispering in your ear, soft as a lover's caress but laced with poison. "Don’t be."

The same voice that was following you since you walked in that hall, filling your minds with whispers.

Before you could resist, your body moved on its own. You shoved the page into the baby’s throat, forcing it to swallow. Your mind screamed, your soul tore at the seams, desperate to stop what you were doing. But control was an illusion, and as you tried to regain it, the world around you dissolved, leaving nothing but a cold, black sea.

The icy water swallowed you whole, freezing you to the bone as you sank deeper, the weight of the darkness pulling you under. You thrashed, but there was no escape, no way out. Helmut wasn’t here to save you, no hand reaching through the cold to pull you back. Even your powers, the ones that usually guided your survival, were silent.

Your lungs grew heavier with each passing moment, the dark water seeping into your very being. The whispers returned, clearer now, their sinister intent wrapping around your mind like chains.

“A door without a key, a cage without bars,” the voice coiled around your thoughts, tightening with every breath you took. “My sweet child, you will come for me.”

The cold abyss dragged you further down, your mind screaming for air as your body refused to respond, paralyzed by the freezing dark. The whispers echoed, a twisted symphony in the depths of your consciousness.

“What is a soul with no body?”

Water filled your lungs, pressure building until you thought you would burst, but there was no pain, only a strange, numbing comfort. Your struggles slowed, your limbs growing heavier as the darkness became almost… Welcoming.

And then, pain—sharp, searing, like a thousand needles driving into your flesh. But as quickly as it came, it was gone.

With a jolt, you woke up.

“Hey,” Helmut stood in a corner of the hut, his gaze fixed on something that had caught his attention while you slept. But the moment he saw you stir, his focus shifted entirely to you. He moved swiftly, concern etched on his face. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you murmured, blinking as you tried to adjust to your surroundings. The memories slowly began to piece together—the fall from the airship, hiding from the Masters of Evil, struggling to find a way to help your friends while keeping yourself alive. “It was just a nightmare.”

Helmut’s brows furrowed in concern as he knelt beside you, his eyes scanning you with a sharp intensity. You frowned, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders, shielding yourself from both the cold and his scrutiny. Your gaze dropped to the floor, avoiding his, where you noticed a neatly folded pile of clothes set aside for you.

“I’ve seen you have nightmares before,” he said, watching as your eyes widened at his words. “Don’t ask—I’m a light sleeper. My point is... Usually, when you have nightmares, your powers manifest.”

“And?” you lifted a brow at him.

A chill ran down your spine as Helmut's words sank in, each syllable tightening the knot of unease in your chest. You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, but you could feel your heart picking up speed, a frantic rhythm that betrayed your calm facade.

You didn’t need to ask to know where this conversation was heading, but part of you clung to the hope that you were wrong, that maybe he was just overthinking it.

Yet, deep down, an unsettling familiarity gnawed at you, the kind that made your skin prickle and your mind race with possibilities you didn’t want to confront.

Helmut's gaze remained locked on you, a mix of concern and calculation flickering behind his eyes. He was piecing it together, and you could see the exact moment when the realization hit him—a subtle shift in his expression, a tightening around his mouth.

"It explains a lot," he murmured, more to himself than to you, but you caught every word. "How you were hit by Ultron, even with your reflexes. And when the ice broke, you should've been able to predict that, avoid it."

His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, a layer of suspicion that he couldn’t quite hide.

Your heart pounded louder in your chest, the familiar rhythm now a hammer against your ribs. You had known this moment was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier to face. You rather be oblivious to what was happening then face it.

"Your regeneration, too," Helmut continued, his eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction. "It didn’t kick in when it should have. But then, when it was a matter of life or death, it did. Something was holding it back until the last possible moment."

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. Despite it, you locked your eyes back to his.

"Your powers… They've been acting differently since the airship," Helmut whispered, his voice softening as realization dawned, “why didn’t you tell me?"

You nodded, the movement so slight it was almost imperceptible. "We were already trying to find somewhere to hide, to rest," you admitted, your voice tinged with the weariness of holding onto this secret. "I didn’t want to add one more thing to our list. Honestly, I didn’t even want to think about it."

Helmut's gaze bore into yours, searching for something beyond the words you had spoken. The weight of his scrutiny pressed down on you, making the air between you feel thick and suffocating. He was piecing together the puzzle, and you could almost see the gears turning in his mind.

"After the hall," he repeated, his voice low, contemplative. "That’s when it changed."

You nodded again, this time more deliberate. "There was a box there, I believe the artifact was inside it," you said, the words trembling on the edge of your lips. "It felt different. Wrong. Like it was too much for me to even hold or touch it."

His eyes narrowed, the suspicion in them hardening into something sharper, more focused. "So… You left it there?"

The box, which had inside what was your entire mission.

“Sorry if whatever was inside it was confusing my mind and, consequently, messing up with my powers enough so I couldn't think straight,” you forced a smile, clearly ironic, “I didn’t know what would happen if I tried to grab it. My powers were already—They weren’t responding the way they should have been. I wasn’t sure what could happen if I did it, it wasn’t safe.. It could’ve put us both in more danger.”

He was quiet for a moment, processing everything, and you could see the concern behind his steely exterior.

"We’ll need to be more careful then," he finally said, his tone decisive but not unkind. "If it can disrupt your abilities, then it’s more dangerous than we anticipated. We’ll have to figure out how to deal with it."

You stared blankly at him, the gears running inside your head were still trying to comprehend the fact he wasn’t angry at you. The artifact was your mission, you had invaded the airship just to retract it, and you had left it behind in that hall alongside Helmut.

There was the chance it could have helped you up there during the time but, at the same time, when you recalled the sensation you had felt as you stepped near the box… You knew it was a distant hypothetical situation. A great and bif ‘and if…’.

It was evil, pure darkness. But compelling, that was probably the worst detail about it.

“At least, we know it still up there, as Sam and James and maybe some of the other Masters,” you shrugged, fidgeting your fingers, “We still have a chance, we just need to find some way.”

“I’m working on that,” Helmut sighed, scratching the back of his neck, “Every plan I start to forge in my mind, end up with us in the worst-case scenarios.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” you chuckled, the sound more an attempt to stave off frustration than genuine amusement. “Maybe we can figure something out together... After I change.”

You looked at the pile of clothes close to you, you would rather have this conversation wearing something more suitable.

Helmut nodded, his gaze briefly flicking to the clothes he’d gathered for you. “It was the best I could find, something that wouldn’t make you look so miserable.”

What a charmer.

You eyed the garments again—trousers with grimy cuffs, a threadbare sweater with frayed and stained yarn, and gloves missing an index finger. Beside them, a pair of fluffy gray socks lay, the only thing that seemed even remotely comforting.

If this was the best he could find, you shuddered to think what the other options looked like.

Helmut wasn’t dressed much better himself. His heavy winter coat hung over a nearby chair, the fabric damp but thankfully not soaked through. Beneath it, he wore a thick woolen sweater, slightly rumpled from having been thrown off in haste. His trousers were damp at the hems, not much better than what you were about to don.

Despite the state of the clothes, your eyes were drawn to the way they accentuated the small details about him. His sharp, calculating eyes now bore subtle creases at the corners, a testament to the weariness from endless hours of planning and overthinking. The stubble on his strong jawline hinted at the exhaustion he didn’t bother to hide anymore.

As he shifted impatiently, you caught sight of a few small moles scattered across his neck, a reminder that beneath the strategic exterior was a man. You felt your heart soften when you found the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes as he pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to conceal his impatience as he waited for your response.

You shook your head, pushing the distracting thoughts away. Refocusing on the clothes, you decided they would have to do the job, at least until you were safely back home.

“I can manage,” you said, rising to your feet with the blanket still wrapped around your shoulders. The pain was still there, but it was far more bearable than it had been hours ago. “Give me a minute.”

You gathered the clothes in your arms and moved to the farthest corner of the hut, away from Helmut’s watchful gaze. He had turned his back to you, his attention absorbed by something on the table, allowing you a moment of privacy. As you began to change, the cold air seeped through the thin walls of the hut, biting at your exposed skin.

Before putting on the trousers, you paused to take a look at your legs. The bandages were still tightly wrapped, barely stained. The sight made you pause—had they been changed while you were sleeping? The idea was strange, but you couldn’t remember waking up at any point, too exhausted to notice much of anything.

Once fully dressed, you approached Helmut again. He turned to face you as you neared, his eyes scanning you with a flicker of concern that he quickly masked.

“How long was I asleep?” you asked, trying to gauge how much time had passed.

“A few hours, maybe more,” Helmut replied, his voice measured. “It’s hard to keep track of time here.”

You nodded, digesting the information. It wasn’t much time, but it was enough to allow your body some recovery.

Helmut shifted slightly, his gaze becoming more focused. “How long has it been happening?”

Confused, you frowned. “What do you mean?”

“In the hall, up there,” he clarified, his tone sharpening slightly. “With John… How long has it been like this?”

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t expected him to pinpoint the exact moment, let alone bring it up so directly. You hesitated, the memory of the past encounters flashing through your mind.

“Since Riga,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s been happening since Riga.”

Helmut’s eyes darkened, his gaze becoming sharper as the implications of your words settled between you. He didn’t ask for clarification—he didn’t need to. The mention of Riga was enough. He knew what had started there, the shift that had left you feeling uneasy ever since.

Something he didn’t even know was continuing to go around.

The tension in the room thickened, heavy with unspoken implications.

“Since Riga,” he repeated softly, almost to himself. His gaze flickered, as if piecing together a puzzle. “And you didn’t think to mention it?”

You swallowed, the memory of that night flickering in your mind—the way John’s presence had become something more insidious, something that made your skin crawl. The thought alone sent a shiver down your spine, and you fought to keep your voice steady.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got caught in your throat. How could you explain it, when you barely understood it yourself? Until that day, you didn’t know if it started because of you. It was what you had said? Your demeanor?

It had to be something you did, right?

In all the times you met, he always made it clear that you were who started it. So, it must be your fault, even if you didn’t know why.

“I didn’t think it would… Last,” you admitted, your voice wavering slightly. The words felt inadequate, too small to convey the gnawing dread that had taken root since then.

“But it has,” Hemult said, the statement more a confirmation than a question. There was an understanding in his tone, a quiet recognition of something neither of you wanted to say aloud.

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze. The truth was too raw, too close to something you weren’t ready to confront. “Yes, it has.”

For a moment, Helmut’s expression softened, a rare flicker of concern —which more and more loosened its armor since you fell from that ship— breaking through his usually impenetrable demeanor. He stepped closer, his presence a grounding force against the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

“We’ll handle it,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with something more. “But I need you to be open with me. No more secrets.”

The vulnerability in his words, the way he looked at you—not just as an ally, but as someone he had clearly said he was before you slept: someone who trusted you and you could trust him back. Looking at his eyes, a surge of relief washed over you.

One more time, you nodded, a silent agreement passing between you.

Helmut held your gaze a moment longer, as if assessing whether you truly meant it. Then, with a nod of his own, he shifted the conversation to another worry they both share.

“We need to move,” he began, his voice now more focused, a clear shift in tone as he directed your attention to the mission at hand. “James and Sam won’t wait forever, and the artifact isn’t going to retrieve itself.”

You took a deep breath, pushing the previous conversation to the back of your mind—at least for now. There was still so much you didn’t understand, but Helmut was right. You couldn’t afford to dwell on it, not when there were other threats looming.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, straightening your posture, readying yourself for what was to come.

“They are searching for us, which means the airship must not be far,” Helmut pondered, “At the same time, they could be near us as we speak.”

“With their equipment, there’s no frozen lake that would stop them,” you said, furrowing your brows, “So, I hope you don’t tell me that the best plan would be let them capture us.”

Helmut chuckled, eyeing you, “What do you think of me? Of course, not.”

You rolled your eyes, incapable of holding back a chuckle of your own.

“Well, we don’t have the luxury of advanced tech,” your eyes scanned the room, considering the options, “or a full team.”

“But that doesn’t mean we’re out of moves,” Helmut began, his voice thoughtful. “The cold and the terrain are on our side. If we can use that to our advantage, we can slow them down, buy us some time.”

You frowned, trying to piece it together. The idea sounded promising in theory, but in your current state, it seemed almost impossible.

“How do we do that?” you asked, crossing your arms. “We can’t exactly outpace them, not in our condition.”

The warmth of a fireplace and the protection of the hunter's hut were a temporary reprieve. But once you were out in the open again...

Despite the best clothes you could find to protect yourself from the cold, you were still far behind the level of protection the Masters of Evil had.

“We don’t need to,” Helmut replied, a hint of a plan forming in his eyes—something that always carried a certain dangerous appeal. “We make them come to us, or what they think is us. We set a distraction—simple and efficient. They’re equipped for combat, so let them think they will have one.”

“Distraction, you said?” you raised an eyebrow. “What kind of distraction?”

“A fire,” He replied, lifting his brows, the infamous and dangerous smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

A brief silence fell between you, there was an exchange of glances as you processed his train of thought.

You could see the logic in his plan. It was risky, yes, but risk was a constant companion of yours. You weighed the options, considering the terrain, the cold biting at your skin, the limited resources at your disposal and which side luck was on lately.

A slow smirk formed on your lips, mirroring his. It was audacious, maybe even reckless, but… That could work.

Time seemed to blur as you both went back to the cold. It bit at your skin as you layered on more clothes, bundling yourself in every piece of warmth you could find.

Helmut did the same, his feet firmly planting themselves in the snow, as if he had done this countless times before.

You read his files, he had not.

However, it pulled a smile from your lips to watch him walk ahead of you with so much confidence.

But you weren’t far behind, moving with just as much purpose as him, your gaze scanning the surroundings, alert for any sign of the Masters of Evil. The world around you was eerily quiet, the silence of the frozen landscape amplifying the tension thrumming beneath your skin.

Every now and then, you glanced down at your hands, noticing the ash that had gathered between your fingers. You could feel it clinging to the strands of hair that kept falling in front of your eyes, a constant reminder of the fire you'd set.

A flicker of your power was beginning to return, slowly and tentatively, like a flame struggling to stay lit. As you walked through the snow, Helmut occasionally looked back and saw the black and white energy surrounding your head, only to vanish moments later.

It was weak, but it was something—far more than the complete absence you’d felt hours ago. You could already feel your regeneration kick in, healing the bruises on your legs and easing your pain.

“Do you want to take the lead?” Helmut asked, noticing how your power circled the areas where your legs were previously injured.

He had noticed you were good again to walk ahead of him, but what probably really caught his attention was the black and white energy that pulsed with your silent thoughts. When your powers were working properly, it usually meant that you were subconsciously aware of something he couldn’t yet see.

The smart thing to do was to let you lead the way.

“Okay,” you nodded, a small, tight smile forming on your lips as you quickened your pace to guide you both.

Before you stepped ahead, Helmut reached out, brushing the strands of hair from your face with his fingers, which were also covered in ash. His touch was gentle, deliberate, and for a brief moment, the warmth of his hand contrasted with the cold air around you, grounding you in the present and away from your rushed thoughts.

You met his eyes, a silent exchange passing between you. The ashes clung to his eyelashes, highlighting the weary lines etched on his face. As he blinked, a few flecks of ash fell, leaving faint streaks across his cheeks.

A stark reminder of what you had just done, what you were doing.

His expression was resolute, but there was a softness in his gaze, a silent understanding of the weight both of you carried. Has his armor finally loosened?

You didn't wish to know the answer, because if you did, the question that remained was: what about yours? Had it loosened up too?

The moment lingered before you moved forward, leading the way through the snow. It was better that way, forgotten, just a moment.

You moved with intent, letting the subtle stirrings of your power guide you. The black and white energy flickered weakly, but it honed your senses, allowing you to pick up faintly to a direction.

Every shift in the wind, each crunch of snow beneath your boots, seemed to carry a hidden meaning. You couldn’t stop to concentrate and understand them one by one, instead you followed wherever your senses guided you into.

The details became more evidently each step you took, the way the snow clung more densely to certain branches, indicating recent movement. The faint imprint of footsteps, barely visible, leading deeper into the forest. Even the air felt different, colder in some spots, warmer in others, pointing you the way like an invisible thread—a whisper between your ears.

Helmut followed closely behind, trusting your instincts. He had seen enough to know that when your powers were active, they would get you out of problems or lead you to what you were looking for. Even if it was strange hours ago, it didn’t seem to entirely deceive you.

The two of you moved in sync, your pace steady as you navigated the icy terrain.

A certain heaviness in the air caught your attention, halting your moves. There was a faint vibration beneath the ground—subtle signs that the massive vessel was nearby, perhaps even closer than you initially thought.

The airship…

You glanced back at Helmut, who gave a slight nod, signaling his readiness to follow your lead. With renewed determination, you pressed forward, your footsteps barely making a sound in the snow. Each movement was intentional, every step measured as you closed in on your target.

Your power stretched out, feeling the environment around you. The energy flickered again, stronger this time, and you could sense it—an almost imperceptible hum of machinery, the distant echo of voices carried on the wind. The airship was near, hidden within the dense forest, waiting.

Ahead, you spotted a break in the trees, a slight clearing that seemed too perfect to be natural. Then, after more walking through the trees’ bent and missing branches, it was there—the airship, grounded, with some of the Masters of Evil gathered around it, their eyes scanning the surroundings, vigilant.

They were prepared, no doubt anticipating that you and Helmut might try to ambush them.

Immediately, you and Helmut ducked behind a snow-covered boulder, peering out at the scene before you.

From your vantage point, you could make out several figures, all well-known from your many encounters. You recognized Titania’s towering form, her posture radiating tension as she scanned the perimeter. Nearby, the Fixer was busy with some device, his attention focused but alert, while Moonstone floated just above the ground, her eyes glowing faintly as she monitored the area. It was clear that they were on high alert, each one prepared for the slightest disturbance.

Yet, you also knew that one or two of them would still be inside the airship, guarding the cell or wherever they were keeping Sam and James. Despite your and Helmut’s state, our odds weren't bad against them.

But, against five? Even more of them if they contacted the members of their alliance that were far away looking for you?

It would be a problem for sure, that was the reason for you both to patiently wait in the hidden spot you found yourselves in. Alternating between watching the Masters and the blue sky above you, waiting.

The seconds stretched into what felt like hours, the silence of the forest hanging heavy between you, broken only by the soft crunch of snow underfoot as the villains shifted their positions.

Then,a faint plume of smoke began to rise in the distance, the gray tendrils slowly curling into the sky.

The Masters of Evil stiffened, their attention snapping toward the horizon where the fire had begun to consume the forest. The sky darkened with the smoke, gradually turning from its cold, pale blue to a deeper gray, then tinged with shades of orange, red, and pink as the fire took hold, draining the life from the trees and turning them into dust.

The stark contrast between the snowy landscape and the fiery glow painted an eerie picture, one that was both beautiful and terrifying in its destruction.

As you watched the flames devour the forest, you couldn’t help but smirk as you remembered the fire almost caughting your clothes as you and Helmut fled. The rush of heat, the crackling of wood, and the searing brightness that had lit up the night... You could still feel the ashes in the pit of your lungs, a grim reminder of what happened hours before you found the airship.

Fixer, Titania and Moonstone exchanged quick, urgent words, their expressions shifting from surprise to grim anger. You caught snippets of their conversation, seeing the words form on their lips—“they’re there” and “must be close”—before they sprang into action. Their hands touched the devices in their ears, undoubtedly contacting the others, telling them about the fire and their certainty that you and Helmut were responsible.

For sure, the only ones who could have caused such a thing—if so, there was no way they wouldn't catch you next to it.

What would be off their equation was the sleds you had found outside the hunter’s hut.

In a matter of seconds, they were sprinting toward the fire’s direction, their figures soon disappearing into the smoky haze. The burning forest, a monstrous, living thing now, cast long shadows as the flames licked higher into the sky. The air around you vibrated with the intensity of the blaze, the heat even from this distance was palpable, reminding you of the power you’d wielded to set this trap in motion.

The path was clear.

You and Helmut exchanged a final glance, that was your chance. The Masters of Evil were on their way to what they believed to be your location, and it was time to move.

With practiced stealth, you both emerged from your hiding spot behind the snow-covered boulder, the cold air biting at any exposed skin as you made your way toward the now-unattended airship. The massive vessel loomed ahead, its metallic surface gleaming dully under the overcast sky, a stark contrast against the natural expanse of the forest.

The snow crunched softly beneath your boots, each step carefully placed to avoid leaving obvious tracks or making unnecessary noise. Your senses were on high alert, the remnants of your power flickering at the edges of your consciousness, offering subtle hints and warnings as you approached the imposing structure.

As you drew closer, the sheer scale of the airship became more apparent. It was a behemoth of engineering, sleek and intimidating, with panels of reinforced steel and a network of intricate machinery humming quietly within. The entrance ramp was partially lowered, ready to greet the vanguardists who hadn’t been caught.

The Vanguard, you snorted, why did people always feel the need to name a group that is trying to do something good against those with super abilities?

Zemo walked ahead, leading you inside the airship, the whole moment feeling like a deja vu. You moved with much careful precision as the baron, slipping inside the airship. The entrance ramp creaked under your weight, the sound almost swallowed by the low hum of the ship’s machinery—you just didn’t know if it was because it had happened several hours ago or due your powers.

The interior of the airship was suffocating, as the first time you walked in it. The harsh glow of lights flickered intermittently, casting elongated shadows across the metallic walls. The air felt thick with anticipation, as if the ship itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Helmut led the way through the ship’s maze-like interior, his footsteps silent against the metal floor. You trailed behind, your senses straining to pick up any sign of your friends or the artifact, it wouldn’t be in the same spot of before, so you would have to work thrice to find it. Your powers flickered with faint pulses of energy, guiding you and Zemo like a distant beacon.

At first, you didn’t feel anything, as if you were sinking your hand in a cold lake. But, as the seconds passed by, the presence of those who lived in those waters stirred over your fingers, threatening to tickle or threaten you.

The further you ventured, the more you could feel it—an unnatural pull, like a heartbeat thrumming just out of reach, resonating on the surface of the lake. You passed through rooms filled with half-finished meals, scattered maps, and open panels.

You had somewhat caught them by surprise when invading the airship the first time—even if John didn’t admit it.

Every so often, your powers would flare, making Helmut pause and glance at you, his eyes narrowing with concern. But each time, you were met with nothing but the cold, empty corridors, the ship’s oppressive silence weighing on you both.

“What’s happening?” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness. “What are you sensing?”

“I don’t know,” you confessed, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to ward off the unease creeping through you. “I can’t focus. There’s something… It’s like there’s a pull, something standing out and drawing all my attention, but I can’t see past it. It’s blurring everything else.”

“The artifact,” he murmured, the word hanging between you like a tangible force, thickening the air with its presence.

You nodded, unable to shake the feeling that whatever power the artifact held, it was intentionally keeping you from finding your friends. It was as if the ship itself was conspiring to keep you off balance, guiding you toward what it wanted you to find—and away from what you also needed to.

Helmut’s jaw tightened, and he took a deep breath, steadying himself. “We need to find Sam and James first. If we’re all together, we stand a better chance against whatever this thing is and retrieving it to Kamar-Taj.”

Thoughts raced fast through your mind, but you nodded in agreement again. The flickers of your power were becoming more frequent now, the energy pulsing in erratic waves, but it wasn’t reliable.

Helmut gave you a reassuring smile, his brows still furrowed as he continued to think about what you had said. Which indicated that he himself wasn’t so sure, but he was trying not to let that influence you.

It was almost as if the artifact was toying with your powers, giving you just enough to keep you moving but never enough to fully understand what lay ahead.

If your powers weren’t betraying you before, it was now.

You reached out and gripped Helmut’s arm, grounding yourself and your senses. He glanced back at you over his shoulder, a momentary reluctance in his eyes. But just as quickly as he hesitated, his resolve returned, ready to continue the mission.

As you were, you forced your powers in trying to find where your friends were being kept, where the other Master would be keeping their eyes on them. The black and white energy flicked around you, and you got a brief vision of Sam and James, trapped in a pit black in the middle of a chamber in the airship.

You would watch them from a distant spot, hiding—you would find them, very soon.

As the vision slowly disappeared with the energy, you clung to it firmly, following a way not even you understood. For your surprise, or not, Helmutdidn't argue and trailed after you.

As you walked down the corridor, the air thickened with a sense of impending danger. Your footsteps echoed off the metal walls, the only sound in the otherwise suffocating silence. Each turn you took felt like it was leading you deeper into a labyrinth, one designed to keep you lost and disoriented.

However, you had the ball of wool in your hands, following the black and white thread to the end of the labyrinth.

Suddenly, a faint noise reached your ears—a low hum, almost like a distant vibration. You stopped in your tracks, straining to listen.

“There’s something,” you muttered without thinking, closing your eyes and focusing all your energy on the sound. “Below us.”

Helmut furrowed his brows one more time, gazing at your eyes as your words sinked in the gears in his head. If you turned back and returned to walk without any direction or clue, only God knew where the two of you would end.

Your best chance was to completely believe in your powers and follow their directions. Even if they were leading you into a much more dangerous situation, the essence of your power was to protect you; it would never guide you into one that would bring you no good afterwards.

So, you had to trust it. The problem would be to explain it to Helmut and—

“Okay,” he agreed, moving so he could hold your hand in his, “I trust you—show the way.”

—Or not.

Helmut trusted you—not because of your powers, but because of you. It was never about what you could do; it was about who you were. He had told you before you went to sleep that he trusted you, and you told him the same, but you didn't expect how deeply he was taking his word.

That realization hit you harder than you expected. Until now, you had always assumed Helmut’s reliance on you was purely tactical—an assessment of your abilities rather than a reflection of his faith in you as a person. Had he always trusted you like this, cared for you more than you had realized?

But then, you remembered the way he had fallen with you out of the ship, his arms wrapped around you, whispering reassurances as if to protect you from more than just the physical danger. He hadn’t needed to say it; his actions had spoken louder than any words.

For the first time, you wondered if he had always trusted you this deeply, if he had cared for you more than you dared to admit even to yourself.

And then, the question lingered—had he cared for you all along and you have been too afraid to see it? Afraid because if you answered that question yourself honestly, if you acknowledged how much you wanted to protect him, it would reveal more than you were ready to admit.

That, if given a choice, you’d use your power not just for yourself, but for him since…

Riga.

You almost snickered to yourself at the thought of all the coincidences. How many things had happened in Riga that changed your life completely?

The truth loomed too close, too threatening to confront. Because deep down, you knew that if you admitted how much his trust meant to you, it would also mean admitting how much he meant to you.

“The lower levels,” Helmut said quietly, forcing yourself out of your thoughts. “That’s where they’ll be. It has to be.”

You remembered the energy bursting inside you, screaming in your ears that there was something below you. It was for the best to push your last wave of thoughts away and go back to focus on the ones that your powers emerged with.

“And if there is nothing but the artifact?” you asked, biting one of your cheeks, “I’m not sure if my powers are truly guiding us to what we want or to what it wants.”

Helmut sighed, looking away, he knew that was a possibility.

The artifact was playing tricks with you since the first time you found yourself in the same room as it, yet—at the same time—your power’s purpose was to prevent you from danger, harm and anything that wouldn’t bring you good. Even if influenced, it would still have the same priority.

“We know for a fact that one or two of the Masters are here as well,” the baron said, turning his attention back at you, “They wouldn’t let your friends alone while everyone looks for us. Meanwhile, they also have to keep an eye close to the artifact, so…”

Wherever they are, the artifact must be close to them.

“So,” you gazed at him, watching every tiny expression hidden in his eyes, something that would tell you were wrong, “you are saying that once we find the artifact, we’ll also find them?”

“And vice-versa,” Helmut added.

Not once, his face betrayed him, he was being sincere.

“Okay,” your lips twitched, almost in a weak smile but not quite, “Way down we go.”

The thought of what you might find sent a shiver down your spine, but you pushed the fear aside. If your friends were there, you wouldn’t have any more reasons to fear for the worse.

Together, you made your way to the nearest access point leading to the lower levels, your pace quickening as the sense of urgency grew. The corridor narrowed, forcing you to move single file, Helmut leading the way with you close behind, as always. The further you went, the more the air seemed to hum with that strange energy, the artifact’s presence growing stronger with each step.

Once more, you placed your hand on his, fear gnawing at you that danger could strike at any moment. Despite your mind being distant and distracted by the many details and information trying to make themselves known, you felt his grip tighten around yours, squeezing three times—as if to reassure you that everything would be okay.

As you and Helmut reached the bottom of the staircase, the room ahead came into view. It was dimly lit, the faint glow of flickering lights casting a dull yellow hue over the expansive chamber. The metallic walls were lined with ancient-looking equipment—rusted control panels with shattered dials, crates filled with half-dismantled machinery, and long-forgotten relics from a war-torn past. The air felt thick, stale, and cold, as though no life had breathed in this place for years.

You, alongside Helmut, stayed close to the shadowy edges of the room, hidden just beyond the narrow staircase. The ceiling was high, the height of the chamber adding an oppressive weight that pressed down on you. Large metal beams crisscrossed the ceiling above, supporting vents that creaked and groaned, amplifying the eeriness of the room. Helmut’s steps were as soundless as yours, both of you moving in sync, careful not to disturb the dust-covered floor.

You pressed your back against one of the steel walls, letting the darkness of the dimly lit chamber conceal you.

Through the dimness, your eyes landed on Cap and James, your fellow companions in the past years. They were bound to a pair of metal chairs near the center of the room, under a weak overhead light.

Both looked exhausted, their heads slumped forward slightly as though the weight of their injuries kept them from sitting fully upright. Sam’s shoulders sagged, his usually bright eyes clouded with fatigue. Blood from a gash across his forehead trickled down his temple, staining the side of his face. His uniform was torn, the usually crisp material hanging loose around his arms, exposing bruised and battered skin.

James, seated with his back to Sam, was in even worse shape. His metal arm was twisted, sparks flying from exposed wiring where a joint had been torn apart. His flesh arm had deep bruises across it, and his jaw was clenched tightly, trying to mask the pain radiating through his body.

His blue eyes, though dulled by exhaustion, still carried a hardened glint of defiance. As for Sam as well.

Whatever it was that the Masters were trying to get out of them, they hadn’t given it to them. And, would never if it was up for them.

Silently, Helmut called your attention and pointed to the figures that had their backs resting on the wall next to your friends, their eyes fixed on the prisoners as one of them held something under their arm.

The first figure was Tiger Shark, his massive frame unmistakable. His shark-like skin glistened faintly in the low light, the scaly texture of his suit making him look more predator than man. He stood closest to James, his gaze locked on the soldier with a hungry, malicious gleam in his eyes.

By the smug smile on his face, you had no doubt that he was who twisted James’ arm.

Next to him was Crimson Cowl—Justine Hammer, who shared the codename with Ultron strangely. Her dark red cloak flowing around her like shadows given form. The hood obscured most of her face, but her eyes gleamed from beneath it, sharp and calculating. She wasn’t as physically imposing as Tiger Shark, but there was a quiet, dangerous energy about her, a control that made her even more unnerving. Under her arm, she held a small box, cradling it carefully.

You could sense the dark power emanating from it, the artifact.

Helmut took a glance at you, and you looked back at him.

“Looks like they brought out the muscle,” you whispered to Helmut, your voice barely audible over the hum of the machinery around you.

Helmut’s gaze returned to the two figures near your friends, assessing the situation. The bridge of his nose twisted as he came to a first conclusion.

“They’re spread out, but it makes sense to have muscle and someone proficient in magic here,” he murmured. Both of you knew that ‘magic’ was a strong word when applied to Crimson Cowl’s abilities, especially when your reference was the Scarlet Witch. “And that box… It’s right there with her.”

“And do you have a plan?” you asked, eyeing Crimson Cowl warily. “Because I don’t believe my powers would be much help against hers as long as she’s carrying the artifact.”

Helmut’s brow furrowed as he considered the situation one more time, his eyes flicking between Tiger Shark and Crimson Cowl. You knew he already had a plan, but by his face, it wasn't a plan he was content with.

“We need to separate them,” he explained, whispering next to your ear, “If we can draw Tiger Shark away, Crimson Cowl will be more vulnerable. Her focus will be split between protecting the artifact and defending herself.”

You nodded, it was the most sensible thing to do, you couldn’t deny that. The problem would be how to draw—

Before either of you could think about it, a sudden chill ran down your spine—a familiar, instinctive warning. Your powers flared unexpectedly, the black and white energy swirling around you in chaotic patterns.

At first, you thought it was the artifact playing with you again. However, it wasn’t just the artifact’s presence; something else was happening.

Your heart pounded in your chest, many thoughts crossed your head trying to warn you about the same thing. But one talking over the other the same thing with different words wasn't helping you at all.

The chaotic swirl of black and white energy around you only heightened your sense of urgency, the once-quiet whispers now a cacophony of warnings that you could barely process. This was something more immediate.

Helmut noticed your sudden tension and tightened his grip on your hand, his eyes searching yours for an explanation, but you could turn your eyes to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” Helmut whispered, concern crystal clear in his eyes.

Before you could formulate a response, your powers flared again—this time more violently, a surge of energy slicing through the air like a knife.

The sudden onslaught overwhelmed your senses, a vivid image of a blast of energy tearing through the chamber, aimed squarely at Helmut’s back. The vision that followed was even more harrowing: darkness, a cage, despair…

There wasn’t time to think—only to react.

You shoved Helmut aside with all the strength you could muster, just as a deafening crack echoed through the chamber. A searing blast of energy tore through the space where Helmut had been standing moments before, slamming into the wall with a force that sent dust and debris cascading to the floor.

You had no time to sigh in relief, the situation was far from resolved.

The impact knocked you off your feet, pain flaring through your side as you hit the cold, hard floor. Ignoring the agony, you immediately searched for Helmut, your eyes locking onto his. His expression was a mix of shock and realization, understanding all too well how close he had come to death.

Once, he might have been angry, wishing the blast had struck him to hasten his desire for an end. But now, all you could see in his eyes was relief and something else, you couldn’t tell exactly what was crossing his mind.

Before Helmut or you could say or do something, heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber, signaling the arrival of more danger. You both knew then that you were in deeper trouble than you had anticipated.

They had expected you, and now they had you cornered.

Across the room, Crimson Cowl and Tiger Shark stood, their eyes fixed on you with a cold, calculated indifference. There was no surprise in their expressions, only the satisfaction of predators who had successfully laid a trap. Crimson Cowl's lips curled into a smug smile, her hood casting shadows over her face as she cradled the small box under her arm—the artifact, pulsing with a dark energy that seemed to feed off the chaos around it.

Your shot had backfired.

Your heart sank as you caught sight of James, restrained and clearly exhausted, but still managing to stir as he noticed you and Helmut. His movement drew Sam’s attention, and the two exchanged a look that spoke volumes. You could see the frustration in Sam’s eyes, the silent plea that you and Helmut should have stayed far away from this trap.

“You’re here,” Tiger Shark taunted, his voice dripping with condescension. “How convenient, hm?”

As you tried to push yourself up from the floor, you watched Helmut as he started to move as well. He was already ready to intercept the incoming threat, his movements precise and quick,incorporating all the years he was in the military. You barely had time to register the source of the blast, what had made Helmut start to move at the first glance.

Beetle, hovering in the air with his blasters still aimed at you, his eyes gleaming with fire.

Helmut’s eyes locked onto yours for a brief moment, fear flashing in his gaze that he didn’t bother to hide this time. You could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on both of you—cornered, outnumbered, and with no clear way out.

It was like, once again, you were falling off the airship. And again, you feared that your power wouldn’t be able to show you how to get out of this.

You wished to scream, get your mind away from that moment so it wouldn’t hurt you so much. Both physical and emotional, part of you thought you had screamed despite not opening your mouth.

The desire for something to happen was piercing, piercing your mind like a knife.

When you closed your eyes, that's when you finally felt something shifted. Not where you were, but within you.

The black and white energy that had been flickering and fading suddenly surged, swelling inside you with an intensity that bordered on overwhelming. It was as if the fear and desperation had ignited something deep within—a spark that quickly grew into a blazing fire, burning your insides.

You felt your powers stretch out, unbidden, reaching beyond the physical world and into something more tangible. The familiar swirl of black and white energy that typically accompanied your abilities now pulsed with an unfamiliar, faint red hue, a color that seemed out of place, yet unmistakably present.

It was like a warning, a signal of something deeper, more dangerous lurking within.

Your mind expanded, connecting with the environment around you, sensing every minute detail—the hum of the airship's engines, the flicker of the emergency lights, the presence of Beetle in the air, his thoughts chaotic and unguarded. You hadn’t meant to connect so deeply, but the energy was guiding you, pushing your mind without your permission.

A rush of emotions and memories flooded your consciousness—Beetle’s fears, his insecurities, his pain. It was disorienting, but you couldn’t pull back. The red within your power flickered again, stronger this time, as if feeding off the emotions it had latched onto.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, you saw something else—a glimpse of your power, raw and unfiltered, lashing out with a force you hadn’t known you possessed. Beetle’s scream ripped through the chamber, his hands flying to his head as he desperately tried to block out the pain you were causing. It was as if your power had found a new purpose, honing in on his mind with terrifying precision.

All in a matter of seconds, but for you, you swore it was a decade.

For a split second, the red surged, vivid and alarming among the swirling black and white, before it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. But the damage was done—Beetle’s blasters wavered, his focus shattered by the onslaught you had unleashed upon him.

Helmut’s voice, urgent and worried, barely registered in your ears as the room around you blurred. You tried to rein in your power, to stop whatever it was doing to Beetle, but it was too late. The energy had taken on a life of its own, driven by the need to destroy the threat before you.

And not only him, you could feel it starting to divide its attention to the others who posed any threat to you.

Your powers usually prioritized your safety, but that was another level.

Before you could fully process what you were doing, a cold, dark presence suddenly loomed behind you. Your powers flared one last time, trying to warn you of the danger, but the surge was chaotic, uncontrolled, already too distracted from the pain it wished to inflict on every single one of the Masters.

You attempted to turn and block whatever attack was coming your way, but everything happened too fast.

An arm wrapped around your neck, cutting off your air and silencing the energy that had been so fiercely protective just moments before. You heard the sound of Beetle falling to the ground as you struggled against the arm, clawing at it, trying to break free.

But the grip was relentless.

Your vision blurred, filled by black dots, you tried to look at who was breathing against your head only to catch a glimpse of John Walker’s twisted grin, his eyes glinting with a sadistic satisfaction.

If it weren't for the lack of air, your body would have given in to the cold chills that ran through your body and would have thrown up the nothing you ate. Whatever was left in your stomach.

Just knowing that the one with the arm, suffocating you, was John. That he was having physical contact with you…

God, you wanted to be able to throw up right then.

“I told you,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing, “No need to play tough now.”

Your mind screamed in protest, since your voice couldn’t do it to yourself, the faint red that had surfaced earlier now nothing more than a distant memory. Your strength was fading, your power slipping away as darkness crept in at the edges of your vision.

Unintentionally, your eyes looked for Helmut, any glance of him. You wanted to reach for your powers enough to warn him about what he’d have to do to get out of there, if there was even a way.

But your abilities were faltering, the energy that had once surged so strongly now barely a whisper.

As your consciousness began to fade, you sensed that Helmut was no longer safer than you were, he was immobilized just like you.

Absorbing Man took his knee against Helmut's neck as he waited for the baron to stop fighting. Not killing him, just waiting for the moment his brain would turn off.

He did try to pull a fight as much as you, but it was for nothing.

The last thing you sensed was his eyes fixing on you as your eyes closed. For a moment, you thought you had felt his heart break.

And then, everything went black.

However even in the darkness, you weren’t alone.

The low, creeping voice from the artifact whispered in your mind, a sinister presence that haunted your sleep. It was closer now, more insistent, wrapping around your thoughts like a cold, suffocating mist.

"My sweet child," the voice whispered, its tone filled with malice, “I did warn you that you would come for me."

After that, there was nothing but silence.

#helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x you #zemo x reader #zemo x you #mcu x you #john walker #sam wilson #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #mcu fanfiction #helmut zemo #tfatws

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heydoaflip · 3 months ago

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The Doctor and The Tracker | Helmut Zemo

Zombie Apocalypse AU!

Female Original Character ('Doc') x Helmut Zemo

Summary: When an unsettling discovery forces them to abandon their fragile refuge, Doc and her group face the grim reality of survival in a world that’s always closing in. As chaos erupts, one mistake pulls her away from her friends, leaving her to confront not just the undead but a haunting glimpse of something—or someone—that defies reason. Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, including gun use and combat with walkers. Themes of guilt, trauma, and survival in an apocalyptic setting. Intense suspense and danger, including close encounters with the undead. Brief mention of blood and injury (medical and combat-related). Word count: 11K

oo. the tracker

The fire station had seen better days. Faded red paint curled like brittle parchment, exposing the skeleton of weathered wood and rusted metal beneath. Inside, its transformation was equal parts ingenuity and desperation, the remnants of a structured world repurposed into a fragile refuge.

The main garage, once an echo chamber of sirens and hurried boots, now sat heavy with silence. Its emptiness was stark, a hollow reminder of what this place had been. The stretcher at its center, long past its prime, sagged under the weight of makeshift supplies: jars of scavenged ointments, antiseptic bottles clouded with age, and scissors dulled by overuse. Even the shelves around it seemed tired, their contents a precarious balance of necessity and neglect.

The air smelled of old smoke and mildew, with an undercurrent of something sharper—coppery, metallic. It clung to her skin, the way fear and exhaustion clung to their lives. Above, fractured sunlight trickled through a cracked skylight, streaking the dust-filled air with muted gold.

Doc perched on a battered crate, her back stiff with focus even as the weight of exhaustion tugged at her shoulders. Her fingers moved deftly over Bucky’s arm, her gloved hands carefully cleaning the wound’s edges. The jagged stump where his right arm had been was swollen but healing, though the angry redness still clinging to the skin told her the fight wasn’t over yet.

Her movements were steady, but her mind was far from calm. Every time she looked at the wound, she saw that day—his blood on her hands, her frantic breath as she tried to stop the bleeding, the way his voice, rough and broken, had told her to keep going. She had, of course. She had done what she could, and it hadn’t been enough.

"Keep it steady," she muttered, breaking the quiet but not the tension.

Bucky obeyed without complaint, his body still under her touch. His silence wasn’t unusual, but it carried a weight today that unsettled her. His blue eyes stared past her, distant and unseeing, as if retreating to a place she couldn’t reach.

The world outside had never felt so far away. The wind rattled the station’s loose window panes, a low, mournful sound that seeped into the cracks of her thoughts.

She hesitated, the cloth pausing mid-swipe as her gaze flicked to his face, "Still holding up?"

There was a pause, long enough for her words to feel like they were swallowed by the stillness of the room.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his tone clipped and unconvincing. He shifted slightly, the old chair groaning beneath him, before adding, “You don’t have to check it every day, Doc.”

The nickname made her grimace faintly, but she didn’t bother hiding it. They all called her that now, as if it was her real name. It wasn’t. It was just another thing she’d inherited from this broken world, like the ash-streaked sky and the hollow weight in her chest.

“You know exactly why I do,” she said, picking up the antiseptic with brisk, deliberate movements.

She dabbed at the wound, glancing at him as she worked. “You’re lucky to be alive, Bucky. You know that, right?”

The words hit harder than she’d meant them to, and for a moment, she regretted saying them at all.

The words hit harder than she’d intended, and for a moment, regret tugged at her. She wasn’t trying to chastise him.

He winced—not from the antiseptic, but from the weight of the truth she’d just dropped on him.

“You’ve got a hell of a bedside manner,” he muttered dryly.

A faint smile ghosted across her face, there and gone in an instant, “You want sugar-coating? Don’t avoid me when you’re in pain.”

Her eyes flicked to his face again, and she caught the tension in his jaw, the way his left hand flexed and unflexed against his knee. He was holding something back, but so was she.

“Fair,” he limited himself by saying, his expression forever stoic.

"I mean it, Bucky," she said, her voice softer now, the edges of irritation blunted by something gentler. She paused, searching for the right words but finding none, "What happened back there—"

"It wasn’t your fault," he cut in, sharp and sudden, the words slicing through her sentence.

Her hands stilled, the antiseptic-soaked cloth hovering above his skin. He still wasn’t looking at her, his gaze fixed somewhere far away, but there was something raw in his voice that made her chest tighten.

"You don’t know that," she murmured, her tone uncertain, almost fragile.

When he turned to her, his expression caught her off guard. His eyes were unflinching, filled with a heaviness that seemed to press against the walls of the room.

"I do," he said, his voice quieter now, weighted with conviction. "There’s nothing we could’ve done. And if I had to do it all again, I wouldn’t change a damn thing."

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was thick, filled with everything they wouldn’t say. The sound of wind rattling the station’s loose windows barely registered as she looked back at him, her hands falling limply into her lap.

“That’s a really stupid thing to say,” she pointed out, breaking the silence. Her tone wasn’t sharp, but it carried a weight that made Bucky glance at her. “You lost an arm, Bucky. How... How are you going to do what you do?”

The question lingered in the air, and she hated how it sounded. Not accusatory, not exactly, but laced with the kind of helpless worry she tried to keep hidden.

The wind outside scraped against the building, rattling loose window panes like an uninvited guest. Dust motes danced lazily in the fractured sunlight spilling through the cracked skylight above, their slow, aimless drift a stark contrast to the unease gnawing at her thoughts.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as if weighing her words.

“What I do?” he echoed, his voice calm but edged with something unreadable.

She swallowed, her fingers brushing against the edge of the crate as though searching for stability.

“You know exactly what I mean,” she said, quieter now, “You’re the one who keeps us safe out there. You hunt. You cover us when things go south. You’ve always been the one we can count on, and now...”

Her voice trailed off, the words catching in her throat.

And now I’ve ruined that.

The thought scraped against her, raw and unrelenting. She wanted to say it out loud, to scream it, but the weight of everything held her silent.

Instead, she looked away, her gaze drifting to the jagged streaks of gold on the floor, cast by the fractured skylight above. The light flickered slightly as a breeze stirred the dust, and for a moment, it felt like the walls were closing in.

The fire station was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that left room for the wrong thoughts to creep in.

“And now you’re wondering how the hell I’m gonna manage without two hands,” Bucky said, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, almost resigned, as if he’d already resigned himself to this being his reality.

Her head snapped back toward him, her brows knitting together.

“No,” she said firmly, though not unkindly, “I’m wondering how the hell you’re going to manage when you refuse to take even five minutes to let yourself heal.”

To let me help you. It was the least she could do and, yet, he avoided her like the plague.

He leaned back in the chair, the old wood groaning faintly under his weight. The corners of his mouth quirked into a wry smile, but it didn’t touch his eyes.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“That doesn’t bring me any comfort,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes lingered on the jagged edges of his stump, the angry redness that still clung to the skin. She could still hear the sound of that day—flesh tearing, his gritted groans of pain, and her own frantic breath as she’d scrambled to stop the bleeding. The memory was vivid, each detail burned into her mind: the sickening warmth of his blood soaking her hands, the metallic tang in the air, the way her fingers had trembled as she worked.

She’d told herself it was just adrenaline, the urgency of the moment forcing her body to keep moving. But deep down, she knew the truth. She’d been terrified. Not just for him, but for all of them. Bucky had been their anchor—the one who kept them moving, kept them alive when the world outside tried to swallow them whole. Without him, what were they supposed to do?

Her chest tightened, her breath catching for a moment as her gaze drifted to the floor.

“You’re not invincible, Bucky,” she said, quieter now, her voice cracking just slightly. “I don’t know what I’d do if...”

The words hung in her throat, too heavy to say aloud. She shook her head as if the gesture could physically push the thought away, her hands brushing against the crate as though searching for something solid to hold on to.

“If what?” he asked, his voice softer now, though his stubbornness still lingered at the edges.

“If we lost you,” she finished, the words barely audible, fragile in the quiet of the room.

Her gaze flicked back to him, and for a moment, she hesitated. She wanted to leave it at that, but the truth pressed against her chest, demanding to be spoken. If I lost you.

Bucky had been one of her first friends in this fractured world, though “friend” hardly seemed strong enough for what he was to her. He’d been a constant, the steady presence she could lean on when everything else felt like it was crumbling. He was the one who didn’t flinch when things got bad, who carried the weight when the rest of them faltered.

He’d believed in her, even when she doubted herself. When she’d stumbled through those early days of survival—making mistakes, hesitating when she couldn’t afford to—he hadn’t judged her. He’d just been there, steady and unyielding, like a pillar holding up the sky. She couldn’t bear the thought of him crumbling now.

The room felt heavier after that. The air seemed to press in around her, thick with unspoken fears and unacknowledged truths.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” Bucky said after a moment. His voice was firm, steady, but his eyes betrayed him. There were cracks in the armor, faint but undeniable.

She wanted to believe him. She needed to believe him. But the image of that day was seared into her mind, playing on a loop she couldn’t stop. If she’d been faster, better, maybe it wouldn’t have come to this. Maybe—

The sudden rattle of loose window panes snapped her out of her thoughts, the sound jolting her like a splash of cold water.

She blinked, her hand gripping the edge of the crate as if anchoring herself back to the present. The fire station felt oppressively quiet again, the faint rustle of wind outside only serving to highlight the stillness within. Her gaze flicked toward the windows, the cracked glass reflecting fragmented streaks of light onto the walls.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” he said again, softer this time, as though he could sense her spiraling. “You need to let that go, Doc.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t respond right away. Letting go felt impossible. The weight of her own guilt was too familiar, too comfortable in a way she hated to admit.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Letting go wasn’t something she knew how to do. The weight of her guilt was a constant companion, settling into the corners of her mind like the ever-present scent of old smoke and mildew clinging to the station’s walls.

Her eyes flicked toward the windows. The wind rattled the loose panes, a mournful sound that filled the gaps in their silence. Outside, the world was as lifeless as the space they now called home, its stillness punctuated by the occasional creak of the old building settling under the weight of its history.

“It’s not that easy,” she murmured, her voice so low it barely carried across the room.

Bucky didn’t respond immediately. His gaze dropped to the floor, the tension in his shoulders softening just enough to betray the exhaustion he carried. He flexed his left hand again—a restless, automatic motion that seemed to anchor him to the moment.

The silence stretched, punctuated by the faint scrape of her gloves against the crate as she adjusted her grip. She felt her thoughts start to spiral again, looping back to the same unanswerable questions. What if she’d been faster? What if she’d done something differently that day? What if—

“You heard anything yet?” Bucky’s voice broke through her thoughts, sharp but not unkind.

She blinked, the question catching her off guard. Her fingers tensed around the edge of the crate. “No,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

The thought of them hadn’t left her since they’d disappeared into the gray haze of the horizon. Steve had insisted it would be quick—one day there, one day back—but now every tick of the clock felt like it chipped away at her hope.

She could still see the supplies they had packed: the last of their ointments, a crumpled map covered in faded marker, and the small stash of ammo they couldn’t afford to spare. It hadn’t been enough then, and it certainly wasn’t enough now. A hollow ache settled in her chest as her mind played through worst-case scenarios: bartered goods gone wrong, the fragility of trust snapping like brittle glass, or worse, the things that prowled the world outside. They’d been gone too long.

The shelves behind her seemed to loom, mocking her with their emptiness. Supplies for one week, two at most, if they stretched them to breaking. And now, they were the only things keeping her from sinking entirely into panic.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward slightly, the chair creaking beneath him, “They should’ve been back by now,” he said, the words heavy with unspoken concern.

“I know.”

The words came out sharper than she intended, and guilt immediately twisted in her chest. She exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across her face.

“I know,” she repeated, softer this time.

Her gaze wandered back to the windows. The cracked glass caught the light, scattering fragmented streaks of gold onto the walls. She followed the patterns absently, trying to focus on them instead of the sinking feeling in her gut.

“They said it’d only be a day,” Bucky said, his voice taut.

“Maybe something slowed them down,” she replied, though the words felt hollow even as she spoke them. Her gaze didn’t leave the window. “It doesn’t mean—”

“You don’t believe that,” he interrupted, his eyes cutting to hers.

She turned to face him fully, her jaw tightening. He was right. She didn’t believe it—not really. The knot in her stomach had been twisting tighter since last night, and the longer they went without word, the harder it became to keep her worry in check.

“They’re smart,” she said finally, as if saying it aloud would make it true, “Steve wouldn’t let anything happen to them. You know that.”

The thought of them hadn’t left her since they’d disappeared into the gray haze of the horizon.

Steve had insisted it would be quick—one day there, one day back—but now every tick of the clock felt like it chipped away at her hope. She could still see the supplies they had packed: the last of their ointments, a crumpled map covered in faded marker, and the small stash of ammo they couldn’t afford to spare. It hadn’t been enough then, and it certainly wasn’t enough now.

A hollow ache settled in her chest as her mind played through worst-case scenarios: bartered goods gone wrong, the fragility of trust snapping like brittle glass, or worse, the things that prowled the world outside. They’d been gone too long. The shelves behind her seemed to loom, mocking her with their emptiness.

Supplies for one week, two at most, if they stretched them to breaking. And now, they were the only things keeping her from sinking entirely into panic.

“Steve’s smart, sure,” Bucky said, his voice hardening, “But those guys they were meeting—they’re not exactly known for playing fair.”

The traders weren’t strangers, but they weren’t friends either. Wanda’s voice echoed in her memory: calm, clinical, but sharp with unspoken warnings:

“They’ve got their own rules. Stick to the deal and walk away clean.”

Doc had wanted to ask more—who they were, what they wanted—but Vision’s grim expression had stopped her.

“We’ll be fine,” he’d said at the time, but she hadn’t missed the flicker of unease in his eyes.

Now, alone with her thoughts, she filled in the blanks they’d left open. Opportunists, Wanda had said once. People who traded in desperation. People who wouldn’t think twice about turning a deal sour if the odds tipped in their favor. The weight of their silence felt heavier now, like a storm cloud pressing against her lungs.

She didn’t know them, but she knew enough: they were exactly the kind of people who survived this world. That didn’t comfort her.

“They’ve been reliable so far,” she said, though even to her own ears, the words sounded weak.

“Reliable until they’re not,” Bucky muttered, his voice dark.

The wind rattled the panes again, louder this time. She glanced at the window, half expecting to see something lurking beyond the fractured glass. Instead, there was only the empty horizon, streaked with the dull gray light of an overcast sky.

“They’ll be fine,” she said, forcing the words out. Her voice wavered just slightly.

Bucky didn’t respond. His gaze was distant again, fixed on a spot on the floor.

“If they’re not back by tonight...” he began, his voice quieter now, “We go after them.”

Her stomach tightened. The words hung in the air, heavy with possibility.

“Bucky—”

Her gaze flicked to him. His left hand flexed unconsciously against his knee. It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight—she’d seen him take down more than she cared to remember—but there was a rawness to the way he moved now. Like a violinist playing with a broken bow, every strike carried the faintest hesitation, every block an unsteady rhythm.

The fight outside the station—the way he’d faltered for half a second—still lingered in her mind. Would Natasha or Sam even agree with such a reckless idea? They’d urge patience, wouldn’t they? But patience wasn’t something she could feel at that moment.

“I mean it, Doc,” he said, cutting her off. His tone was firm, but there was a vulnerability beneath it that caught her off guard. “We can’t just sit here and wait. Not when we don’t know what’s happening.”

Her chest tightened. She wanted to argue, to tell him they needed to stay put and think things through, but the truth was, she felt the same. The thought of waiting much longer, of sitting here in the suffocating quiet while Steve, Wanda, and Vision were out there—somewhere—was unbearable.

She exhaled shakily, trying to steady the chaos in her mind. “Okay,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, “But I’m going with you.”

Bucky’s head snapped toward her, his expression hardening instantly. “No, you’re not.”

His tone was like a brick wall, but she barely registered it. Her chest burned with a heavy mix of determination and dread, a feeling that had been clawing at her since the moment Steve, Wanda, and Vision had left.

“Don’t start,” she said, her voice sharp, “I’m not sitting here while you go out there alone.”

“I won't go alone,” he countered, his brow furrowing deeply as he leaned toward her. “Sam and Natasha will go with me, they’ll agree with me and interject to join me. They can handle themselves, as I myself, you don’t need to get involved.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“You can handle yourself?” she snapped, gesturing toward his left arm, “You’re still getting used to—”

“That doesn’t matter,” he interrupted sharply, his voice loud enough to make her flinch. His expression softened slightly, but his tone didn’t lose its edge, “I’ve been through worse. You know that.”

She knew he was right.

Doc had seen him withstand pain most people wouldn’t survive. But all she could think of was the way his body had sagged against her that day, blood spilling over her hands as she fought to keep him alive. Her breaths were shallow now, her pulse loud in her ears.

The sound of the walkers grunting from afar that day still haunted her nights.

Her mind drifted back—unbidden—to the first moments after the attack. Wanda’s screams had echoed in her ears long after the chaos had settled, a haunting soundtrack to her own failures. She could still feel the sticky warmth of Bucky’s blood as they’d tried, futilely, to stop the bleeding.

Every memory sharpened into a vivid, unbearable ache. She’d told herself over and over it hadn’t been her fault, but she didn’t believe it.

She blinked rapidly, trying to refocus.

“I can’t just sit here, Bucky,” she said, her voice trembling with frustration, “Not again. I didn’t do enough last time, and look where that got us. If something happens to them now, while I’m hiding here, I—”

“You’re not hiding,” Bucky said, his voice cutting through her words like steel, “You’re our doctor around here, we need you in one piece. They need you alive, we all do. Who else would keep Sam from trying to play hero when he’s hurt, or patch Natasha up when she refuses to admit she’s bleeding?”

Her lips twitched despite herself, but the moment passed too quickly, leaving behind only the gnawing weight in her chest. Her gaze dropped to the floor, shame coiling in her stomach. Surviving felt like an excuse. It felt like cowardice.

“You don’t understand,” she murmured.

“I do,” Bucky said, his voice calm and measured, though a flicker of pain crossed his features, “You think I don’t know what you’re feeling? That guilt? That weight? I carry it every damn day. But it doesn’t mean you throw yourself into the fire just to make it stop.”

Her breath hitched as his words struck a nerve, unearthing emotions she’d buried too deep to face. The images she’d been trying to suppress came rushing back again: Vision’s desperate attempts to shield Wanda, the way the chaos had swallowed them whole. She’d frozen at the worst moment, and she’d felt the cost of that mistake every day since.

Her shoulders sagged, the fight momentarily draining out of her.

“You’re asking me to stay behind and do nothing,” she said softly, her voice barely audible, “But I can’t, Bucky. I can’t stand the thought of—”

“Of what?” he pressed, stepping closer, his voice softer but still firm. “Of losing them? Of losing more people? You think I don’t feel that, too?”

She looked up at him sharply, her jaw tightening.

“I know you do,” she said, though the words felt thin and insubstantial. “That’s why I hope you understand me and let me go with you.”

“You think this is about permission?” he countered, his tone softening as his gaze fixed on her, “This isn’t about what you want, Doc. It’s about what we need. And what we need is for you to stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”

Her heart felt heavier, his words pulling her in two directions at once. She wanted to believe him, to let the truth settle into her bones, but her guilt sat heavier. Her mind spun, latching onto his words and twisting them.

The silence between them thickened, stretching into a chasm. Doc stared at the floor, her fingers twitching against her sides as her thoughts spiraled again.

She could still hear Steve’s voice, low and steady as he’d assured her they’d be back by now. She could still see Wanda’s tentative smile, Vision’s quiet nod. If she stayed here and they didn’t come back, she wouldn’t just be failing them—she’d be failing herself.

“I have to do something,” she said, her voice trembling.

“And I have to stop you from getting yourself killed,” Bucky said, his voice softer now, but no less firm.

Her lips parted to respond, the fight still bubbling at the back of her throat, but before she could speak, the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted them.

“Hey!” Sam’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and urgent.

They both turned to see him standing in the doorway, his expression tight with unease.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, glancing between them, “You need to see this. Now.”

The chill outside hit harder than expected, the wind carrying with it the faint, sour scent of decay. The fire station loomed behind them, its once-vivid red paint peeling in ragged strips, exposing the weathered wood and rusting metal beneath. Around them, the forest stretched endlessly, its skeletal trees swaying against the gray horizon like brittle fingers reaching for the sky.

Sam moved ahead of them, his pace brisk but purposeful. His jacket flapped with each gust of wind, revealing a patched-up shoulder that spoke to a lifetime of survival in a world that didn’t allow for rest. His expression was sharp, his dark eyes flicking between the treetops and the undergrowth as if expecting danger to leap out at any moment.

Doc’s breath came quick and shallow, the cold air biting at her lungs. Her boots crunched against the frost-dusted ground, the sound far too loud in the eerie quiet. She struggled to suppress the rising dread, but her thoughts swirled with growing panic.

What was wrong?

Her stomach churned as memories of past close calls clawed their way to the surface—hands grasping at her ankles, lifeless eyes staring through her as she fought tooth and nail to escape. When the problem wasn’t walkers, it was about other survivors.

The last time they had to deal with survivors who weren’t at all good still didn’t bring her any good memories.

The forest around her suddenly felt too close, the looming trees pressing in, cutting off the faint light of the overcast sky.

Ahead of them, Natasha stood on a rocky outcrop that overlooked the clearing, her figure stark against the muted greens and browns of the forest. Her hair was tied back tightly, stray strands clinging to her face from the wind.

She didn’t glance back as they approached, her sharp eyes narrowing at the horizon. Her rifle was slung over her shoulder, but her hand rested on her sidearm, fingers twitching in restless anticipation.

Sam reached her first. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like,” he said, his voice tight.

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes locked on the horizon.

“They’re closer,” she said flatly. Her voice carried an edge of worry that Doc wasn’t used to hearing. “A lot closer.”

The words hit like a stone sinking in her chest. Doc stopped a few paces behind them, her hands instinctively gripping the straps of her satchel.

“Closer?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper, “How close?”

Bucky stepped up beside Sam, his expression darkening as he scanned the treeline. “How close are we talking?” he asked, his voice low, measured.

Natasha exhaled slowly, the sound merging with the mournful rustling of the wind. “Close enough that we don’t have time to argue about it.”

Doc swallowed hard and turned her gaze to the treeline. At first, all she saw was the dense sprawl of trees swaying gently in the breeze. Then, movement.

Faint at first, almost imperceptible, but unmistakably unnatural. Figures staggered into view, their jerky, uneven steps disrupting the stillness. From this distance, they looked more like shadows than bodies, but the sound came next—low, guttural groans that seemed to rise from the earth itself.

Her breath caught in her throat. The walkers moved as if guided by some unseen force, their twisted forms weaving between the trees in eerie, disjointed patterns. They weren’t supposed to be here. They weren’t supposed to move like this.

“They were miles away,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “How are they already here?”

“They shouldn’t be,” Natasha replied tightly. “Two days ago, they were far enough out that we should’ve had at least a month.”

Doc’s heart raced as her thoughts spiraled. She’d studied the walkers enough to know their patterns, their sluggish movements and aimless wandering. These weren’t the same. Their pace was faster, their movements less random, almost purposeful. The idea sent a cold shiver down her spine.

“Unless they’re tracking us,” Bucky muttered grimly.

The thought hit Doc like a punch to the gut. “Tracking us? How?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam interjected, crossing his arms. His jaw tightened as he glanced at Natasha. “How long do we have?”

Natasha tore her gaze from the horizon to face them, her expression unreadable. “An hour,” she said, her voice clipped. “Maybe less.”

The wind picked up, howling through the rocky outcrop, carrying the walkers’ groans closer. Doc’s gaze drifted back to the treeline. She could see more of them now, their shapes growing clearer as they emerged from the forest’s shadows. Their bodies were twisted and broken, patches of skin hanging loosely from exposed muscle and bone. Some dragged limbs behind them, while others moved with an unnatural speed that made her stomach churn.

She forced herself to look away, but the sound lingered—wet, uneven footsteps against frost-covered earth, the grotesque symphony of broken jaws gnashing and guttural groans filling the air. They were closing in, a relentless tide of death that wouldn’t stop until it consumed everything in its path.

Her thoughts raced. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Walkers didn’t move like this. They didn’t track people, didn’t organize. It didn’t make sense, and yet here they were, defying every rule she thought she understood.

“They’re moving like they know where we are,” she thought, a sickening realization clawing at the edges of her mind, “How do you fight something that learns?”

Bucky’s voice cut through the rising panic.

“Grab what you can carry,” he said sharply, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re moving. Now.”

The fire station was alive with chaos as they scrambled to gather their supplies. The sound of boots thudding against the worn wooden floors mixed with the muffled groans of walkers approaching outside. Each noise felt magnified, echoing in her ears as though the world itself was narrowing to this single point. Doc’s hands moved quickly, shoving rolls of bandages and jars of antiseptic into her satchel.

The sharp tang of alcohol mingled with the musty scent of old wood and mildew, clinging to her as much as the panic settling deep in her chest. Every item she touched seemed heavier than the last, her mind warring between what to take and what to leave behind.

Her thoughts spiraled, racing between what she needed and what she could afford to leave behind. But with every passing second, the groans outside grew louder, closer. Every creak of the building, every gust of wind that rattled the windows, made her nerves tighten further, the pressure of the outside world pushing in.

“You don’t have time for all that!” Sam’s voice barked from the garage entrance, his figure a stark silhouette against the dim gray light filtering through the open door. Beyond him, the treeline loomed, dark and unyielding, like the open mouth of a beast waiting to swallow them whole, “Just grab what you can carry!”

“I am!” Doc snapped, though her hands lingered on a box of sutures, the decision to leave it behind weighing on her like a physical blow. Her eyes darted to the shelves around her, taking in the jars, gauze rolls, and scalpels she couldn’t carry. Every piece felt vital, irreplaceable.

She tried to convince herself it would be fine—they’d find more. They had to. But the knot in her stomach told her otherwise.

Bucky stormed in, his boots striking the floor with a force that matched the tension radiating from his frame.

“Doc, we’ve got to move. Now.” His voice was low, commanding, each word clipped with urgency. His left hand flexed and unflexed unconsciously, his rifle slung tightly across his back. The sharpness in his blue eyes cut through the chaos, locking onto hers, “We don’t have time for second-guessing.”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to a jar of precious antibiotics on the shelf. The sight of it was like a knife twisting in her gut.

“I can’t just leave this,” she murmured, her hand already reaching for it.

“You have to,” Bucky growled, grabbing her arm before she could touch it. His grip was firm, his tone leaving no room for argument, “We can’t carry everything, and you need your rifle free.”

The air outside felt even colder than it had moments ago, as if the very atmosphere was shifting with the encroaching danger. The frost-covered ground crunched beneath their boots as they bolted toward the path leading to the observatory, the sound of each footstep echoing in her ears. The wind whipped through the trees, its mournful howl filling the silence between them, as though the forest itself was mourning the loss of whatever had once lived there.

Every gust of wind seemed to tear at her skin, biting through her clothes, and mingled with the groans of walkers closing in from behind.

The scent of decay was thick in the air, a sharp metallic tang that clung to the back of her throat, heavy with the promise of what was to come. Her pulse quickened with each passing step, her eyes scanning the darkness of the forest ahead.

Doc kept her rifle close, her fingers tight around the stock, as though its familiarity was the only thing holding her steady. Her satchel bounced against her side with every hurried step, the weight of it a constant reminder of the things she had left behind—things she hadn’t had the time or space to carry. It was like a physical ache, that bag slapping against her side as if mocking her failure to prepare.

The forest around them felt alive with unseen menace. The skeletal branches above creaked and groaned in the wind, their long limbs swaying ominously, casting shifting shadows that seemed to stretch and warp like living things. The sound of leaves rustling in the breeze was sharper than it should have been, the snap of a branch too loud, too distinct, almost like a warning.

Every crack of frost beneath their boots made her flinch, every movement of the trees felt as if it might be something lurking just out of sight. Her senses were heightened, but it wasn’t enough—her heart hammered in her chest, her mind a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts.

We’re not safe. We’re not safe enough.

Then it hit her—a sudden, wrenching realization that cut through the haze of panic swirling in her mind. Her hand flew to her neck, her fingers grazing empty skin. But it wasn’t the locket. It was the antibiotics. The vial.

The thought slammed into her like a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs. She’d left it behind—the very vials she’d been using for Bucky’s wound, the only thing keeping his infection from spreading.

The weight of that hit her harder than anything else. Panic surged through her veins, cold and unrelenting, and in that moment, her legs refused to move. How could I have forgotten it?

Her thoughts spiraled as the image of the fire station came rushing back, vivid and cruel. The counter, the medical kit, the vial of antibiotics—she could picture it exactly as she’d left it. Set aside for Bucky’s wound, ready for the next treatment. And now, still there. Waiting.

She stopped mid-step, the forest around her stretching endlessly, a blur of skeletal branches and frost-covered ground. The others pressed forward, their movements purposeful, but her feet wouldn’t obey. Something inside her refused to let go of that single image: the vial, sitting untouched, just where she had left it.

Why didn’t she pack it?

The question flickered through her mind, unspoken but persistent. There had been no reason not to. She’d been careful, deliberate with every other piece of their supplies. Yet somehow, the most important one had slipped through. A faint pang twisted her gut, unwelcome but unavoidable. Her hands clenched, as if the motion could undo the moment entirely.

She glanced up at the others, their figures moving steadily ahead. They didn’t know. They couldn’t. Their focus was forward—on the path, on safety, on what came next. But her focus wouldn’t move. It remained tethered to the fire station, the counter, the vial.

Her gaze dropped back to the frozen ground. It wasn’t far. That thought lodged itself in her mind, stubborn and insistent. If she turned now—if she ran—she could make it. She knew the risks, felt them in every hollow groan carried on the wind, but even those seemed muted next to the quiet insistence pulling her back.

The wind stung her cheeks, a sharp reminder of the urgency around her, but it wasn’t enough to snap her forward. Her legs shifted almost unconsciously, her body responding to a decision her mind hadn’t yet admitted.

“Doc!” Bucky’s voice broke through the fog of her thoughts, sharp and tight. She flinched, looking up. He’d stopped further up the path, his frame outlined against the pale sky, “We have to move!”

Her pulse quickened. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

The right thing—the safe thing—was to keep going, to trust they had done all they could, that there would be another way. But safety wasn’t what came to her now. Instead, it was the memory of Bucky sitting still as she worked on his wound, the faint tension in his jaw as he’d pretended not to feel the pain. The antiseptic had burned, but he hadn’t flinched.

The vial. The infection.

“I forgot your antibiotics, I’ll catch up with you,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. She didn’t look at them as she spoke, and didn't need to see the disbelief in their eyes, “Go to the watchtower, we are in four, it will be safe for us there as the horde passes through the forest.”

“Doc, no!” Sam called, his voice urgent but tinged with frustration, “You’ll get yourself killed!”

“I’ll be fine,” she muttered, barely hearing them anymore. Her feet were already turning, moving instinctively toward the fire station, “I’ll catch up. I promise.”

“You’re not going back there!” Bucky shouted, his voice breaking with the strain. He took a step forward, as though he might physically stop her, but Doc shook her head, her pace quickening.

She didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not now.

Doc ignored the voices calling her name as she turned back, her feet pounding against the frozen ground. The urgency in her chest pressed down with each step. She couldn’t afford to waste any more time. The wind bit at her face as the forest around her seemed to close in, but she pushed on, determination fueling her every move.

The fire station came into view, its weathered walls grim against the cold, the door hanging open. The sight made her heart race. She could already hear the sounds of groans and shuffling feet—too many walkers closing in. She had to get in, grab the antibiotics, and get out.

No more hesitation.

As she stepped through the door, a sickly warmth met her, the stench of decay heavy in the air. Her eyes scanned the room quickly. It wasn’t overrun yet, but it was far from empty. A couple of walkers had already made their way inside—slow-moving, disoriented, gnawing at the remnants of their last victim. Their blank, dead eyes fixed on the dark corners, not yet aware of her presence.

Doc’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her knife, the cold steel offering her a brief sense of comfort. She moved quickly but cautiously, trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. The counter where she had left the antibiotics was just ahead, a faint light shining from the open window above. The sight of it—small, but so important—sent a fleeting wave of relief through her chest.

But the sound of groaning grew louder, sharper, filling the air with a sense of urgency that clawed at her throat. She could hear more of them now—shuffling closer, entering the station. The door she had come through wasn’t far behind her, and the sickening realization hit her: they were pouring in. Not a flood yet, but enough. Too many to fight if it came down to it.

She had to be quick.

Her heart thudded in her ears as she reached the counter. Her fingers grazed the familiar bottle of antibiotics, its cool surface a reminder of everything riding on this moment. She grabbed it, slamming it into her bag with shaking hands. The small moment of victory was short-lived.

The first walker noticed her then, its head jerking toward her, eyes blank and hungry.

Doc didn’t hesitate. She spun, slashing her knife across its throat. The body crumpled without a sound, the stench of blood and rot hanging in the air. She didn’t stop to think, just pushed forward, moving toward the door, but as she passed through, she saw more of them stumbling inside.

The sound of their dragging feet filled the space, their moans growing louder as they converged from all directions.

The door she had come through was barely closed when the groaning reached a new intensity. She turned sharply, her pulse spiking as she saw more walkers entering through the open door, and in that moment, a flash of movement caught her eye.

At first, it seemed like just another walker. But the way it moved—so much more fluid, less disjointed—was unsettling. Its skin was torn, flesh barely clinging to the bones, but it had the posture of something alive. Something human. A fresh, human shape, now hidden beneath the decaying skin of a walker. Its eyes locked onto hers for a fraction of a second, and something in her froze.

Was it possible?

“Hey,” she tried not to shout, “Who the fuck are you? Get out of here!”

But the sound of her own voice—loud, desperate—only drew more attention. The walkers around her snapped toward the noise, their vacant stares now focused entirely on her.

Her breathing quickened, the sound of her own heartbeat drowning out everything else. The walkers were converging now, their soulless groans blending into a grotesque harmony of hunger. The figure—the one that didn’t quite move like the others—had slipped from view, swallowed by the chaos. But its presence lingered in her mind, a sinister anomaly in a world that thrived on the bizarre.

Perhaps, she had imagined. She had imagined something that wasn’t there and would have to run faster because of such stupidity.

Doc’s grip tightened around her knife as she sidestepped a walker dragging its feet toward her. She didn’t pause. She couldn’t. Her fingers brushed the counter as she lunged forward, closing the distance to the vial. The cool glass met her palm, and she snatched it up, shoving it into her satchel. Her hands trembled as she secured the strap tightly across her chest.

There was no time to think. She turned, her boots scraping against the cracked floor, just as a walker lunged from her left. She ducked instinctively, its decayed fingers swiping through the air above her head. With a sharp jab, her blade found its mark, sinking deep into the side of its skull.

The body crumpled, but the noise of its fall only drew more attention.

She bolted for the door. More walkers were pouring in, the weight of their bodies pressing against the doorframe. Their groans echoed in the confined space, blending into a suffocating roar. One stumbled directly into her path, its teeth snapping at the air. Without slowing, she pivoted and slammed the heel of her boot into its knee, sending it toppling to the ground.

The cold wind hit her like a slap as she burst through the fire station door, the pale light of the outside world blinding her for a brief moment. She stumbled forward, her boots skidding on the frost-dusted ground, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The moans behind her were growing louder, spilling into the open air with a guttural resonance that sent ice through her veins.

The treeline loomed ahead, a skeletal wall of gray and brown that swayed with the biting wind. It wasn’t safety—not really—but it was the only cover she had. Her legs burned with each step, the satchel bouncing heavily against her hip as she sprinted. The straps dug into her shoulder, the weight of the supplies inside a painful reminder of everything she’d risked to retrieve them.

Her breath tore through her lungs, harsh and ragged, pluming in short bursts against the icy air. Behind her, the cacophony of groans and dragging footsteps surged, echoing across the barren landscape. The sound clawed at her resolve, each guttural cry a reminder of how close they were. How close they always were.

She glanced back once—just once—and immediately regretted it. The walkers were pouring out of the station now, their twisted forms staggering into the open. Their flesh hung in tattered strips, their jaws slack but snapping hungrily at the air. Some crawled, their broken bodies dragging through the dirt, while others moved with a terrifying, jerky speed. Her stomach twisted at the sight, but she forced herself to look away.

Keep running. Don’t think. Just move.

The forest swallowed her whole as she plunged into the shadows of the trees, their brittle branches clawing at her jacket. The ground beneath her boots was uneven, littered with fallen twigs and patches of frost-slicked leaves that threatened to trip her with every hurried step. Her pulse thundered in her ears, louder even than the groans behind her, as though her body was trying to drown out the noise.

She pushed deeper into the forest, weaving through the skeletal trees with a frantic, unsteady rhythm. Every snap of a branch beneath her boots sounded deafening in the oppressive silence, and every rustle of leaves made her flinch, her mind conjuring images of walkers lurking just out of sight. The light filtering through the canopy was thin and pale, casting shifting shadows that danced and twisted in her peripheral vision like specters.

She stumbled, her boot catching on an exposed root, and barely managed to catch herself before hitting the ground. Her knee grazed the dirt, and a sharp pain shot up her leg, but she forced herself to keep moving. She didn’t have the luxury of stopping—not here, not now.

The terrain sloped upward as she neared the observatory, the incline forcing her legs to work harder with every step. Her breath came in shorter gasps, her muscles screaming in protest, but the sight of the tower ahead pushed her forward. It rose above the treetops like a crumbling monument to a world long gone, its once-pristine walls weathered and gray, the dome at its peak fractured but still intact.Her thoughts spiraled as she ran, the events of the day replaying in an endless loop. The fire station. The supplies. Her friends. She could still hear Steve’s voice, steady and reassuring as he’d promised they’d regroup at the observatory. "It’s high ground. Safe."

Safe. The word felt hollow now, meaningless against the reality of what she’d seen. If it was so safe, why weren’t they there? Where was Sam, Bucky and Natasha?

Looking around, Doc was sure: no one of them was there yet.

She reached the base of the tower, her chest heaving as she gripped the rusted railing of the staircase. The old metal groaned beneath her touch, the sound echoing in the stillness. For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze flicking back toward the forest. The faint sound of groans was still there, a low, distant hum that sent a shiver down her spine.

They were coming. Slowly but surely, they were coming.

Her boots clanged against the metal steps as she began to climb, each step a battle against the exhaustion threatening to drag her down. The staircase spiraled upward, the air growing colder and thinner with each turn. Dust swirled in the shafts of pale light filtering through the gaps in the tower’s walls, catching in her throat and making her cough. She gritted her teeth, forcing her legs to keep moving.

The top of the tower was just as she remembered it—wide, open, and eerily quiet. The observatory dome loomed above, its glass panels shattered and jagged, allowing the wind to whistle through unchecked. The room was empty, save for the remnants of equipment long abandoned: a rusting telescope lying on its side, a desk with drawers hanging open, and a scattering of papers so faded they were little more than fragments.

Doc’s eyes darted to every corner, every shadow, searching for any sign of her friends. But the room was still. Lifeless. She dropped the satchel onto the floor, her legs threatening to give out beneath her as the weight fell away.

She waited, standing in the center of the room as the silence pressed in. Her chest rose and fell with labored breaths, her mind racing with questions.

Why weren’t they here? Had something gone wrong? Had they even made it this far?

The questions circled in her mind, relentless and unanswerable. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and for a moment, she couldn’t tell if the sound was her heartbeat or the faint groans of the horde below. Her friends had been right there—right there—just minutes ago. She’d barely been apart from them long enough for anything to happen. They were ahead of her when she veered back toward the fire station. They had to be here. They had to.

She paced the room, her boots scuffing against the dusty floorboards. Every creak of the wood beneath her feet made her flinch, her nerves stretched thin. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she glanced toward the stairwell, half expecting to hear the echo of hurried footsteps or a voice calling her name. But there was nothing. Only the wind and the hollow groan of the old building settling under its own weight.

Minutes passed, though they felt more like hours. The emptiness of the observatory pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating, the quiet amplifying the chaotic churn of her thoughts. She moved toward the cracked window, her fingers brushing against the jagged frame as she peered outside.

Where were they? Had they been delayed by walkers? Overrun? Her mind spiraled, conjuring images she didn’t want to see: Sam cornered, Natasha until her last breath, Bucky shouting commands as he went down swinging... The scenarios played out like a cruel slideshow, each one worse than the last.

Her fingers clenched against the window frame, splinters digging into her palms. Her throat tightened, the raw ache of helplessness clawing its way up. She forced her gaze down to the clearing below, desperate for anything—a sign of movement, a clue, something.

She should’ve stayed with them. She shouldn’t have gone back for the supplies. She should’ve—

Something moved.

Her breath hitched as her gaze locked onto the clearing. At first, she thought it might have been the wind shifting the frost-covered grass, but then she saw it again—subtle, deliberate. A figure.

The person came into focus slowly, as though emerging from the haze of her scattered thoughts. They moved unevenly, their gait uneven but not aimless. One hand clutched at their side, where dark streaks of red stained their coat.

Blood.

Doc’s pulse quickened as her eyes followed their movements, taking in the bag slung over their shoulder, the way they adjusted its weight with a practiced efficiency.

Her grip on the window frame tightened. This wasn’t one of her friends, that was for sure.

She would have recognized their silhouette, their stride. But this person—whoever they were—didn’t stumble like a walker, nor did they panic like a survivor running for their life. There was something else in the way they moved. It wasn’t desperation.

It was...Calculation. Probably, he was a tracker of some kind.

She swallowed hard, her mind latching onto the details she could make out from this distance:

The bag. The blood. The deliberate, almost methodical way they navigated the clearing.

A flicker of unease sparked in her chest, followed quickly by something sharper. Anger, there was something wrong.

Her gaze dropped to the bag they carried. The stitching along its edges. The way it sagged, its contents shifting with each step. Her breath caught as realization dawned, slow and painful.

That’s ours.

Her mind snapped back to the fire station—the empty shelves, the supplies she’d fought to protect. The chaos of the walkers flooding the area. The pieces fell into place with a sharp finality that left her reeling. The strange figure she had a glimpse…

Her knees threatened to buckle, but she locked them in place, her hands shaking as they hovered near the rifle slung across her back.

This wasn’t some coincidence. This person—this stranger—had taken from her. From them. And now, they were walking away with what might have been theirs.

Her heart hammered in her chest, anger bubbling up beneath the exhaustion. She pulled the rifle from her back with trembling hands, her fingers curling around the cold metal as she raised it. Her breaths came quick and shallow, the weight of her own voice cutting through the stillness as she shouted.

“Hey!” The word ripped from her throat, raw and trembling, “Stop right there! I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

The figure halted, their body eerily still despite the tension in her voice. Slowly, almost deliberately, they turned to face her. The movement was unnerving in its precision—not the panicked flinch of someone caught off guard, but the calm shift of someone who knew they held the upper hand.

The wind carried the faint, sickly scent of decay as the figure’s full form came into view. He wore a long coat, dark and heavy, its edges caked in mud and streaked with the dried, rust-colored smears of walker blood. The coat’s fabric hung unevenly over his lean frame, torn in places where crude patches of cloth and leather attempted to hold it together. His hands were bare, the knuckles split and red, as though they had seen far too much use against both the living and the dead.

But it was his face that gave Doc pause.

The sharp lines of his features were partially obscured by streaks of dirt and dried blood. A faint layer of stubble darkened his jawline, blending with the grime on his skin. His brown eyes were cold, unsettlingly sharp, and locked onto her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. A smear of blood—fresh—traced the edge of his brow, disappearing into his short, neatly cut brown hair, which somehow remained untouched by the chaos that covered the rest of him.

More disturbing was the way his coat and boots glistened in places, patches of gore clinging to them as if he had waded through the carnage of walkers, not just avoided them. Thin strands of flesh—barely noticeable but sickening once seen—clung to the seams of his coat. He had blended with the dead, hiding among them, a grotesque trick that made Doc’s stomach turn.

So, he was indeed who she had spotted back there.

Even from this distance, there was an air of control about him, a calm that didn’t belong in a world where survival demanded chaos and fear. It set her on edge.

“I said stop!” she barked again, her voice trembling with anger, but her finger steadied on the trigger.

The figure tilted his head slightly, the faintest hint of curiosity flickering across his otherwise impassive face. His gaze dropped briefly to the rifle aimed at his chest before returning to her, his posture shifting as though weighing his options.

He didn’t answer her.

The wind howled through the shattered panes above, the distant groans of walkers carried with it, growing closer. Doc’s chest heaved with shallow breaths as the silence stretched between them.

Her eyes darted to the bag slung over his shoulder.

“What’s in the bag?” she demanded, her voice rising to fill the silence, “And who the hell are you?”

The man’s lips twitched faintly, not quite a smile but the ghost of something that made her skin crawl. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder, his movements slow and deliberate, as though to show he wasn’t reaching for a weapon.

“Supplies,” he said at last, his tone low and measured. His accent—a faint trace of something Eastern European—added a layer of dissonance to the single word.

Doc’s jaw tightened.

“My supplies,” she shot back, her anger bubbling to the surface, “You stole them. You brought the horde down on us.”

The man’s pout deepened the unease curling in her chest. His shrug was almost dismissive, but it was cut short by a sharp flinch, his hand twitching toward the bloodied side of his coat. Doc’s gaze flicked to the dark stain spreading there, her mind registering more of the injury even as her anger refused to abate.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said evenly, his tone bordering on indifference.

Her grip on the rifle tightened, the cold metal grounding her in the face of his maddening calm.

“Don’t lie to me,” she snapped, her voice rising, “That bag—you got it from the fire station. It’s ours. You tore through our shelter and left us for dead.”

The slightest hint of amusement played across his face, though it was hard to tell if it was real or just part of the mask he seemed to wear so effortlessly.

“I did what was necessary,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he met her gaze. His tone was quiet, almost conversational, but it carried an undercurrent of steel, “You understand that, no? Survival demands... Adaptability.”

Adaptability my ass, Doc’s breath hitched as his words sank in. Stripping them of their supplies and drawing the horde straight to their door? That was adaptability?

In her world, that was called stealing.

“You put my friends in danger,” she spat, her voice trembling with barely restrained fury, “If they’re dead—”

“Then it is not because of me,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through hers like a blade.

The calm precision of his words made her falter. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t plead or defend himself. He simply stated it, as though it were fact.

Doc’s hands shook, the rifle trembling in her grip. Her mind raced, torn between the instinct to pull the trigger and the gnawing doubt creeping in at the edges of her anger. He wasn’t wrong. The walkers were coming, and they had been closing in even before she’d reached the fire station. But that didn’t absolve him. Not when her friends were still missing.

“And why shouldn’t I shoot you right now, you fucker?”

The man’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression sobering. He shifted slightly, his hand brushing against his wounded side as he straightened.

“Because,” he said, his tone measured, “we are both still standing here. If you shoot, it will only bring the horde's attention to us.”

Doc’s jaw clenched, her teeth grinding as the weight of his words pressed against her better judgment. He wasn’t pleading. He wasn’t begging for his life. He was stating facts, and that infuriated her even more.

Her finger hovered over the trigger, the weight of the rifle almost comforting in her hands. The logical part of her mind screamed at her to pull it—to end this before he had the chance to turn on her. But the sound of the groans in the distance, carried on the sharp winter wind, kept her grounded. He wasn’t wrong. One shot, and the horde would come straight for the tower. And with the way they were closing in, there wouldn’t be time to outrun them.

He tilted his head again, watching her with an infuriating calm, as though he could sense her internal struggle. His piercing blue-gray eyes were unflinching, almost clinical, like he was dissecting her every move.

“You are angry,” he said, his tone devoid of apology but filled with a maddening level of understanding, “That is fair. I would be too. But anger will not help you find your friends. It will not help you survive.”Doc let out a sharp, bitter laugh, the sound cracking against the tension like shattering glass.

“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor,” she snapped, her voice trembling with the force of her frustration. “You stole from us. You put us in this position.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded with a faint nod, his voice still maddeningly even. “But I am not the reason your friends are not here. The world is cruel enough without your help in laying blame.”

Son of a bitch.

Her knuckles whitened around the rifle, her chest heaving as she fought to keep her emotions in check. The rational part of her mind screamed that every second spent talking to him was a second wasted. But the truth—raw and unforgiving—dug into her like a blade: how would she find Sam, Natasha and Bucky? She had no idea where they could have gone.

He must have noticed the slight falter in her stance because his voice softened, the sharp edge of his tone giving way to something almost persuasive.

“Think about it,” he continued, gesturing faintly to the dark stain spreading across his side. “You want to find your friends, right? I need help treating this, because I’m not a doctor myself.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, “But I saw you back there taking those vials, you seem to know something or two about it. We can help each other. Or we can die here, arguing over what cannot be undone.”

Doc’s stomach churned, the truth of his words twisting like a knife in her gut.

She didn’t trust him. She couldn’t. But he was right.

Her friends could be anywhere, and the supplies she had weren’t enough to see her through on her own. Despite not trusting him, she wasn’t a tracker either, she had no clue how to find them.

Her voice was quieter when she spoke again, though it still carried the edge of her anger, “How do I know you won’t turn on me the second I patch you up?”

The flicker of a smirk tugged at his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I could have killed you already if that were my intention,” he said simply. “But I didn’t. That should count for something, no?”

He was referring back to the fire station, when she had found him. You didn’t because it would bring the attention of the walkers to you, she dared say it out loud.

However, she got a glimpse of a dagger clinged in him. He could have easily sneaked up on her and killed her right there.

Damn.

She didn’t respond, her glare burning into him as she weighed her options. He shifted slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at his injury. Despite his calm exterior, she could see the subtle signs of pain etched into his features—the tension in his jaw, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow.

“If you kill me,” he added, his voice dropping lower, “You lose your only ally in finding them. And if I die, well, that would be my problem, I guess.”

Doc’s lips parted, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but the sound of the horde cut through her thoughts like a warning. The groans were closer now, their low, guttural chorus blending with the distant rustle of movement through the trees.

Time was slipping through her fingers, and she knew it.

She let out a sharp breath, lowering the rifle slightly but keeping it trained on him.

“Fine,” she bit out, the word heavy with reluctant resolve, “But if you even think about double-crossing me—”

“I won’t,” he interrupted, his tone clipped but sincere, “I am a man of my word.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream at the audacity of his claim. A man of his word? He’d just admitted to stealing from her, to taking supplies that didn’t belong to him. But the alternative was clear. She could kill him, call the walkers down on herself, and hope to find her friends alone—or she could take the gamble.

Her hands shook as she pulled the satchel off her shoulder, the supplies inside rattling faintly.

“Climb,” she ordered, nodding toward the nearest flat surface—a weathered bench that looked as though it might collapse under his weight, “Quick, don’t worry about the wound, I will take care of it once you are up here.”

He complied without argument, though the effort was clearly taxing on him. His eyes narrowed briefly in pain as he shifted, but he moved with the grace of someone used to enduring hardship. As he climbed, his movements were slow, deliberate, clearly trying not to strain his injury further. The bench creaked under his weight, but it held, albeit barely.

“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” she muttered loudly enough for him to hear, her eyes still fixed on him.

“I would be disappointed if you did,” he replied instantly, the smirk never leaving his face. He was far too calm, too confident—something about that smugness made her blood run cold, but she couldn’t afford to focus on that now.

The wind howled through the shattered panes above them, the moans of the walkers growing louder with every passing second. The sound was unnerving, distant but unmistakably close. Her stomach churned as she tried to ignore the gnawing sense of urgency that gnawed at her from every direction.

This was a risk—a dangerous one—but it was a risk she had to take. For her friends. For herself.

She needed to find them. She needed to find Bucky. He and that injury... she couldn’t say for how long he would be okay without the antibiotics. And he couldn’t afford to wait much longer. His arm—his right arm—had been torn off, the injury severe. And without the proper care, it would only get worse.

Worse, she still had no idea where Steve, Wanda, and Vision were.

And as she wondered about all of that, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze on her, cold and calculating, as though he were already thinking five steps ahead.

Good for him, Doc thought with herself, because I always think ten steps ahead.

#helmut zemo fanfiction #marvel #mcu #helmut zemo x female original character #helmut zemo #baron zemo #marvel cinematic universe #helmut zemo x reader #zombie apocalypse #zombie apocolypse au #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #vision

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braveclementine · 7 months ago

Text

Siberia

Warnings: None

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OC Elizabeth Lightwood. I do not condone any copying of this.

Steve landed the Quinjet in the snowy tundra and turned the jet off. Bucky meanwhile found the weapons and grabbed a gun. The two of them stood next to each other while they waited for the ramp to go down.

"You remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?" Steve asked, looking over at Bucky.

"Was that the time we used our train money to buy hot dogs?" Bucky asked, smiling.

"You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead." Steve smirked.

"What was her name again?" Bucky chuckled.

"Dolores. You call her Dot."

"She's gotta be a hundred years old right now." Bucky sighed.

"So are we, pal." Steve smirked, clapping Bucky on the shoulder. Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve's cheek tentatively. Steve felt his cheeks grow hot.

"Just in case." Bucky smirked and went to walk down the ramp. Steve grabbed his arm and spun him around, kissing him passionately on the lips. "No." Steve breathed as he pulled away. "That's how you do it."

"Guess you're the lead now." Bucky chuckled, pecking Steve's lips one more time and then they walked off the ramp.

"He can't have been here more than a few hours." Steve said, looking around. It was bitter cold, the snow and wind blowing around them fiercely.

"Long enough to wake them up." Bucky replied.

They headed downstairs through the elevator and then started to make their way through the hallways. Bucky kept his new gun lifted up as he walked, leading and checking every corner he passed.

They started up the stairs, before they heard a loud thud behind them. They both turned immediately. Steve lifted his shield up so he could see it just over the edge.

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

To their surprise, it was Tony, who stepped out and let his face plate down, "You seem a little defensive."

"It's been a long day." Steve said, walking forward slowly with his shield.

"At ease Soldier. I'm not currently after you." Tony shouted up at Bucky who hadn't moved.

"Then why are you here?" Steve asked.

"Could be your story's not so crazy." Tony said. "Maybe. Ross has no idea I'm here. I'd like to keep it that way. Otherwise, I gotta arrest myself."

"Well, that sounds like a lot of paperwork." Steve replied. Tony scoffed and Steve finally relaxed, "It's good to see you Tony."

"You too, Cap." Tony looked up, "Hey, Manchurian Candidate, you're killing me. There's a truce here. You can drop-"

Steve motioned to Bucky and Bucky slowly lowered the gun.

"I got heat signatures." Tony said as they rounded a corner into a larger, slightly more open room.

"How many?" Steve asked.

Tony took a second and then said, "Uh, one."

Suddenly, the lights lit up in the cylinders. They glowed yellow and steam hissed from them, moving around inside. Steve walked forwards slowly and then stopped again when a voice spoke.

"If it's any comfort, they died in their sleep." Steve continued to walk forwards again and Tony matched his steps. He could see now that the soldiers all had bullet wounds in their foreheads, blood frozen to those spots. Steve worried for how Bucky would feel.

"Did you really think I wanted more of you?" The man asked.

"What the hell?" Steve heard Bucky whisper.

"I'm grateful to them, though. They brought you here." Steve noticed Bucky had wandered to look into the cylinders, so he was further away from him and Tony. More lights turned on. Tony immediately shot at where the man was and Steve threw his shield, but it bounced back to him.

"Please, Captain. The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR- 100 rockets."

"I'm betting I could beat that." Tony boasted as they all moved closer to the bunker.

"Oh, I'm sure you could, Mr. Stark. Given time. But then you'd never know why you came."

"You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here?" Steve asked angrily. He walked so he was face to face with Zemo, only separated by the glass.

"I've thought about nothing else for over a year. I studied you. I followed you. But now that you're standing here, I just realized. . . there's a bit of green in the blue of your eyes" He chuckled, "How nice to find a flaw."

"They're pretty eyes." A voice interrupted and Steve turned to see Elizabeth had somehow joined them, striding forward, planting herself next to Steve.

Zemo scoffed.

"You're Sokovian. Is that what this is about?" Steve asked, grateful suddenly for her presence.

"Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell. No. I'm here because I made a promise."

"You lost someone?"

"I lost everyone. And so will you." He pressed a button inside and a screen came up on the computer behind Steve. "An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That's dead. Forever."

Steve looked at the computer again, with Elizabeth and Tony joining him. Tony looked at the computer and then glanced at it again, "I know that road." Tony said, frowning a little, recognition coming to his eyes.

"What is this?" Tony shouted.

Steve realized what it was when he saw the car crash and a motorcycle go shooting past. The car caught on fire and the motorcycle came back. Bucky got off the back of the motorcycle, opening up the trunk and grabbing whatever was in the back. Knowing the entire story now, it was probably super serum that Howard had made to create the super soldiers here.

Bucky was looking at the ground and Elizabeth was too.

Steve watched Howard get out of the car. "Please. Help my wife." Bucky grabbed Howards head and jerked it backwards. "Sergeant Barnes?"

"Howard!" Maria shouted.

Elizabeth left the computer side and Steve looked up to see her touch Bucky's arm. Bucky was looked traumatized. Steve glanced over and saw the Zemo had gone.

To watch an empire fall. Fall from within. To make them fight each other. And die killing each other.

Tony breathed in deeply and then punched the screen. He breathed out. "I already knew!" he screamed, but he too realized Zemo was gone then.

"Give me a second." Tony shuddered. "It's. . . different seeing it then hearing it."

"You knew?" Bucky asked quietly.

"Y/N told him the minute she found out. Good thing too." Elizabeth said.

"I'm sorry." Bucky said. "From the bottom of my heart I wish I could take everything back. All of it."

"I know." Tony snapped. "I know. Now let's go hunt the mother fucker down."

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T'Challa put his helmet down carefully in the snow as he approached the man sitting on the rock. "I almost killed the wrong man."

"Hardly an innocent one." The man scoffed.

"This is all you wanted?" T'Challa asked, "To see them rip each other apart?"

"My father lived outside the city. I thought we would be safe there. My son was excited. He could see the Iron Man from the car window. I told my wife, 'Don't worry. They're fighting in the city. We're miles from harm'. When the dust cleared. . . and the screaming stopped. . . it took me two days until I found their bodies. My father. . . still holding my wife and son in his arms. And the Avengers? They went home. I knew I couldn't kill them. More powerful men than me have tried. But, if I could get them to kill each other. . . I'm sorry about your father. He seemed a good man. With a dutiful son."

"Vengeance has consumed you." T'Challa spoke slowly. "It's consuming them. I am done letting it consume me."

He let his claws slide back into his paws. His father would not have wanted him to kill either man in the first place in response to his death.

"Justice will come soon enough."

"Tell that to the dead." Zemo scoffed. He went to point his gun under his chin, and T'Challa put his hand over it, the vibranium stopping the bullet from penetrating his skin and killing him. He pulled Zemo back into the snow, wrapping an arm around his neck.

"The living are not done with you, yet."

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Elizabeth was gone. She had stepped out and once the four of them had seen Zemo in the hands of T'Challa, she had hugged Tony, kissed both Steve and Bucky on the cheeks, and then let Heimdall take her back up to Asgard.

Steve and Bucky had left with T'Challa, who offered to take Barnes to Wakanda to see if his sister Shuri could do anything with medicine. And Tony took Zemo to Ross.

He stepped into the Avengers Compound. It felt emptier than it had before.

Vision seemed to be the only one there, sitting on the couch, rolling a chess piece between his fingers.

Rhodey was there as well. His physical therapy was going well. He still had to wear some braces, which Tony had designed himself, but other than that, he was fine. He wouldn't even need the braces after a few months.

He was helping Rhodey with the physical therapy when there was a knock on the window and he turned to see a mail man there. "Are you. . . Tony Stank?"

"Yes, this is Tony Stank. You're in the right place." Rhodey called out. "Thank you for that! Never, dropping that, by the way. 'Table for one, Mr. Stank. Right by the bathroom'."

Tony laughed, then took the package to open it.

Inside was a letter from Steve and Tony felt a little apprehensive. He knew that what Zemo had wanted was for them to fight. To kill each other. That he would be so angry that Barnes had been the one to kill his parents that he would try and kill Bucky. And inevitably, Steve would fight Tony as well.

Tony didn't know who would win. Probably the three of them. Elizabeth would never have let any harm come to the super soldiers. Or maybe she would have tried to mitigate it so they didn't fight.

Yes, Steve probably would've tried to just get them to safety. Steve was to close with Y/N to kill him.

Everleigh came into the room, crawling into Tony's lap. He hugged her tightly and opened up the letter.

Tony, I'm glad you're back at the Compound. I don't like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself. We all need family. The Avengers are yours. Maybe more so than mine. I've been on my own since I was eighteen. I never really fit in anywhere, even in the Army. My faith's in people, I guess. Individuals. And I'm happy to say that, for the most part, they haven't let me down. Which is why I can't let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but maybe they shouldn't. I know I hurt you, Tony. I wish we agreed on the Accords. I really do. I know you're doing what you believe in, and that's all any of us can do. That's all any of us should. So no matter what, I promise you, if you need us. . . if you need me. . . I'll be there.

"Priority call from Secretary Ross." F.R.I.D.A.Y. said as Tony found the cell phone Steve had left for him. A flip phone, how typical. "There's been a breach at the Raft prison."

"Yeah, put him through."

"Tony, we have a problem." Ross said.

"Uh! Please hold." Tony said.

"No, don't." Tony put him on hold and then picked up his daughter to go and take her to bed. "Guess what sweetie? Mommy's coming home."

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You sat in your prison cell, waiting. It was freezing in the cell as well, goosebumps had broken out on your skin. You shuddered a little, wishing there was a blanket or something.

You didn't want to look at the others. They all looked so defeated and it was so hard to look at Wanda in her straight jacket. Pietro kept running circles in his cage like a locked up animal.

You didn't blame Tony. You had read the Accords and nothing about breaking the law said they would put you in the top security prison in the world. Underwater and everything.

Suddenly, you heard people gasping and you looked up. You half expected Steve to be here, breaking you free, but instead there was a mangled, half-burned almost walking corpse of a person.

Rumlow?

You stood up in shock. What was he doing here? Why was he here? How in the world was he still even alive? He certainly didn't look like he should be alive. He looked like he should be very, very dead.

"How the hell are you alive?" Sam asked, but Rumlow didn't answer, not stopping until he reached your cell. He smirked, opening up your cell.

You knew he had an obsession with you. He'd constantly asked you into his bed when S.H.I.E.L.D. had still been a thing. But still, why in the world had he tracked you all the way down here, did who knows what with the security, just to get to you?

You readied yourself for a fight, dodging his quick punches and kicking him in the chest. You ducked as he flung the metal stool in your room at you. You blocked his next punch, then cried out in pain as electrical shocks radiated throughout your body.

"LEAVE HER ALONE!" Clint, Sam, and Pietro all shouted at him as he ripped the prison shirt off your body. You punched him across the face, before feeling the electrical spasms again.

You couldn't move your body, but you could feel his hands on your breasts. Hands attempting to pull the rest of the clothes off.

You came down from the shocks, but he slammed your head against the ground and you felt dazed, black spots forming in front of your eyes.

Suddenly, Rumlow grunted in pain and you heard the sounds of someone punching him. Huh. Maybe Clint had broken out of his cell or something.

There was the sound of Rumlow's body falling to the ground. Large hands lifted you up into someone's arms. You just barely caught a glimpse of Steve's face, before you blacked out completely.

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You came too in a very white room. It was definitely medical and there was a young black woman standing over you.

"Please stay still, I'll be right back." She said in a heavily accented voice and then hurried from the room.

You groaned, turning your head side to side. It didn't look like any hospital wing that you had ever seen.

"Hey." Steve came into the room, carrying a bottle of water. "How are you feeling?"

"My head aches." You said hoarsely. "This raging pain inside of my head. It's that sort of headache where it feels like it's in different spots? Ya know? The kind that feels like it's in your nose or your eye?"

"Sorry." Steve said gently, handing you the water. "The water should help and they wanted you to wake up before they put you on any heavy pain killers. You want anything to eat?"

"No, I want a blanket." You mumbled, "It's freezing."

"Well, we are in Africa. The buildings are definitely air conditioned." Steve said lightly, grabbing you a blanket and covering you with it.

"Africa?"

"Wakanda, to be exact. I was already taking Bucky here because they have some advanced technology. Shuri, T'Challa's sister, thinks she can remove his trigger words."

"That's great." You said hoarsely, lifting the water bottle to your head. "Does um, Tony-"

"T'Challa called him and he knows you're okay. But he can't get here. I told him once you were better, T'Challa and him could arrange a meet up. He says Everleigh misses you."

"How was Rumlow alive?" You asked, shifting onto your side. Why was it so cold?

"I have no idea. No one does." Steve sighed. "Nor does anyone know how he got into the Raft to get to you."

You sighed. "But he's dead now?"

"Yes." Steve nodded. It was quiet for a moment and he smiled as your eyes fluttered tiredly. "Get some sleep Y/N. You're safe here."

You smiled at the idea, and drifted off to sleep slowly.

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