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knightofmidnightsun · 3 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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sunnymusicalien · 5 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 · 6 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 · 7 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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sambuckydrawer · 2 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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manestjerne · 7 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.”

51 notes · View notes

iliumheightnights · 2 years ago

Note

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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midydoof · 1 year ago

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Request fills part 7

It took nearly two years, but I finally made enough Drawthread deliveries for another compilation

#I only have one 'westerns' style font downloaded and my one rule for these is refusing to spend too much effort on 'em #and now for the worst bit..#the Spectre #Phantom Stranger #Cornelius Fillmore #Ingrid Third #Harvey Birdman #X the Eliminator #Baron Zemo #Top cat #I'm not tagging all those cats #Donald Duck #Daffy Duck #Yosemite Sam #Bugs Bunny #Wizard Whitebeard #long post #blood #tw: blood

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19thcenturylover · 8 days ago

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The sillies but cats😙

Hehehe I'm going to post often ou yeah :D

Again them, srry, I'm changing things but I wanna show my therapy first. First time I draw the kittens as men version and it was very fun

Eskimo kiss because it was suggested to me on twitter and I think they do this often. I also tried a rendering technique that I haven't done for months and it looks good <333

#digitalart #fanart #marvel #mcu #mcu fanart #sam wilson #sam wilson fanart #helmut zemo #helmut zemo fanart #Wingbaron #samzemo #sam x zemo #rarepair #silly ship #yeah idk #kitty version #just a little thing <33

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braveclementine · 4 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."

🎃 ::::: 🧡 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 🧡 ::::: 🎃

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."

🎃 ::::: 🧡 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 🧡 ::::: 🎃

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."

🎃 ::::: 🧡 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 🧡 ::::: 🎃

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.

🎃 ::::: 🧡 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 🧡 ::::: 🎃

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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punemy-spotted · 1 year ago

Text

A Family Sleepover, Down in the Valley

It’s been about two years since I first wrote Dead Trees Like Lavender Fields, and the town of Bell’s Holler was born. I know it’s not quite the actual anniversary — I’m pretty sure that passed — but I want to celebrate anyway! I’ve missed the Valley, and I’ve missed y’all being a part of the Family. I’m excited to add more stories to the universe, talk lore and what-ifs, and in general get spooky with it.

As such, from now until my birthday on August 19, 2023, I am opening up my inbox to all manner of Valley-related things, including the following:

Seven Sentence Somedays: Send em an ask with a fluffy, smutty, or hurt/comfort prompt of your choice + any CE, SebStan, or other character listed below. You might just get a lore drop or bring out hidden ideas for a Valley-related story!

Hainted Headcanons: Got questions about the true name of Bell’s Holler or what it really means to be Green? Wanna know about your favorite Babe and who they are in the Valley — Agent of the Inner Dark, Guardian of the Gren, or somethin’ more besides? Curious about each story’s individual Reader and who they might be? Send an ask! Hainted Headcanons are more in-depth explorations of the world this Alternate Appalachia and the people living and shaping it.

Moodboard Minin’: If you know me, you know I love a good Moodboard and you know I love an excuse to make ‘em. Send me a request and I’ll put together a moodboard for a possible Valley-verse story, or even an alternate story for an existing Valley character!

Asks will be responded to on a rolling basis, to the best of my ability! Thank all of you for being here with me!

Current Members of the Valley-Verse

Steve Rogers — Glory, Amen

Bucky Barnes — Dead Trees like Lavender Fields

Sam Wilson — Company Property (TBA)

Ari Levinson — A Worthy Grave

Curtis Everett — Sixteen Tons (coming soon!)

Possible (Future) Members of the Valley-Verse

Charles Blackwood

Jake Jensen

Andy Barber

Lloyd Hansen

Ransom Drysdale

Helmut Zemo

Lee Bodecker

I’m tagging some moots who showed interest in the Valley-verse and associated fics, including my stalwart beloved @brandycranby. As always, I love you and thank you for being here!!!

Tagging: @iwannabekilledtwice; @boxofbonesfic; @wordywarriorwrites; @patzammit; @valhalla-kristin; @sanfransolomitatm; @professorrw; @chipilerendi; @biiskuitx; @hope-to-hell; @toozmanykids; @imanuglywombat; @caffiend-queen; @federalchickensoup; @mansaaay; @ccmarvelxx; @hallecarey1; @justile; @kuranes-12; @hotnmad;

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knightofmidnightsun · 2 months ago

Text

Let's not lose ourselves [3] | HELMUT ZEMO

Summary: Everything bad can get worse. You and your friends were captured, with your fate uncertain.

Warnings: Description of injuries. angst. a lot of angst again, be ready. description of and violence, referenced sexual harassment, trust issues, dad issues (well, im uncapable of remembering more things that you should be warned about 😅)

Word count: 25K

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

Notes: And…… That's the end I guess :))) There'll be an epilogue to close the story but this is quite the end of reader and helmut's journey…. for now, I guess, I'm still thinking about making a sequel!! let's see where it goes thank you so much for who supported the fic!! maybe, who knows, we'll meet again?

The mission was supposed to be simple. Retrieve the stolen super-soldier serum before it could fall into the wrong hands.

But nothing about Riga had gone according to plan.

In fact, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that it all started to go down once Sam and James knocked on your door and remembered that you existed after six months since… Well, since the Snap.

You had started to regret giving them a chance, despite they not knowing you were giving them a chance.

You had arrived at the warehouse, Sam and James right behind you, ready for a fight. But Walker had almost beaten you to it. You still remembered the look in his eyes—twisted, dark, hungry for something more than just justice. There was no justice there, only something far more sinister.

It was the first time you sensed the change in him, the creeping darkness that seemed to consume him, bit by bit. Yes, you had seen what he did to the Flag-Smasher, but you had silently hoped it was driven by anger and grief over his friend’s death.

You wanted to believe he would regret it.

He didn’t.

At one point during the fight, John had already beaten Sam, James was recovering from a heavy kick too close to his lungs and Zemo had been thrown against some containers—which led to you being the only one left standing. And, that’s why you were immediately the first choice to corner before any of your friends could recover.

It had only lasted a few minutes, maybe five or seven, but from time to time it continued to haunt his nights.

In an instant you were with your feet in the ground and in the next, you had been shoved against that same ground, a figure looming over you with his weight. His voice low, too close, his breath clinging to your neck. His grip on your arms was just a little too tight.

There had been something predatory in his gaze, something that made your skin crawl. You had tried to fight him off, of course you had—you weren’t someone who gave up easily.

But, either way, the memory stuck in your mind, lingering in the back of it, making your skin prickle whenever you thought of that single moment.

You had never told Sam or James, never. They were too focused on the mission, on the serum, on their own battles. But Zemo... He had seen it, you knew he had.

While you were pinned beneath John, struggling to break free, you caught a glimpse of Zemo rising to his feet. His eyes locked onto you, taking in the scene.

At the end, you kicked John away before Zemo could reach you in time to assist. His presence was a silent reassurance after what just had happened.

When everything was done, you hoped he wouldn’t say anything, that the moment would pass without comment. But after the fight, Zemo approached you, his voice soft, gentle—so much that it nearly deceived you.

“I never liked him,” Zemo murmured, his tone deceptively calm, “From the first moment I met him, I knew there was something twisted in him. The serum only made it worse.”

You glanced up at him, still trying to steady your breath after the fight.

"You always think the serum is the problem," you replied, trying to brush off the weight of what had just happened, "But it’s more than that. People are complicated."

Zemo raised an eyebrow, stepping closer as if considering your words carefully.

"You believe it’s more nuanced? That there’s something redeemable in a man who seeks power for himself?"

His tone was calm, but you sensed the challenge beneath it.

The memory of John’s grip on your arm lingered, the weight of it more unsettling than the bruises he left behind. You didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to give the moment any more power than it already held over you.

However, you weren’t the kind of person to decline a challenge.

"It’s not always about power," you said, straightening up, "People are driven by more than that. Fear, anger, grief—sometimes they make choices, bad ones, but that doesn’t mean they’re irredeemable."

Zemo chuckled softly, but there was no real humor in it.

"You sound like him—Steve. Always looking for a glimmer of hope, even in the darkest corners." He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening. "But you know better, don’t you? You’ve seen what people are capable of when pushed to the edge."

You paused, considering his words. It was true—you had seen the worst in people, watched them fall apart or do unspeakable things when they felt there was no other option. But there was something different about how Zemo framed it, as if he believed the darkness was inevitable.

And you didn’t, you were incapable to believe it to be true.

"People are capable of more than just destruction, Zemo. I don’t see the world in the same way you do."

"No, you don’t,” He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes, “You still believe in justice. In redemption. But what is justice, really?" He stepped closer, his voice lowering. "Is it bringing the guilty to trial? Or is it doing what needs to be done, even when the world refuses to?"

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words, what he meant by each of them. Of course you knew what he was referring to, you knew his story. You were there when it all unfolded.

"You think what you did in the past was justice?" you asked quietly, a challenge laced in your tone aimed back at him. "Killing all those people, tearing families apart—do you really believe that was justice? You can tell yourself it was to avenge what you lost in Sokovia, but that wasn’t justice. That was revenge. You hurt them the way you felt we hurt you, even though they had done nothing to you."

Zemo’s expression remained impassive, but something flickered in his eyes. Anger, maybe? He always seemed to be so full of it, all the time.

"Perhaps,” His voice strained, “But what is the difference between justice and revenge, truly? Is it the law? The rules set by people who fail to understand the cost of power? My family is gone because of those rules." His voice softened, bitter, you almost pitied him, "You of all people should understand that."

You didn’t respond immediately, a chill creeping through you. He wasn’t lying when he said those things—the lines in your world had blurred over the past few years. But that didn’t make him right.

"I understand loss," you admitted, your voice steady. "But I don’t believe it justifies becoming the monster you’re trying to defeat."

Zemo let out a slow breath, his gaze unwavering, watching you with that unnerving stillness he always carried. It was as if he could see through every wall you put up, down to the choices you’d made that still weighed on your conscience.

"And yet, when the time comes, do you not find yourself stepping into that darkness to protect the ones you care for? Do you not make decisions that weigh on your conscience because you know it’s the only way out?"

You looked away for a moment, the truth of his words hitting closer than you would have liked. You had made a lot of choices in the past few days—decisions that left you questioning where you stood in all of this, and whether you’d made any mistakes along the way.

But you couldn’t let it consume you; you had to believe that somewhere along the way, you’d done at least one good thing.

If not, what was your purpose in this world?

“No,” you confessed quietly. “Every day, I just try not to let the darkness win.”

Zemo watched you intently, his gaze narrowing as he took in your words. He seemed almost contemplative, as if weighing the significance of what you had just said.

"And yet, it’s always there," he said, closing his way to you, "Waiting. Watching. It never leaves, even for people like you who strive to do what’s right." He paused, then added, "You may not see it yet, but you and I… We are not so different."

You shot him a look, the tension tightening in your chest, "We’re nothing alike."

“Maybe not in the choices we’ve made,” Zemo replied, his voice measured, his eyes distant as if weighed by unseen burdens. “But in how we’ve learned to bear them. The weight of our pasts never truly leaves us, does it?” His gaze softened, meeting yours with quiet understanding. “You carry your guilt silently, but I see it. You question your path, just as I once questioned mine.”

You clenched your fists, the tension in your shoulders tightening, “Justice might be slow, but it’s done, sooner or later."

“Justice is blind,” Zemo murmured, his voice low, "And often, it allows those who deserve punishment to escape it."

His words pressed down on you, slipping through the cracks of your resolve. They carried a weight that was hard to shake—the weight of someone who had lost faith in the system long ago, as you had.

And in that moment, you could feel the doubt creeping in, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface.

But you couldn’t let his cynicism pull you into that darkness. You wouldn’t.

“No,” you said, more firmly than before. “That’s the difference between us, Zemo. You think the world’s broken beyond repair, that it needs to be torn down. But it’s not. People aren’t beyond saving.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was laced with something deeper—resignation, perhaps even sorrow. His eyes, usually so guarded, softened for a brief second, as if your words stirred something long buried.

“Perhaps,” he said quietly, his voice almost wistful. “But sometimes, it’s those who believe they can save the world who end up falling the hardest.”

His words lingered in the air between you, thick with meaning, weighed down by everything unsaid. It was a silence that felt more loaded than any argument you could have had. Despite all the differences you held onto, there was an undeniable connection—a recognition of the burdens you both carried, though on opposite sides of the same line.

You held his gaze a moment longer, then quietly added, “Maybe… But after enough falls, we learn we don’t have to carry the weight of the world alone.”

A slight flicker of surprise crossed Zemo’s features—subtle, but telling. He hadn’t expected your quiet defiance, the strength in your words that resisted the pull of darkness he had come to know so well.

For a brief moment, something shifted in his eyes—something like respect, or perhaps even understanding.

It was fleeting, but unmistakable.

A week later, you were surprised at what you were about to do. Not you alone: you, James and Sam.

The air in Wakanda carried a different weight—a thick tension, as if the entire country was holding its breath. You, Sam, and Bucky followed the silent, unyielding presence of the Dora Milaje through the gleaming corridors of the Wakandan prison. Each step echoed with anticipation, the quiet forewarning of what was to come. You glanced at James, his face set in an unreadable mask, and then at Sam, his jaw clenched.

It had only been a week since the world you knew had shifted once again—since Sam had taken up the mantle of Captain America, and James had begun to reconcile with the ghosts of his past.

And you... Well, you were still navigating your own demons, particularly those tied to John Walker. The scars of the past weeks were fresh, raw, but beneath them, there was something new. A tentative sense of belonging, of purpose, after months of uncertainty.

The three of you had shared a long, difficult conversation about the months of silence after Steve’s departure—months that had felt like an eternity. You spoke of the loneliness, the sense of drifting without him. Steve had been the glue that bound you together, and in his absence, it felt like you were each left to figure out how to move forward on your own. But now, maybe, just maybe, you were finding your way back to each other. Sam had his new role. James had begun to reclaim his life. And you…

You were trying to figure out what would be of you.

And then, there was Helmut Zemo.

The man who had, paradoxically, both shattered the Avengers and helped you in your mission. The same man who had quietly disappeared during the fight with the Dora Milaje, only to return later and fight by your side when he could have stayed hidden.

Zemo had made a choice that day—a choice to see the mission through, when he could have taken the easier road and vanished.

And now, once again, you were here. Asking for his help.

The heavy footfalls of the Dora Milaje echoed through the halls, their silence a stark contrast to the gravity of what lay ahead. You felt their eyes on you, the weight of their unspoken judgment. There was no room for error, and they made that clear.

"You understand the risks, right?" Ayo’s voice sliced through the tension, her gaze sharp as a blade. "Do not make us regret this."

Sam nodded firmly, his voice calm but resolute. "We understand the stakes."

Beside you, James shifted, his hands flexing, betraying the tension he kept bottled inside. You knew the history between him and Zemo was fraught with unhealed wounds, but James was the one who suggested bringing him back.

There was something about the time they’d spent together that had shifted things between them.

On the mission, Zemo had been careful. He hadn’t pushed James, hadn’t manipulated him into crossing any lines—even when it might make things easier. There were no cutting remarks, no barbed jokes about the past. He didn’t even try to test James the way he once had.

You’d caught them talking quietly one night, a brief conversation that ended with a handshake—something that spoke volumes for the two men the next morning.

Sam had also softened toward Zemo, though he hadn’t voiced it outright. He was still wary, still guarded, but something had changed. You recalled a moment during the mission when Zemo had asked him about his sister.

At first, Sam had bristled, thinking it was a ploy to get under his skin. But there had been no malice in Zemo’s tone—only genuine curiosity, concern. Perhaps it was that subtle gesture that had planted the seed of reluctant trust between them.

As for you… It was harder to define.

You had always seen something in Zemo, a quiet understanding that grew between you as you observed him more closely. There was something about the way he carried his grief, his loss, that resonated with your own pain.

Even back then, when he had torn the Avengers apart, part of you had understood him. Maybe that’s why you hadn’t completely closed yourself off to him—why you found yourself drawn to the complexities that made him, him.

The cell block came into view, the same cold, sterile environment you had seen before. The Dora Milaje stopped in front of the door, their leader, Ayo, turning to face you one last time.

“If he doesn’t come back, you will be held accountable. Remember that.”

You gave a short nod. There was no room for mistakes.

Sam, standing just a step ahead, took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Helmut Zemo sat inside, as calm and composed as ever, his gaze lifting as the three of you entered. His expression didn’t change—no surprise, no smugness, just a quiet understanding.

As if he had expected this.

"Captain America," Zemo greeted Sam with a slight incline of his head. His gaze shifted to James. "James. And..." His eyes lingered on you for a moment, that familiar flicker of something unspoken passing between you. "It seems we’re becoming quite the team, aren’t we?"

Sam didn’t bother with pleasantries. "We need your help, Zemo."

Zemo leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. "Of course you do," he replied, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "What is it this time? More rogue super soldiers? Or something else?"

James’ expression hardened. "John Walker."

The air seemed to shift at the mention of Walker’s name. Zemo’s gaze darkened, a sneer tugging at his lips.

"Ah, Walker. The man who took up the shield and proved unworthy of it," Zemo mused, leaning forward. "Chasing a ghost, are we?"

"He hasn’t just disappeared," Sam interjected, his tone sharp with frustration. "He’s aligned himself with someone—goes by Madame Hydra. Together, they’ve started a group. They’re calling it the Masters’ Circle."

Zemo’s eyebrows lifted in mild interest.

"Masters’ Circle?” His lips curled into a smile. “How very... Theatrical. And you think this is my problem because...?"

"Because you know how dangerous he is, just as well as we do," Sam said evenly. "You’ve seen firsthand what he’s capable of. And time’s running out. He and the others in his group are gathering people like him—people with power, people driven by a thirst for control and dominance."

Zemo’s gaze lingered on the three of you once again, his calculating mind working behind those sharp eyes. You could almost feel him dissecting the situation, weighing his options. He wasn’t one to act out of loyalty or morality—that much you knew. But he did love a challenge.

"And what do I gain from this?" Zemo asked smoothly.

James took a step forward, his voice calm but edged with warning. "This isn’t a game, Zemo. You helped us before, remember?"

A quiet chuckle escaped Zemo’s lips. "Yes, I did, didn’t I? And here I thought you would forget."

He leaned back, his gaze thoughtful as he considered the proposition. There was a long pause before he spoke again.

"Very well," He said, standing slowly. "But when this is over, I go back to my cell."

There was something genuine in his voice, something that hadn’t been there before. And then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“There’s nothing out there for me,” Zemo added, his voice quieter now. "Not anymore."

Sam nodded, his expression tightening ever so slightly at Zemo’s words. He understood the weight of them—the loss behind them.

“Yeah,” Sam said, his voice quieter as well, more measured. “I get it.”

There was a flicker of recognition between the two of them.

Sam didn’t push further, didn’t try to fill the space with empty reassurances. He knew better. He understood what Zemo meant—the weight of losing everything, being left with nothing but the ghosts of a life that could never be reclaimed. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but heavy with the unspoken truth that lingered between them.

You felt it too, the quiet grief woven into the very air.

Zemo had lost more than just his country. He had lost his family, his identity, every tether to the life he once knew. For him, there was nothing left beyond this mission. No loved ones to return to, no home waiting for him. He existed now only in the shadow of what he once had.

And maybe that’s why Sam didn’t pry or offer hollow comfort. He saw something in Zemo’s eyes that mirrored the ache he had once felt on his own—a need for purpose, for control in a world that had stripped everything else away. Zemo wasn’t just driven by vengeance; this was his last grasp at meaning, a final attempt to leave behind something other than pain.

It was a mindset you knew all too well, to some extent.

You watched as the Dora Milaje moved with precision, their sharp gazes never leaving Zemo as they unlocked his metal handcuffs. Each click of the cuffs seemed to echo in the silence, a reminder of the power they held, even over him.

Their eyes were sharp, their warning unspoken but clear: any misstep, and there would be consequences.

Zemo stepped out of his cell, his movements slow, deliberate, as if calculating every inch of space between himself and his freedom. His wrists, now free from the cuffs, flexed slightly, but there was no sign of defiance—just quiet acceptance. His eyes met yours across the room, and in that moment, something unspoken passed between you.

It wasn’t just about the mission for him. It never was.

For a moment, you wished you had said something to him—given voice to your words. But, you didn’t.

"Regrets," a voice whispered, a cruel snicker following the word, "What a strange thing for you humans to cling to."

The voice was always there, lurking at the edges of your thoughts, waiting for a quiet moment to make itself known. It slid into your mind like oil, and suddenly, Wakanda vanished.

The sterile, dim prison dissolved into a familiar mount, one you could almost recognize. The air was different there—thinner, more suffocating, as if every breath was borrowed. The sky stretched in hues of dark red and burnt orange, the sun’s golden halo long gone, swallowed by the impending night.

Your hair was loose, something you never did on missions. You always kept it tied back, a way of separating yourself—the ‘hero’—from the person you were off-duty, who spent nights watching campy horror movies. But now? Your hair whipped around you in the wind, untamed and wild, a clear reflection of the chaos inside you.

You were barefoot, standing in the damp grass that clung to your toes. The dress you wore was white, though the red-tinted light made it seem as if it were soaked in blood.

The sight of it sent a jolt through your chest, but you couldn’t place why.

"You humans hold onto such needless things," the voice returned, slithering through the wind. You tried to turn, to find the source, but there was no one—just the feeling of being watched. "Until you force your grip so tight, you don’t even notice the bleeding."

Instinctively, your eyes dropped to your hands. Blood, thick, dripped down your arms, staining your skin. The sight made your head spin, and for a brief moment, you hoped—prayed—that it wasn’t yours. But then came the darker thought.

Maybe it should be yours.

Better your blood than the blood of someone you loved.

A metallic taste filled your mouth, sharp and bitter. You touched your lips, realizing that blood was there too, thick and suffocating as well, caught in your throat. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t dare to, for fear of drowning in it.

"You, my child," the voice hissed closer, as if it were brushing against the back of your neck. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, "You hold the most among them. You cling to it with such desperation… There is no need."

Tears blurred your vision, hot and stinging. Why were you crying? The question lingered, but there was no clear answer. Was it fear? Was it sadness? Was it anger?

The emotions swirled together, tangled and incomprehensible, refusing to give you clarity.

“Shh,” the voice soothed, the mockery gone, replaced with something unsettlingly gentle. You felt the brush of a finger against your cheek, wiping away a tear, “It’s okay. It’s not your fault, it was never your fault. I should never have left you to your own devices.”

You knew it was the same voice that had been haunting your mind since that hallway. When you got closer to the artifact, alone. But yet, it sounded way more familiar than that.

However, it slipped away from you the more you tried to grab at it—as when you tried to recall when you had been on that mount before.

The image of your mother crossed your mind, as of your father, how long has it been since you thought of them? Not that you didn't think about them one or twice in a day, but put yourself into reliving the memories you shared?

Way before the Snap.

They had died long before that, of course. Long before the universe decided to rip half of existence away. You were too young when it happened, too young to fully comprehend the weight of their absence. All you had were fragments of memory, fading as the years went on.

In your childish mind, you had always believed they were magicians.

And why wouldn’t you? They never denied it. Whenever they dressed in those strange, flowing clothes, they told you they were preparing for a performance. You believed it wholeheartedly.

Why wouldn’t you? They were your parents, and in your wide-eyed innocence, you wanted to believe in magic. You wanted to believe that they could make the impossible real.

Sometimes, when they thought you weren’t looking, they’d make plates and utensils float across the table or snap their fingers and—puft—the trash would disappear as if by magic. You’d giggle and clap, and they’d smile, telling you they were just practicing for a big show.

And you, a child so eager to see the world through the lens of wonder, believed them. You never questioned it, never doubted. Magic was something you could shape into reality, because they made it real.

The memories of your parents swirled in your mind, surfacing in fragmented images—hazy but vivid enough to stir something deep within you.

They had always been your anchor, the ones who painted the world with magic, filling your childhood with wonder. You remembered their laughter, the warmth of their presence, and the gentle way they made everything seem so simple.

They were magicians, you thought—real magicians, who would always try to bring you a little fantasy in the real world. And you never had a reason to question that.

But the truth came crashing down when they died. It wasn’t an accident, as you were told.

It was something darker, far more sinister. You didn’t know it at the time, not yet.

To you, their sudden absence was just a terrible twist of fate. A freak accident, or so everyone around you would say.

The years after their deaths were a blur of confusion and grief. You were taken in by your grandma. She was kind enough, but she could never fill the void.

You felt like a stranger in her home, haunted by the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. But it wasn’t until your powers manifested for the first time that everything started to make sense, unraveling.

It was a day like any other. You were walking home from school, the sky dark and heavy with the threat of rain. You didn’t notice the men following you until it was too late. Cornered in an alleyway, you felt the familiar surge of panic rise in your chest.

But then something happened—something you couldn’t explain.

The fear ignited a fire inside you, and suddenly, the world around you erupted with light and energy. Black and white swirls whispered to you, guiding your every move. In an instant, the men were knocked to the ground, and you were the last one left standing.

The energy had come from you, but at the time. For a moment, you thought an invisible force had answered your silent scream for help.

Yet, you didn’t understand what had happened. All you knew was that you were safe. And for a long time, you believed it was your parents’ doing. They had found a way to protect you even after death.

But that comforting belief didn’t last.

Nick Fury found you not long after. He approached you cautiously, as if he knew exactly what had happened and why. He didn’t ask questions at first, just watched you, observing the powers that had saved you but were now spiraling out of control.

You didn’t trust him. How would you? To you, he was nothing more than a complete stranger.

At the time, no one knew about S.H.I.E.L.D., H.Y.D.R.A., and the Avengers were just an idea stuck in an old man's mind. There wasn't even an Iron Man yet.

But Fury was patient, relentless in his quiet way. Eventually, you let him in, let him take you and help you learn to control your powers. After years of training and practicing, you met Tony, Steve, Natasha, Barton…

It wasn’t until much later that the truth about your parents came to light.

You always thought that your mother and father were nothing more than ordinary people trying to show you an extraordinary world. But they were more than that.

Your mother had been a witch and your father a mutant who later became a sorcerer, both deeply involved in worlds far more dangerous than you could have ever imagined.

They had hidden that part of their lives from you, shielded you from the threats that came with it. But in doing so, they had left you unprepared for what was to come once they were gone.

The powers you’d once thought of as a gift weren’t just some last act of love from them—they were your inheritance, passed down through generations of magic and danger. It wasn’t something as special as what both of them had.

Your magic simply showed you how to protect yourself and gave you the tools to do so. But in a way, your magic was the gift they had given you.

It wasn’t just power—it was a responsibility, a force meant to uplift those who had lost their way. All that remained was for you to learn how to wield it, to shape it into something that could truly make a difference.

This magic wasn’t meant for grand displays or for your own sake—it was meant for those who needed it most. For the ones who had lost hope, who needed something to believe in, a reason to trust that tomorrow could be better than today.

And maybe, just maybe, you could bring it to them.

The memories of your parents swirled in your mind, surfacing like whispers from a long-forgotten dream. You held on to those fragments, each one stirring something deep within you. Their laughter, the warmth of their presence, the magical way they turned mundane moments into wonder—it was as if the world was a canva.

Your parents were the performers painting everything with the beauty of their magic, you wanted to be a painter as well.

You only needed to find your brush and paint.

However now, for some reason, these memories, these buried truths, were clawing their way back into your mind.

Why now? Why, after so many years, were you thinking about them so vividly?

The voice inside your mind laughed softly, breaking the spell of your memories.

“I already told you, you cling to these things like a child, holding on to a fairy tale.”

The mount reappeared slowly, like a haze lifting from your vision. The blood on your hands, the sensation of it thick and warm, the taste of it on your lips—it was there again. You blinked rapidly, your head spinning.

Was this real? Or was it another dream? Another nightmare?

The wind howled, and the voice was closer now, more familiar than before. It wrapped around you like the mount itself.

You couldn't dwell on the memories for long; the voice in your mind made sure of that.

"Such a waste," the voice cooed, "But don’t worry, you won’t need to carry their weight much longer."

You felt a cold chill crawl down your spine.

The mount... It was familiar, painfully so. The blood on your hands, the dark horizon, the sensation of grass under your feet—it all felt too real to be just a dream. And yet, it felt wrong.

The world around you was heavy, like it was collapsing inward, the air thick and pressing in on you. You felt suffocated, the weight of unseen eyes watching every breath you took. It was as though the very air was soaked in malice, dragging your thoughts into a spiraling abyss.

Something was encroaching, taking hold, sinking its claws into your very soul.

"Do you still not see it?" the voice whispered, "It’s time to stop resisting."

You tried to focus on the memories slipping from your grasp, desperately chasing after them, but it was like trying to hold water in your hands. The more you clung to them, the quicker they vanished.

Faces—your mother, your father—blurred, their features disintegrating like smoke. The warmth, the safety you once felt, faded as if it had never existed at all. Even the moments that you held closest, the ones you swore you'd never forget, began to dissolve.

It was maddening, like losing parts of yourself one by one.

But the voice... The voice was there, constant, stronger with every word, weaving through your thoughts like a shadow tightening its grip.

"You could let go," he hissed, soothing and menacing at once, "I can help you. Rid yourself of these ties—these illusions you humans learn to believe to be true. It’s all weighing you down."

Your heart pounded, your throat tight with an unshed scream. You didn’t know why, but a part of you resisted. A deep, instinctive refusal to let go, to lose control.

Even though everything felt muddled, something kept you grounded, pulling you back.

Your mind was always up to a challenge.

A memory flashed—clear, vivid, the only one that accepted your hold into it: You, Sam, James, and Helmut, sitting around a fire after one of your missions.

The exhaustion was palpable, but for once, there was a sense of peace. Sam teased James about his arm, grinning, while Helmut smirked quietly, almost as though he didn’t belong in the moment but was choosing to stay. You brushed your shoulder at his, a rare exchange between the two of you—but on that night, it felt right.

You smiled at him and asked how he was feeling, you didn’t care if he would omit, lie or tell the truth of what crossed his mind. Either way, you chose to listen.

It was rare, but for a brief moment, the world wasn’t full of danger or secrets.

It was... Peaceful. A fleeting glimpse of normalcy.

"Just wait," the voice came back, drowned by the voices of the memory you embraced in your chest, "You’ll understand soon, my sweet child.”

The pressure in your chest grew unbearable, your vision darkening. And just as the world around you seemed to disappear, as the ground beneath you shifted, the whispering wind in your ears carried a final message:

"You won’t have to hold on much longer."

With a sudden jolt, you opened your eyes.

The moment your eyes fluttered open, it felt like a punch to the gut.

You gasped for air, every breath catching in your throat as your heart pounded furiously in your chest. Panic seized you for a moment as the remnants of the dream still clung to your mind like a thick fog, twisting the edges of reality and leaving you unsure of what was real.

The suffocating air of that place—of that voice—was gone, but it left behind an aftertaste of dread that lingered at the back of your throat.

You blinked hard, forcing your vision to focus as the cold, damp chill replaced the oppressive heat of the mount. Your head felt heavy, a strange, sluggish sensation clouding your thoughts. It was disorienting, like you were walking through molasses.

Drugged. You had to have been drugged, the thick haze clouding your mind was distracting, too heavy. But when?

Your thoughts raced back, searching for the last clear moment before everything had spiraled out of control.

When would they have dru—

John.

You remembered the way his arm had tightened around your neck, cutting off your air as everything had gone black. After that, everything was a blur.

However, one thing you were sure of was that time had passed. Another thing you could tell: you weren't in the airship anymore.

Gone was the cold steel of it. Instead, the flickering glow of torches cast long, eerie shadows on stone walls.

If they had time to bring you to another place, for sure they would have time to drug you.

You blinked, adjusting to the dim light, and the unmistakable scent of damp stone and ancient decay filled your senses. Pillars loomed overhead, their sharp edges and intricate carvings bathed in the soft orange glow. It was a temple—old and foreboding, with a feeling that made your skin crawl.

A dull ache pulsed in your wrists. You tried to move them, but your arms were bound tightly to the stone pillar behind you. Panic surged as you tugged against the restraints, realizing your feet were also bound. You were trapped.

Desperation gnawed at the edge of your mind, and you immediately reached inward, searching for that familiar flicker of your power—anything to give you a direction.

But there was nothing.

Cold sweat broke out across your skin as you fought to grasp it, to pull even the faintest spark of power forward. But it was gone. Completely.

Your heart sank, a sickening realization blooming in your chest. It felt deliberate, as though something was actively taking it from you, siphoning away the very thing that made you who you were.

A soft groan pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned your head to see James stirring beside you. His movements were slow, conscious—like someone trying to shake off a heavyweight. Sam and Helmut were nearby too, still unconscious but bound in the same way as you.

The sight of them restrained, powerless, sent a wave of fear crashing over you. At least, they were alive but for how long?

They were as vulnerable as you, and there was nothing you could do about it. Without your power and trapped, there was nothing you could do to help them.

The air buzzed with a strange energy, thick and oppressive, as though the walls themselves were alive with a power far older than anything you had ever encountered. It pulsed through the temple, a constant hum that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

This was no mere old temple. This place—wherever it was—was something way more villainous.

Your head throbbed, the lingering effects of the drug mixing with the unnatural atmosphere of the temple. The strange voice from your nightmare echoed faintly in your mind, creeping back in like a poisonous whisper.

It had promised you release, a ‘freedom from the burden you carried’. Now, bound in this place with no power to save yourself or your friends, that promise felt all the more sinister.

At first, you thought it was just the artifact’s effect, a devilish object that enjoyed messing with everyone that got closer.

However, Helmut had been close to it and didn't say anything about hearing a creepy voice inside his mind. If it had happened, he would have told you for sure.

Which would mean that from all the figures that damned artifact had met since the murder of his past possessor, it chose you to torment and, when you thought about that—it sounded hard to believe.

What was special about you? Compared to all the powerful people you knew, you were the more ordinary among them, your ‘half mutation half magic’ only gave you the means to assure your safety. That was the reason why one or two crazy things happened to you every single day.

It was nothing compared to what Jean Grey, Doctor Strange, Wanda Maximoff and many others had.

You shook your head, none of these thoughts would help you to get out of that temple.

Get it together, you told yourself. Think. Focus.

But it was impossible to do any of that.

The fog in your mind wouldn’t clear, and the longer you stayed in this temple, the more the oppressive force of the place pressed down on you. You could almost feel its energy pulsing beneath your feet.

A chill ran down your spine as you glanced around again, this time more carefully. The walls, covered in faint symbols and markings, hummed with a power older than anything you had ever encountered.

They felt… Alive.

And yet, something about the place felt eerily familiar. Way more familiar than anything before.

“Damn it,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and barely audible in the stillness. You needed to focus, but every attempt to gather your thoughts was met with that frustrating fog, like a wall you couldn’t break through.

But you couldn’t stop yourself from trying.

You strained once more against the chains, the rough metal thing biting into your skin. There had to be a way out.

You needed to trace a way out of there.

Another groan broke through the oppressive quiet, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. James was stirring again. Slowly, his eyes opened, and the tension that had built up inside you loosened.

Just a little.

You turned your head to watch him, every movement sending sharp stings through his wrists and ankles. His face contorted as he blinked against the dim light, clearly disoriented, but the moment his eyes landed on you, something shifted in his expression.

"James," you breathed, your voice rough with exhaustion, relief flooding through you.

He blinked slowly again, his body shifting slightly as if testing his restraints. His metal arm, still twisted unnaturally, was hung in a weirder angle by the chains. Bruises dotted his face, a harsh reminder of just how brutal things had been before he and Sam were taken.

His breaths came slow, labored.

"Where are we?" he asked, his voice hoarse, still disoriented.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, glancing around the dim, ancient room. “Some kind of temple, maybe. We were on the airship, and then… They brought us here.”

James gritted his teeth, and you saw the tension build in his jaw as he flexed his metal arm against the chains. The metal of them creaked, as the metal in his arm, but the chains held firm. If only, his metal arm got worse than before.

The silence between you stretched, heavy and uneasy. His gaze lingered on you longer than usual, like there was something on his mind, something he wasn’t sure he should say.

You knew exactly what he was thinking. His mind was back to the conversation the three of you had right after Riga about everything, the misunderstandings and distances. You all had said your piece, but the scars remained, unspoken.

Even after five years, time and time again, the conversation came back to your mind as well.

Who could blame you? And, in a moment like that, who could blame him?

"James," you said softly, keeping your voice steady. "You don’t have to—"

"I know," he cut you off, his voice rougher than intended. His eyes softened, though, the frustration there more inward than directed at you. He shifted again, wincing at the pain in his arm. “It’s just… This place, all of it. It takes us somewhere else in our minds, don’t you?”

You didn’t need to answer him aloud, neither did he expect you to. The sensation of being trapped, powerless—it clung to him, even in his moments of peace, as much as it clung to you. Obviously, your reasons were far too different from his, but a thread linked you two nonetheless.

In particular, since the day James almost… It was a time when control had slipped away from him, and you understood that, always had.

You had forgiven him long ago, but you knew that didn’t mean he’d forgiven himself. Not yet.

His gaze met yours again, and for a brief moment, you saw past the hard exterior he kept up, to the man who still carried the burden of everything he'd done.

Everything he once was.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” you murmured, almost as much a reminder to yourself as to him.

You wanted to reach out, to close the distance between you, to let him know that despite everything—despite the history, the guilt, the pain—you were there. You always would be.

But the chains around your wrists held you back.

James shifted uncomfortably, his brow furrowing as if struggling with the words he didn’t quite know how to say. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, the silence thickening.

Finally, he managed, "It's not that easy."

“I know,” you whispered, “But you’re not that person anymore.”

He glanced away, the familiar haunted look returning to his eyes.

“Maybe not. But sometimes, it feels like I’m always fighting him. Even when my thoughts are quiet, I wake up and remember everything.”

You shook your head gently, wishing you could ease that burden, even just a little.

“You’ve come so far, James. Don’t let those moments define who you are. You’re more than that.”

A beat of silence passed between you before he looked back at you, his expression mirroring the ongoing conflict in his mind, yet there was a flicker of something—gratitude, maybe? It was hard to tell.

“Don’t call me James,” he sighed, his chains rattling softly as he made a weak attempt to rid himself of them. “For a long time, you could have called me Bucky. Just Bucky.”

Something in your heart soared. You’d always been cautious with what to call him—‘James’ felt distant, but you were trying to respect a line he usually asked to not cross. But now, hearing him allow you to use ‘Bucky’, felt like a breakthrough.

For him, it was a small offering of trust. For you, it was a connection you’d longed for, even when you didn’t realize it.

“I didn’t think you'd ever let me call you that,” you said softly, trying to hide the emotion rising in your throat. "It always felt like something that belonged to Steve, to Sam. Not me."

Bucky’s eyes met yours, something unspoken passing between you.

“It belongs to anyone who still sees something worth saving.”

The impact of those words hit you like a punch, making your chest tighten. You wanted to say more, to thank him for opening up even a little, but the emotions were so tangled inside you that you couldn’t find the right words.

“I hope we don’t die here,” you said after a moment, trying to ease the heaviness with a wry smile, though your voice trembled slightly. “Because if we do, I’ll regret not tearing down the wall between us sooner.”

Bucky didn’t say anything at first, but his expression softened as he gazed at you. He didn’t need to say it—he felt the same way. You both had been too stubborn, too scarred by your pasts to fully let each other in.

But here, bound and helpless in this strange temple, there was no more room for those barriers. Only time—and the ever-looming threat of death.

Each second passed as it was your last one.

“I won’t let us die here,” he finally whispered, a faint promise beneath the heavy air. His resolve was always there, even when he was at his lowest.

It was something you had always admired about him.

Before he could respond further, another soft groan broke through the silence.

You and Bucky turned your heads to see Helmut stirring. He shifted slightly, still bound and visibly disoriented, the shadows from the dim torchlight casting eerie patterns across his face. His eyes fluttered open, his brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to take in his surroundings.

“You’ve finally decided to join us,” you muttered, your tone laced with a hint of relief despite the dire situation.

"Where..." Helmut’s voice was rough, barely a whisper, but the sharpness in his gaze returned quickly as he assessed the situation "What is this place?"

“Some kind of temple,” Bucky answered, his voice low. “No idea how we got here, though.”

Helmut’s eyes narrowed as he glanced around, his mind clearly racing to piece everything together.

“It doesn’t matter how, we need to figure out how to get out.”

“Well, it does matter,” you retorted, gazing at him, “We are in chains, wrists and feet, and obviously drugged. How do we get out of here?”

“There’s always a way out,” Helmut said, the quiet certainty in his voice almost calming, but not much. His eyes flickered toward what looked like the entrance as he surveyed their surroundings again, analyzing every shadow and flicker of light, “We just need to find it before they come back.”

However, where in these odds, you would find a way out that wouldn’t end up with one of you killed?

The bindings around your wrists felt like iron, digging into your skin as you strained against them. The fog in your mind had barely begun to lift, the effects of whatever drug had been used on you still clouding your thoughts, making it hard to do anything.

The strange force that loomed in the room was plaguing your minds, the oppressive energy pulsing around the ancient stone walls. The air was thick, suffocating.

You shifted against your restraints again, testing their hold, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. The chains were too tight, too secure.

Your mind, still sluggish, reached for your power, grasping at the black and white energy that had once come so naturally.

But you only met emptiness. The same void you had felt when you first approached the artifact.

A sinking feeling settled in your gut. Whatever had been done to you, it wasn’t just the drug—something far more insidious.

Before you could voice your worry, a groan from the far corner signaled Sam’s awakening. His head lolled to the side, and he blinked against the dim light, confusion etched across his face.

“Great,” he mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion. “Just what I needed... Another dungeon.”

His words were sarcastic, but you could see the frustration and pain behind them as he tested his own chains. He winced, his muscles clearly stiff from the restraints.

“We’ve been in worse,” Bucky muttered under his breath, his tone dry but lacking its usual sharp edge. There was an underlying unease in his voice, one that mirrored the way you felt.

Sam flexed his wrists against the restraints, his expression hardening as he took in the temple around you all.

"You two alright?" Sam turned his head for both you and Helmut, his voice quiet but edged with concern.

"Define 'alright'," you replied, the sarcasm slipping through despite the gravity of the moment, "We’re alive. That counts for something, I guess."

Sam gave a short, humorless chuckle, "Well, that’s an improvement."

Helmut, who had remained silent for a moment longer, finally spoke again.

"What happened after we fell off the ship? You two were still up there."

Cap sighed, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall the events.

"It all happened fast. After you two went down, Bucky and I managed to hold our ground for a bit, but..." He winced as he shifted, the tension in his muscles clear, "They overpowered us. I don’t even remember how we ended up down there in the airship, or over here."

Bucky nodded slowly, his gaze still distant, "They had the upper hand from the start. Too many of them, too few of us. We didn’t stand a chance."

Now, the oppressive silence of the temple only deepened the sense of dread that hung over the group at Bucky’s words.

Your thoughts kept circling back to the artifact, the strange energy that had followed you ever since you first encountered it. There was something about it that gnawed at the edges of your mind, refusing to be ignored.

"It's all because of the artifact, isn’t it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "That’s why we’re here."

Helmut’s gaze flickered to you, his expression unreadable.

"I am afraid to agree. It has to be,” Helmut’s voice was unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on the ground. “They wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if it wasn’t important.”

"But what do they want with it?" Sam asked, his frustration clear. "Strange told us everything about it falling into the wrong hands, big evil and whatever, but what’s their plan?"

Helmut’s brow furrowed, his mind racing to piece it together, "World domination, most likely, but there’s something else. The artifact itself feels like a key, as if they need it to unlock some power."

“I don’t know,” you muttered, trying to make sense of the overwhelming presence you had felt since encountering the artifact the first and second time, “Despite that artifact draining my powers, I can sense it’s about control. Something beyond the physical realm… As if it’s meant to bend reality itself to their will.”

If your wrist weren’t bound, you would try to slap away the breath you could swear it was against your neck. The strong smell of cologne was stuck within you, into your nostrils and lungs.

“Wait,” Bucky cut in, his eyes narrowing, “What do you mean by your powers being drained?”

Before you could explain, a dark, chilling presence filled the room, its oppressive energy sending another shiver down your spine. The heavy sound of footsteps echoed through the temple’s stone corridors, and your heart raced as you looked toward the entrance.

In a blink, they were there, entering your space through more than one of the shadowy entrances of the temple. The Masters of Evil, one by one, emerged from the shadows, their presence nothing but ominous.

Tiger-Man was the first, his lithe and muscular frame cutting through the darkness like a predator on the hunt, his feral eyes glowing with dangerous intent. Then, Crimson Cowl—or Justine—her blood-red cloak flowing behind her, followed closely, her eerie silhouette rippling in the flickering torchlight. The air around her seemed to hum with energy, a clear sign of the power she held.

After her, came Beetle, his mechanical wings catching the light as he hovered near the entrance, his chrome-plated armor reflecting shards of light across the stone walls. Behind him, Doctor Octopus slithered forward, his metallic arms hissing and scraping against the floor, each tentacle ready to strike. Max Fury followed, his cold, calculating gaze sweeping over the group, his posture rigid with the precision of a HYDRA commander.

Lightmaster stood next to him, radiating a dangerous glow that danced ominously along the edges of the room, while Titania loomed large beside him, her imposing figure casting long shadows on the walls. Fixer, his technological devices humming with barely contained power, flanked the group with Moonstone, whose eyes gleamed with deadly force. Absorbing Man stood in the background, his skin shifting as he absorbed the surrounding stone, preparing himself for whatever fight lay ahead.

And then, there was Ultron. The metallic menace entered, his cold red eyes glowing in the darkness and locking at your figure, his presence was a cold reminder of the pain he had caused you until your regeneration kicked in. His mechanical form moved with a silent and uncannily graceful form.

But it was the final figure that sent a shiver of dread down your spine and a final nail into the coffin.

Madame Hydra, the leader of this sinister group, stepped forward with regal, deadly grace. Far more captivating and terrifying than Ultron or any machine, her long coat billowed behind her like a shadow come to life. Every movement was deliberate, calculated—exuding a menace that even the cold, mechanical presence of Ultron couldn’t match.

Her piercing, unfeeling eyes locked onto yours, and a chill crawled down your spine. It was a fear far more paralyzing than the hollow red gaze of the Tin-Man standing beside her. A twisted smile curled on her lips as she surveyed the group, her gaze holding you captive in its cold grip.

"So nice of you to join us," she purred, her voice smooth and venomous, echoing through the ancient stone hall, "Everything is falling into place, just as we planned."

But just as you were about to react, another figure emerged from the shadows, his presence sending a different kind of chill down your spine.

He walked in with a deliberate, heavy stride, his shield held firmly at his side, the metal reflecting the dim light of the room. There was something unsettling in his posture, a calculated menace that made your skin crawl. His eyes, dark and cold, locked onto you with an intensity that was impossible to ignore.

It could be what John held in his hands.

Walker cradled the box—the one that had held the artifact since the moment you first found it. Its dark energy pulsed rhythmically, in perfect sync with his controlled, measured steps.

The aura around him seemed to hum with power, wrapping the room in an oppressive silence.

You remembered the last time you had faced him—how he had overpowered you, the painful grip of his hand around your neck, the mockery in his voice that still echoed in your mind. His presence here, among the others, was a twisted confirmation of everything you feared.

The box in his hands glowed, its power palpable in the charged air. And as he stepped closer, his lips curled into a sneer, the malice in his expression all too clear.

“Missed me?” he taunted, sending a fresh wave of unease through you. The smirk on his face told you more than you wished to know.

The room seemed to close in around you, the combined presence of the Masters of Evil, Ultron, Madame Hydra, and now John Walker, oppressing in its intensity.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Helmut’s eyes narrowing ever so slightly, the faintest twitch of his jaw betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.

You and Helmut had talked about Riga, even if you didn’t put into words everything, he had understood how it impacted you—and though he hadn’t said much about it, you knew he understood the depth of your unease. It was subtle, but the way his gaze flicked between you and Walker told you that he was already strategizing, trying to figure out how to kill the man once he had his hands free.

Walker’s voice cut through your thoughts, sharp and taunting.

“So nice of you to join us, Baron,” he sneered, his tone dripping with disdain as he turned to face Helmut, “Still hanging around these heroes, pretending you’re one of them?”

Helmut didn’t rise to the bait. His expression remained unreadable, his focus shifting back to the Masters of Evil as if Walker’s words were of no consequence. But you knew better.

You could see the way his fingers twitched, the way his gaze hardened. Walker’s presence here was more than just an annoyance—it was a threat, one that Helmut was already preparing to neutralize.

Madame Hydra stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with cold calculation. “Enough games,” she said, her voice commanding as she addressed the room.

“For too long, we have lived in the shadows,” she glanced at her foes, her tone measured, almost conversational, as if she were discussing with scholar rather than you, Helmut, Bucky and Cap, “For too long, we have been content to let others shape our destiny, to let the weak impose their will upon the strong.”

Her gaze drifted across the room, lingering on each of you in turn, as if she were appraising your worth in the most condescending way.

“But no more,” she continued, her voice growing colder, sharper. “We stand on the precipice of a new era, one where power will be the only currency that matters. And we hold the key to unlocking that power.”

She turned slightly, her hand gesturing towards the box cradled in John’s arms, the dark artifact within pulsing with a rhythm that seemed to resonate with the very walls of the chamber, the box merely containing it.

“This artifact,” she said, her tone almost reverent, “is more than just a relic of a forgotten age. It is a gateway, a conduit to a power that has been dormant for eons, waiting for the right moment, the right catalyst, to awaken.”

The flickering light caught the edge of her smile, a smile devoid of warmth or humanity. “That moment has come. The Chthon, a being older than time itself, has spoken to us. It has shown us the path forward, the path to a new world, where we will no longer be the ones who look up in fear and submission. We will be the ones who you’ll have to look up to and you—the ones who must cast your eyes down.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, the ominous weight of her words sinking in. The Chthon—you all had heard about him.

Wanda had told you once, two or three years ago about the devilish god: an ancient, malevolent force that whispered in your mind, trying to pull you into its dark embrace. His main goal was to find a conduit, a vessel to keep his soul and mind rooted on Earth. He had tried with her—the Scarlet Witch, but she had been well-prepared, expelling him from her mind and back to his abyss.

And now, he was back. It was clear that the Masters of Evil intended to use his power to reshape the world, to bend it to their will.

Madame Hydra’s gaze flicked to Helmut, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as if she were gauging his reaction, testing his resolve.

“The Chthon requires a vessel,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though it still carried through the chamber with unnerving clarity. “A host who will carry its power into this world, who will be the tool through which it molds a new reality. He has promised us the means to control, to command…”

You glanced at Helmut, his expression remaining unreadable, but you saw the way his fingers tightened slightly, a barely perceptible movement that spoke volumes. He was already processing, already trying to find a way to counter this revelation. His eyes flicked briefly to you, and in that glance, you could see the concern warring within him.

Bucky and Sam looked confused, though not scared—at least not outwardly. You were all in the worst possible condition to face this kind of threat, and Madame Hydra didn't even need to finish her resolve for you to understand where this was heading.

Madame Hydra took a step closer, her attention shifting to the box as it pulsed again, a dark, rhythmic thrum that seemed to echo within the ancient walls of the temple. Each pulse felt like a countdown, foreboding and suffocating.

“The Chthon has chosen its vessel already,” she murmured, her voice carrying a sinister undertone. “He told us it would be someone who would come for us while we were far from the ground, high above, to take his gift away from us. And… You came.”

The implications crashed over you like a tidal wave. One of you—Helmut, Sam, Bucky, or you—was meant to be the host for this ancient power, this malevolent force that would reshape the world in the image of the Masters of Evil.

Since the beginning…?

It sounded ridiculous—utterly insane—that they believed this. Yet, as her words sank deeper, that initial disbelief was overtaken by a sense of growing dread.

They had been preparing for this, waiting for your arrival, just as the voice had foretold.

But the voice… Since that hallway, had it been him all along?

Chthon?

Your thoughts spiraled, denial clawing at your mind as you tried to push away the growing dread. It couldn’t be any of you.

It had to be someone else, anyone one else. It had to be a mistake. Yet, the gnawing fear refused to be ignored, whispering insidiously at the back of your mind.

You tried to pull at the chains again, panic rising, but it was no use.

You looked back at Helmut, finding his gaze once again. In that moment, you saw the same fear reflected in his eyes, tempered only by the fierce resoluteness that both reassured and terrified you. He was trying to figure out a way out, already analyzing—but you both knew there was more to this.

He didn’t just fear for what would happen, but how it would unravel. He had already begun putting together every single piece, and as he progressed, he dreaded the resolution.

You quickly turned away, the weight of it all too much to bear.

Madame Hydra’s voice sliced through the silence again, pulling your attention back to her.

“The Chthon will soon take its host, and when it does, there will be nothing stopping us,” she declared, her tone final, as if the outcome was already written.

John Walker’s sneer deepened, his gaze locking onto each one of you with twisted satisfaction.

“Any guesses on who the lucky one might be?” he asked, his voice mocking, dripping with the same poison that had haunted you since your last encounter.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. His words settled in your chest like a lead weight, heavy and suffocating.

You glanced at Helmut one more time, each of you asking for a mighty force to stop this.

“No guesses?” Crimson Cowl chimed in. She stepped forward, her dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. "You don’t know, or you just don’t want to tell us?"

You tried to keep your composure, but the uneasiness rising inside you was hard to contain.

Just as Madame Hydra raised her hand to silence the room, her eyes gleaming with triumph, she looked directly at you.

“Neither Chthon nor us need any of you to say it,” she said, her voice dripping with menace. “We can figure it out ourselves.”

Madame Hydra’s smile twisted with satisfaction as she took the box from John Walker, her movements slow and deliberate. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for whatever revelation she was about to unveil. Your heartbeat quickened, you didn’t know what you had to expect anymore.

With a flick of her wrist, she revealed the object inside the box: a single, fragile page, so ancient it looked like it might crumble under her touch. Its edges were worn and frayed, and yet, the dark energy radiating from it was undeniable. You felt it in the pit of your stomach, that same sensation you’d felt before—the suffocating darkness creeping closer, whispering promises you didn’t want to hear.

The nightmare, the vision of the mount...The old, cursed page you had been forced to shove into a baby’s mouth—it was almost the same page. And, now it was here, in the hands of Madame Hydra.

The room seemed to pulse with the energy that surrounded the page, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background.

That was the artifact.

Beside you, Sam’s sharp intake of breath broke the silence, “No way...” His voice was laced with disbelief.

He turned to you, but it wasn’t just confusion in his gaze—it was recognition. He knew what this was.

“The Darkhold…” Sam’s voice was tight, as though the name itself was poison on his tongue. “I thought every trace of that book was destroyed, burned to ashes.”

It couldn’t be, how you didn’t recognize it as well?

Wanda and Strange had told you that the Darkhold had been annihilated, that its pages had been lost forever after Wanda’s confrontation with its corruption. And yet, here it was—one piece of it, still intact.

Still seething with dark power.

“How…?” Sam started, but his voice faltered. You could feel the tension rise between all of you. Bucky’s expression hardened, his eyes darting between Madame Hydra and the cursed page, a thousand questions swirling behind his eyes, but no answers.

Madame Hydra smiled, savoring the look of realization dawning over your faces.

“Wanda burned the physical Darkhold,” she said, her tone dripping with amusement. “But they were not thorough enough. The power of the Darkhold runs deeper than the book itself. It can never truly be destroyed. This page was hidden—safe from her reach.”

Helmut shifted next to you, his body tense as he stared at the page. He didn’t have the same history with the Darkhold, but he knew enough about dark magic to understand the danger you all were in.

You could see it in his eyes—the helplessness. It was rare to see him without a plan. Yet, there was he, along with all of you.

Madame Hydra raised the page, and with a subtle flick of her wrist, a small blade appeared in her hand, gleaming dangerously under the torchlight, shaped with shadows. No doubt, another gift from Chthon.

Without hesitation, she stepped toward Helmut first.

“Each of you will play your part in this,” she purred, “After all, Chthon requires strength.”

Before Helmut could react, she slashed the blade across his forearm, drawing blood that dripped onto the page. His body tensed in response, a sharp intake of breath following the cut. His eyes remained locked on hers, filled with disgust, but he said nothing.

What would he have to say? In any case, he would only make the situation worse for the rest of you.

Next was Sam. You could see the way his muscles stiffened, but his gaze never wavered. Madame Hydra smiled darkly as she made the same cut on his arm, drawing more blood onto the cursed page. Sam winced, but he stood his ground, glaring at her with every bit of defiance he had left.

Bucky followed. His expression was unreadable, but you knew him well enough to know the anger simmering beneath the surface. The cut was swift, blood pooling as Madame Hydra moved quickly.

Finally, she turned to you.

Your heart pounded, your throat dry as she approached, the blade glinting in the low light. The moment it sliced across your skin, a sharp pain shot up your arm, and a small stream of blood welled at the cut, trickling down onto the cursed page in Madame Hydra’s hand

“I don’t know if you would be able to give him any strength, but it’s worth a try.” Her expression was one of triumph, but you didn’t let her savor it.

Without hesitation, and before you could second-guess yourself, you spat directly into her face.

Her eyes widened in shock, the satisfaction on her face faltering for the briefest moment. You saw the anger flare beneath her composed as she wiped your spit off her cheek with a slow, deliberate motion.

In the background, you could hear a faint laugh coming from Sam and Helmut muttering your name—you could tell he would have censored you if you weren’t in the positions you were in.

But Madame didn’t retaliate—not immediately. Instead, she smiled, her lips curling into a cruel, knowing smirk.

"You’ll regret that," she whispered, her voice dripping with menace.

As soon as your last drop of blood hit the page, everything shifted.

A searing pain exploded in your head, white-hot and unbearable. The voice that had been haunting you since the hallway returned, but now it wasn’t just a whisper. It was a deafening roar, echoing in your mind, demanding your attention. You squeezed your eyes shut, the pressure behind your temples building with every beat of your heart.

The chant pounded in your skull, like an ancient, malevolent force wrapping itself tighter around your mind, constricting you, suffocating you. Your breathing quickened, and the world around you seemed to blur.

“It’s time,” the voice hissed, each word reverberating through your bones, “You’re ready, my sweet child, you always have been.”

You tried to push the voice out, tried to cling to the here and now, to your friends, to the memory of their voices. But it was no use. The pull of the voice was overwhelming, drawing you deeper and deeper into its darkness.

Around you, your friends struggled in their chains, feeling a similar pain striking their minds. Helmut’s face twisted with discomfort, his usually sharp eyes dulled with pain. Sam grit his teeth, muscles straining as he tried to fight the burning agony coursing through him. Even Bucky, with all his hardened boldness, looked strained, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

But it wasn’t the same for them.

They didn’t hear the voice. They didn’t feel this dark, consuming force tearing you from the inside.

The weight pressing down on you was different. More sinister. More intimate. It wasn’t just pain—it was an invitation, a call to surrender, to give in to something far worse than death.

The voice whispered again, growing louder, more insistent.

Let me in. You don’t need to fight anymore. Let me take care of everything…

Like a chant.

You shook your head, trying desperately to clear the fog in your mind more than ever, but the pressure only built, the darkness creeping in deeper and deeper in you.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” it whispered sweetly.

Panic surged through you as you fought against the chains, your heart racing. You weren’t just fighting for yourself now—you were fighting for them. For Sam, for Bucky, for Helmut.

"You will," you whispered, struggling to spit the words out, "hurt them."

If you gave in... It wouldn’t only be your downfall. It would be theirs too.

Madame Hydra’s eyes flickered with interest, her focus shifting to you entirely now. The smirk never left her face, but there was a gleam in her eyes, as if she were waiting for you to break. Behind her, John Walker took a step closer, his posture stiff, clearly curious about your struggle.

Bucky strained against his chains, his eyes locked on you, concern clouding his expression. He couldn’t hear the voice—none of them could—but they could see you were fighting something far different from the pain that erupted their nerves.

“Listen to me,” Bucky growled through gritted teeth, desperation lacing his voice as he saw the fear etched on your face, "Fight it."

Helmut’s eyes, always so sharp, darted between you and Madame Hydra. He was finishing the puzzle, trying to make sense of the ritual, of the power now coursing through you.

Praying that his first conclusions were wrong, it was only a mistake in his equation. However, more he thought about it, more despair consumed every fiber of his being.

"What are you doing to her?" he shouted, his voice no longer contained. He wasn’t one to show fear, not so often.

Yet you could hear it now, hinted at in the words coming out of his mouth, beneath the surface.

Madame Hydra’s smile became wider, ignoring the baron’s question. She was too entertain watching the internal war you waged.

She seemed to relish the sight of you teetering on the edge of surrender.

"It’s her," Sam said through a pained breath, his voice rough. He was straining against his restraints, his muscles taut, "the vessel. That thing wants her."

Helmut cursed in his native language, you didn’t know what it meant. But, it was clear that it was an insult to the odds.

The one thing he didn’t want to happen was concretizing in front of his own eyes. He had predicted, he had concluded it long before their blood was drawn—but, he didn’t believe it.

He didn’t want to believe it.

Your head throbbed, and the symbols on the walls pulsed faster. The voice, now louder than ever, returned with a sickeningly soothing tone, wrapping itself around you like a serpent.

“They don’t understand, do they?” He hissed, “The voices, the overwhelming energy that asks you to let it all out… But I do, I’ve always understood you.”

"You’ll hurt them," you repeated, but this time your voice wavered, louder than before.

“Hurt them?” The demon purred, twisting its tone into something almost affectionate, “No, no, my sweet child. I’ll protect them. I’ll protect you, how I have always been. If you let me in, I can make sure no one ever hurts them—or you—again, no more.”

Your breath hitched, the words wrapping tighter around your resolve. You could feel yourself slipping, the darkness tugging at you with promises that were too tempting, too reassuring.

“All your regrets, pain, sadness… Let me carry it for you,” he asked of you, you could almost feel your hand being held, “You’ve carried it long enough. You don’t need to be afraid anymore. I’ll take care of everything.”

The symbols on the walls flared, casting the room in a sickly glow. Your vision blurred, the edges of reality softening as the voice grew louder.

You glanced at your friends—Sam, Bucky, Helmut—all of them trapped, helpless, and in pain. He was right, wasn’t he?

If you gave in, if you let go... Maybe you could save them. Perhaps, it could let you have some control, you could simply not let the Master’s wish be granted.

Yet…

"I can’t...," you murmured, tears welling in your eyes. The struggle was tearing you apart, and the voice only grew louder, more insistent, it was like two sides of you played tug.

“You can, you must,” He whispered next to your ear, you could feel his fingers caressing your cheeks, “I’ll take care of them, just let me in.”

You felt your resolve weakening, your grip on reality slipping. The world around you spun, the voices of your friends muffled beneath the pounding in your skull. You had to hold on... But, for how long? Your mind was already starting to creak after every word the demon directed to you.

You felt your resolve weakening, your grip on reality slipping further as the voice pressed harder, whispering promises of salvation. But behind those promises, there was something sinister, dark.

Every beat of your heart seemed to align with the ancient pulse of the symbols on the walls, their glow sickening and oppressive, as if the temple itself were alive and feeding off your fear.

Helmut’s voice cut through the haze, sharper than before.

“Whatever you’re doing to her, stop it.” He was trying to stay calm, but you could hear the fear take care of him, even as he tried to mask it with his usual cold rationality.

Madame Hydra’s smirk deepened as she glanced at Helmut.

“Stop it? Why would we stop it when we’re so close?”

Helmut’s jaw clenched.

He tugged at his restraints, trying to pull free, but the chains held firm. Bucky, though weakened, struggled beside him, his eyes flicking between you and the energy that dripped from your skin and surrounded you—your typical black and white energy, but followed with a red crimson color that devoured every shadow and light present in your power.

You could feel his desperation, the tension in the air thickening with every passing second. Suddenly, your mind stopped for a second as you realized: you weren’t only feeling but sensing.

Sensing every particle of oxygen, muscle that strained and breath taken…

Your powers, you could feel it slowly coming back to you, heavier than before.

"Don’t let it take you," Bucky rasped, his voice strained as if he were fighting not just the physical pain but the fear of losing you. "You’ve fought harder than this before, you can fight it now."

Could you?

The voice—Chthon—was relentless, filling every corner of your mind, pushing out the thoughts and memories of your friends, replacing them with its insidious whispers.

It promised safety, relief from the burden you carried. And you were so tired of fighting, so exhausted from the constant strain.

“I’ll take care of everything,” You felt his eyes boring at your skull, “There will be nothing in the world for you to worry about. It’s time.”

Your vision blurred, the flickering light of the temple growing dimmer as the darkness crept closer. The weight of your friends' eyes on you felt like a distant memory.

Helmut's analytical stare, Sam's quiet resilience, Bucky's fiery resolve—all of it faded beneath the overwhelming presence of the ancient being pressing more and more over you.

Madame Hydra stepped forward again, holding the cursed page aloft, the symbols on the walls glowing brighter in response, a blood red color lighting every corner.

“This is it,” she declared, her voice filled with triumph, “The vessel is ready.”

With that, the chanting in the room grew louder, echoing in your mind until it was all you could hear. It blended with Chthon's whispers, a cacophony of darkness that consumed every thought. Your knees buckled, the pain in your head spiking as the ritual reached its climax.

Helmut strained against his bonds once more, desperation bleeding into his features.

“Don’t give in to him!” he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. You could feel the weight of his fear—the same fear that had flickered in his eyes hours ago—or yesterday?

He had pieced it together longer ago, you knew that.

Deep down, he always knew. The fear in his voice was similar to the concern that laced his words when you talked about the hallway, what happened there.

He only wanted to believe it was wrong, as you. Because, deep down, you also knew.

Your body felt heavy, your thoughts slipping through your fingers like sand. The voice continued, insistent, persuasive—repeating the same words like a mantra.

The weight of the world pressed down on you one more time, suffocating you until there was no more air to fill your lungs. You blinked, and your vision swam as you felt water replace every single fiber present in your body.

The pain was unbearable, your mind truly being torn apart. Before you could open your mouth to scream, everything went black.

When you opened your eyes again, the temple was gone. The pain in your wrists and feet was gone, there were no more chains. However, as you looked around, you also noticed you weren’t surrounded by your friends.

You were... Somewhere else.

The ground beneath you was black and cracked, as if it had been scorched by fire. The sky above was an unnatural red, swirling with dark clouds that churned with a malevolent energy.

It brought you back to your nightmares, the mount… Now, as you gaze at the scenario where you were in, you remembered why that place felt so familiar.

You remembered everything that had happened in your sleep, detail by detail.

And there, standing before you, was him.

He wasn’t just a voice anymore. He had a form—a tall, imposing figure, draped in tattered, blackened robes that seemed to billow in a wind you couldn’t feel. His skin was ashen, and his eyes... They glowed a deep, burning red, like embers of a dying fire. His face was sharp, almost skeletal, and his mouth twisted into a warm smile.

His presence was overwhelmingly calm. He exuded power—ancient, terrifying power—and, yet, it sent you some comfort.

As he took a step toward you, the ground beneath his feet cracked and split.

“You’ve done well,” he said, his voice no longer a whisper but a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through your very soul, “I’m happy to finally see you fully, you don’t imagine my relief now that you finally understand.”

You stepped back instinctively, but there was nowhere to run. The ground stretched endlessly in every direction, a wasteland of darkness and ruin.

Anyway, Chthon's smile didn’t falter, watching your struggle with an almost fatherly affection.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” he said softly, “Our encounter was a future that neither of us could ever avoid, even if we tried. From the moment you were born, when you first touched your power, it was only a matter of time.”

All along, you had been resisting, fighting against something that had always been a part of you. And now, standing face to face with this ancient being, you could feel a connection that had always been there, always out of reach.

But now you were able to grasp it.

His gaze softened, his voice dropping to a near-whisper again when you stepped closer instead of afar.

"You must have so many questions,” he retorted his head, measuring you from your head to your toes, “Come on, sit with me, let’s talk, huh?”

With a move of his hand, the breeze guided the dust through the air and solidified into a bench, as the ones you would see in a park while you were running.

Silently, with the same smile upon his lips, he sat in a spot.

You sat by his side, feeling an unexpected warmth flood over you. Chthon’s words lingered in the air like a soft, comforting breeze. After so many years of feeling like an outsider, drifting from place to place, you were finally hearing something that made you feel…

Grounded. Truly grounded.

“Why me?” your voice was nothing but a whisper.

Chthon watched you with those unnervingly soft eyes, his voice gentle as he spoke.

"You were the result of something beautiful," he said, his eyes glinting as if remembering something precious, "Your mother, she was magic itself—more than you know. I had to pretend at first, to hide my true nature. But once she found out, she understood. She accepted my love."

Your heart tightened. Magic. A word that always has a place in the core of your heart and, at the same time, was so far away from you.

What your parents had was true and pure magic, not you, what you had was some type of protection protocol.

Yet here he was, speaking as if that same magic was part of your very existence. Even if he was talking about your mother, not about you.

"And," His voice dropped, barely a whisper. "You are the living proof of that love."

Nevermind.

Your breath hitched as you tried to process what he had just said.

You had always felt different, always wondered if there was more to your story than what you’d been told—when your powers first appeared, you questioned everything about your life. And now, here was Chthon, telling you that the people who raised you weren’t your real parents.

He didn't tell you that with these words, but it was what they meant.

Your real parents—your true parents—were part of something more ancient, powerful, magical.

And he, this creature before you, was your biological father.

The realization made your head spin. For a fleeting moment, as crazy as it could sound, you felt a strange sense of relief.

You weren’t just some abandoned soul, wandering through life aimlessly. There was a reason you felt so out of place growing up, why your connection to the world felt tenuous.

Perhaps, those who raised you knew something. Maybe they weren’t just your caretakers but had been watching you, guiding you because of what you could become.

Chthon noticed the shift in your expression and sat closer to you, his presence surprisingly comforting.

"I’ve always been there," he said softly. "Watching, protecting you. Your powers, your connection to the world—it’s part of who you are. Part of who we are. And now, finally, we can be together.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel so alone. You weren’t the outlier, the strange one always standing at the edge.

You belonged somewhere, had a place in something larger than yourself. Your heart softened.

Maybe this was what you had been missing all along—a connection to something deeper, to a history you never knew existed.

But as those thoughts settled, there was a subtle change in the air. It was slight, almost imperceptible, but you felt it—a shift in Chthon’s energy, like a shadow creeping in at the edges. His tone remained soft, his gaze still tender, but something lingered beneath it all.

“You see, my sweet child," Chthon continued, his voice still filled with warmth. "When you were born, you inherited an equal amount of my magic—chaos itself. But your mother’s sister was terrified. She knew what you were capable of, even as a newborn. She feared that such immense power in the hands of a fragile human child could unravel the world."

He paused, watching your reaction closely. "So, she locked a portion of your magic away, hiding it deep within you. She thought she was protecting the world, but in truth… She only limited what you could become. The power left in you was just enough for me to ensure your safety, to watch over you. But the rest, it’s been waiting—buried, dormant—until now."

You stared at him, feeling a knot form in your chest.

"What... What are you saying?" you finally broke your silence, your voice shaking slightly. "She knew? They knew? My powers—they kept them hidden from me?"

Who you thought were your parents, in truth, were only two people afraid of you? Who only was there in case you suddenly lose control?

Chthon nodded slowly, as if every word he spoke was peeling back layers of a truth you were only beginning to grasp.

"Yes," he said, "They kept you in the dark. Those who raised you weren’t just your caretakers—they were put in place to guard you, to keep you from unlocking your full potential. They feared you."

A lump rose in your throat as you processed his words. You had always sensed something was off, but you had never imagined it was this. All the years of feeling like you didn’t quite belong, the way your family always seemed to watch you with cautious eyes... It all made sense now.

They weren’t protecting you—they were containing you. Holding you back from something becoming something far bigger.

Chthon leaned closer, his hand hovering near yours, as if offering comfort, "But now, my child, you don’t need to be afraid of that power. I’m here to help you unlock it, with my guidance, you can be whole again. You can become what you were always meant to be."

His words should have been reassuring, but the darkness lurking beneath his gentle tone unsettled you. You wanted to believe him—wanted to accept the idea that your true father had come to you out of love and care. But the shift in his presence kept you on edge.

"But why?" you asked, your voice trembling, "Why did they hide it? Why did they keep me from knowing the truth?"

Chthon smiled, though there was a hardness behind it now, "Because they were afraid. Afraid of what you could become with that power. Afraid of what we could become together."

A chill settled over you as his words sank in.

There it was again—that subtle shift. The way he spoke about power, about becoming whole…

Here was someone claiming to be your true father, someone who saw you not as an intruder but as something special—magical.

But still, a part of you resisted. The part that had spent years yearning for a quiet, normal life, away from the storms of power and chaos.

You swallowed, your voice barely steady.

“Why now? Why reveal this to me after all this time?”

Chthon’s eyes softened one more time, his hand resting just a breath away from yours.

“Because it is time, my child. Time for you to know where you truly come from. I’ve watched over you, even as you were raised by those who weren’t meant to keep an eye on you.” He paused, a faint glint of something unreadable in his gaze, “I never meant for you to feel abandoned,” Chthon continued, his voice rich with emotion.

“I’ve waited for this moment, for you to come for me on your own,” he said, his voice still warm, but there was an edge now, a subtle shift. “With my guidance, you will unlock the power inside you, the power that was hidden from you for so long. You will be whole again, and we will be unstoppable.”

You frowned slightly, a flicker of unease stirring in your chest.

“Unstoppable?” you repeated, the word hanging between you.

Chthon leaned back, his gaze becoming more intense, more focused.

“Yes. The power we share is unmatched. With you by my side, we will reclaim what was taken from me.”

Your breath hitched, “Taken?”

His smile remained, but there was a coldness behind it now, a glint of danger.

“Yes, my child. Long before you were born, I ruled over magic, over life and death itself. The forces that govern this world… They belong to me,” Chthon’s eyes glinted as he spoke, his tone no longer veiled in warmth but radiating an undercurrent of hunger. “The very breath of existence, every heartbeat, every flicker of life—it was mine to command.”

His voice grew heavier, darker, “But I was cast out, my throne stolen by those who feared my power, those who thought they could contain the chaos I created.”

It felt like someone was carving its way out of your flesh as his words sank in.

The warmth that had once surrounded his voice was slowly freezing cold. You wanted to pull away, to ask no more questions, but you were frozen in place, caught between the comfort of the family you had always longed for and the creeping dread that was beginning to take hold.

“I’ve used Ophelia—Madame Hydra,” Chthon continued, as if he didn’t notice the tension brewing in your stomach. “She and her crew have been useful, but they are nothing more than tools to help me crawl my way back to Earth. They think they are working for their own gain, but they are part of a far greater plan. With the artifact, and with you by my side, I will reclaim my dominion. All life, all death, all magic—it will be under my control again.”

Your heart raced, your mind scrambling to make sense of what he was saying. This wasn’t about reuniting, about finding family or love. This was about power…

About control.

You could feel the tendrils of his influence tightening around you, his words drawing you deeper into his web.

“You lied,” you stammered, the words barely forming in your throat. “You said you wouldn’t hurt anyone, neither my friends, that there would be nothing in the world you would possibly do to worry me about.”

Chthon’s smile widened, but it no longer held any warmth. His eyes gleamed with a darkness that made your skin crawl.

“I didn’t lie, child,” his voice carried an eerie sense of certainty, “There will be nothing for you to worry about because there will be no world left for you to concern yourself with. When I reclaim my throne, this world will be reshaped, and you will be somewhere safe where I can watch over you, where no harm will ever touch you and there will be nothing for you to see. Nothing but yourself and I.”

His words chilled you to the bone. He wasn’t offering protection.

He was offering imprisonment—a gilded cage where you could only watch as he wielded his power over the world, as he took back what he believed was his. Through you.

Every promise he made was a twisted version of the truth, distorted to fit his plans.

“I won’t help you,” you said, your voice trembling, but defiant. “I won’t let you bend the world to your knees. Those who hold power should reach a hand down to those in need, not destroy them.”

Chthon’s gaze darkened, the gentleness evaporating completely, replaced by a cold, sharp intensity. His lips curled into a sneer, his earlier warmth now a distant memory.

The air around you felt heavy as his true nature revealed itself fully.

“To reach a hand down to somebody,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt, “they must first be beneath you.”

Each syllable hit like ice piercing through your defenses. He leaned closer, his presence oppressive, his gaze fixed on yours with an unsettling intensity.

“And that, my child, is where they belong. Beneath us. Beneath me.”

You could feel the full weight of his ambition now, the depths of his hunger for control. It wasn’t just about reclaiming power—it was about subjugation, dominance over every living being. There was no compassion in him, no desire to help or heal.

Only the need to rule.

“Those who are weak,” he continued, his voice low and filled with venom, “were never meant to wield power. They exist to be controlled, to be shaped by those who understand the true nature of this world. And you… You will help me make sure they remember their place.”

Your heart raced, your mind screaming at you to run, to escape, but you were stuck in that bench, trapped by the horrifying realization unfolded in front of your eyes.

That wasn't a loving father. He was a monster, one who would do anything to claim the world as his own, and he wanted to use you as a means to an end.

“I will never help you,” you whispered, the fear in your voice barely masking the insistent defiance building inside you.

Chthon’s smile didn’t waver, but something about it shifted—just slightly. He leaned back, his eyes studying you with unsettling patience, as if every move had already been predicted in the game you didn’t know you were playing.

“Oh, my dear,” he murmured, his tone in faux affection, “you think you have a choice…” His voice wrapped around you like a whisper carried on the wind, low and unhurried.

“... But you don’t.”

He moved slowly, deliberately, until he was standing directly over you, his presence towering. For a moment, his gaze softened again, and he looked down at you with something almost resembling pity.

You tried to get up, but your muscles betrayed you. Your limbs were totally flimsy and flaccid, showing no sign of understanding the commands your brain shouted to them.

His hand hovered near your face, just out of reach, as if waiting for you to accept what was coming.

If you could, you would have screamed. Damn not showing desperation, you were in despair.

Then, without warning, his fingers gently brushed against your chin, tilting your face up toward him. The touch wasn’t harsh—it was almost careful, like one might handle something fragile.

But the power behind it, the control, was unmistakable. He was the one pulling your muscles down.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered, but the words felt hollow now, “I need you intact.”

His hand tightened, ever so slightly, and you felt your mouth part involuntarily under the pressure. Something dark stirred in the pit of your stomach, the creeping sense that whatever was coming next would definitely hurt.

And, when you least expected it, you felt it.

A heat, low and simmering, began to build inside you. It started as a flicker, a sensation deep in your chest, but it quickly grew, spreading up your throat. You gasped, the sensation burning, as if something inside you was clawing its way out.

Chthon’s eyes gleamed, his grip on your chin tightening as he held you in place, forcing you to stay still. His thumb pressed into your skin, and you felt the pull, the draining of your power, slow and deliberate, slipping away from your core and toward him.

Your vision blurred for a moment as the pressure built, and then it started—something thick and hot, almost like blood, began to rise in your throat, burning as it made its way up. You coughed, choking as the rough energy forced itself off your mouth, spilling out like molten fire.

Blood began to trickle from the corners of your lips.

Everything hurt—your chest, your throat, even your eyes. You felt as though you were unraveling from the inside, every ounce of strength being pulled from you.

Chthon’s gaze never fluttered, his red eyes glowing with satisfaction as he absorbed your powers, your energy… Your magic. It was no longer yours—it was his, and he was consuming it, draining you of everything. You watched your now crimson red energy carve its way out of your mouth, drawing you blood and flowing its way to be swallowed up by Chthon. Drop by drop.

Your power, your spirit—every piece of you stolen, slipping into him.

Your heart pondered, fast. It felt as though your heart was about to give out at any moment, pounding so violently in your chest that you were sure it would burst. Your mind ran as a lunatic, trying to pull something together amidst the agony, but all it could bring for your comfort was memories.

Fragments of your life, your past. A last thing that was yet yours, so you could hold on to it firmly before it was also taken from you.

You saw the faces of those who raised you, their distant, watchful gazes.

Your parents, or who you thought was your parents, side by side with you as they held your hands. You were leaving a circus show, your face painted like a strange, cute clown as you laughed as you tried to tell them what you saw. Even though they had been there with you the whole time.

And, yet, they patiently listened to you. They indulged you to tell them more, asked questions, what had happened next…

Did they really not care about you? Minutes ago, you believed so, but as you remembered all the moments you spent together, how they always made sure you would feel special.

Not special to the world and those who didn’t know you yet, but for them. In that time, being special to them was enough for you.

And even now, it hadn’t changed.

Then there was Nick Fury, the man who took you under his wing, who saw something in you worth fighting for.

“You don’t see it yet,” he told you once, as you were in the car on the way to the S.H.I.E.L.D’s airship, where the people who could help you were, “But one day, you’ll blow us all away.”

The memory of meeting Tony and Steve clashed into your mind, in the same way Tony’s quick wit would clash with Steve’s unwavering resolve. Somehow, they made it work.

After a mission, when you and Tony sat down during a moment of shared exhaustion, he turned to your direction and looked at you in silence for a couple of minutes before saying:

“You’re tougher than you look, kid. Keep that up, and you’ll outlast us all.”

A shadow covered the sun that was helping you deal with your exhaustion. When you looked up, you found Steve looking down at you with a crooked smile, his quiet strength a stark contrast to Tony’s flamboyance.

“Don’t let the weight of the world crush you,” he had said, reaching a hand to help you get back up, “You don’t have to carry it all alone.”

And so, you did as he said. Or tried to, for a long time. At least, you weren’t alone.

Steve helped you every time you doubted yourself or felt like your world was falling apart.

Your mind jumped again to another unravel of memories. All the missions you worked together alongside the others, while your bunch became few and fewer, until there were only some of you. But, you continued to stand tall.

However the memory of Steve was fleeting, as much as his departure. Next thing your mind brought up were Sam and Bucky, their banter a familiar background noise during long nights of planning and strategy when they asked for your help against the Flag Smashers.

The way Sam would always try to lighten the mood, cracking jokes even when things were at their worst. Bucky, with his haunted eyes, had always been the one to remind you that surviving wasn’t the same as living—following his own advice for once. Now, all of this brought you some comfort, maybe you should have appreciated it better at the time.

One of the nights while you and Bucky were staying at Sam’s place, the three of you found yourselves on the rooftop of the Wilson family home.

The air was warm, with a gentle breeze carrying the scent of saltwater from the nearby bayou. You sat side by side, looking up at the night sky, the stars faintly visible against the deep blue, while the moon cast a soft glow over Delacroix below. It was one of those rare moments of peace, where the weight of everything you had been through seemed to lift, if only for a little while.

But despite the calm exterior, you could feel the tension simmering just beneath the surface. You had been too quiet, your thoughts swirling with everything that had happened, everything that would come next.

Perhaps your silence spoke louder than you intended, because after a while, Sam glanced at you.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, pushing his lips into a thin line, his voice heavy once he said those words. “You were right, I had avoided you since what happened.”

Your eyes widened at his confession, your head snapping in his direction immediately.

Not quicker than Bucky’s, though, who had been staring at the ground, seemingly lost in his own thoughts until that moment. His gaze shifted to Sam, a mixture of confusion and understanding crossing his features.

Sam looked down, guilt etched into the lines of his face.

"Every time I looked at you," he swallowed dry, gathering some courage to look you in the eyes, "I saw the person who was still standing, who hadn’t given up, who hadn’t… Turned to dust."

It was you now who avoided his gaze, it still hurt to remember that you were one of the people who hadn’t turned to dust. You were five years older, while fifty percent of those who had turned to dust remained the same age as when they left. It was hard to explain the agony that infringed you when you thought about it.

Bucky remained silent, his jaw clenched tightly as he listened. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground, as though he couldn’t bear to meet your gaze just yet. The struggle was evident in the tension of his body, the way his fists clenched and unclenched as he grappled with his own thoughts.

"You reminded me of him," Sam admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Steve, a lot actually. I… I think it was easier to avoid you than to face the guilt, to face what I lost. When I came back and was given another chance to fight against that bastard, I wished I could have done more. Yes, Steve gave me his shield but, at the time, it didn’t feel right."

You looked back at him, processing his words, you didn’t know what to say to him. You couldn’t say you didn’t understand him, because you did, a lot.

“And everytime I looked at you,” he continued, shaking his head, “It was like he was looking back at me, disappointed.”

Immediately, you found the words, “I could never be disappointed with you.”

“I know,” he sighed, a weak smile tugging his lips, “Now, I know.”

Your heart ached at his words. Sam had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, always tried to do what was right. But hearing him admit the truth, it made your anger and hurt soften, if only a little.

Bucky finally found his voice as well, though it was low and rough, strained with the words that were about to leave his mouth.

"I think that it was the same for me," he began. "I didn’t know how to face you after the Snap. In fact, I didn’t know how to face anyone."

Both you and Sam already knew that; you had subtly pointed it out while traveling through Europe. At the time, Bucky hadn’t responded—he’d either retorted or deflected with another question. It was clear the subject was a delicate one.

He finally looked up at you, his eyes filled with a sorrow that had been festering for too long.

"You were right to be mad. I pushed you away because you were... One of the names on my list, and I didn't know what would happen next if we talked about what happened."

You were about to ask what he was talking about when it hit you: he was referring to the time you had spent running, fighting, and barely surviving the chaos that H.Y.D.R.A. had unleashed.

It was during the events of Washington, D.C., when Bucky—no, the Winter Soldier—had almost killed you. The cold, relentless assassin with no memory of who he was, with nothing in his eyes but the mission, had nearly taken your life. Now, the man beside you didn’t know what to do about the trail of guilt that has been falling since the moment he had almost killed you.

Bucky’s voice trembled slightly as he continued, "I didn’t know how to talk to you about it, because I didn’t want to face the reality of what I almost did. You were innocent in all of it, you only were there because you wanted to help Steve. And I nearly killed you, as I had killed every innocent that crossed their way with me."

He paused, swallowing hard as if the admission had taken all the strength he had left.

“Before the Snap, Steve was there with us, which made it easy not to talk to you, but after everything…” Bucky didn’t need to explain, you already knew what he meant, "I’ve spent so long trying to make amends, to cross the names off that list, but with you… I just couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say, how to ask for forgiveness when even I can’t forgive myself."

Sam was silent beside you, Bucky’s words bleeding your hearts. It wasn’t just about the Snap, or the lives lost. It was about the scars that ran deep, the ones that Bucky had been trying to heal, even if it meant pushing away the people who mattered most to him.

You searched for the right words, something that could cut through the layers of guilt and pain that Bucky had carried for so long.

"James," you began, your voice soft but firm, "you weren’t yourself then, you aren’t the Winter Soldier now and never was, not the real you, James. What happened at that time, it wasn’t your fault. You were forced into that life, forced to become someone you never wanted to be."

Bucky shook his head, the anguish clear in his eyes.

"But it doesn’t change what I did. It doesn’t change the fact that I almost… That I almost killed you. And I couldn’t bear to face that. To face you, I still can’t."

You reached out, placing your hand gently over his, "You’re not that person anymore, as I said, you never were. You’ve fought so hard to meet again the man you were, or become a new version of you, to make things right. There is nothing else you need to carry with you, not the guilt, not the past."

“But if you do,” you brushed your hand next to his, “You must know you don’t have to carry any of this alone.”

His eyes met yours, filled with so much emotion—regret, guilt, but also a glimmer of hope.

"I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for what I did," he admitted, letting himself hold your hand. "But hearing you say that… It helps. It helps more than you know."

You squeezed his hand, offering him a small, reassuring smile.

"We all have things we need to forgive ourselves for. But you’re here now, and that’s what matters. We’re here, together, and we’ll get through this,” you reached your hand for Sam as well, “One step at a time."

Sam finally spoke again, his voice gentle but resolute—holding your hand back, "Every step of the way."

Bucky looked at both of you, his expression softening as he let out a breath he’d been holding for far too long. The guilt, while still present, seemed to lift slightly, as if the burden he’d been carrying had become just a bit lighter.

The three of you sat there for a while longer, letting the night wrap around you. The silence was no longer heavy with unresolved tension, but with a sense of shared understanding, a step toward healing the wounds that had been left open for too long.

As the stars twinkled above and the cool breeze whispered through the trees, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. The road ahead would still be difficult, but for the first time in a long time, you knew you wouldn’t be walking alone.

Sam and Bucky were by your side, and together you were able to face anything the world threw at you.

Or you believed so. God, how you wished to go back to those days; thinking about it almost distracted you from the pain.

The reality of your situation was far from the peace of that night on the rooftop. The memory was like a distant echo, fading in and out as the present forced its way back into focus. The searing pain in your chest, the tightness in your throat, and the weight of Chthon’s power draining you from the inside out made it impossible to escape.

Blood continued to trickle from the corners of your lips as the crimson energy was being pulled from your body, each drop stolen by Chthon, consumed by his insatiable hunger for power. The warmth you’d felt with Sam and Bucky on that rooftop was nothing but a memory now, replaced by the cold, relentless grip of this ancient entity that sought to erase you entirely.

Your heart raced, pounding so violently that you feared it might give out at any second. The more you tried to cling to the memories of that night, to the comfort they once provided, the more they seemed to slip away, like sand through your fingers. You had been so sure that with Sam and Bucky by your side, you could face anything. But here, in this moment, with Chthon draining the very life out of you, that certainty was being ripped away just as surely as your strength.

As you slip further into the haze of Chthon’s power, your mind clawed for an anchor, a single thread to pull you back from the abyss. And in that swirling vortex of memories, a moment of clarity emerged—simple, something that had kept you tethered once before.

You remembered a night in Spain, years ago. You, Sam, Bucky, and Helmut were deep in the pursuit of the Masters of Evil.

The four of you had been worn out after a particularly long day, with little to show for your efforts but exhaustion and frustration. You had found a small village tucked away from the bustling cities, where the air was heavy with the scent of orange blossoms and the quiet was disorienting after so much chaos.

That night, there had been no great battles, no strategies or planning. Just the four of you sitting in silence under the stars.

Sam had been making light jokes, Bucky occasionally cracking a small smile at his words, while Helmut had sat a little apart, watching the night sky. And for the first time in what felt like forever, the world had felt still.

Peaceful.

In the meantime, you had found a bottle of wine in a dusted corner and turned to Helmut, asking if the bottle would be too miserable to his sophisticated taste. He chuckled at your words before accepting it, then all of you started to share the bottle of wine, passing it between you as the night wore on.

The exhaustion had become less of a burden in the next quiet hours. It had been a rare moment when neither of you had to be warriors or tacticians. You were just people, sitting together, sharing the same air, the same silence, and—dare you say—a sense of camaraderie that, for a fleeting moment, didn’t feel so fragile.

The memory of that night—of Helmut’s quiet smile, Sam’s laugh, and Bucky’s rare, fleeting grin—wrapped around you like a blanket, a thin layer of protection against the darkness closing in. The warmth of the fire, the soft crackle of the flames, and the way you all managed to carve out a moment of peace amidst the chaos… It all felt so distant now, yet it was keeping you tethered to reality.

"If you didn't want us to drink it, you should not have brought it out," Helmut’s teasing voice echoed in your mind, his smile wide and disarming in a way that usually caught you off guard.

You remembered rolling your eyes at him, trying to hide the small, unwilling smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Sincerely?” you had shot back, raising an eyebrow at him, “I thought your fear of looking as miserable as us unfortunate souls, drinking the poorest wine, would’ve stopped you.”

It wasn’t sincere. Of course, it wasn’t.

But it was easier to keep the conversation light, to pretend for a while that the looming threats of the world weren’t pressing in on all sides. That night, though brief, had felt almost normal—if normal was something any of you could still claim.

Now, as the cold weight of Chthon’s power dragged at you, draining your strength, the memory felt like a lifeline. But even as you clung to it, you could feel the edges of that warmth slipping away, replaced by the relentless pull of darkness.

The voice was back, whispering seductively in your mind, “It doesn’t have to hurt anymore. You don’t have to fight it. Let me take it all away…”

You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting back the tears of frustration, pain, and fear. You weren’t ready to give in. Not yet.

Your mind, despite the overwhelming pain, drifted back to the hut and the warmth of the memory you shared with Helmut. The image of him in front of the fireplace, his face softened by the firelight, how his words brought a sense of heat to your heart. You could still feel the feeling of his arm wrapped around you, trying to keep you warm.

His quiet assurance that you weren’t alone, not then and not now. When you thought about it now, it brought some of that warmth back.

It had been such a fleeting moment of peace, one that seemed impossible to recapture here, in the middle of the nightmare. Either way, you clung to the memory as Chthon’s presence loomed over you, his voice pressing harder, trying to force you to surrender.

However, now, it wasn't freezing you into place, the ice covering your limbs melting away. No, there was no coldness, instead, you felt that same warmth as if the fireplace was just in front of you again.

The memory took your mind as its home, burying itself in the walls of your conscience. The reminder of your conversation with Helmut, the first one you had where the two of us opened up, no cards in your sleeves. The man who had once been your enemy, who had now risked so much to keep you safe. In the back of your mind, you regretted not saying the things you had wanted to tell him since that day in Wakanda. The words you had swallowed down for years.

All of that, someway—somehow—gave you strength.

With all your will, you tried to force your mind back to the moment in the hut, to the words that left your and Helmut's lips as you spoke to one another.

“You trust me,” you had said. It wasn’t a question. More of a disbelief.

It had almost felt like a challenge at the time. How could Helmut Zemo, of all people, trust you?

But Helmut’s expression softened, just enough for you to notice. His guarded nature dropped for a moment, revealing a side of him you hadn’t expected.

“I do,” he had said, his voice quieter than usual. “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 had looked away then, unsure how to respond.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” you had murmured, shame settling in, “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 hadn't attacked you yet until I fired at him,” Helmut had pointed out, “Is that why you’ve been self-reproaching since I found you? If that’s so, I’m more guilty than you are, as Sam, as James…”

The guilt you had carried for so long. It had weighed you down, gnawed at your confidence. You always told your friends to not carry bad feelings alone, to share it. If it was to carry something alone, it should be good memories—and yet, those also have been shared with those who were there.

In that moment, hearing Helmut take part of the burden, it was when you finally realized: why were you carrying burdens that deep down, you knew weren't yours?

Sometimes, everything that went wrong felt like it was your fault, your burden to carry alone. But, was it? Everything that didn't go as planned, was because of a mistake you had made?

“I still don’t understand why you saved me,” you had whispered, the confession slipping from your lips before you could stop it. Or before you could say everything that crossed your mind.

Helmut’s eyes had flickered—vulnerability, maybe?

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

As if that was the only possible answer. It sounded so simple, so easy, when the words slipped from his tongue.

The warmth of that day, the quiet understanding between the two of you, felt so far away now, as Chthon’s darkness clawed at your mind.

The moment in the hut had happened today? Yesterday? How long has it been since you were under that same blanket, gazing at each other’s eyes?

You didn’t know, the only thing certain was that memory. The more you re-lived it in, the more it kept you holding on, preventing you from falling into the abyss.

Back in that hut, you had seen something in Helmut’s eyes, something that was mirrored in your own. A shared pain, a shared understanding that you both carried the side effects of your choices, the consequences of your actions.

But, in that moment, neither of you was truly alone.

“You’re not so bad, Helmut,” you had said, the words soft once they leave you, giving you no time to mask them.

And he had heard you, his lips curved into a faint smile.

“And you, mein schatz, are far more trouble than you’re worth,” he had teased, though his words lacked the usual bite.

The memory of his smile, of his words, echoed in your mind like a siren chant, a distant beacon guiding you through the storm of Chthon’s power. Instead of leading you to drown in the bottom of the ocean, it guided you out of it.

However, your mind wasn't done apparently. Suddenly, it went back to Wakanda.

The day you had freed him, the silence between you, the unspoken words that lingered in the air. You had wanted to say something—anything really, but fear had kept you quiet. Now, with your life slipping away, you regretted not telling him right away what you wished to.

But that doesn't mean you didn't say what you wish you had said in the end.

You had waited for a moment, when neither Sam or Bucky were present. When you two were alone and your courage wasn’t lacking.

“Helmut,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he could hear you. “I should have said this sooner, back in Wakanda, but…”

Chthon’s power sank into your veins, corrupting them with his voidness, but you forced the words out, your voice trembling with the effort.

“I’m happy that you’re back in the team.”

Helmut’s eyes met yours, his expression softening ever so slightly. He didn't need to say anything in response—his presence, his quiet contentment, they were enough.

There had always been a strange bond between the two of you, for the best or worst. Every time you recalled another single detail of your story from the day you met until now, it lit a small fire in the bottom of your heart.

As that fire grew, your strength was enough to hold on and take a breath.

Chthon’s presence loomed heavy in the back of your mind, his power suffocating, pressing down on every thought, every breath. You could feel him reaching deeper, twisting through the tendrils of your consciousness, seeking to consume you entirely. However, the way you clung your memories to your chest was stronger—you wouldn't let him take them from you.

As it seems, you had something he hadn’t counted on.

A reminder that every bad thing you carried with you was a lie. Big lies that your lack of courage often told yourself.

The memories of those who had stood by your side—Sam, Bucky, Helmut—were like a thread, tethering you to reality, to who you were. And the more you clung to those moments, the more you pushed back against Chthon’s control.

“You were wrong,” you whispered, the words barely audible but filled with defiance, “I do have a choice.”

Chthon’s eyes narrowed down your figure, the fire in them never going out.

“You already belong to me,” he murmured, his tone dripping with cold certainty. “Your power is mine, your body is mine, even your soul. There is nothing you could do to prevent any of that.”

But he was wrong: something had changed.

The bond between you and Helmut, the warmth of those memories—it had sparked something deep inside you, something Chthon couldn’t touch. You felt it stir, a flame reigniting after being nearly snuffed out.

And with it, your strength was renewed, enough to do more than waiting.

The energy that had been slipping away from you—your magic, your essence—it wasn’t gone. It was still there, waiting, ready to be reclaimed.

You just needed to reach out, hold into it and grasp really tight.

Chthon’s grip tightened as he leaned in, sensing your resistance. His red eyes flared with annoyance, the satisfaction from moments ago now replaced by a seething determination to finish what he had started. The draining pull of your power was relentless, your crimson energy still being siphoned away, but now something in you had awakened.

Something he hadn’t anticipated.

Your memories, those fragments of warmth began to take root, spreading through your mind like a lifeline. They were more than just fleeting moments.

Sam’s laughter, Bucky’s steady resolve, Helmut’s quiet eyes…

They were the bonds that anchored you, pulling you back from the brink of oblivion.

Chthon sneered, sensing the shift.

“Memories won’t save you,” he hissed, his voice slithering through your thoughts. “You’re mine now, in every way that matters.”

But you weren’t just clinging to the memories—you were drawing strength from them. Helmut’s unwavering trust, the battles you had faced together, the moments of connection you had never fully appreciated until now.

They weren’t just memories; they were reminders of who you were. Of what you had fought for.

The red energy escaping from you began to slowly retreat, as though something inside you was pushing back, refusing to yield. You felt the familiar stir of your magic deep within, not yet gone, not yet lost.

It was yours, and you could feel it responding to your will.

“You are wrong,” you whispered, your voice stronger this time, the defiance growing.

Chthon’s grip on your chin tightened further, his thumb digging into your skin as if he could physically force the rest of your power out of you. The heat in your throat flared again, and more crimson energy surged upward, but this time, you reached out—deep within yourself—grasping for the core of the source.

And you found it.

The flame inside you became a conflagration. It wasn’t just your magic.

But your essence, your spirit, the part of you that had always fought back, even when the odds were impossible. The one who was constantly up to a challenge.

And now, that fire flared to life with a fierce determination, fueled by the memories of those who had stood by your side.

Tony’s remarks about everything, Fury’s belief of great potential in every person who crossed paths with him, Steve’s heart…

Helmut’s voice echoed in your mind, a memory from the fire lighting both your faces. His trust in you, the way he had opened up in ways he rarely did with anyone—that wasn’t just a memory.

But that thread that led you to him and him to you—which tethered you to the present and kept you from giving up to the darkness.

“You made decisions even when your friends pointed out the risk…” His voice was clear, unwavering. “You did, time and time again.”

The crimson energy that had been slipping away from you now pulsed with a new rhythm, one that wasn’t dictated by Chthon. It was yours, and as you grasped hold of it, you felt the power surge back into your body.

Inch by inch, drop by drop—you pulled your magic away from Chthon’s consuming presence. The black and white energy that had always been yours now shimmered with a new hue—red, not like the blood on your lips or the ominous sky above you, but more alive.

The color of life itself, raw and unbridled. Chaotic.

Chthon’s sneer turned to a scowl, his eyes narrowing as he realized what was happening.

“You can’t stop this,” he growled, his voice growing more desperate. “I control you. I am everything you are.”

“No, you are not,” you hissed, your voice stronger than ever, cutting through the air like a blade.

Your eyes burned, not with pain, but with the untamed energy surging inside you. The fire in your chest wasn’t a burden—it was liberation. It didn’t consume you; it empowered you, filling every bone, every nerve, with magic that felt like it had always belonged there.

You waited for the hundreds of voices trying to warn you, as they usually would do. But you were met with silence.

Despite that, there was no lack of will to fight. You didn't need instructions, you knew exactly what you should do.

Chthon’s sneer faltered, but you pressed on, your voice growing louder, fiercer.

“You think chaos is destruction—or to be feared. Chaos isn’t a weapon. It’s life itself. It’s the force that brings us into this world, the energy that flows through every living thing.”

The red energy pulsed brighter around you, illuminating the mount, and you could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes as he realized he was unable to pull the magic from you.

You weren’t just speaking to him—you were claiming the very power he had tried to take from you.

“And now,” you said, your voice steady, calm, “That chaos belongs to me.”

Chthon’s eyes flared in anger, but there was a flicker of fear as well. He hadn’t expected this turn of events.

He hadn’t expected you to fight back, to reclaim what he thought was already his.

With a final surge of strength, you pulled the last of your magic back to you. The red energy that had once been drawn from you now burned brightly in your hands, no longer a symbol of your defeat, but your victory.

Chthon recoiled, his grip on your chin loosening as he stepped back, his eyes wide with fury and disbelief.

“You can’t escape me,” he spat, his voice filled with venom. “I’m already within you, in your mind and soul. I will always be here.”

However, you wouldn't need to escape him to defeat him.

You knew that he was already inside you, intertwined with your essence. There was no way to banish him.

Yet, that didn’t mean he had control. You were the one who had it.

“I can’t send you away,” you said quietly, your voice calm, steady, as the power inside you stabilized. “But I can make sure you never become a threat, once and for all.”

With a deep breath, you closed your eyes and focused. You could feel Chthon’s presence in your mind, his tendrils of power still clinging to you, trying to regain control fervently. But now, with your magic fully restored, you were stronger.

And you knew what you had to do.

Slowly, carefully, you began to push him back—not out of your body, but to the darkest corner of your mind and toward the precipice of the mount. His voice grew smaller, faintly, as you locked him away, sealing him in a place where he could no longer reach you.

Nor would anyone else who dared deal with forces beyond their control.

“No–” he shouted, his voice so far away, desperate, “My child— My sweet child, please!”

Chthon’s voice, once so powerful, now became nothing more than a distant whisper. His presence still lingered, but it was no longer a threat.

He was trapped, caged within your mind, unable to contact your world.

“I’m not your child,” you replied quietly, finally locking the padlock on his cell, “My parents were magicians.”

You opened your eyes, and reality came back into focus.

The red energy around you still pulsed, but it was no longer erratic. It was controlled.

It was yours. Chthon was defeated.

Your wrists and feet, once bound by chains, were now free. The magic that had erupted from you had shattered the metal, leaving nothing but dust in its wake. You stood tall, your body thrumming with power, your eyes glowing with the vibrant red energy that now coursed through you.

The silence in the room felt heavy, but it wasn’t empty.

The Masters of Evil stood frozen, their eyes wide with glorious satisfaction. Their gazes locked onto you now, filled with reverence and fear, as though they were staring at something divine and terrifying.

Like believers gazing upon a holy symbol, they saw not you, but Chthon. They believed he had taken control, that the force of his will had consumed you entirely.

They had felt the force of Chthon’s presence, and tasted the air thick with his darkness. But you had won, not him.

Even Sam, Bucky, and Helmut stood at a distance, their expressions cautious, uncertain. They were holding on to the chains for what might come next.

You turned around, your gaze meeting Helmut’s.

His eyes, sharp and calculating, as usual, searched yours—for whatever it was left of you there. His lips parted ready to protest, but then he paused. His brows furrowed, his gaze narrowing as he studied you.

And then, in that brief moment, you saw the understanding dawn in his eyes—the gears finally stopping.

“It’s her,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not him—it’s her.”

Sam and Bucky turned toward Helmut, then back to you, their expressions shifting from confusion to recognition. The tension in the room eased, but only slightly.

They could see it now too—it wasn’t Chthon, but you.

With that single declaration, everything shifted. His words echoed to the Masters of Evil’s ears, realizing what had truly happened.

But by then, it was too late.

You lifted your hand, and with a wave, you sent them hurtling into the air, their bodies suspended by the force of your power. There was no struggle, no resistance—they were utterly at your mercy.

The red energy pulsed, and with a sharp flick of your wrist, you sent them away—each of them vanishing into their cells in the Raft. Every one of them was placed in a prison specifically designed for them, where they could no longer wield their power.

One by one.

Titania, her strength nullified.

Doctor Octopus, his mechanical arms now useless.

Moonstone, her energy dampened, trapped in a chamber that drained her abilities…

And so on, each of them were locked in their cage, separated and neutralized.

When it was John’s turn, your eyes pierced at his figure. For a second, you hesitated.

He had been pushing you to the brink for years now, he was the one who haunted your restful nights. All because, one day you used to believe he was just a human, as all of you were.

As his body was suspended, you looked into his eye. There was no remorse there, only the bitter pride of a man who thought himself invincible.

With a gesture, you threw him into a cell, one that would strip him of the very strength he had once used to overpower you.

However, you hadn’t forgotten the last remaining figure: Madame Hydra—Ophelia.

She had orchestrated so much of this, had sought to use you to bring life to her plan of subjecting the world to lick her feet, just like Chthon. But now, she was at your mercy.

Her empty, unfeeling eyes locked with yours as her lips curled into a smirk. She thought she held some power over you.

She didn’t.

With a surge of energy, you sent her hurtling into the depths of the Raft, her cell sealed with every precaution needed to contain her. And as you did, you felt a sense of finality—it was done.

All that remained of their twisted plot was the artifact. Once a key to untold power, that now laid dormant, its purpose lost with his defeat. Without hesitation, you waved your hand and set it alight, watching as the cursed page burned to ashes.

But as you turned your attention to your friends, still bound by chains, you felt a renewed sense of urgency. They had been through so much—too much—and now you could help at least with those chains.

Drawing on your power one more time, you raised your hands. Your magic surged through you, raw and powerful, a force that responded to your will as you focused on the shackles that held them captive. The chains glowed with a brilliant light, the metal deteriorated under the pressure.

Then, what was left of the chains fell to the ground.

Sam was the first to stagger forward, rubbing his wrists where the chains had dug into his skin. His eyes were wide with disbelief, but as they met yours, relief flooded his expression.

"You fought back," he said, his voice filled with awe as he stumbled toward you. The moment he regained his balance, he enveloped you in a hug, pulling you close. “God, you’re here!”

It took you a moment to notice the tears streaming down your face, soaking into Sam’s shoulder. But even as you became aware, the tears didn’t stop. Instead, you let them flow, each one carrying away the weight of the battle, the stress, the fear.

You were safe. Your friends were safe. Somehow, you had done it.

You had found your paint and brush.

“I am,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you tighten your arms around him, fearing he might slip away.

Suddenly, another pair of arms wrapped around you, and you felt the cold metal of Bucky’s arm press against your back. The contrast between the warmth of Sam and the chill of Bucky’s vibranium arm was startling, but in that moment, it grounded you. You leaned into the embrace, feeling the protective circle they formed around you, their presence a shield against everything you had endured.

Bucky’s sigh was deep, filled with a relief that mirrored your own, and his breath was warm against your neck, a comforting reminder that he was here, that you were both still alive.

All of you.

“I don’t know what I’d do if you were gone,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, each word caught by the fear that had gripped him since the moment he thought he’d lost you. “I’m just glad I’ll never have to find out.”

You could hear Bucky starting to sob, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. Or perhaps it was you—at this point, you couldn’t tell where your grief ended and theirs began. The three of you stood there, bound together by the pain and relief that came with surviving, the weight of all you had been through pressing down on you, but in a way that made you stronger, not weaker.

It was as if the world around you had faded away, leaving only the three of you in that moment, sharing a pain that was too deep for words but not beyond understanding. You had all lost so much, but here, in each other’s arms, you had found something worth holding onto. And that, more than anything, was what mattered.

Once the boys stepped away, giving you space to breathe, you took a moment to steady yourself, wiping away the last of your tears. Your breath hitched in your chest, but you felt lighter, the despair easing with each passing second. You had fought, you had survived, and now, you were surrounded by the people you cared about most, you could finally begin to heal.

Your eyes found his.

Helmut.

Your heart fluttered as you locked gazes with him. Before you could move, he was already sprinting toward you, emotion clear in his expression. His expression, usually so controlled and composed, now utterly unguarded and heart-opened, sent a shock through your system.

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his body warm and solid against yours, anchoring you to the present. You both were still here, still alive.

The tears you thought had run dry came rushing back, an unstoppable flood that spilled down from your eyes. Sobs wracked your body, echoing through the vast emptiness of the temple as you clung to him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as if letting go would send you tumbling back into the darkness.

Helmut’s own tears soaked into your shoulder, a rare and precious display of vulnerability from the man who had always seemed so unbreakable.

“I—” you choked out, your voice cracking under the emotion crashing over you, “I— I thought—” But the words wouldn’t come. They were too big, too tangled with fear and relief, with everything you had been holding inside, afraid to even acknowledge.

Helmut held you tighter, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you as though you were something fragile, something he feared might shatter if he let go.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice gentle, full of an understanding that reached deep into your soul. “But you’re here now. You got through it. I told you—you’re good at making the right calls.”

A shaky laugh escaped you, though it was more a sob, your breath catching in your throat.

“I thought I would never see you again,” you admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush, unfiltered. “Any of you.”

Helmut pulled back just enough to see your face, his fingers resting under your chin, softly, tilting your head up so that your eyes met his. His gaze was intense, searching, as though he was trying to imprint this moment, this sight of you into his memory forever.

There was relief in his eyes, yes, but also fear—fear of what could have been, of what he had almost lost. And beneath it all, something deeper, something that made your heart skip a beat.

“So, you’ve proven yourself wrong,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek, wiping away a tear that had lingered there. His voice was soft, tender in a way that you had rarely heard from him, “I knew I’d see you again.”

“How?” The question slipped out before you could think, your voice soft and laced with the vulnerability you so rarely allowed yourself to feel, you were more alike than you realized before.

How could he have been so certain when you had been so afraid and certain that it would be the end?

He smiled then, a small, almost wistful curve of his lips that made something warm and aching unfurl in your chest.

“Because,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “I trust you.”

The words settled over you like a blanket, wrapping around your heart, soothing the parts of you that were still hurting. Helmut trusted you—had always trusted you, even when you doubted yourself.

Every time you remembered that was like a balm, healing wounds you hadn’t even known were there.

And as you looked up at him, seeing the truth in his eyes, you reminded yourself that trust wasn’t just something he gave lightly. It was something precious, something earned, and knowing that you had earned his made the fear and doubt that had plagued you seem so small, so insignificant.

You rested your cheek in his palm, letting the warmth of his touch seep into your skin, grounding you in the moment.

“How did you?” you repeated, softer this time.

You needed to understand, to hear it from him.

“Because I’ve seen you fight,” he replied, his voice steady, “I’ve seen you make impossible choices, face impossible odds, and come out on the other side stronger for it. I’ve seen your heart, your courage, and I knew… I knew that if there was someone who could make through the worst, it would be you.”

The words filled you with a warmth that spread through your chest, easing the tightness that had been there for so long. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt at peace, knowing that you weren’t alone, that you were trusted and valued by people who had seen you at your weakest and still believed in your strength.

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, allowing yourself a moment to simply feel, to let the emotions wash over you without resistance.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words carrying what you couldn’t express.

Helmut didn’t reply with words, but the way he held you spoke volumes. His hand slid from your cheek to cradle the back of your head again, his touch gentle yet firm. He pressed his forehead against yours, and for a moment, you were both still, breathing in sync.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his lips brush against your temple, soft and lingering, a kiss that conveyed everything he couldn’t say out loud. The tenderness of the gesture made your heart flutter, and instinctively, you tilted your head slightly, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it was close—so close that the warmth of his breath danced across your skin, sending a thrill through your entire body. The world seemed to hold its breath as the two of you lingered there, your faces just inches apart.

You couldn’t put your thoughts into words; they were too tangled with emotion, with the sheer intensity of what you felt for him. So instead, you buried your face under Helmut’s chin, seeking the comfort of his embrace, of the safety you felt in his arms.

Helmut’s grip tightened slightly, his own breath hitching as he held you close, the moment stretching out as the weight of what had passed unspoken hung in the air. And yet, despite the overwhelming emotions swirling between you, there was no need to rush.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Sam and Bucky standing a few paces away, watching the scene unfold. There was a moment of silence between them.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, that’s something I didn’t see coming,” he muttered, his voice low but just loud enough for Sam to catch.

Sam folded his arms across his chest, his expression a mix of amusement and something softer—approval.

“Yeah, well,” he replied, keeping his voice equally quiet, “guess something changed after the fight at the airship.”

Bucky glanced at Sam, then back at you and Helmut, his smirk widening slightly.

“Think we should give them a minute?” he asked, frowning at the view.

Sam nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah, let’s give ‘em some space. They’ve earned it.”

With that, the two of them turned, moving a little further away to give you and Helmut the privacy you needed. As they walked, Bucky cast one last glance over his shoulder, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him.

“Never would’ve thought,” he murmured, more to himself than to Sam. But there was no malice in his tone, only acceptance—and maybe even a little bit of respect.

Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder, his voice warm with camaraderie.

“Hey, sometimes the best things are the ones you don’t see coming.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him, crossing his arms.

“I don’t know if it’s a ‘best thing’ just yet,” he muttered. “We are still talking about Helmut.”

It had been five years since the four of you had become a team, even adopting a superhero group name. Yet, Sam and Bucky still liked to pretend they were back in the old days, where their banter was constant and their trust hard-earned.

“Oh,” Sam stopped in his tracks, turning to Bucky with exaggerated wide eyes. “You’re right, maybe we should interrogate him once they’re done.”

“I’m serious,” Bucky retorted, though there was a playful edge to his voice.

“Shut up, Bucky,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes as he draped an arm over his friend’s shoulders. “We both know they’ll be alright.”

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