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the-winter-spider · 15 hours ago

Text

Willow | 1/2

Pairings: 1940sBucky x Agent!Reader, Bucky x agent!reader

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: Nothing really

A/N: This fic was inspired by @vibraniumqueen message sent to me!! Hope its sort of what you requested! I got carried away and now have to post this in 2 parts lol

Im not like the biggest fan of this buuuuut after writing over 15k words total for the whole fic i gotta post it lol ALSO i definitely did not edit this lmao oopsie

The door slid open, and in walked Nick Fury, his presence commanding the room as always. He didn’t bother with formalities; he never did.

“Agent,” Fury began, his voice low and steady. “We’ve got a mission. One that never happened, and one you’ll never speak of again.”

You nodded, your face impassive, though your mind was already racing. Missions like these were your specialty. You didn’t operate in the spotlight. You weren’t one of Fury’s public heroes or a celebrated Avenger. You were a shadow, a weapon honed in the dark, moving through the world unnoticed. A ghost.

Fury crossed the room, his trench coat brushing the floor as he moved. “We’ve identified a Nazi stronghold in 1941, deep in occupied Europe. They’re in possession of critical documents — plans and technology decades ahead of their time. We can’t let those files survive the war.”

You glanced at the map, your mind already calculating. “Time travel,” you said, your voice calm, though the weight of the mission began to settle on your shoulders.

Fury nodded. “You’ll be stationed as a nurse with the 107th Infantry. They’ll be arriving at a field camp near the stronghold in a few days. Your cover is simple: blend in, gain access to the target, retrieve the files, and get out. No deviations. No attachments.”

You resisted the urge to scoff. No attachments. That had been drilled into you since the beginning. You were trained to be invisible, to serve a mission and then disappear without a trace. Your past in the Red Room had taught you that much, and SHIELD had only refined it.

“I assume I’m working alone,” you said.

Fury’s expression didn’t change. “You always do.”

It was true. You were a ghost in every sense of the word. You’d spent your entire life operating on the fringes, never part of a team, never part of their world. You knew of the Avengers, of course—who didn’t? But they didn’t know you. You weren’t a part of their grand battles or their legendary victories.

Well, except for one. Natasha Romanoff. She’d been a fleeting presence in your life, a reminder of your shared origins in the Red Room. You’d trained in the same shadows, fought the same demons. But even then, you hadn’t truly known her. She’d been a specter of a different life, one that had moved on without you. While she got recruited there, Fury thought you were best suited in the shadows.

You refocused as Fury handed you a dossier. Inside were detailed maps, forged documents, and a small vial containing a glowing blue liquid. The device that would send you back in time.

“You know the drill,” Fury said, his tone as sharp as ever. “You’re not there to change history, only to secure our future. In and out. No one remembers you, and you don’t bring anything or anyone back.”

You nodded, flipping through the dossier. “And the 107th?”

“They don’t know who you are, and they never will. You’re a nurse. That’s it. But one name on that roster might ring a bell.” Fury tapped the folder, and you found it instantly. Barnes, James Buchanan.

The name didn’t spark recognition, but it did send a strange ripple through your thoughts. “Why him?” you asked.

Fury shrugged. “No reason. He’s just another soldier in the unit. But don’t let that distract you. This mission isn’t about making friends, and it damn sure isn’t about saving anyone who doesn’t need saving.”

You clenched your jaw. Fury’s words were a reminder of the line you couldn’t cross. You’d trained for this moment for years, honing your skills to perfection. You were designed to be unseen, unheard, and unfelt.

Fury’s voice snapped you back. “You’ve got your orders. Do your job, Agent. Leave no trace.”

You took the dossier and the vial, tucking them away with practiced efficiency. “Understood,” you said, your voice steady, devoid of hesitation. But as you turned to leave, the familiar mantra echoed in your mind: No attachments. No connections. You’re a ghost.

Later, when you finally opened the dossier, your eyes landed on a photograph. Barnes. The name was familiar, but it wasn’t until you stared at his face that something inside you stirred. A strange sense of recognition flickered in the back of your mind. You knew him—or at least, it felt like you did.

You flipped the page, your pulse quickening as more details came into view. And then, you saw it.

The Winter Soldier.

The words stared back at you, cold and unfeeling, but they sparked a storm of emotions you weren’t prepared for. You knew the name, of course. Everyone in this business did. The ghost story whispered in shadows, the assassin whose presence was felt long after he disappeared into the night. But what you didn’t know was the man behind it.

Your gaze drifted back to the photograph, and for a moment, everything else fell away. His eyes. Even through the grainy black-and-white image, they stood out—haunted, distant, yet somehow familiar. There was innocence there, a quiet humanity buried beneath the weight of the darkness he would come to bear.

You tightened your grip on the file, your knuckles whitening. Ghosts weren’t meant to feel, and yet here you were, shaken by a face from the past you couldn’t place but somehow couldn’t forget.

Flipping through the pages, you scanned his history—Brooklyn, 1941, the 107th Infantry. Your breath caught as more images filled the pages. Pictures of him before he became the Winter Soldier: laughing with other soldiers, standing beside a scrawny young man labeled Steve Rogers, of course you knew him as Captain America but no one would ever know you. Then, the darker photos followed. HYDRA. The experiments. The cold, dead stare of a man who had been stripped of everything.

The door to your quarters slid shut with a soft hiss, and for a moment, the silence was almost suffocating. You placed the dossier and the small vial of glowing blue liquid on the steel table in front of you. The mission parameters were clear, the risks higher than usual, but none of that was new. You’d done this before, moving through missions like a shadow, leaving no trace. Yet, something about this one felt… different. Heavier.

You sat down, the cold metal of the chair grounding you. Flicking open the dossier, you reviewed the details again, committing every piece of information to memory. Maps, personnel lists, cover identities. You’d be stationed as a nurse in a field hospital near the front lines. A perfect cover for blending in. Your forged papers were flawless, down to the tiniest detail.

Your name was different now. Your past erased, rewritten to fit the narrative of a 1940s nurse.

Ghosts didn’t get attached. Ghosts didn’t feel. You weren’t there to alter history or forge connections. Your mission was simple: retrieve the files, destroy them if necessary, and get out.

You pushed the dossier aside and picked up the vial, turning it over in your hands. The blue liquid shimmered faintly, a reminder of the power it held. Time travel was a delicate operation, one that required precision and absolute control. There was no room for error.

You placed the vial carefully into the injector and secured it around your wrist. The faint hum of the device powering up was the only sound in the room.

Your internal monologue began to surface, unbidden.

You weren’t supposed to be here, not in this timeline, not in their world. You’d been forged in the Red Room, molded into an instrument of precision and silence. SHIELD had found you, given you purpose beyond the shadows of your past, but you had never stepped into the light. You were designed to operate in the margins of history, invisible to the heroes who saved the world.

It hurt thinking of Natasha, her voice, her presence in the Red Room. She had been a beacon of strength. But she had walked away from that world, found a new family. You? You remained in the shadows, bound to missions that no one could know about, missions that didn’t exist on paper. You didn't exist on paper.

You stood and approached the small mirror on the wall. The face staring back at you was calm, unyielding. But behind your eyes, you could see the tension creeping in.

You’re not doing this for glory or recognition. You’re doing this because you’re the only one who can.

You reached for the pack of clothing and equipment laid out on the nearby table. The nurse’s uniform was meticulously crafted, down to the period-accurate buttons and insignia. As you slipped into the attire, you felt yourself becoming the role. The transformation was seamless, automatic, a ritual that pulled you deeper into the identity you were about to assume.

Finally, you secured the last piece: a silver locket around your neck. Inside was a tiny microchip, a piece of technology far beyond anything the 1940s could comprehend. It was your failsafe, your tether back to the present.

A soft chime from the injector reminded you it was time. You glanced around the room, taking in every detail, knowing this might be the last familiar sight you’d see for a while. Then, you pressed the button on your wrist.

The world around you began to shift, colors bleeding into one another as time folded in on itself. Your heart pounded, but your expression remained stoic. You’d trained for this, prepared for every contingency. You were ready.

As the light around you intensified, your final thought was simple, resolute: You are a ghost. Leave no trace.

And then, the world snapped into focus, and you were standing in a field hospital in 1941, the distant sound of artillery fire echoing through the air.

The mission had begun.

The salty breeze off the English Channel carried the smell of sea and steel, a sharp reminder of the battles waged across its waters. You stood at the edge of the field hospital camp, the makeshift tents and wooden crates around you blending into the mud-soaked earth. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows as the air grew cooler.

From where you were stationed, you could see the transport ship docking at the pier. Its hulking frame loomed against the gray sky, the gangplank lowering with a heavy groan. One by one, soldiers began to disembark, their boots clanging against the metal as they descended.

You were trained to observe, to analyze every detail without drawing attention to yourself. These men were exhausted, their faces grim and hardened by the horrors they had faced. Their uniforms were wrinkled and stained, helmets tilted at weary angles. They moved like a unit, but each step spoke of personal battles, of stories carried in silence.

You stayed rooted in place, your nurse’s uniform a perfect blend of authority and anonymity. A clipboard in your hand gave you an excuse to linger, but no one paid you much mind. This was war. You were just another face in the chaos.

Your eyes scanned the line of soldiers disembarking, cataloging them with practiced precision. You were supposed to be looking for weaknesses, details that might help you blend in more effectively. But then, your gaze landed on one man.

He walked with a quiet confidence, his posture upright despite the weight of fatigue. Dark hair peeked out from beneath his helmet, and his steel-blue eyes scanned the camp with a soldier’s wariness. His face was sharp, shadowed by stubble, but it was his expression that caught you—equal parts focused and distant, as if he were both here and somewhere far away.

James Buchanan Barnes.

You knew his name, knew his story—or at least, the parts that history would remember… the parts in the folder. But standing here now, seeing him in the flesh, was something else entirely. He wasn’t just a name in a dossier or a ghost from the past. He was real, and the weight of that realisation hit you like a wave.

I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night.

His arrival had stirred something deep within you, something you couldn’t explain.

You weren’t supposed to feel this way. Your mission was clear: stay invisible, complete the task, and leave. No deviations, no entanglements. But as you watched him, your chest tightened with an inexplicable pull. There was something about him, something magnetic.

Bucky paused near the base of the gangplank, helping another soldier with a crate of supplies. His voice was low, his words lost in the din of the camp, but the kindness in his gestures was unmistakable. He was a soldier, yes, but there was a warmth to him, a spark of humanity that hadn’t been extinguished by war.

You forced yourself to look away, focusing on the clipboard in your hand. Stay sharp. Stay focused. You couldn’t afford distractions, not here, not now.

And yet, your eyes betrayed you, flickering back to him as he moved through the camp, his presence impossible to ignore. You told yourself it was just curiosity, a natural reaction to seeing someone you’d only read about.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to wonder what it would be like to speak to him, to share even a fraction of the weight you carried. But the thought was fleeting, quickly buried beneath the weight of your training.

You are a ghost. Leave no trace.

The smell of antiseptic and damp canvas filled the air as you moved between the rows of cots in the makeshift medical tent. Their arrival—was what you’d been waiting for.

You were focused on checking supplies when a familiar commotion at the tent entrance caught your attention. A group of soldiers sauntered in, their uniforms caked in dirt and their faces shadowed with fatigue. Among them was a man who immediately stood out. His dark hair curled slightly at the ends, his blue eyes bright despite the grime smeared across his face. He carried himself with an easy confidence, even as he favoured one leg.

Your mission dossier hadn’t prepared you for the sheer presence of him.

As the soldiers dispersed to their assigned cots, he made a beeline for you. His limp was subtle but noticeable, and despite yourself, your training kicked in.

“Take a seat,” you said, your voice steady as you gestured to an empty cot. “I’ll take a look at that leg.”

Bucky flashed a crooked smile, his eyes sweeping over you with interest. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, his voice smooth, tinged with the faintest Brooklyn accent. “And here I thought this camp was all bad news.”

You arched an eyebrow, setting down your clipboard. “Flattery won’t get you out of a medical exam, Sergeant Barnes.”

His grin widened as he sat down, wincing slightly. “So, you know my name. That’s a good start. What do I call you, Nurse…?”

You hesitated for half a second, then gave him your cover name. “Nurse Johnson.”

“Well, Nurse Johnson,” he said, leaning back on his hands, “if I’d known there were nurses like you out here, I’d have gotten shot a long time ago.”

You gave him a pointed look, crouching in front of him to roll up the tattered leg of his uniform. “Let’s try to avoid that, shall we?”

Bucky’s laugh was soft but genuine, his gaze never leaving your face. “You’re all business, huh?”

You pressed lightly on his shin, watching for a reaction. “Someone has to be. Looks like you’ve got a nasty sprain, but nothing’s broken.”

“Guess I’ll live to fight another day,” he said, wincing slightly as you adjusted his leg.

“Barely,” you muttered, grabbing a bandage from your kit. As you wrapped his leg, you could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his attention almost unnerving.

“So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked, his tone playful but curious.

"Thats the line you're gonna go with?" The corners of your lips slightly turned as you tied off the bandage, sitting back on your heels. “Helping stubborn soldiers like you survive long enough to get home.”

Bucky chuckled, his head tilting slightly. “You got a smart mouth on you, Nurse Johnson. I like that.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up and crossing your arms. “And you’ve got a sprained leg. Try not to make it worse.”

He grinned again, leaning forward slightly. “You know, if you’re ever looking for a dance partner when this war’s over, I’d be happy to oblige.”

Despite yourself, you felt a small smile tug at your lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You better. A guy like me doesn’t make that offer twice.”

Shaking your head, you gathered your supplies and turned to leave. “Try to stay out of trouble, Sergeant.”

“No promises,” he called after you, his voice warm and teasing. “But I’ll do my best if it means seeing you again.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back, finding him still watching you, his smile softer now. Your mission had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

The first few days at the field hospital were a blur of motion and noise. Soldiers came in with fresh wounds, some minor, others devastating. Your hands worked tirelessly, stitching cuts, setting broken bones, administering whatever pain relief was available. You moved through it all like a machine, your focus never wavering.

You’d trained for moments like this, where life and death were separated by a thread, but this mission wasn’t about saving lives—it was about staying hidden long enough to complete your objective. The files you needed were still buried somewhere in enemy hands, and every moment you spent here was one step closer to obtaining them.

Still, blending in was vital, and that meant interacting with the men around you. They were polite, for the most part, offering nods of gratitude when you patched them up. But one soldier in particular seemed to be making it his mission to capture your attention.

“Hey, Nurse,” a familiar voice called out one evening as you worked on organizing supplies. You turned to see Bucky Barnes leaning against the frame of the medical tent, a lopsided grin on his face. “Got a minute?”

You raised an eyebrow, but kept your expression neutral. “That depends. Are you here because you need actual medical attention, or are you just bored?”

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “Bit of both, maybe.”

You sighed, setting down the bandages you were sorting. “Let me guess—another soldier got into a scuffle and you decided to play referee?”

Bucky stepped closer, his helmet tucked under his arm. “Something like that. You know how it is. Boys will be boys.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, and despite yourself, you felt a flicker of amusement.

You crossed your arms, feigning exasperation. “Well, if you’re not bleeding, you’re wasting my time, Sergeant.”

“Ah, but see, you didn’t check.” He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Maybe I’ve got a battle wound you missed.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile threatening to break through. “If you’re trying to flirt, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Flirt? Me?” Bucky placed a hand over his heart, mock-offended. “I’m just trying to keep morale up. Can’t have our best nurse getting all serious on us.”

“Best nurse?” You arched an eyebrow. “You’ve known me for all of three days, Barnes.”

“Three days is all I need,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping just enough to send a small shiver down your spine. “I’ve got a good eye for people.”

You turned back to your supplies, determined to maintain your composure. “Well, maybe you should use that good eye to look out for your men instead of distracting me.”

Bucky chuckled again, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I do that too. Multitasking, you know?”

You shot him a pointed look, but before you could respond, another soldier poked his head into the tent, interrupting the moment. “Sarge, we’ve got a situation by the south perimeter.”

Bucky’s demeanour shifted instantly, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by sharp focus. He gave you a quick nod, then turned to follow the soldier out.

“Don’t work too hard, doll,” he called over his shoulder as he left. “Wouldn’t want you wearing yourself out.”

You shook your head, finally letting out a small laugh once he was gone. Bucky Barnes was trouble, that much was clear. He was charming, confident, and far too good at making you forget the rules you were supposed to live by.

But he was also a soldier, just like the rest of them. And you were here for a mission, not for him.

Stay focused, you reminded yourself, though it was getting harder with every interaction.

The next few days followed a similar pattern. Bucky found every opportunity to stop by the medical tent, whether it was to check on his men or to toss a teasing remark your way. He seemed determined to pull you out of your shell, to coax a smile or a laugh from you no matter how busy or serious the day became.

One afternoon, as you were tending to a soldier with a shrapnel wound, Bucky appeared again, his presence filling the tent like sunlight cutting through a storm.

“Thought you might need some help,” he said, leaning casually against a supply crate.

You didn’t even look up. “Unless you’ve suddenly become a medic, I think I’m good.”

“Hey, I’m a fast learner,” he quipped, stepping closer. “Show me what to do, and I’ll be the best assistant you’ve ever had.”

You finally glanced up at him, your expression skeptical. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He grinned, unflinching. “C’mon, Nurse. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You sighed, gesturing toward the supplies. “Fine. Hand me the gauze.”

Bucky’s grin widened as he moved to your side, and for the next few minutes, he actually did as he was told, passing you tools and supplies with surprising care. But of course, it didn’t take long for him to start talking again.

“So,” he began, his tone light, “you always this serious, or is it just an act?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe I’m trying to keep certain soldiers in line.”

“Ah, so I’m a bad influence,” he teased, leaning a little closer. “Good to know.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, trying not to let his proximity affect you. “You’re definitely something.”

The playful banter continued, but beneath it all, you felt the weight of unspoken truths. Every moment with Bucky was a reminder of what you couldn’t have, of the life you were just passing through. But for now, in the fleeting quiet of the field hospital, you allowed yourself to enjoy his presence.

Just for a little while.

The sun was setting, painting the horizon in hues of gold and crimson. The camp had grown quieter, the hum of daily activity fading as the soldiers took what little rest they could before nightfall. You were sitting on a wooden crate just outside the medical tent, enjoying a rare moment of stillness. A cup of lukewarm coffee sat in your hands, its warmth a small comfort against the cool evening air.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence, and you didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Mind if I join you?” Bucky’s voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing edge.

You glanced at him, your heart giving a small, inexplicable flutter. “It’s a free camp,” you said, gesturing to the crate beside you.

Bucky sat down with a tired sigh, his helmet resting on his lap. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet settling comfortably between you. He looked different in the fading light—less like the cocky sergeant who flirted with you during the day and more like the weary soldier you knew he was. His eyes were distant, reflecting the weight of battles fought and losses endured.

“You don’t talk much about yourself,” he said after a while, his voice thoughtful. “Most of the nurses here, they talk about home, family. You… you’re a mystery.”

You kept your gaze on the horizon, your grip tightening slightly on the cup. “Maybe I just don’t have much to tell.”

“Everyone’s got a story,” he countered, glancing at you. “Even ghosts.”

Your heart skipped at the word, but you kept your expression neutral. “Ghosts don’t have stories. They just… exist.”

Bucky frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Is that what you think you are? A ghost?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by his insight. He was perceptive, more than you’d expected. Finally, you spoke, your voice low. “I’ve spent a long time learning how to disappear. It’s easier that way.”

Bucky studied you for a moment, his gaze softening. “Easier, maybe. But doesn’t it get lonely?”

You swallowed hard. “Loneliness is part of the job.”

He shook his head, his expression gentle but firm. “Doesn’t have to be.”

You turned to look at him then, your eyes meeting his. There was no teasing now, no flirtation. Just quiet sincerity. It made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t really have anyone to talk about,” you admitted after a moment. “No family, not that I remember. My parents… I don’t even know their names.”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his eyes filled with empathy. “Were you… a orphan?”

You hesitated, the term feeling both accurate and not. “Something like that. I was raised by people who didn’t care about who I was, only what I could do for them.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than you’d intended, but Bucky didn’t shy away from them. His gaze softened further, and he nodded slowly. “That’s a hell of a way to grow up,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, trying to deflect the weight of the conversation. “It made me good at what I do.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice tinged with something that sounded like regret. “But it doesn’t mean you deserved it.”

You looked away, unsure how to respond. Empathy wasn’t something you were used to, especially not from someone like him—someone who seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, even in the middle of a war.

After a long pause, Bucky spoke again, his voice softer this time. “You remind me of someone.”

You glanced at him, curious. “Who?”

“Steve,” he said with a small, fond smile. “He didn’t have much either. His mom passed not too long ago, and his dad when we were kids. But it's always been just him one way or another just fighting to survive in Brooklyn. Always getting picked on because he’s small, but he never gave up. He had this stubborn streak, always standing up for people, even when it got him into trouble.”

Steve Rogers. Captain America. You knew his story, but hearing Bucky talk about him like this—like he was just Steve, not a legend, because to this Bucky he wasn’t one yet—it painted a different picture.

“Must’ve been tough,” you said softly.

Bucky nodded. “It was. But he never let it break him. That’s just who he is.” He paused, his smile growing a little. “He can't throw a rock without wheezing but he never let that and will never let that stop him.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the warmth in Bucky’s voice cutting through the weight of the conversation.

“He’s lucky to have you,” you said.

Bucky looked at you, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. “I’m lucky to have him too. He’s always been there, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

The vulnerability in his words mirrored your own, and for a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the weight of your shared pasts hanging between you.

Bucky reached out then, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re not as invisible as you think,” he said softly. “Not to me…I see you Nurse, and the view is amazing”

The camp was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that preceded something terrible. The usual hum of activity had slowed, and even the soldiers seemed more on edge. You felt it too—the tension in the air, the weight of something approaching.

You were in the medical tent, organising supplies when the call came.

“Enemy movement spotted near the south perimeter!” a soldier shouted as he rushed past. “They’re coming!”

Your heart dropped. You knew this moment was inevitable. The enemy had been closing in for days, and now they were here. But it wasn’t just the impending battle that had your stomach in knots. It was the mission—the files.

You quickly grabbed your hidden satchel from beneath your cot. Inside were the tools you’d need to breach the Nazi stronghold, which was now dangerously close to enemy lines. You’d been waiting for this opportunity, but it was coming at the worst possible time. The camp was about to become a battlefield, and every second counted.

Before you could slip away, Bucky stormed into the tent, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his face set in a grim expression.

“There you are,” he said, his eyes scanning you quickly, as if ensuring you were unharmed. “They’ve called all hands. It’s gonna get rough out there.”

“I know,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

He frowned, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You nodded, avoiding his gaze as you tightened the straps on your satchel. “I’ll be fine.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his suspicion growing. “What’s in the bag?”

You froze for a split second, but it was enough for him to notice.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “What’s going on?”

You took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I can’t explain right now. I just… I have to go.”

His jaw tightened. “Go? Where? The perimeter’s crawling with enemy troops, and you’re talking about running off?”

You stepped past him, but he grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not harsh. “Talk to me,” he pleaded. “You’ve been keeping secrets since the day you got here. Please, dont do this….What’s really going on?”

You hesitated, the weight of your mission crashing down on you. Bucky wasn’t supposed to know. No one was. But in this moment, with his piercing gaze locked onto yours, you realized you couldn’t just walk away without saying something.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you said quietly. “I’m not just a nurse. I’m here on a mission.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed “A mission?” confusion and concern mixing in his expression. “What kind of mission?”

You glanced around, ensuring no one else was within earshot. “I can’t tell you everything. But there’s something I need to retrieve from the enemy. It’s vital.”

His grip on your arm tightened slightly. “You’re planning to go out there alone?”

“I have to,” you said, your voice firm. “This is what I was sent here to do.”

Bucky shook his head, his frustration evident. “You’re gonna get yourself killed. Do you even have backup?”

“No,” you admitted. “This mission is off the books.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he exhaled sharply. “That’s insane. You can’t go out there alone.”

“I’ve done it before,” you said, trying to reassure him. “I’ll be fine.”

But Bucky wasn’t convinced. “Not this time,” he said, his voice resolute. “I’m coming with you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped you. He wasn’t going to let you go alone.

“Bucky—”

“No,” he interrupted. “You don’t get to push me away now. If this is as important as you say it is, then you’re gonna need someone watching your back.”

You hesitated, torn between the mission and the growing connection you felt with him. Bringing Bucky along wasn’t part of the plan, but the truth was, you knew he was right. The enemy would be everywhere, and the odds of surviving alone were slim.

“Fine,” you said finally. “But you follow my lead. No questions.”

He gave you a small, determined nod. “Deal.”

Together, you slipped out of the tent and into the night, the distant sound of gunfire growing louder with each step. The mission was about to reach its breaking point, and so was your fragile trust in Bucky.

But there was no turning back now.

The camp was already descending into chaos by the time you and Bucky slipped through the south perimeter. Gunfire echoed in the distance, mingling with the shouts of soldiers and the thunderous roar of artillery. The enemy was closing in fast, and every second felt like borrowed time.

You led the way, keeping low as you navigated the uneven terrain. Bucky followed close behind, his rifle at the ready, his eyes scanning for threats. The weight of your satchel bounced against your side, a constant reminder of the mission’s stakes.

“Where exactly are we going?” Bucky asked in a hushed voice as you reached a narrow trail leading toward the enemy-occupied forest.

“There’s a stronghold about a mile from here,” you replied, keeping your voice low. “That’s where they’re keeping the files.”

He gave you a skeptical look but didn’t press further. “And how do you know this?”

You hesitated. “Let’s just say I have access to intel most people don’t.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Fine. I’ll trust you.”

The tension between you was palpable, but there was no time to unpack it. You pressed on, the shadows of the trees swallowing you both as you moved deeper into enemy territory.

The stronghold loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the night sky. It was an old stone fortress, fortified with barbed wire and patrolled by armed guards. You and Bucky crouched behind a cluster of bushes, observing the layout.

“Two guards at the main entrance,” Bucky whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “And a patrol circling every few minutes.”

You nodded, scanning the area. “There’s a side entrance near the east wall. It’s less guarded, but we’ll have to time it perfectly.”

Bucky smirked slightly. “You’ve done this before.”

“More times than I care to admit,” you replied, keeping your eyes on the patrols. “Ready?”

“Always.”

Together, you moved swiftly and silently, sticking to the shadows. When the patrol passed, you darted toward the east wall, Bucky covering your six. The side entrance was a narrow metal door, rusted and worn. You pulled a small device from your satchel, a compact tool designed to pick even the most secure locks. Within seconds, the door clicked open.

“Impressive,” Bucky murmured as you slipped inside.

You gave him a quick look. “Focus.”

Inside, the stronghold was cold and dimly lit, the corridors eerily quiet. You navigated the labyrinthine hallways with precision, your memory of the layout guiding you. Bucky stayed close, his rifle raised and ready.

Finally, you reached a secured room at the end of a long hallway. A heavy steel door stood between you and your objective.

“This is it,” you whispered, pulling out another device from your satchel. It was a miniature explosive, designed to breach the door without causing a large-scale alert.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly. “You really came prepared.”

“Like I said,” you replied, placing the explosive, “I’ve done this before.”

The device beeped softly as you set the timer. “Stand back.”

The explosion was quick and precise, the door blasting inward with minimal noise. You and Bucky rushed inside, your eyes immediately scanning the room. It was filled with filing cabinets and stacks of documents, the enemy’s plans meticulously organized.

You went to work, quickly locating the files you needed. As you stuffed them into your satchel, Bucky kept watch by the door.

“So this is what all the secrecy was about?” he asked, his voice low but tense.

“These files could change everything,” you said, your hands moving quickly. “If they fall into the wrong hands, it could shift the balance of power for decades.”

Bucky nodded, his expression serious. “Then we make sure they don’t.”

Just as you secured the last of the files, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Time to go,” Bucky said, his grip tightening on his rifle.

You nodded, and together you slipped out of the room, moving quickly and quietly through the stronghold. But as you reached the exit, the footsteps grew louder, closer. The guards were on high alert now.

“We’re not gonna make it out the way we came,” Bucky muttered, his eyes scanning for another escape route.

You pointed to a nearby staircase. “There’s a secondary exit through the upper level. It leads to the roof.”

Bucky nodded, and the two of you raced up the stairs, your boots barely making a sound on the worn stone steps. At the top, you found the door to the roof. It was locked, but Bucky didn’t hesitate. He slammed his shoulder into it, forcing it open with a grunt.

The night air hit you like a wall as you stepped onto the roof. Below, the camp was in chaos, enemy soldiers scrambling in response to the breach.

“There,” Bucky said, pointing to a nearby tree line. “We jump, head for cover.”

You hesitated, the drop from the roof to the ground far from ideal. But there was no time to argue. With a nod, you followed Bucky as he leapt, landing with a roll in the soft dirt below. You hit the ground a moment later, pain shooting through your legs as you landed hard but kept moving.

Together, you sprinted toward the trees, gunfire erupting behind you. Bullets whizzed past, but you didn’t stop, adrenaline driving you forward. Finally, you reached the cover of the forest, the sounds of pursuit growing fainter.

Once you were safely concealed among the trees, you collapsed against a trunk, your breath coming in heavy gasps. Bucky crouched beside you, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of pursuit.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, clutching the satchel tightly. “Mission accomplished.”

Bucky gave a small, breathless laugh. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You met his gaze, the tension of the moment fading slightly as his familiar smirk returned. “So are you, Sergeant.”

Despite the danger, despite everything, you felt a flicker of warmth between you. The mission had tested both your resolve and your connection, but you’d made it out together. And somehow, that made all the difference.

The firelight flickered across the camp, casting long shadows as the remnants of the battle settled into an uneasy calm. You and Bucky sat on the edge of the forest, just beyond the perimeter, hidden from sight. The distant sound of gunfire and shouting had finally faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the night.

The stolen Nazi files were secure in your satchel, now buried beneath layers of medical supplies. You’d succeeded in your mission, but the cost weighed heavily on your shoulders.

Bucky sat beside you, silent for a long time. His rifle was propped against a tree, his hands resting on his knees. The tension between you had shifted—no longer marked by suspicion but by a shared understanding.

“You really weren’t kidding about being a ghost,” he said eventually, his voice low and thoughtful.

You glanced at him, the flickering firelight catching the sharp angles of his face. “I told you it was important.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. But you didn’t tell me everything.”

You looked away, the weight of his words settling over you. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of frustration. “Because you didn’t trust me?”

“It’s not about trust,” you said quietly, your fingers tightening around the satchel. “It’s about the mission. It’s about keeping things safe.”

Bucky frowned, his gaze searching your face. “Safe from what?”

You hesitated, carefully choosing your words. “From things that could change everything if they’re not handled right.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, the soldier in him catching on to the weight behind your statement. “Sounds like more than just some stolen files.”

“It is,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky was silent for a moment, processing your words. Finally, he spoke, his voice tinged with awe and concern. “And you’ve been doing this alone?”

“It’s what I was trained for,” you said, your tone matter-of-fact. “No attachments, no distractions. Just the mission.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “That’s no way to live.”

You looked at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice. “It’s the only way I know.”

He shook his head, his expression softening. “You’re more than just a mission, you know. You’ve got a life, a soul. You can’t keep shutting people out.”

Your chest tightened at his words. For so long, you’d lived in the shadows, carrying the burden of your missions alone. But now, sitting here with Bucky, you felt the cracks in your armor growing wider.

“I’m not supposed to get attached,” you said quietly. “It makes things complicated.”

Bucky gave a small, rueful smile. “Too late for that….”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You felt a surge of emotion, a mix of fear and longing. You’d spent years building walls, but Bucky Barnes was breaking through them with every shared glance, every quiet moment.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s hand stayed on yours, steady and grounding. His touch was gentle, but there was strength behind it, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t used to.

“You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, you know?” his voice soft but resolute. “I’m in this.”

You looked down at your joined hands, the firelight reflecting off his metal fingers. It felt like he was holding more than just your hand—like he was holding the weight of everything you’d been carrying for so long.

“I’ve never had this before,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what it’s like to lean on someone, to let someone in.”

Bucky’s thumb traced small, soothing circles on the back of your hand. “It’s not easy,” he admitted. “But it’s worth it. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, the vulnerability of the moment making your chest ache. “What if I’m not good at it? What if I mess this up?”

Bucky leaned closer, his voice low and steady. “You won’t. And even if you stumble, I’ll be right here. We’ll figure it out together.”

His words broke through the last of your defenses, and a tear slipped down your cheek. Bucky’s other hand came up, his thumb gently wiping it away. His touch was so tender, it made your heart ache even more.

“You’ve been through so much,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight of his words settling over you. “Bucky…”

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered. “Just let me be here for you.”

The two of you sat there in silence, the fire crackling softly in the background. The world outside the camp seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the quiet comfort of the moment.

After a while, you finally spoke, your voice barely audible. “You’ve made me feel something I didn’t think I could feel.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “What’s that?”

“Hope,” you said, the word feeling both fragile and powerful.

His lips curved into a soft, bittersweet smile. “Then we’ve got something to hold on to.”

Without thinking, you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. It was soft and tentative, a promise of something deeper. When you pulled back, his eyes were shining, and you could see the depth of his feelings mirrored in them.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “One step at a time.”

You nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. “Together.”

Bucky squeezed your hand, his warmth chasing away the chill of the night. “Together,” he echoed.

And in that moment, with the firelight flickering around you and the weight of your shared pasts slowly lifting, you believed him.

In the days following the mission, the dynamic between you and Bucky began to change. There was a newfound understanding between you, a quiet bond forged in the heat of battle and the weight of shared secrets.

Bucky became more protective, often finding excuses to check in on you, whether it was during your rounds at the medical tent or when you were working alone. His teasing remarks were still there, but they were softer now, laced with genuine care.

You found yourself leaning on him more, allowing him into the parts of your life you’d always kept hidden. And despite the danger, despite the mission’s stakes, you had the files you could go back now and have exiled beating your initial time, but you stayed you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you’d found something worth holding onto.

But in the back of your mind, you knew the clock was ticking. The mission was complete, and soon, you’d have to leave this time, this world—and Bucky—behind.

The glow of the fire illuminated the night, the crackle the only sound cutting through. Most of the camp had settled in for the evening, but you and Bucky remained near the fire, sitting side by side on a fallen log. The warm glow danced across his face, softening the sharp angles and making his eyes shimmer like the stars above.

Bucky leaned back slightly, resting his arm along the log behind you. “So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked with a playful smirk, his voice low and smooth.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Really? That’s the line you’re going with….again?”

He grinned, his teeth catching the firelight. “What can I say? I’m trying to impress the mysterious nurse who keeps patching me up .”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to get on my good side.”

“Is it working?” he asked, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

You glanced at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Maybe.”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more sincere. His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the weight of the war, the mission, everything else faded away. It was just the two of you, suspended in this fleeting moment of peace.

He reached up, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured.

You felt your breath catch, your pulse quickening. “Bucky…”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re strong, smart, brave… and you’ve got this way of making me forget everything else, even when the world’s falling apart.”

His words broke through the walls you’d spent years building. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in, and he met you halfway. His lips were warm and soft against yours, the kiss tender but filled with a quiet intensity. Time seemed to stop as the world melted away, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the steady beat of his heart.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were wet with tears. Bucky frowned, his thumb gently brushing your cheek.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, struggling to find the words. “I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Bucky’s expression softened, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your cheeks. “Then let me show you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his own tears on his waterline threatening to spill. “Stay. Please stay, for me.”

Your heart shattered at his plea. The sincerity in his eyes, the quiet desperation in his voice—it was almost too much to bear. But you couldn’t. Not when you knew the mission, the weight of your responsibilities, and the secrets you carried. You’d always been a ghost, moving through life without leaving traces behind. How could you let yourself stay, knowing the danger you brought with you?

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, his hands dropping slightly. “Why not? What’s stopping you?”

You looked away, tears streaming down your face. “Because… I don’t get to have this,” you said quietly. “People like me… we don’t get happy endings.”

Bucky stared at you, his jaw tightening. “That’s bullshit,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You deserve this just as much as anyone else.”

You shook your head, your hands trembling. “You don’t understand—if I stay, things could fall apart. I’m not meant to… to put down roots. To belong.”

Bucky reached for your hand, holding it tightly. “If that’s what you’ve been told, they’re wrong. You don’t have to carry all of this alone. Whatever’s weighing on you… let me help.”

You squeezed his hand, your tears falling freely now. “I wish I could. But this isn’t goodbye, Bucky. Not really.”

His grip tightened, his eyes filled with pain. “How do you know?”

You gave him a shaky smile, your heart aching. “Because feeling this… it’s the kind of thing that changes everything. No matter where life takes us, I’ll find you again. I promise.”

Bucky pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could keep you from slipping away. His breath was warm against your hair, and for a moment, you let yourself believe in the impossible. In a different world, maybe you could stay. Maybe you could let yourself love him the way you wanted to.

But for now, you clung to him, memorising the feel of his embrace, the sound of his heartbeat. This wasn’t the end. You wouldn’t let it be.

The fire burned low, its warmth fading, but neither of you moved. Instead, you lay back together on a blanket you’d pulled from the medical tent. The stars stretched endlessly above, their light soft and comforting.

Bucky shifted, his arm wrapping protectively around you as you rested your head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, grounding you in the moment. He let out a soft sigh, his voice breaking the silence.

“When I was a kid, Steve and I used to sneak up onto the roof of our building,” he said quietly. “We’d lie there, looking at the stars, talking about all the things we were gonna do someday.”

You smiled faintly, imagining a pre-serum Steve beside him, small but full of fight. “What did you talk about?”

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and fond. “Steve always had big dreams. He wanted to do something that mattered. Join the army, help people, change the world.” He paused, his voice softening. “Didn’t care that he was too small, too sick. He just wanted to be better, to do better.”

You closed your eyes, the image of Steve Rogers—Captain America—so different now. But to Bucky, he was still that skinny kid with more heart than anyone.

“And what about you?” you asked gently.

Bucky hesitated, his hand absently tracing small circles on your shoulder. “Me? I just wanted to keep him safe. Steve’s always been the brave one. I just… I wanted to make sure he didn’t get himself killed chasing those dreams.”

His words were filled with so much quiet love, it made your heart ache. You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

Bucky smiled, his hand brushing over your hair. “Maybe. But I think you’re the brave one here.”

You rested your head against his chest again, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. “We both are.”

The silence stretched once more, comfortable and grounding. The crackle of the fire and the distant sounds of the camp blended with the soft rustle of the trees.

Bucky’s voice broke the stillness. “Did you have someone like that?” he asked, his tone thoughtful. “A sibling? A close friend?”

You paused, your mind drifting back. “I didn’t have siblings,” you said slowly. “But I had a friend. Her name’s Natasha.” You smiled softly at the memory, though a hint of sadness crept into your voice. “She was like a sister to me. Strong, stubborn, always looking out for me.”

Bucky’s eyes softened. “She sounds like someone you could count on.”

“She was,” you said, your voice tinged with regret. “We went through a lot together, but… I haven’t seen her in years.”

He squeezed your shoulder gently. “Think you’ll see her again?”

You stared up at the stars, your heart heavy with longing. “I hope so. But with the way things are… who knows?”

Bucky nodded, his thumb brushing over your arm in a soothing motion. “If she’s anything like you, she’s still out there, fighting her own battles. And when the time’s right, you’ll find your way back to each other.”

You swallowed hard, his words offering a comfort you didn’t realize you needed. “I hope you’re right.”

The two of you fell into silence again, but it wasn’t empty. The weight of your shared stories, your losses and hopes, filled the space between you.

As the night deepened, you knew this moment wouldn’t last forever. But for now, you let yourself have it, holding onto Bucky like he was your anchor in a storm you couldn’t escape. Beneath the stars, in the quiet of the night, the war and the mission felt distant, like a different world entirely.

You stood near the edge of the camp, the glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the field. The soldiers of the 107th were regrouping, preparing to move out. You spotted Bucky in the distance, his silhouette unmistakable as he spoke with his men. His voice was calm, commanding, but you could see the tension in his posture. He was ready for the next fight, even if his heart wasn’t.

And so were you.

You adjusted the strap of your satchel, your fingers brushing over the hidden compartment containing the files. This would be your last night here. By dawn, you’d be gone, pulled back to the time you belonged. Everything you’d built here—every connection, every moment—would be left behind.

But Bucky.

He made his way toward you, each step heavy with the knowledge of what was about to happen. When he stopped in front of you, the space between you felt impossibly small yet vast, like an ocean you were both struggling to cross.

“You’re leaving,” he said, his voice low, not a question but a statement, tinged with quiet resignation.

You nodded, your throat tight. “I have to.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering with emotions he wasn’t voicing. He looked down for a moment, then slowly reached up, pulling something from around his neck. His dog tags caught the fading light as they dangled from his fingers, the metal clinking softly.

He held them out to you, his hand steady even as his voice wavered. “Take these.”

You stared at the tags, your heart twisting. “Bucky, I can’t—”

“Please,” he interrupted, his gaze locking onto yours. “I want you to have them, please”

You hesitated, the weight of the moment settling over you. These weren’t just tags. They were a piece of him, a symbol of his identity, of the man he was here and now. Taking them felt like crossing a line you weren’t sure you could bear.

But when you looked into his eyes, the quiet plea there shattered any resistance you had. Slowly, you reached out and took the tags, the cool metal pressing into your palm. Your fingers curled around them tightly, as if holding onto them would somehow keep him closer.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Bucky gave a small, sad smile, his hand brushing against yours briefly before he let it fall. “Just… promise me you won’t forget.”

Your chest tightened, tears welling in your eyes. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

The silence stretched between you, filled with everything you couldn’t say. You wanted to tell him how much he meant to you, how this short time together had changed something inside you. But the words stuck in your throat, buried under the weight of your mission and the future you knew awaited him.

Bucky reached up, gently cupping your face with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “You’ve been trained to disappear,” he said softly, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “But not from me.”

You choked back a sob, your hands gripping the dog tags like a lifeline. “I’ve never had this before,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I don’t know how to say goodbye.”

His hand slipped down, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Then don’t,” he whispered, begging one last time. “Stay. Please. Stay for me.”

Your heart broke at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through every defense you had left. But you knew you couldn’t. Staying here would risk everything—the mission, the future, his life.

“I can’t,” you said, your voice cracking. “I wish I could, but you know I can’t.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on your hand, his eyes searching yours for something, anything to hold onto. “Why?” he asked, his voice raw. “Why does it have to be like this?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Because this isn’t my time, this isn’t our time” you said quietly.

Bucky’s eyes glistened, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue, to beg you to stay again. But instead, he nodded slowly, his hand lingering on yours for a heartbeat longer.

“Then I’ll wait,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “No matter how long it takes.”

Tears streamed down your face as you gave him a shaky smile. “You won’t have to wait forever.”

With one last, lingering glance, Bucky leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips, the steady presence of his touch, imprinted itself in your memory, a moment you knew you’d carry with you for the rest of your life.

When he pulled back, he let his hand fall, his eyes never leaving yours. “Take care of yourself doll,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

“You too,” you whispered, clutching the dog tags close to your heart.

And then, with every ounce of strength you had left, you turned and walked away. You didn’t look back, knowing that if you did, you might never be able to leave. But with every step, the weight of his dog tags in your hand was a promise—a tether that would guide you back to him.

I could feel you sneaking in, As if you were a mythical thing

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #1940s!bucky #james barnes x you #james barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader angst

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forwhump · 2 days ago

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a/n; for my anon that was having a bad week <3 IM SORRY FOR THE DELAY I couldn’t find the thing I wanted to post for you but I couldn’t just keep posting nothing so here’s something instead <3 I hope I didn’t make it way worse 😚 (if I did pls lmk I’ll redeem myself 🫡)

disclaimer: if you haven’t already noticed yes this is just a big outlet for me for every whump thing I want in the world <3 thanks for coming along for this ride w me 😚 LOL

tw/cw: medical torture, medical abuse, surgical torture, living weapon whumpee, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, severe brain injuries, amnesia, threats of violence, graphic depictions of violence, gun violence, science fiction

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Silas says, cracking his knuckles. “I like you, man.”

Medic’s face doesn’t change but he swallows so loudly Silas can hear him over the pounding of the alarm. Sitting behind his desk, he stares up at him, his pale face glowing red every few seconds in the flash of the emergency lights. The flickering red light of his shock collar glows out of time, keeping him cast in red. It makes him look really sick. Kinda frail. Silas had never noticed quite how small Medic is. They’re all so fuckin’ small. Why is Silas the pet?

It makes him think of Wren, as most things do. He’s always thinking about Wren in some capacity; everything always comes back around to Wren somehow, even without his meaning to. They’re all so small but Wren is the smallest, so small it’s hard for Silas not to find it kind of bizarre, so human it gave him this glowing, angelic sort of quality. Silas had been engineered for violence, for easy slaughter, but he hadn’t been engineered to be a guard dog — that was something Wren brought out in him, something organic. Maybe the only bit of free will Silas had ever managed, and there’s Wren again, at the centre, glowing and holy and so fuckin’ small.

All anybody wants to do is hurt him. It makes Silas violent, just as much as it’s never made a lick of fuckin’ sense to him. All anybody around Wren ever wants to do is hurt him. Silas lives and breathes violence — Wren does, too. It follows him. This silvery, holy thing.

Everything about Wren is good, is silvery, is holy. He’s angelic in the way he shimmers, but in everything else about him, too, every organic cell and strand of DNA. Wren is so good. Wren is pure goodness. His view of the world is narrowed to a single point, but it’s hard for Silas to imagine many corners of the world are much worse than this. Are people not most themselves at their worst? Wasn’t it Wren that told him that?

Silas isn’t a good person. He knows that. He isn’t at peace with it, he’s been fighting it tooth and talon, but he knows what he is, and he’s a bad dog at the very kindest. Freak fuckin’ science experiment at worst. He’s violent. Mean. Quick to anger and just as quick to slaughter. He’s impatient. Wren had to teach him manners, and he’s had to teach him more than once. Still, Wren taught him. Wren teaches him still. Wren, who’s been hurt in ways even Silas kinda struggles to fathom, who would have every reason in the world to be just as violent, as mean, as impatient as Silas, but who isn’t. Who sat on the floor with him for days at a time and patiently taught Silas to write his own name. Who spends days sitting at Silas’ bedside, reading to him quietly, when Silas is too incapacitated to move. How can anybody want to hurt a person like that? How can everybody?

To Silas, they’re all so small. Disposable. But they’re so much bigger than Wren. Point was always so much bigger than Wren. Point always liked to hurt him the most.

Silas cracks his neck. “I just want to know where they are.”

There had been a lockdown. Silas had been the cause of every district lockdown so far — he’s never been on the outside of one before. It had happened during a field test, and it was the first time he’s ever seen the manufactured sun of the arena turn red. He should’ve known it was an omen. From there, he was thrown into isolation, but it was like no other time Silas had been in isolation. Nobody showed up to skin him, or cane him, or beat him, or gut him. Nobody showed up to taunt him. They didn’t even restrain him, not really, they just left him alone in the dark. He was left in proper isolation for the very first time.

When he was finally allowed back to the unit, Wren was gone. His room was cleared out. His books had been taken from Silas’ room like he had never been there at all. They keep trying to tell him he had never been there at all.

But Point had never come back, either, and Silas isn’t a smart man, but he’s smarter than these people keep giving him credit for. He was smart enough to figure that one out. When it comes to Wren, there isn’t anything he can’t do. Wren makes him smart, and he makes him invincible. If Wren’s out there somewhere, Silas is going to find him, it doesn’t matter what he has to do. If Point had taken him, if Point is putting his hands on him, if Wren is out there somewhere and he’s hurt, and he’s scared, he’s probably thinking about Silas, and there isn’t anything in the fuckin’ world Silas won’t do to save him. He’ll massacre everybody in this place and outside of it if he has to.

He doesn’t want to kill Medic. He’s always been good to him. But he will if he has to. He’ll kill any one of them if he has to.

“I don’t know,” Medic tells him, and he’s doing a good job of keeping his face straight but his eyes are huge, shining in the flashing red light. “You know they don’t tell me anything. Come on, big guy.”

“Medic,” Silas warns, almost sing song.

Abruptly, he pushes his chair back, and it collides with the concrete wall with a sound that makes Silas’ back teeth hurt. “I don’t know, buddy,” he says. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

There’s already blood on Silas’ hands — on his teeth. He’d had to kill a lot of Medic’s team to get here. He didn’t even know Medic had an office; he’s never been in this part of the medical bay before. It will never forget him. He’ll be a stain on the walls, and the floors, and the ceilings of this place for a very long time.

He picks a chunk of flesh out from under his fingernail and says, “Medic.”

“Silas,” he tries. “Come on, big guy. I’d tell you if I knew. I think — I think he’s probably in a lot of danger and I want you to find him, buddy. You need to find him. But I don’t know where he is.”

Silas tilts his head. Watches him, for a moment, through flickering red light. “Are you lying to me?”

“No,” Medic croaks. “I’ll come with you. I can help you, big guy. You don’t — you don’t know what you’re in for up there up, Silas, but I do, and I — I can help you. I can help you find him. I can help him when we get there. He’ll need a doctor and I — don’t hurt me, buddy. Come on. I’ve tried to be good to you both. I can — I can help.”

Silas watches him again, silent. It feels like bait and he doesn’t like it, but he used to trust Medic. Wren always trusted him, before he disappeared out from under his nose, and Wren’s trust goes a long way as far as Silas is concerned.

And he’s right, to a degree. Silas would make quick work of butchering every breathing thing above ground to find his way to Wren, but it would still take time he could spare if he knew how to find him.

Slowly, he lifts his chin.

Medic’s face finally changes. Not for the better. “Silas —” is all the time he has before pain explodes through the back of Silas’ head.

It comes out of nowhere and it almost knocks him off his feet. It’s hot, it’s blisteringly hot and his sweatshirt starts to stick to his back, wet.

The red light continues to flicker but it dims, it gets sort of smoky, and through the smoke Medic is saying something but Silas can’t hear him at all.

Fuck, he thinks, and lifts a hand to the back of his head. Accidentally almost sticks his finger in a gunshot wound.

Instinctively, he turns.

He’s executed in Medic’s office by means of firing squad.

Staring blankly up at the ceiling, Silas listens to the crackle of electricity as it courses and the hollow chirping of the machines keeping him alive. “I don’t wanna die,” he says. He’s not ready yet.

Medic sniffles. He’s been crying for hours and Silas has never felt the way he feels now, not once in his short life. “I’m so sorry, big guy,” he admits, rubbing his face. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do now.”

Silas has died a lot, and he’s died miserably, but never permanently. Never for real. He’s always been revived, reanimated. He’s never had to fear death because it never really meant anything to him. He’s out of his element now. He doesn’t know this part.

For as long as he can remember, Silas hasn’t been human. Now he’s only meat and machine. The only part of him that’s still him, the only part of him that’s still working on his own is his brain, and that’s only until they finally decided to take him off life support and remove it.

He’d been eviscerated. The flayed skin of his chest and his stomach are pulled tightly over the table, clamped in place. Most of the meat and the muscle had been removed, his ribcage pried apart. Every organ, a lot of his major veins and arteries, they’re threaded with wires and cords, sparking with electricity and the current that courses from the chrome and flickering lights at his bedside, keeping him alive until they decide to shut it all down.

Silas is going to be put down.

It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel like anything. It’s the most painless way he’s ever died but it’s bitter at the back of his throat. Metallic. Finally, Silas is going to be put down.

Wren is still out there somewhere, and Silas is never gonna know what happened to him. He’s not gonna be able to save him this time. He isn’t all that familiar with death, the permanent kind, and he doesn’t really know what comes after, but he knows for sure that he isn’t gonna end up in the same place Wren does. He wishes he could go where Wren’s going. He’s never gonna get to see him again.

Silas always knew his life was gonna be short. There wasn’t ever really a question. But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He’s not ready to go.

This can’t be it for him, not really, not permanently. It can’t. Not while Wren is still out there.

He’d been too violent in the aftermath. He hadn’t reacted well. And they can’t control him the same anymore, not without Wren to hold over his head. He was formally declared a liability. He’s no longer worth the risk.

Turning his head slowly, Silas says, “do something for me.”

Medic sniffles again, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Anything.”

“You gotta get out of here,” Silas tells him. “You gotta find him. You gotta help him.”

He looks at Silas, and he looks at him earnestly. He’s been crying on and off the entire time he’s been at his bedside, and it’s been moderately irritating at the best of times, suffocating at worst. But he’s been at Silas’ bedside the entire time. The whole time he’s been dying, Medic has been there. He’s never left. He’s done his best to keep him comfortable. All things considered, Silas owes him most of his lives. He doesn’t owe Silas anything, he’s done more than his part, but he says still, “I will.”

“Take care of him for me,” Silas says.

“I will,” he repeats, and he sniffles again but his nod is firm. Definitive. “He’ll be okay.”

Silas looks back up at the grey ceiling and tastes bile. Out of habit, he takes a deep breath.

When they had first disemboweled him, when they had strapped him down to the table and peeled all the meat away from his ribcage, pulled his ribcage apart, the inside of his body had been loud, but it had been wet, it was alive. Now, it’s just as loud, maybe louder, but the sounds are wheezy and dry. Mechanical. Only his brain is working on its own — the rest is all simulated. It’s all machines.

It hurt a lot as his body was dying. Mercifully, it doesn’t hurt anymore. He thinks it’s kind of fucked up that his most permanent death is gonna hurt the least.

“Do you think he’ll forget about me?” He asks the ceiling.

“No,” Medic answers, even before he’s finished speaking. “I think he’s going to think about you every day for the rest of his life.”

Silas had spent every day of his life, since meeting Wren, thinking about him. Most of what Silas thinks about, in fact, is Wren. Everything he did, he did for Wren. He didn’t usually make his life any better, any easier, but he tried. Fuck, he tried.

He wasn’t a good dog, that’s the worst part. He tried, tooth and fuckin’ nail he tried, but to what end? Silas’ brain is going to be removed. Wren’s gone, and Silas doesn’t know where. He isn’t safe, he’s being hurt, he knows that, but for the first time, Silas is absolutely helpless to do anything about it. Silas is going to die without ever seeing him again.

“Nobody that’s known you will ever forget you, big guy,” Medic tells him. “I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“I’m not worried about me,” Silas says. The beat of his heart sounds like the beeping of a heart monitor.

He sighs softly, shifting in his chair. He sniffles again. “I’ll make sure he’s okay,” he says. “I promise.”

“This sucks, man,” Silas says helplessly.

He chokes out a wet laugh. He sobs, too. “I’m gonna miss you, buddy,” he says.

Restrained to the surface, he lifts his fist from the table as far as he can. “See you in hell?”

He sobs again. He laughs, too. “I’ll see you there. Tell you what,” he says, knocking his fist against Silas’, “when I get there, you can call me Jed.”

“Why?” Silas asks. “What’s Jed?”

He chokes out another sound, rubbing his mouth as he does it. “My name.”

“I thought your name was Medic,” Silas says, but it makes sense that it wouldn’t be his real name, because that’s also his job. He’d just never considered him having a real name, and he doesn’t wanna think about how much else is out there that’s he never considered, that he doesn’t know, that he’ll never know, but he can’t help it and it would make him vomit if his stomach had anything in it but active circuits and live wires. As it is, it crackles loudly with electricity.

But Medic laughs again, and it lightens the burden a little bit. It sits better than the crying. “That’s a lie,” he says. “It’s actually Jed.”

Silas lifts the corner of his mouth. “You might have to remind me next time.”

“I will,” he agrees. When the door beeps, a keycard being accepted, Medic takes his hand. “I’m gonna miss you, Silas.”

Silas says, “find Wren.”

It’s Carver that comes to loom over the head of the table. Carver specializes in head, face, and brain; Weaver specializes in organs and meat.

“Asset Park,” he says, “we want to thank you for your service.”

“Get fucked,” Silas says. Panic rises in his chest, and it surprises him.

The last thing he ever thinks about is Wren.

Jed doesn’t move from his chair, and the surgeon doesn’t ask him to. He doesn’t know if this one is Carver or Weaver; he doesn’t care. They’re both creepy, surgeons straight from horror movies, mad scientists from some especially miserable circle of hell.

He sits, watches. Doesn’t quite know why; figures Silas deserves that. Doesn’t deserve to be alone for this.

Except it isn’t what Jed thought it was going to be. Silas’ brain isn’t removed. It isn’t destroyed. Once his scalp is peeled down over his face, the top of his skull is sawed off, and once the bone is lifted out of place, the surgeon starts cutting into his brain, injecting into the tissue, with his other hand, something that Jed doesn’t recognize, something that looks like oil in the syringe.

He has to swallow before he can ask, “what are you doing?”

The surgeon doesn’t answer him.

He’s been crying for days, but it stops quickly. Nausea roils in. Silas was scared, and for that, Jed can’t imagine, but Silas’ life had been so miserable. It had been so painful. As resistant as he had been, he was tired. He deserves to rest. “You’re not gonna let him die?”

The surgeon doesn’t lift his head, but he makes a, “heh,” sound, which probably passes as amusement for him.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he says.

“Asset Park is our most advanced weapon,” the surgeon answers, clipped, not lifting his head. “His execution would be a bitter waste.”

“What are you doing to him?” Jed asks, and the words are stale.

“Cutting out the cancer,” he says.

The first time Silas wakes up, he’s pissed. He’s pissed. The creepy surgeon dorks are supposed to be smart. They’re supposed to be the smartest. Even they can’t kill him?

The first time Silas wakes up, he wakes up during surgery, and he is so. Fuckin’. Tired. Of being awake during surgery. It’s hard to explain how much something like that hurts; it’s a pain beyond Silas’ means of description. They have to think he’s dead, they have to, because his arms aren’t restrained, but they should be smarter than that, right? They can’t tell the difference between a dead Silas and a live one?

He grabs the closest by the throat. He doesn’t know who it is — he can’t tell any of them apart in surgery, not really. They look identical, Weaver and Carver and their swarms of surgical teams. They all dress in black, surgical caps and masks and scrubs. They all have the same hungry eyes. Silas grabs one of them by the throat, it doesn’t really matter which one, because a different one quickly slits the inside of his elbow, then his wrist with a scalpel. He drops them, grunts in frustration. Drops his arm back against the table with a thunderously loud noise. Loses a couple seconds as unconsciousness creeps up on him again.

When he comes to a second time, one of the surgeons is looking at him with shining eyes. “Still,” he tells Silas, “somehow, you surprise us.”

When he wakes up, he wakes up in a bland, grey room, beneath bland, grey sheets. The surgeon standing over him is a jarring contrast, dressed all in black. It’s very small. He doesn’t recognize it.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” It asks, leaning in too close to his face.

He thinks. He can’t think of anything.

The surgeon’s eyes crinkle above its black mask. “Excellent,” it says.

#this is going on at roughly at the same time as the last thing I posted so this is ALMOST chronological this time kind of <3 a first #wren & silas #living weapon whumpee #whump #whump community #whump scenes #whump story #whump stuff #whump writing #whumpblr #whumpee #whump scenario #whump series #whump blog #whump drabble #whump snippet #whump angst

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