still friends

Chapter 3: Cherries

May 3rd, 2025

She was able to keep up the facade for most of the night. But her red rimmed eyes and inability to hold a conversation gave her away.

Of course he had heard about Westview, was genuinely shocked if he was honest. While he'd been busy fighting off the flag smashers, Wanda had accidentally unleashed her chaos on the sleepy town, unknowingly entrapped its civilians and played house. From the little that he saw on the news, it looked like no long-lasting harm had been committed.

Physically, anyway.

Somehow, the Scarlet Witch had been able to resurrect her dead husband. Eventually it had all come undone, and she was lucky to evade arrest. Bucky hated that he'd been overseas, grappling with mislead kids while she'd been stuck in her little bubble, consumed in her fantasy but utterly alone.

Just like last year, he found her on the front porch, this time standing by the window railing. Her hair had grown, scrapping by her upper elbows, and her eyes were rimmed red, nose stained a similar blush. She caught his eye as he approached, and instead of turning away, she starred him down.

Emotions on full display, she said nothing as he stopped in-front of her. Her hands clasped, Bucky gave her a nod, his own hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Hell of a year, I heard." He said, cautiously. He knew it was rude, insensitive as hell, but how else was he going to get her to stop starring?

Wanda blinks once, then again, before turning on her heel and entering the house. A few moments later she comes back with two empty glances, holding one out to him. He takes it wordlessly, removing the flask from his pocket and devising them each a serving.

She began to cry as she took a swing, her nose and eyes contorting from the strength of the liquor.

They both lean against the railing, starring out at the makeshift drive way and water lapping on the shore. Wanda swirls the liquid around her glass, but doesn't say anything, silent tears falling from her face.

He wants to speak to her, say anything to brush the thoughts of the past year away. Anything to help her crying. Maybe an argument, or a revolution, or something as petulant as American sports.

"Whats wrong, Wanda?"

She lets out a shaky breath, and like all the years before he looks away, for her sake. She sniffles again, then a muffled sob echos around him.

"Look, I don't really know what went down in Westview, but it's been a few months and from where I'm standing, you sound pathetic." He takes a sip.

She lets out a choking sound.

She's shorter than him, with petite hands, and he wonders how she and Vision had ever made a match. From what he remembers, the Android had been tall.

"Go fuck yourself." She spits, venom lacing her tone like a glove.

If she's baiting him, he'd be more than happy to oblige.

"How nice." He drawls, nodding. "and yet again, pathetic."

"The only reason you're fucking standing here is because Sam pities you, Barnes." She stares at him hard. "He pities the fact that you were a mindless killing machine, and the only person that actually gave a shit about you abandoned you. You think he actually wants you around his sister and nephews?"

It hits him so hard he nearly loses his balance, nearly misses the fact that she used his last name. He's nodding again, hoping it can mask the hurt. "Heard that before."

"Why do you even bother coming?" She cries, banging the glass on the railing. Her feet sway, and he's glad he had given her just a bit less than himself, not knowing how his special liquor would affect her.