a lion among wolves, bucky barnes (hiatus)

eight.

WASHINGTON D.C.
2014

SILENCE ensued.

The soldier, Bucky, gaped at Steve with a hurricane brewing behind his eyes. June could barely breathe, growing dizzy as her own blood seeped through her fingers, her palms pressed with all of her strength upon the open wound. Pain laced through her body, threatening to upheave the contents of her stomach. She watched, hardly caring, as the Winter Soldier whipped out a pistol and locked his gaze on Steve, who made no move to defend himself.

But before death could take them both, a brilliant silhouette soared into view and Sam swooped in, kicking the Hydra assassin in the chest and sending him sprawling. The man with the metal arm tumbled over the road, at last scrambling to his feet, eyes panicked and unsure. He flinched, as if to continue his onslaught, but before he could make another move there was a flash of brilliant red hair, and an earthquaking blast shook the avenue. When June lifted her head, the man whom Steve had called Bucky was gone.

Natasha stood among the carnage.

"Damn it, June," the cat-eyed woman hissed, dropping a grenade launcher that June suspected had sired the explosion and rushing to her aid. Natasha found her with the entire front of her shirt soaked and sopping with scarlet.

"Bastard packs a punch,"June groaned through gritted teeth, her knees wobbling as she struggled to take a step forward. "Tossed me over the side of the freeway."

"Yeah," Natasha shook her head in exasperation. "And then he stabbed you. Come on, I'm sure you'd rather not bleed out in the middle of the road." She put an arm around June's waist and helped her forward.

"What are you doing here?" June asked her, wincing with every movement. "I thought you—"

"Don't worry about that, I'm not—ah damn. . ."

A crusade of large black SUVs came pouring onto the avenue, surrounding the four of them on all sides like a pack of blood-hungry wolves. Men clad in S.W.A.T. gear revving motorcycles rode alongside the military jeeps, while a squadron of foot soldiers in bullet-proof vests yielding assault firearms swarmed them, led by none other than Brock Rumlow.

"I thought Jack could get me more time . . ." Natasha mumbled beneath her breath, more to herself than to June, who had no earthly idea of whom she was speaking.

The teams were acting under S.H.I.E.L.D. authority, though this brought June no comfort at all. She knew where those people's loyalties lied.

Rumlow had a handgun aimed between Steve's eyes. "Drop the shield, Cap, get on your knees!" He bellowed. A chorus of similar commands followed, and Steve obeyed, placing his shield at his feet and raising his hands in surrender.

Rumlow was behind him in seconds. "Get on your knees!" he shouted again, this time kicking Steve's legs in and forcing him down. A second squad moved for Natasha and June. They grabbed the latter by the shoulders and yanked her away from Nat, and she nearly lost her footing entirely.

"Wait," Natasha protested sharply as two soldiers began to escort her roughly away, her emerald eyes snapping. "She's hurt, bleeding—open wound—"

The men ignored her and pulled the two women roughly to a high-security SUV suited for criminals, guns pressed against the backs of their heads. June supposed that was what she was. A criminal. But she didn't care. She could care later, but not then, because it hurt.

• • •

SITTING in the van did not offer her any relief, for even as she slumped against the interior of the vehicle June felt as if she might pass out. And she had a sneaking suspicion that if she fell unconscious, she would never wake up. Natasha must have thought so as well, for she continuously asked June question after question, many of them entirely meaningless. But the distractions were June's tether to the world of the living, so she did not complain.