Winter's Redemption [winter soldier//Bucky Barnes AU]

Chapter Three

STEVE'S POV

"What? How? He was killed by Loki! We all saw him!" Tony said, eyeing the computer warily. Suddenly he looked up.

"Fury. The man whose secrets have secrets. He definitely knew. Why didn't he tell us? Did he even care that we were upset over his death?"

Nat moved to the computer Tony was on and started typing,

"It's Phil, alright. They are in a secret base in Canada for some reason." She remarked, her brows knotted together in concentration.

"Jesus, I can't believe he's alive. Nat, can you send a message back? Tell him our plans and get info from him as to where Hydra is?" I asked her, as she stared intently at the screen.

"I can. It's routed so it can only be sent with Tony's fingerprint though. Tony, could you do the honors?" She asked, and Tony put his finger on the key, sighing loudly as if it exasperated him.

Phil was a great man, and I am absolutely honored that I am his favorite avenger and that he's spent much of his life collecting mint condition cards of me. But this was a huge thing to hide from us and I was furious, not to mention confused- how can someone be dead for so long and then just randomly show up, nearly two years after I watched him die?

"The message is sending now," Nat said, swiveling in the chair to face us. "I told him we missed him, that he'd better tell us what happened to him, that we are looking for Bucky and that all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents should be looking out for and attacking Hydra," Natasha sighed at the end, a look of confusion and exhaustion spread across her face. I turned back to Tony.

"Stark, would you mind us crashing here for tonight? We can find somewhere else tomorrow."

Stark shook his head. "You guys stay as long as you'd like. But unfortunately I'm helping out a couple S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and letting them stay on floor fifteen, so I only have two more bedrooms available, on floor twenty. Someone's gonna have to share."

Natasha gazed at me from across the room with a knowing smirk. Tony raised his eyebrows, glancing not-very-discreetly between us, but didn't say anything.

"Well, I guess you two can have the room that's to the left of the elevator. Sam, you get the right one. There should be some clothes for everyone already there and in plenty of different sizes. And you're welcome to the fridge, but please don't take ALL of it, Steve." Tony said, and I rolled my eyes. As if I would. He directed us to the elevators and we got in, pressing floor twenty.

"So how many S.H.I.E.L.D. agents do you think are left to handle Hydra?" Sam asked. I sighed.

"Let's just hope there is enough to fight back."

———

BUCKY'S POV

People don't think about what it's like to have a permanent, ugly reminder of your past attached to you at all times- never able to take it of, never able to look away. And not only does it hurt to look at, it hurts to have.

I just reached for the cabinet door- that's it. And suddenly the muscle at the back of my arm ripped, yanking the skin from the harsh, cold  metal that made up my arm. I let out a sudden cry of pain and dropped it limply to my side, clenching my teeth to block out the burning sensation. This wasn't the first time my body had been unable to tolerate the fusion of my skin to the metal. But it didn't make it hurt any less.

I grabbed a rag off of the counter, pressing it against the wound as well as I could. I could feel the blood soak through the towel all the way through my fingers and sighed angrily. As if the mental pain I had inflicted wasn't enough, I also had to deal with this shit.

My shoulder blade stung with the burn of torn skin as I removed the rag, that had now turned from a dull white to a deep red. I threw it into the sink and held my metal arm with my real one, alleviating the weight of the metal as I tried to ignore the pain and continue on my search for food.

Looking through the now open cabinet, there was hardly anything edible at all. Everything I picked up was either empty or so rotten that I couldn't even fathom putting it in my mouth. I sighed as I realized that I needed to go out and get more food.

It was the middle of Summer and it was 90 degrees outside, yet I'd have to wear a thick jacket and gloves to hide my arm, along with a hat on my head. No one can know who I am- I've killed far too many and done too much wrong to not have a target on my back. And now I'd also have to bandage my shoulder blade so I didn't bleed out.

Once I wrapped my wound, I put on as many layers as I could and grabbed some cash I found upstairs, heading to the nearest store. I walked for a mile or two in the opposite direction of D.C. until I found a gas station. Walking in, I found relief from the heat of outdoors, and grabbed a few things that wouldn't go bad anytime soon. The walk back was dreadful but I survived, and I arrived back at the tiny house in a little under an hour after I left.

I opened the creaky front door, and suddenly snapped my head up when I heard a faint scuff on the floor. My hand immediately went to my gun.

I instantly went into battle mode like I'm programmed to do. I froze and listened, craning my ears to try and discern any noises I could. I heard another scuff and pulled the gun from my holster.

I walked on my tiptoes and past the stairs. I paused and listened again, this time hearing a low whimper. Someone is definitely in here, but it's not likely someone could find this place, let alone want to come in here- so what was this person doing? It was also clear that whoever it was wasn't a trained agent, as they were weren't exactly keeping their presence a secret. I kept walking as I thought, left foot after right, staying absolutely silent. I got to doorway of the kitchen and stayed pressed against the wall, waiting for another noise as I cocked my gun. I was determined to protect myself, but at the same time, I didn't want to kill anyone else. I didn't need another person's blood on my hands.

I tilted my head and looked in the kitchen, taking in a sharp breath.

There, sitting on the chair in a pool of her own blood, was a young girl.