SIXTEEN
The days are a blur, but the nights are even more so. The constant unceasing battle of who sleeps on the couch and who sleeps on the floor riddle most of it, preferring the pointless arguments instead of dwelling on other thoughts, or even worse, the silence. It seems neither of them bought a bed, knowing very well that they wouldn't be able to rest in them. After all, it's easy to get used to resting on hard surfaces with sixty years practice.
But on the nights that go right, they just talk. Soft, murmured whispers, both of them staring at the ceiling, or each other, just talking. Just remembering. There aren't many notably happy moments that they share, but just their thoughts. Sometimes they both used their minds, the sane parts of their minds, to escape, and it's what connected them. Their desire to leave, for so much more than this.
But the nightmares were still there.
"I can't trust my own mind," Bucky had whispered the first night, blanket strewn haphazardly across his body, dog tags resting on his bare chest. Neither of them could sleep in the early hours of the morning, too plagued with unspeakables.
Though then, despite the exhaustion in her body and her hair a bird's nest on her head and the lack of smile on her lips, when he looked towards Evelyn, her eyes were alight, and she looked more human than he'd seen her in a long time. "Then I'm asking you to trust me."
The nightmares didn't go, but they became bearable. They'd talk about them. They'd talk about the people, the ones they owe, the things they'd seen and done. It was painful... but they shared the pain. They'd done it for over half a century.
Nakajima was in the building, though, and the incessant reminder was Bucky's curse.
He always tries to stay awake longer, learning his lesson from the night at the Wilsons'. Most of the time, that part of the plan proves fruitful, Evelyn falling asleep before him. Despite it, however, he always finds himself on the couch when he wakes up. Even then, there's something comforting about it – a reminder that he's not alone.
But how long will she stay?
There were the hours that the memories became painful, when they'd silently let the tears leak from their eyes and ponder over the monsters they became. The monsters they weren't sure if they'd let go of. Those hours were the worst.
In the end, they'd just tell each other stories.
"There's something I remember," Bucky murmurs softly, breaking the hours-long silence. His arm is perched below his head, lying on his back, but even then Evelyn's not fooled by the false aura of calm and collectiveness. "It's... surprisingly clear. I've wanted to ask you about it for a while."
Evelyn's movements are sluggish as she shifts her body onto her side, turning to look at him instead, blanket pulled up to her shoulders. Something neither of them packed were pyjamas, not having expected the mission to take that long, and Bucky refused to let her sleep in her uncomfortable jeans. It's how she's found herself wearing a pair of his shorts and a shirt for the last week, but it's also not much protection against the biting cold.
His breath hitches, but then he continues, the memory playing out behind his eyes. "That day on the bridge. We were told to eradicate Steve, Sam and Natasha. We had a task and we came back with our tails between our legs. When I came back, I was in a daze, because... because Steve knew my name." Realising how little sense he's making, how lost he sounds, he shakes his head slightly before turning towards her in the almost-darkness. "Do, uh... Do you remember that?"
"I remember." How could she forget?
For some reason, those two words strike deep in his chest, but instead of pain, there's something strangely comforting about it. Sometimes it's so hard to remind himself that he's not alone.
"Pierce was at the base when we returned. He... He tried slapping me, trying to snap me out of... whatever I was in, but then you caught his wrist before it could come into contact with my cheek."
As he says it, she remembers it all. Every detail. She remembers the fury coursing through her veins despite her memories gone and her will taken away. She remembers the aching in her chest, the way she yearned to remember at least something the way Bucky did. She remembers the way she darted across the room in a split second to protect him, even though they hated each other's guts at the time, and how confused she was after it happened.
Bucky's voice cracks. "Why? We... We were stone cold killers, assassins, and you stopped me from being slapped when I deserved it. Why?"
The emotion laces his voice, the pain behind his words, and for a second Evelyn just closes her eyes. It wasn't something she dwelled on much, in all honesty. It just felt right at the time, so she did it. That was all. But despite that, at his agony, the answer just comes so easily to her.
A sigh shakes her frame. "It's... It's one thing to hurt people you don't know," she whispers, so faint that Bucky has to strain his ears to hear it. "It's another to let the people you care about get hurt. I don't know, it was just an instinct. All I knew... is that the two of us had been through enough hurt to last a lifetime, even if we couldn't remember it all, and that little bit more just seemed extra... cruel."
It sounded so simple, so easy, but they both knew it was anything but. After all, they've both been through so much, and having something like that only seems to bring them closer. They had reason to hate each other before but... not any more. Not with all that's happened.
Instead, a shuddering breath escapes her lips and she closes her eyes, just for a moment. But despite it all, the crash plays out in her head. Over and over again, a reminder of just how alone she felt in that moment, in the moment her daughter's screams stopped and she was left in the room by herself.
Her eyes snap back open once more, gasping sharply. "I can't sleep."
Again, it feels so simple, sleeping. Not a lot of people in the world find themselves tortured with nightmares to the point they physically struggle to sleep, to make themselves rest, to not check every single exist every minute to make sure no one's after them.
But Bucky understands. How could he not? After what both of them have been through?
His voice is soft, then, and he can't control himself before he reaches out, fingers gently brushing against hers. She shivers involuntarily, caught off-guard by the metal, but the moment he tries pulling his hand away guiltily she grips onto it, and he knows that despite his own fear, they both need comfort. "Don't worry. I'll be here when you wake up."
Those are the words that echo in her head thereafter, and it feels so much easier, letting herself fall into a deep ocean that threatens to engulf her, soft touches all around her, a gentle caress into the sweet succour of sleep.
"I'll be here when you wake up."
*
The sweet succour doesn't last long.
For what felt like years Bucky watched Evelyn's eyes slowly droop, watched her fall asleep. Both of them still have nightmares. They know that much. But what they know is that they will have each other, for as long as possible.
How long?
Lying there, struggling to sleep himself, Bucky just watched her. He just watched as her hair fell in her face and her chest slowly rose and fell and her fingers unconsciously tightened around his, and in all of it was the overwhelming thought that they didn't deserve this.
It wasn't long before he fell asleep, too.
Then there were the screams.
Not screams out loud, of course, but in Evelyn's head. A glorious echoing cacophony featuring her daughter, and it flashes before her eyes. The way she writhed on that metal bed, the way Evelyn was strapped down, unable to help, before the girl went limp.
She went limp, but just for a moment before she seemed to morph into another little girl with curly, blonde hair, screaming before the shot buried itself in her stomach.
That morphed into a man, her hands wrapped carelessly around his neck before it just stopped.
One by one, it just keeps going and going and going, never ending, never ceasing, till it's her own scream that jolts her awake.
Her breaths are heavy. Her throat is sore. Fingers tightly clutch hers, and when she glances down, she sees him. Bucky. Fast asleep, seeming more young than she's seen him before, just like that night at Sarah's house. And she knows that no matter the palpitations of her heart, no matter the echoing yells in her brain, she has to keep silent.
The blanket's thrown off her as she stumbles over him, legs wobbling, hands shaking as she opens and closes all the cupboards to the kitchenette as fast as possible. Evelyn's mind's clouded as she struggles to recall where it is, where it's been for the last few days, and finally she finds it.
Her breaths are sharp and heavy and panicked and she's not naïve enough to hope the nightmare showed her everyone she's killed because she knows there's so many more, and no matter what Bucky says she will always blame herself for killing her daughter, first and foremost, and that's the thought in her head when she downs the bottle of wine.
It's barely a few seconds that she puts it down once it's touched her lips, trying her hardest to keep quiet, hyperactively aware that she's not alone. She's not alone like all the other times she's had nightmares. She's not alone like every time her own thoughts were out to get her. She's not alone like she believed she was for so long.
But as her hands lean on the counter as she bows her head, swaying and waiting and squeezing her eyes shut and begging breathlessly, "Please... Please–" There's still nothing.
Evelyn Grace's eyes travel back to James Buchanan Barnes. James, who's been kind enough to let her stay in his apartment. James, who knows everything she's been through, just as she knows him. James, who's so willing to up and leave and stay with Evelyn when no one else has.
She can't react here. She can't make a sound. She can't wake him up.
Struggling to contain herself, her rapid breaths, her shaking hands, she makes her way into the room that's meant to be a bedroom, grabbing her jeans from her bag and shifting through the minuscule wardrobe for a hoodie. Her hands aren't as deft as usual as she puts them on, hoping to whatever out there that she's warm enough before leaving.
The hours pass effortlessly slowly.
The sun's rising over the neighbourhood, streaming through the empty streets, setting the roofs alight. Barely anyone's awake yet, so no one sees the wanted woman wandering around, hands stuffed in her pockets, hood pulled up to hide her fiery red hair. While the screams and pleads repeat in her mind, she just grits her teeth, trying to pretend that they're not there, that she's not wanted, that everything's safe and she's back at home with Alexei and Adelie and Bucky–
Bucky?
Just another thing to think about. After all, she's had multiple lives. It feels like they're all split by significant events. Getting married. Having a kid. The crash. Escaping HYDRA. A part of her wanted nothing more than to go back to the fifties, but... what would've happened to Bucky?
She's too stuck in her own thoughts to pay attention to the rapid footsteps behind her, till the point she's shoved harshly to the side. Stumbling over her feet, Evelyn manages to stop before straightening up, a curse dying on her lips when something points at her chest. The familiar glint of a knife isn't something she'd ever be able to forget.
"Give me your money."
Maybe she would've stopped if she'd just looked up, if she'd seen the terrified kid holding the weapon, the kid that was starving to death slowly, the kid that needed to provide for his younger siblings. Maybe a fleck of humanity would've stayed in her and she'd have given him something, warned him against what he was doing.
Maybe she wouldn't have attacked him.
Just the first sign of danger seems to flick a switch in her, her eyes going dark as the innate Winter Soldier shines through, suddenly grabbing his wrist with a ferocity he doesn't see coming.
A cry escapes his lips when she twists it, forcefully pulling the dagger out of his hand, easily throwing a punch. And another. And another. She doesn't even realise what she's doing, the pained yells of the boy, till he wrenches his arm away and dashes out, nearly crashing into some bins.
Her breaths are heavy then, fury surging through her veins, although she's not quite sure why.
"Are you oka–"
The moment there's a touch to her shoulder she whirls around, pressing something against the person's neck – the kid's knife that she didn't even know she was still holding – before shoving them roughly against the wall.
Bucky recognises that look all too well.
Caught off-guard, fear flickers across his face, the familiar sensation against his skin causing him to freeze. It's only a moment before he realises her eyes are hard, dangerous, and while he barely caught sight of what happened it's pretty easy to guess.
The knife presses into his skin, but that's when he sees it. Her hand's shaking. The Winter Soldier's eyebrows knit together in confusion as she realises. Why is she shaking? Why can't she move?
"Lyn."
Evelyn blinks hard, the voice unbearably soft, and the hot tears fill her eyes before something in her head seems to snap. Immediately she stumbles back and drops the knife onto the ground, letting it clatter. Her mind's a mess. A complete and utter mess. Too many varying thoughts, too much panic, too much anger and hate and fear and–
And that fear. The fear that was in Bucky's face flashes before her eyes, a painful reminder that cuts straight into her chest, because for a second even Bucky was scared of her. And if he was... what does that make her?
The reality of it all hits her. Even the smallest things are triggering her, even the slightest panic or anger or alertness makes her act out, because this is who she is. This is who she is, and it's never going to change, and she's just going to be on the run forever because no one's ever going to be safe with her right now.
At the sight of all of it rushing in Evelyn's eyes all at once, Bucky's heart breaks. He knows exactly which thoughts are racing around in her mind, having had all of them once, but the moment he reaches out a hand he sees her flinch. "Lyn–"
"Just step back," she forces out through gritted teeth, arms wrapping around herself, fingernails digging harshly into her arms in an attempt to control herself. But what is she really trying to control? Her Winter Soldier self? Her fears? Her guilt?
All of it. She came too close to hurting him. She can't do it again. A few millimetres more and he would've bled out on the ground... and she would have regretted it. She would have broken.
For a moment, she just imagines it. She imagines what could've happened if he hadn't said her name, the way he'd be collapsed on the ground, blood pooling around him, soaking his shirt, his eyes open and unblinking, and the sight leaves her gasping. No.
He steps forward and suddenly she jumps back, feeling her entire body shake as she yells, "Just stay back, Barnes! I can't..." Her words cut off, breath hitching in her throat, but she doesn't need to finish. She doesn't need to, because he knows exactly what she's going to say.
He doesn't care. He keeps walking forward, ignoring her trembling, and when he's close enough he just wraps his arms tightly around her. Every tremor of her body, he can feel it, but he just pulls her tighter, telling her everything words can't express.
A moment passes. A painfully slow moment, and that's when all of it comes crashing down. Evelyn can't do anything except lean forward and bury her face in his shoulder, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, and she just sobs. It all comes rushing like a waterfall, and she can feel Bucky's hot breath on her neck accompanied by his own tears, because this is who they are and who they never deserved to be.
*
Back in the apartment shortly after, it's silent. Bucky's at the kitchenette making coffee, grabbing two mugs before bringing them over, casting a concerned glance over at Evelyn. She's just sitting on the couch, staring into space, lost in her thoughts. The worst place she could be. Pressing his lips together, he goes to sit beside her, leaving the second mug in her hands.
"I lied."
Pulling the mug away from his lips, he glances towards her in confusion. "What?"
She doesn't look at him. "When you asked me about the drinking, after we saw Nagel. I said I drink because I like to, because everything doesn't need a story. It's not true. I guess..."
Evelyn's pale hands tighten on the mug, a sigh escaping her lips. "I guess I just keep drinking because I can't get drunk. But I want to get drunk. I kept drinking in the hopes one day my vision would blur and my words would slur... and it would mean I was normal again. I was human again."
Bucky's gaze is solely focused on her as she speaks, and while he's not processed things in the same way as her, he realises just how much she's hurting. And it's his fault. He tries not to blame himself, but no matter what Evelyn says, he always will.
"You're still human, Lyn," he tells her slowly. "And I get it, but this isn't something that's going to go away."
"I know that. But it doesn't make me hate it any less."
"Me, too," he mumbles.
They're silent for a second, Evelyn's hands cupping around the mug, loosening, but she still doesn't take a sip. It feels overwhelmingly heavy for something so small.
Bucky's the one to break the silence. "After all this blows over... I can take you to Wakanda."
Her eyes flicker to his in confusion. "Wakanda? Aren't they mad at you for breaking Zemo out? He killed their king, didn't he?"
"Well– Yes–" The reminder leaves him hesitant, but his resolve strengthens and he nods. "But we could use their help." At her confused expression, he just pauses, then murmurs, "I remember going there with Steve years ago, when we were on the run. They figured out how to remove the trigger words from my head. I remember..."
His eyes flicker shut, and it all replays in his head. The flames. The tears. The overwhelming relief. "I remember that night. Ayo, one of the Wakandans, she was working with me. I was... so scared of hurting someone. She said the words... and it didn't work. I was free. And they can help you, too. They can get rid of your trigger words, and then people can't manipulate you ever again."
Watching Bucky, she can see it. Evelyn can see the emotion, and she knows that it changed him. When he visited years ago, tried to convince her to come with him, he was different to what she recalled from their HYDRA days.
But not completely different.
"But the Winter Soldier won't be gone," she replies quietly. "I'll still have the nightmares."
"We'll have them together."
At his words (the ones he doesn't quite realise the corniness of), she presses her lips together at last, trying and failing to hide a smile. "Okay, that was... abnormally cheesy. Don't do that again."
Grateful for hers, he smiles back. "Cross my heart."
No sooner than it appears though, his smile flickers, and he knows this is what makes them different. This is what makes them different from the Avengers, or from anyone else that was wronged and rose above it.
"Not everyone comes out of bad situations with elevated senses of being," he mumbles. "Some still suffer."
She looks away.
*
A couple more days pass with stone-cold silence and haunting nightmares. They've been checking the news frequently, but there's been nothing about Evelyn's arrest. Either John hasn't said anything about her (which is extremely unlikely) or they're not broadcasting anything about a dangerous criminal running loose. Not like they did with Bucky; then again, that was all Zemo's work.
Sitting in a restaurant just down the road – a place called Izzy, apparently – Evelyn just pushes the food on her plate around. Bucky keeps his eyes glued to it, remembering the feeling. After not eating much at HYDRA, it was hard for him to get used to eating properly again, Steve having to make him eat more. It's worse for Evelyn because she's always been used to not having so much, even before the crash.
They're sitting by the window, further away from the counter, but there aren't many people there to begin with. They're both grateful for the fact – they don't do well in crowds. Even then, Bucky can't help but glance around anxiously every few seconds, as if expecting something.
"Barnes," Evelyn calls quietly, the man's gaze snapping to hers. She offers the slightest comforting smile. "It's not Wednesday. He's not gonna be here."
"I know," he murmurs, then sighs. "I know that. I just... I can't stop thinking about what Sam said. Making proper amends."
"You're going to tell him?"
To his surprise, she doesn't sound very shocked, and her words come back to him. Doing the right thing. "Not right now," he tells her slowly. "But... I will. I have to before we leave. We can't stay in one place long, after all."
"We?" She flexes an eyebrow, raising her wine glass to her lips.
He just nods, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Yeah. What, you think I'd let you be alone? Anyway, unless we can hide out somewhere no one will think of looking, we'll have to keep moving. Pretty sure Madripoor's off the map–"
"Actually... I'm going to turn myself in."
Her words are full of hesitancy, but there's something determined in her eyes, a look he recognises. It takes a moment, but her words finally penetrate his mind, and his eyes go wide. "...What? No. No, you're not doing that."
"Says who?"
"Me. Do this for me," he pleads, the woman already shaking her head.
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"But–"
"No buts. I can't afford buts."
Evelyn just smirks. "Me neither. Ass implants are expensive as hell." She waits for him to smile, but he doesn't, making her sigh. "Bucky, listen to me–"
She's interrupted by the sound of ringing, Bucky's phone buzzing on the table. He's fully prepared to ignore it, parting his lips to argue with her, till he sees the name on the screen. Grabbing it, he answers, holding it up to his ear. "Sam."
Evelyn waits patiently, watching him, only to see Bucky's face slowly change. He looks at her, and she knows what it means.
Karli.