Sensations start coming back to you slowly, piece by piece. Touch is first. You're on a cold surface. The entire world seems to be shaking. Swaying. Moving.
Taste is next. Your mouth is dry. Bitter.
And then the smell.
Metal. Acrid metal. Gasoline. Strong enough to bring about the realization that your head still hurts. You crack one eye open. The space is small. Cramped. But there are chairs. And windows. The sky is a bright blue. No clouds, and overwhelmingly bright.
Your not at the Hold. A quinjet?
You try to sit up but can' t move. From exhaustion or something else you can't tell. But you have to have been unconscious for at least two hours for the sun to have risen fully.
"Take it, Buck."
"I gave it to her, Steve."
"No...she won it from you in a bet you shouldn't have made. You and I both know Charlie always kept his keys in his pockets, pal. You were makin' a point."
You wince as the voices echo slightly. They sound far away but you know they must be close. You peak open one eye again and look up from the floor. Two hazy male figures stand several paces away. Talking.
"She wants you to have it back, Buck."
"...so you told her?"
"No. She'd only feel bad. Just, take it back. I promised her I'd get it to you."
The talking ceases, but that pounding in your head is painful. You close your eyes and can't help the small groan of pain you let out as the flyer dips and you roll slightly, banging into the wall of the jet.
"She's up?" Natasha's voice rings out from further up ahead, past the two men.
"Not quite. But she's getting there," Steve answers. "Was it really necessary to tie her up, Nat?"
"Yes!" two voices shout in unison.
"I told you not to bring her," Barnes says gruffly.
Your thoughts are still jumbled, and you struggle to orient yourself as you lay limply on your side on the ground. You take deep breaths as the voices continue to bicker, willing your strength back and settling the pain in your head.
"I can end this now," says Natasha. "Give me your knife, soldat."
Your heart leaps in your chest. You're not strong enough to fight off an attack from Natasha. Let alone a spurned super soldier.
"No."
"No?" Natasha answers incredulously.
"I said no," Barnes snaps back. "I'm not killing anyone I don't have to. We'll...we'll drop her somewhere."
"Buck, you can't -"
"That's a terrible idea," Natasha interrupts Steve's gentle rebuttal with ferocity. "You do that, and there's nothing keeping her from running back to the Company. From telling them everything."
"She won't," Barnes grunts. "She killed two of her own. She's probably as eager to get away from them as we are to get rid of her."
"Still cleaner to just kill her," Natasha grumbles.
"That's enough," Steve says firmly, raising his voice for the first time.
You hear him take a few steps, presumably separating Natasha and Barnes. You will all your strength to focusing your vision in the harsh light as you open them fully and spot Steve, his back turned fully to Natasha as he leans towards Barnes.
"Buck," he says much more quietly. "May I speak to you? Privately?"
"No," the dark-haired soldier grunts. "Look."
Barnes looks over at you pointedly. Steve's gaze flits between the two of you for a moment, clearly waiting to see if Barnes is going to approach you. But the soldier crosses his arms stubbornly across his chest. Steve huffs in mild annoyance and makes his way to you, gently grabbing you beneath your bicep and pulling you up into a sitting position. Once steady, you glance down at your bound ankles and your tied wrists. You find the inability to move annoying, but the mild ache in your tied up limbs pales in comparison to your headache.
"My meds," you say weakly, glancing at Steve. "I need my meds."
Steve glances over his shoulder and Barnes steps up. He reaches into the pockets of his stained and tattered jeans and pulls from his pocket your blue pill bottle and silver pen.
"Looking for these?" he grunts, a smirk playing subtly on his lips.
You glare at him angrily as Steve grabs a water bottle from his black duffel bag nearby, twisting the cap and holding it out.
"Here," he says gently.
But you tense and lean away, rejecting his offer while keeping your eyes locked on Barnes. He returns your stare just as coldly. He tilts his head slightly, arching a single brow. But he makes no move to give them to you.
He's going to make you ask.
Your cheek twitches in anger, but you keep your mouth shut. You might be in pain, but you'll be damned if you beg him for anything. You can survive without the pills for now.
"I'm...sorry about this," Steve says awkwardly, breaking the silence as he gestures to the ropes. "It's just until we can figure out what's going on."
You laugh coldly, out of patience as you tear your gaze from Barnes to Steve. "Were you not listening, Captain?" you chastise. "Your old friend is in quite a set of crosshairs. Now...what are you gonna do about it?"
Steve frowns and pulls back from you slightly as Barnes lets out a restrained laugh.
"See?" Barnes huffs, crossing his arms across his chest. "You're wrong. She won't be helpful. She'll only slow me down."
"Slow you down?" Steve says, looking up at Barnes as he remains crouched at your side. "We talked about this. You're coming home, Buck. We can keep you safe. Me, Natasha, and Sam."
"No," Barnes shakes his head, a small vein popping in his forehead as he clearly fights to suppress his rage. "They're after me, Steve. They won't stop if I don't make them."
"Buck, just think about it for a -"
"Stop," Barnes says, interrupting Steve and looking back at the blonde soldier. "Steve, stop. I need to do this."
Steve shuts his mouth, torn between arguing and understanding. But the look in his eye soon shifts and his aura turns grim. He brings a hand to his forehead rubbing at his temples for a second before glancing back at Barnes, his expression almost guilty.
"I...I can't leave her behind, Buck," Steve says softly.
"I know," Barnes answers without hesitation.
"And I can't put her in that kind of danger," Steve sighs sadly. "Not again."
"I know, punk. Relax. I'll be fine."
Steve bites his bottom lip as if to stop himself from arguing further.
"Then Y/n needs to go with you," Steve says.
Your stomach churns and your eyes widen. Steve wants to send you off with Barnes? Alone? Your heart thrums in your chest, but you remain silent as Barnes' steel-blue gaze flits to you, then back to Steve.
"No chance," he growls. "Either you or Natasha take her, or I'm dropping her somewhere."
Your study Barnes' body language. His shoulders are loose, but his jaw is tense. His fists curled tightly into balls. You can tell he's serious.
"I'm not taking her," Natasha says resolutely, hitting a button on the panel in the cockpit and joining Barnes at his side, matching scowls on their faces. "She can rot for all I care."
Steve glances at you quickly before standing from your side walking over to Barnes, lowering his voice to nearly a whisper as he turns his back to you. But he's not sneaky, and clearly doesn't know how to whisper.
"She can't stay with me, pal. It's too dangerous for my gal."
"Fine," Barnes grunts, looking back at you. "I'll drop her somewhere over South America."
"I'm right here, you know," you grumble.
Natasha rolls her eyes and returns to the cockpit, taking manual control over the flyer as Steve shakes his head, letting out a sad sigh before he too moves back up to the cockpit, leaving you alone with Barnes.
"Wait," you call after him, a pit of anxiety forming in your stomach as you watch Steve retreat. You hadn't expected him to let it go that easily. "You're...you're serious? You're going to let him just leave me somewhere?"
Your jaw drops in genuine surprise as you look back at Barnes, who glowers at you one final time before turning his back to rejoin his companions in the cockpit. As he turns away an overwhelming panic begins to grow deep in your throat, making it difficult to breathe. Your heart starts racing and a small bead of sweat trickles down your forehead as you realize that it's settled.
You're going to be left somewhere.
Alone.
And as loathe as you are to admit it, Barnes is right. With Gabe dead, there's no one to vouch for you. The Company will likely hunt you down, pinning the mess at the Hold on your shoulders. Especially once they run the security sweep and find that it was your authorization code that Walthers used to let Casey Teivel out of his cell. That your biometrics let the intruders in the databases to download stolen files.
And those agents that survived the attack in the office? They won't hesitate to let the rest know it had been you that shot Agent King. That it had been you that shot the Spectre.
If the Company is after you, you won't be safe on your own. You have no resources. No contacts. Like it or not, you need the Avenger's protection.
You open your mouth to speak, but bite your lip, silencing yourself. Despite the dangers of being on your own, it could be even more dangerous being left with Barnes. Your gaze lands on the soldier's back, the curve of his muscles clear through the thin fabric of his red shirt. The one he'd been tortured in. The one he'd been wearing when, despite the pain, he'd offered to save you when he thought you were a victim, just like him.
As silly as it is under the circumstances, that red shirt causes a knot to form in your stomach. Somehow, despite it all, that shirt survived. Through the beatings. The gunshots. It had survived.
But Gabe hadn't.
And Gabe had asked you to make sure that that red shirt continued to survive.
"I...I can help," you say, pulling the attention of two out of three heads back your way. "I can help you," you repeat quietly.
"Don't engage with her," Natasha sneers. "She's a liar."
"Yeah, I am," you say confidently. "But I lie because it's my job. And I seem to be out of one those right about now, wouldn't you say?"
"Stop talking," Natasha says bluntly, ignoring you from the cockpit.
"Would you people listen for one damn second?" you say, exhausted but emphatic.
The flyer falls silent, and your eyes drift from Natasha to Barnes before settling on Steve. The moment they do, his brow twitches. You zero in on Rogers, and Rogers alone. He's the only one who's willing to actually hear you out.
"I can help, Captain," you say again, addressing him directly. "And I want to help."
"Why?" he asks.
"Beyond not wanting to permanently relocate south of the equator?" you chide.
Bucky lets out a low, menacing growl but you hold your tongue from firing off another crass retort, knowing that this conversation ends only one of two ways. With you in their good graces, or with you hiding in a shack somewhere in Ecuador eating guinea pigs to survive. You're aiming for "good graces".
"Believe what you will Barnes," you say, keeping your voice even and controlled. "But I don't have anything personal against you. You were an asset I was ordered to interrogate. And the man that gave those orders clearly wanted to protect you. That means I'm on your side."
"How do you figure?" Barnes growls dangerously, his patience clearly thin.
You take a deep breath, allowing your gaze to flit between the three Avengers. If you want to persuade three people who don't trust you that you're on their side, you're going to need every one of your skills at peak performance. Luckily, that static in your head has calmed into a numb whisper. Always present, but so far back that you're able to focus on the issue at hand.
"I'm on your side because he was on your side," you answer. "And -" you cut yourself off, choking back the waver you know you nearly let slip into your voice. "And he was the only...family...I had."
Cold blue eyes watch you intensely. His brow twitches and the top of his lip curls. You know he's fighting with himself. His body betrays his inner battle. His arms are crossed tightly against his chest, but at the same time he's shifted his weight, opening his hips straight towards you and facing you directly.
"How do I know you won't run back to your people?" Barnes grunts, watching you suspiciously.
"You know the answer to that," you answer. "The only people I cared about are dead. And the others know what they saw. They saw me protecting you while killing their own. They'll be after me. And if they find me, they'll kill me. I'm hunted now too."
The flyer falls silent as your words are considered. Your heart thrums in your chest as you wait anxiously for a response. You scan their faces, searching for any indicators. But Steve watches Barnes, and Natasha's is completely blank - not a single tell to be found.
"I can help you," you say again, gently. "I'm good at what I do."
"Yes, I know," Barnes seethes.
You wince at the accusation in his tone.
"But I don't need your help. I can do this on my own," he grunts, dropping his crossed arms and turning his back on you to face the cockpit, clearly done with the conversation.
You mentally curse yourself at your lapse in judgment. You should have known to be more careful with your wording. Quickly, you search for a way to salvage to negotiation. You had been so close.
"You don't have a lot of time, James."
At his name Barnes freezes, his shoulders hunching as his entire body tenses.
"You're against the clock," you say, tone softer. Quieter. "You have precious little time to find people that don't exist, to get to a place that doesn't exist, to destroy a thing that doesn't exist."
Barnes remains frozen, his fists clenched at his side as Steve and Natasha watch you closely.
"Tell me," you call to him. "Who's better equipped to help you than me? I've been trained since I was a child to get people to tell me about places and things that don't exist."
"She's got a point, Buck," Steve says quietly.
"Besides," you say, tone darkening. "You really think you're the only one who wants revenge? I lost a friend in this mess. The only one I had. I lost family."
Barnes stiffens, turning only slightly to look at you from over his shoulder, but you know the dark glean in his eye matches your own. And you know he recognizes it.
The soldier remains quiet as the atmosphere in the flyer grows tense. Heavy. He's thinking. Suddenly the vibrations of the jet grow and you can feel your direction change. Your ears pop as the flyer starts to descend.
"Whatever you want to do, you need to decide quick, Buck," Steve says as he leans forward, peering out the window. "We're here."
Barnes' lip twitches as his gaze narrows. He crosses the flyer, moving slowly until he stands before you. Then with one hand he reaches for his belt, unclipping a long, serrated knife and flipping open the obsidian blade. You inhale sharply, heart stumbling in its rapid pacing.
But then pressure around your wrists is gone. The ropes lie cut in your lap, your hands free. He then moves to your ankles, and with a quick twist of his blade those too fall away. You swallow before rising to your feet, massaging the rope burns and keeping your eye on Barnes as he takes a step closer, his eyes searching your face.
"Let me be clear," he growls, reaching out and grabbing your arm tightly with his metal hand, shoving you backwards. "I don't trust you."
"Nor I you," you retort, not breaking eye contact as your back hits the wall of the quinjet.
Barnes' eyes flit between yours as his lip curls. But after a tense moment he drops his grip on your arm. "You give me one reason to regret letting you stay -"
"Regret?" you scoff bitterly, taking a step forward and closing the distance between you as you both remain locked in the other's challenging gaze. "I regret ever meeting you, James," you whisper. "I have no reason to add another one to my list."