Warnings - Blood, Angsty, enemies-lovies, Steve is kinda a dick in this, enhanced!reader, female strength, injuries, just pain all around, illegal shit, Nomad Steve because he deserves a warning by himself, suggestive stuff, things seen as Self Harm or depression
Holy shit that's a lot of Warnings
*LONG CHAPTER*
;)
Steve follows Natasha as she lead the way up the sidewalk to the cottage just around the corner. He turns back every few steps, too paranoid that someone unwanted is following them as he huffs. He didn't want to come here. He had his own spot to hide out at, but according to the assassin, "he would be found in a day".
As much as he trusted his friend, he wanted to go on his own ways with Bucky and Sam. Clint had taken the family route and struck a deal, while he was still on the run, taking whatever chance to fight Ross and the government. Nothing in his mind would change. He was no signing away his freedom.
After leaving Wakanda, Natasha had stuck with him for awhile before he got the idea to break his team out. Stark had to of known by now, but he didn't give a shit. He didn't care about anything. He was breaking every law there was, and being a fugitive felt nice now.
He was able to drop his duties of saving the world and go a little deeper into his life. As much as Steve liked being an Avenger, he could go outside the cameras and do what he wanted. He sleep at a girls place and leave whenever, not feeling the guilt he used to once a few months went by.
Steve was a changed man. He wasn't ever going to go back to his moral ways. Having sex with women and leaving before dawn, running from the law, and doing everything he once thought against before his fight with Stark. Part of him wanted to get caught so he could finish the job, but he knew he wouldn't be able to. As much as he hated him for what he did to Bucky, Steve couldn't kill. Not Tony, anyways.
If there was anyone he wanted to hurt without feeling guilty, it was the woman answer the door Natasha had knocked on. His face falls when he sees your face, and your eyes harden at the sight of him, attempting to close the door before Sam placeshis foot inside.
"No," you tell him, pushing them all off the porch. "You guys are getting to get me killed, so get your asses off my property before you have a bigger problem."
His blood boils as he stands up, wiping his hands together. "A bigger problem than you?" He chuckles darkly, ignoring the shove from Bucky as he steps towards your house again. "We all know that's not possible, Y/N."
"Says the one who literally broke every law the United States had to save someone you didn't go back for to find when he "died"." Sure, it was a low blow, but Steve definitely deserves it. Especially with every word he had said towards you all those years ago. "Get the hell out of my face before I melt your skin off, Rogers."
"Y/N," Natasha says, face softening when you meet her gaze. Her eyes plead everything she has, and you start to shake your head. "Give us a few days, just until we find a new place."
"Everyone but him." You nudge your head towards Steve, and as much as he loves Bucky, he has to grab his hand to stop him from moving forward. With the quick glance up towards you, he's able to spot the smirk on your face. "You must be Barnes. Y/N Y/L/N."
Bucky heard the story from Sam awhile back. There was definitely alcohol involved just to get him to open up, but eventually, he was able to hear all the shitty things his best friend had spit out towards you that made you leave. He couldn't believe Steve at first, but at the moment, he was only waiting until he could fully get the story before he went off on him.
"I'll be glad to leave," Steve mutters, already turning around when Natasha grabs hold of his arm.
"Not so fast," she tells him, giving him eyes he has a hard time rejecting as he pulls him back to the group. "Y/N, please. Four days, max. We just need somewhere to hide out until we can scavenger somewhere new, and then we'll be gone."
The newly pressed blonde tilts her head with the same begging eyes she had given you a few years ago, and you slowly start to feel your composure break. Her eyes are wide, and even in the nightly moon you can see the beautiful green you had started to become jealous of.
You cross your arm and throw your head back with a groan, already knowing that the next few days were about to be a living hell for you. Steve alone was a pain in the ass, but with him and Bucky together, you were sure you were going to be stuck in memories you thought you had left behind.
"Four days, that's it." You turn from your spot and walk inside, immediately hugging Natasha once she steps through the door. Sam is next and then Bucky, smiling over her shoulder as Steve is rejected. He hits on the blue barrier and then glares your way, seething from the inside out. "Damn, I forgot," you chuckle, breaking out into a full laugh. "No dicks in the house."
"I swear to God, Y/N," Steve mumbles. "You're being a bitch right now."
"Woah," you choke out, raising from your bent over position. "Someone learned some new language. Too bad it won't get you inside. Nice seeing you-" Just as you're about to shut the door on his face, Natasha pulls it open, giving you a look a mother would to a misbehaving child.
"Let him in, Y/N." She wasn't as disappointed as she was annoyed waiting for you to let in the grumpy man standing outside your door. Her hand falls on her hip, and you only take a few more seconds before you let the barrier go, rolling your eyes as Steve steps in.
It doesn't take him long to wrap his hands around your throat and push you against the nearest wall, face clouding in anger. As strong as you were, you let him believe he had a hold on you, your breath being cut short as he panted.
"Think you're so fucking funny, Y/L/N?" He heaves out, smacking your head on the wall behind you. "Tony should've let you die that night, maybe it would be better for all of us-"
Suddenly, he's on the floor with both of his arms dislocated, cries of pain coming from his lips as you take a single step towards him. No one was moving, not even Bucky as Steve contained the sounds of pain you were inflicting on him.
"Yeah, Steve?" You crouch down to his face, your hand only minimizing the strength you use to keep him down. "Should've let me die that night, so what? So I wouldn't be strong enough to pull your muscles apart, or go in and save that girl you thought was hot enough to fuck when you knew damn well what she did to me? How much do you want me to die now that I'm helping you, after you called me a bitch, or told me to 'deal with it'? Think again on where you are before you start threatening me, because you're not America's golden boy anymore, Rogers. You're America's most wanted fugitive, and you just walked right into my home."
Releasing him finally, you walk past Sam and Bucky, who move out of your way. You don't look back as Steve's groans emitt from behind you, only walking forward and up the stairs.
As much as you wanted to forget everything, it comes rushing back. Every word, action, and eventually the events leading up to where you are now filling your brain with blind rage as you shove everything off your desk with a sob. You wanted to reject ever letting them into your house now, even though you've missed Sam and Nat.
Looking right at Bucky, you can't help but feel bad for him. He's friends with the world's largest unloyal man, and you know he probably doesn't even know half the story everyone else does. Steve was like that. He was douchebag who let the fame corrupt him. An asshole who used his strength to almost kill you instead of protecting you like he promised he would on the first day being an agent for the Avengers.
Steve was just a man with bronze and no brains when you got to know him. His life with two different Starks changed his morality, and the longer you let that get to you, the more your head hurts trying to keep the protection spell up.
Natasha had visited quite a few times in the past few years. She's brought Clint by once, and then Yelena awhile back, but since the outbreak of the Avengers, she hasn't come by. You keep yourself private and away from all civilization, happy to know that you have just one friend out there who still remembers you before Steve had ruined it all.
Just thinking about him as you falling into the floor. His name was like poison, and it ruins everything you've ever built for yourself. Your pride breaks down, and as much of an ego you had crumbles. He's the worst thing to ever happen to you. Because of him, you lost all contact with your family, and you only ever speak to Fury once a year as an update, keeping your promise of contact with a letter that you magically give to him by December.
The man downstairs was the person you could kill if you wanted to. But somewhere deep inside knows you couldn't actually do it for the life of you. You couldn't kill anyone, and that saneness keeps you alive, even if you're dead inside. You are dead inside, the light having burnt out the moment Steve came showing his face on your land.
He tires you out with just a single thought, and if that wasn't much of a sign that you want his legs broken as well, hearing his voice makes your head pound. Everything about him just makes everything hurt, and you know there is nothing that will ever help you out of this.
You just have to wait until he leaves. You're just hoping that neither of you fulfill the others wishes of strangling one another. Steve has already done that. Revenge is for the weak. And he doesn't know you're stronger than ever.
Waking up the next morning from your breakdown felt like the worst hangover in the world. Your body was almost mad at you for sleeping on the floor, and your legs had basically frozen over, head spinning by the time you were standing.
You didn't even remember anything that happened until you were walking into the kitchen to see Nat at the coffee machine. Sam was sitting at the bar, reading one of your favorites from off the shelf, as Bucky and Steve stood at the kitchen island, looking at a map.
All the anger you had form the night before came back the moment he looked up at you. His eyes, the ones you had once thought were beautiful, were just a blinded by rage as you moved to the fridge, accidentally shoving him over until he was in the other room.
If you heard his cusses from beneath his breath, you paid no mind to them as Natasha hid her smirk behind her mug, trying not engage in whatever was going on. She told Steve to give you the cold shoulder, so that's what he was doing, trying his hardest to step back to his spot when he saw your hand gently trial along Bucky's back as you passed him.
He couldn't help but snatch your wrist and pin you against the counter. Sam shuffles off his bar stool and grabs his elbow, the silence enough to make you laugh.
"What now, Cap? Mad that I stepped foot into my own kitchen?"
"Keep your fucking hands off him." The deep drawl of his voice had a small rasp to it, letting you know he hadn't been awake that long. Not like you cared. All you had to do was kick his leg in and twist so he would fall onto the counter, taking your spot as you held your fingers around his throat.
"Why? Because you're scared I'll corrupt him? Like the bitch you stuck your dick in did?" There's a silence around that makes you smirk, and you only need one glance towards Bucky to know he hadn't been told everything. You laugh, genuinely laugh as you turn back to Steve.
"What a friend you are, don't even tell him how Hydra had found him anyways. Bucky, did he tell you he told her every confidential piece of evidence against Hydra, and then she went and deleted it all so we couldn't have it? Or that she took me hostage, injected me with a serum, and then burned my apartment building down with her still inside, but I went in anyways to save her because your buddy here fell in love with her?"
If there was anything left in Steve's eyes, it was how much he looked betrayed as he met Bucky's gaze. You could tell there was a silent conversation happening, but with the hold you had on Steve, you kept going.
"Did he tell you that he would've rather watched me be tortured because I was the reason she was in there? Or that I was just a whore trying to get in his pants-"
"Enough!" Natasha shouts, pulling you off of him when she sees his fists clenching. "Y/N, you need to calm down," she tells you, shoving you away from him. He coughs as he slides into the floor, holding onto his neck. And to think he's a super soldier.
You weren't even using your powers.
"I need to calm down?" You weren't mad. Angry. Pissed. You were livid. You were everything in between mad and blinding rage as you let the first tear hit your cheek. "Why do you defend him in front of his face, when you told me how much of a douchebag he was behind closed doors, Nat?!" The shelves rattle as you raise your voice, your eyes slowly glowing with that purple hue she's only ever seen once. "And to think you would be mature enough to understand that not everyone can move on as easily as you can. I hope you find a place by tomorrow morning."
If there was anymore conversation after you left, you couldn't care less. You couldn't look Steve in the eye without being reminded by the fact every single thing he says impacts you in the most hurtful way possible. His voice scratches your ears, and you can't do anything but let the pain take over the moment you step back into your room.
Glass from your desk is the only physical sign that this is all real, and you let the blood come through. It's not anything you would harm yourself with purposely, but the pain is only welcome as more of a distraction as you lean against the doorway, sobbing on your bedroom floor.
All of this could've been avoided if you had just told them to fuck off one more time. You wouldn't have to be crying so early in the morning if Steve would've just kept his mouth shut three years ago. If Natasha would've stuck up for you like Wanda did, maybe she wouldn't be off in Greece with Vision with every government official tracking her every move.
Steve Rogers was the man everyone in the world is looking for at the moment, but you can't even see his picture in your own head without silently screaming for help. You can't help but think back to the painful memories of having your body strapped down to a table as your life went up to flames around you.
Who knows where the girl is now, but if you ever see her again, you know you'll have your first kill. It tears your heart into pieces just seeing how much Steve felt for her, and you know he would've done anything to keep her safe.
But his own teammate? Everything in you wants to know what he would've done if he was in Tony's situation. The man brought you back to life after you told her to leave, only to be told that the woman you sacrificed yourself for was the same person who tied you down and ruined your life before forcing you to watch as it burnt to the ground.
You want to know who Steve would've chosen to save if he was in the position Tony was. The man who broke all of your chains and held you with tears down his face because you would've died protecting someone you thought was innocent.
The man who did chest compressions for thirty minutes because he couldn't lose one of his own. The same man who came knocking on your door asking if Steve had stopped by before staying for a drink just a couple of months ago.
Yet, at the same time, you know his answer already. If Steve had the option to choose you or the woman he had fallen in love with, you would be ashes and bone in your burnt apartment back in New York. He wouldn't hesitate to grab her and run without even looking back, most likely able to hear your flatlined heartbeat and smell the blood you'd unwillingly shed.
And somewhere in you would choose him despite everything, but right now, you can't look him in the eyes without seeing the broken girl you had become because of his words. Every meaning stabbed you like a knife, and it was all in your back. And to say you had feelings for him made it even worse, curling your fingers in your hair as you move your knees to your chest.
Steve Rogers was the worst man known to the world, and to know he's just down a flight of stairs makes your body ache. His name makes your chest pound and your head to forge up the worst of memories. What used to be butterflies have now turned to thorns on a not-so-pretty rose, but deadly plant waiting for whoever dares to touch at the wrong angle.
Steve had always been the at the wrong angle.
He's your living nightmare walking inside your house, and you want him to leave as much as you want Natasha to stay. Or Sam. Hell, even Bucky.
Something so innocent turned into the devil because of his touch, and you want it to be gone. You want to forget Steve ever existed. You want everything about him to disappear so you can finally have the mental strength to heal your own wounds he had left behind.
Unfortunately for you, the knocks on the other side of the door only remind you that there are three other guests. Sam's presence doesn't stop the tears, and you don't make any move to get up. If you wanted to search the house for anyone else, you put your own weakness to the excuse as you stayed out on the floor, resting your forehead on your forearms.
He waits outside for a moment before you hear the door rattle, his weight sliding to the floor on the other side of you. "Let me in, Y/N," he pleads softly. It's like he can already see just how much you've caved in from last night. The tough girl shattered to millions of pieces because of one conversation.
You can't even find it in yourself to respond back to him, only pressing your body closer together. It's as if making yourself smaller will help hide you, even though hiding never really worked.
"I get that you don't want to talk, but we don't have to. I just don't want you to be alone." Everything you had against breaking completely shattered, and you move quickly to stand up, opening the door to be met with a sympathetic Sam. The moment his arms open, you're flying into his chest, sobbing harder than you had last night. Than you have ever before. "It's okay," he whispers soothingly, holding onto you like you want to be held. Safely. "I'm not going anywhere."
Protesting his comfort would've done more harm to you than anything, and knowing that you're already hurt had you clinging to his back. Holding onto him as he pushed you back into the room and shut the door with a single kick with his foot.
You didn't see Steve in the hallway, or Bucky right next to him. You hadn't even felt they were there in the first place. You hadn't heard them argue with who should go and talk to you for the past two hours. You don't even know how long you've been sitting on your floor, palms bleeding and cries never ended. All you know, is that the pain can't be tolerated by yourself. Not this time.
So you let Sam hold you. You let him bring you to your bed to keep you from falling apart on your floor. You spill your heart out with tears in trade for his comfort, because that's all you've wanted the past three years. It's like everything piled up to now, and it's washing over you in waves far too big to swim in.
Being alone used to be your life saver, but Sam was now the boat ready to take you back to shore.
Sitting with him with only tears as your channel was much more exhausting as you thought. The emotions from the night before were too much, and his arms were far too warm to leave once you had become just quiet sniffles and heavy breaths. He didn't pull away either, holding you, even as you tried not to drift off in the afternoon sun.
Just as he had promised, Sam didn't speak. Not advice, anyways. He comforted you how a father would to a grieving child. He whispered assurances that you would be okay and he was here. Not once had you felt like that since you've left, and you only caved in more, falling into his embrace trustfully as he brought the worst thing people can see out of you.
There wasn't anything he was doing that made you feel exhausted, but he didn't seem to mind as he started to rub your back. It was light at first, and when he noticed your positive response, he worked to a comfortable pressure, keeping his pride at bay when you calmed enough to breathe properly.
Nothing in him wanted you to feel this way. If Sam could, he would try to fix everything like before. Before you were taken, before Steve had met the fuck-bitch who almost killed you. He would try to make things as good as they were before Fury put you on the Avengers.
But nothing would go back, so he settled with laying you down once you had finally caved into the sleep that looked more or less peaceful. You were drifting in and out, but hummed approvingly as he brought the blacket up to your shoulders, letting you ease into your bed as he waited until you finally closed your eyes for good.
When he walked back out into the kitchen, he was met with three staring eyes he'd become friends with. Natasha was more of a worry along with Bucky, but Steve? There was nothing he could decipher that would let anyone know what he's feeling.
"I think it's best if we let her rest," he tells them, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down at the floor. "She cut her hands on some glass, so 'm gonna clean it up, maybe try and stitch the wounds before it infects."
The awkward space was more unbearable than the knowledge of why any of this is happening. Natasha isn't commenting on the bruise around Steve's eye, and Bucky isn't saying a word to any of them, only nodding as he leaves the room.
"She say anything?" Natasha finally speaks up, breathing a heavy sigh when Sam shakes his head. "You think she'll be out the rest of the day?"
"Probably just a few hours, nothing more than five." As tired as you were, you wouldn't sleep the whole day unless something was really wrong. You would try and work it out in your head until you collapsed. "She wants us out by nine, so we should be looking for somewhere else."
Steve walks out of the room and to the front door, slamming it closed behind him. He knew he shouldn't have let Natasha pick this place, out of all the places in the world. He should've fought as hard as he did when he argued with you on why it was the worst idea to come here, but he knows nothing will change now.
He doesn't care that you're hurting. He doesn't give a shit that you're bleeding out or even just taking a scratch. He could care less, he does. He just wants to know that you're suffering as much as he did. He wants everything in you to hurt as much as he had been when his life fell apart. This was the best news to him. Everything about this was probably the greatest thing to ever happen to him in three years.
And God was he trying hard to forget everything he ever felt about you.
The old him; the one who would've chosen you over some girl he knew was betraying him, would've bent the world over just to make sure the sun made your skin glow. He would've went up those stairs and apologized for ever hurting you the way he did that day. He would've tried to make up for every hurtful word that came out of his mouth and beg for your forgiveness.
But Steve knows that if you hate him like you do right now, he'll be able to think back to how much you spat at him for being the worst teammate. He knew that. And fuck did Steve hate himself for the way he treated you. But it was better that way.
If you knew the things he did had a reason, then everything would be different. Maybe you would've been happier to see him when you opened your door. Maybe you would've invited him over like you did everyone else.
Maybe you would've felt the same way he did for you.
But then he really met the person who turned the world upside down for him, and your intentions became a fog. He saw the worst thing, and it was you taking away the best thing he's ever had since waking up from the ice.
Steve was oblivious to your affection. He was blind to everyone but her, and even then, he was being double teamed. He was too far gone to even realize you were the target, and he was too late until Stark was bringing down your body, and she was the new threat of the century. She got away because he was too focused on emotions to really understand that you were dead in the arms of Iron Man.
He can't stop thinking about it now. About how Tony pushed everyone away from him so he could perform CPR. He eventually had Thor tap your chest despite the bruises and blood.
Steve realizes it now that he didn't even ask if you were okay when you finally woke up in the hospital after being in a coma for a month. He completely ignored you just because the person who he thought he was going to marry turned out to be the same person who brought back the Winter Soldier.
His own actions put a barrier between you and him, and this was the last bit before you completely shut yourself out. You become the person you hadn't let him see, and now that he's caught a glimpse of it, he wants to help take that down. Even if he'll regret it.
He regrets his words. His choices. Even though he would've made the wrong one three years ago, he's glad he didn't put that up to the test. Steve just wants to know that you're okay, and that's it. He wants to check in and leave before you see it as something more.
Neither of you need it to be anything more.
Avoiding the four of them for the rest of the evening wasn't as hard as you thought it would be. They were quiet enough as you and Natasha talked in your room, getting the story on Bucky and Steve's conversation they had taken outside.
From what you were told, she had pulled them off each other. Words were said she couldn't hear, and there were a few tears from each of them before Steve had surprisingly apologized. Though, Bucky wouldn't accept it for a reason unknown.
Going to sleep that night made it easier as your eyes fell. No matter how much you had slept throughout the day, you still felt exhausted enough to stay completely still in your bed. Sleep came easier to you when your mind was empty with just emotions, and for once, you cleared it all out like you had done with Sam.
By morning, you were awake and listening to them pack as you cleaned up. Some day soon Ross would be back to make sure they weren't staying here for refuge, even though all of Shield knows that you would much rather burn at the stake than help Steve Rogers.
But that same person from years ago had come out and told you not to tell anyone he was here for the past two days. Whether it was because you still remember how much you would do for him, or if it was because of Bucky, but you didn't tell a soul that the entire group was here at the same time, even the man you would stab now.
Part of you wants them to stay. Sam was a good friend you had missed speaking to, and Natasha was always welcomed. Bucky was someone you were just getting to meet despite having heard stories from Steve from before. But he would always be able to come here.
Surprisingly, he found the escape calming. The property held a silence he was comforted by, and despite everything that had happened the day before, he spent the evening out by the pond, where you had joined him late in the night.
Only he could hear that Steve was watching from the corner, listening in as you told stories about your now dead family. He empathized by speaking about his own, bringing up childhood stories and leaving Steve out of them to keep the conversation going.
Maybe you slept so well because you were able to be calm going to bed. Bucky was a soft spoken person who's been through literal hell and back. He understood you more than any of the others, making it easier to carry a conversation and talk about your experience without pity. You didn't want pity. You wanted comfort, and Bucky gave you that without having to emphasize.
Saying goodbye to a future friend was a little harder than you thought. You gave Natasha a box with snacks inside, hoping it would give enough of an apology. As much as you didn't want to help him out, the other three had nothing to do with your own battles. But it was clear with who they chose, and it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would.
"Come back anytime," you whisper into her ear as you wrap your arms around her, taking in the last of her body before you pull away. "Just not with him. I think this was a lesson for both of us."
"I'm sure I'll be back." She hopes so. She wants to come back to a place as peaceful as this. "Maybe, I'll bring Barnes by, he seemed to have enjoyed it." Giving you a good look, you roll your eyes and walk away from her before she could say anything more.
"Take care of yourself," Sam says as he pulls you as close as he had done yesterday, not hesitating to lift you up and sway you in his arms. "I left the suture kit in the bathroom, clean and dress the wounds-"
"Sam, I know basic aid."
"I know." He nods as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. "I'm just reminding you. Take care of yourself, Y/N."
You hug him close and breathe in the softness you've missed for awhile, taking whatever you can get. "I will," you promise, finally feeling your feet touch the ground. Departing from him, you make your way towards Bucky, smiling as he holds out his hand. "If you need somewhere quiet, my door's always open."
"It was nice meeting you, Doll." He gives you a cheeky smile and pulls you into a side hug, his arm patting your shoulder as Steve walks out of the house. He stops and rolls his eyes before moving down the steps. "Take it easy." Moving away from Bucky, you step past Steve and go back to your porch, watching as the three of them start to move.
"No goodbye for me?" At his voice, you flip him off before you head into your house, not even waiting for a response. There was sarcasm and a little bit of bitchiness lacing his words, and you weren't having it this morning, definitely not from him.
"I'm surprised she didn't throw you to the pond," Sam comments, laughing with Natasha. "How the hell did neither of you kill each other?"
"It's unmatched," Bucky says, smiling just a little from the other side of Natasha. "She's too powerful and filled with rage. Anger is the strongest emotion, and if that's all she's feeling, Stevie doesn't stand a chance against her."
"Thanks, Buck." As much as Steve doesn't like it, he had to admit, he's right. You don't need your abilities to show how strong you are.
All you need is a good point and well off argument to show that your emotions have a hold on your actions. And your actions prove that your powers are nothing compared to your thoughts. It took him five seconds to hold you to realize he fell right into your trap the day before, and his throat still aches from where your fingers had indented.
Or him. You get riled up by just the mere thought of him, and he doesn't know whether or not to be happy or just as upset. He used to think about you and only see red, but now he sees the pure guilt of everything he had once done.
Sure, Steve was correct about a few things, but you hadn't deserved anything that had happened to you. He was cold, and really, the world biggest jackass the moment you came back from a rehabilitation center where you were trying to figure out what in the world you could do from the serum.
Not only were you tested on, but you were suffering in silence from your own head. The memories of the fire and everything else done to you only made Steve's words hurt more when he said them. It was just fuel to your ongoing debate of formally quitting. And it lit that day with Steve.
Seeing you now, well and using what you were given, only drove him more crazy with thoughts. He wanted to say everything on his mind, but at the same time, your response kept him quiet. He only gave back what he was receiving, and clearly, it was the dumb move.
And now he's leaving. Sure, he'll probably be back in the future much to your demise, but something deep inside gives him this feeling that he will be back. He'll make it up to you because his dumbass self couldn't do that when you woke up in the hospital, or even in rehab where you were trying to figure out how to deal with the thought of being dead for half an hour. He only gave you excuse after excuse before spilling lies and lies that you still believe.
He'll be back. And when he is, he'll make sure to be much warmer than he had been this visit.
4 Months Later
The moment you had seen her face, you were pushed into the wall and met with memories you were just starting to accept. Her hair was all the same as years prior, and even her voice that haunted you hadn't changed, only making matters worse than what they were.
When the group had left, you started working on yourself more than you ever had. You got into meditation and coping mechanisms that worked better than just burying it with the rest of your emotions. You even got a phone, connecting yourself with the outside world instead of pages of books that truly won't have meaning if you don't engage in anything else.
Steve's departure had been the point of the focus mainly. He had asked for a goodbye when just a few days prior he was giving a look the meant he was begging to leave. Part of you knew he was just trying to spur you on, but the other parts, everything that wasn't logic, had been telling you that he was genuinely asking for a good separation.
Not that you were going to give him one. The last time you had seen him, you were left crying in your car the whole way to your new home. And then now, he was here, and acting just as cold as he had been in the past, but putting all the blame on you as if you had took his freedom away.
Even now, months later, you still don't know why you didn't report any of them. Bucky has been your main contact with letters and whatnot, giving you updates on the crew before he was radio silent for weeks until you got another back with a new address. You had a main channel of connection, and yet, you were doing nothing to tell Ross where they were, or Stark. Or anyone that was against them.
The pain in your stomach only lets you know that you're still not alone as you thought you were. This could've been a dream if you hadn't heard the gunshot in the haze of your mind and then the pain register. This was all real and happening, even if you don't know the events that clearly.
Her. She was here. And you were surely going to be dead.
You stifle a groan at the feel of the cuff around your wrist, all the power draining out of you leaving you much weaker than you've felt in a long time. You're pushed onto your back, and in seconds, you feel the second bullet enter your leg before you're being dragged up to your feet.
"Good to know you're still alive." Her voice enters your ears as she drags you up the striss single handedly, not caring about your dead feet beneath you as she throws you on the attic floor. "See you're doing well with my serum." Your only reaction is to cough up the blood already moving up your throat, more coming out as she kicks your stomach. "Not so strong now, Y/N?"
"Wh-What do you want?" This shouldn't have been your first question to ask her, but you breathe out in relief that she stops her hits, the pain far too much to take the bruises ribs. "Why now?" You ask breathlessly, rolling into your back to watch as she drags a table from the corner.
"Because, he'll come the second you call." It doesn't make much sense as she pulls you up again, not so gently placing you on the table and grabbing things form a bag you hadn't seen before. "He would've always chosen you, even if he said he loved me. Which he did, by the way. He loved me hard."
Steve.
Too engrossed in the fact that this is actually happening, you don't notice her hand reaching for the bullet wounds in your abdomen until her fingers reach the bleeding spot. Your gasp is full of pain and horror as she digs two fingers inside, moving them around as she casually digs into her bag for rope.
"Sometimes I would doubt his feelings," she begins again, taking away her hand now covered in blood and tying your wrists together. "But then I could truly see how much he felt for me in just a look in his eyes. He was close to taking me in, you know, but I have a mission, and it's always been you." Her hand traces your cheek, and it's not comforting to feel your own blood drop down your skin. It brings back memories. Memories you wish you could forget right now.
Amelia pulls out a phone and sets it on the table, moving so slowly, you're not sure if your mind is being affected by the blood loss, or she's happily taking her time. You couldn't guess as she picks up the can of gasoline you know for sure was outside.
"N-No." You couldn't go through this again. It hurt just thinking about it, but knowing this was always an outcome, you tried pulling in your hands, squirming under her gaze as she started to douse the walls. "Why? Why me? Why Steve?" Coughing, you're not surprised to feel the blood trinkle down the corner of your lip, only wishing you could wipe it away.
She chuckles that insane, crazy chuckle that has goosebumps trailing your skin as she moves as close to you as before. She's lost the gas can and moved back to her bag, pulling out a few pieces of fabric.
"You're such a bullshitter, Y/N." She speaks with a soft voice as she ties your ankles to the table before moving up to your face, once again caressing your skin as if you were a child. "Anyone could see you loved him as much as he did me. Tell me; why save me just to die and wake up where I take him from you all over again?" Before you have the chance to answer, she's tying the gag around your head and laughing. "Didn't quite catch that, darling."
Moving hurt as well as her touches, your noises muffled as she pressed her hands right back to your bullet wounds. You felt weak and overall exhausted just trying to fight back, even just pulling at your hands.
The phone next to you clatters to the floor, and she picks it up with ease, blood scattering and making it much more of a scene than anything as you try to keep your composure. There's a smirk on her lips as she dials a number and walks over to a dusted over vanity where a box of matches sit.
"How fast do you think Steve can get here?" She asks rhetorically, pressing the phone to her ear and walking around you. "Hey, Stevie."
Steve had done everything he could to try not to contact you. He even pushed Bucky away when he found the multiple letters and learned he was calling whenever he could, doing his best not to freak out. He had every right to talk to anyone, but there was silent judgement coming from him.
As much as he wanted to forget about you like you most likely done to him; he couldn't in the end. You fluttered around his mind like an annoying little bird, and eventually, he found himself right back in your single forest for a few days, trekking with his small group because something just felt off.
In the past few months, Steve had promised himself he would come back and apologize for every single thing he had said all those years ago. He told himself he would do his best to make it up to you, even if it took getting past everything you'd said when he visited the first time.
He couldn't get past looking you in the eye, but he knew he needed to get it off his chest that he regrets everything he ever did. The way he yelled. The way he pushed you away when you were only trying to help, after the fact you had saved his girlfriends life and died in the process.
Steve wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was wrecked at the thought of losing you. He couldn't handle knowing you had died saving someone in your own apartment, and then they ended up being a villain in his life. You sacrificed yourself for a girl you only met twice, and Steve called you selfish and everything else that you were the opposite of.
So getting a phone call with only two numbers in it made him question everything. Bucky had memorized your number after a week and eventually wrote it down in a journal he kept in his back pocket. It didn't take long for Steve to find it, putting it in his notes app.
But this was no you calling. He only ever gets call from Sam and Natasha, and to be this close to your home, he hesitates to answer.
"Hey, Stevie."
His body freezes, and he physically stops walking, Sam running into his back when he hears shuffling in the background. Amelia. He can't ever forget her voice, not even her face, and hearing her right now only has him turning back to the group behind him before he puts the phone on speaker.
"How the hell did you get my number, and why are you calling me?" There were so many questions in the back of his mind, but these two could only slip out, making everything worse as he finally hears something close to a whimper on the other end. "Get away from her, or-"
She tsk's at him as you fully groan, basically screaming behind the gag forced into your mouth. "Now, Stevie, one of us has an advantage right now, and you should know it's not you. Y/N is just keeping me company, that's all."
"What do you want?" Steve silently turns around to speed walk through the forest again, trying his best not to step on leaves and branches. Your mailbox was just coming into view, as well as your driveway and the pond entrance just up ahead.
Amelia picks up a box of matches and twirls them around in her hand, smiling just a little wider when you try and pull at the ropes. "Don't act so cold, baby. Aren't you happy to hear from me after all this time?" Feigning a frown, she opens the box and lights one, getting dangerously close to the dripping gasoline on the floor. Your screams stop her from dropping it, her hand shaking the flame out.
Steve hears it all. Your pitch is just above the fear meter, and your heart rate isn't as calm as it was when he was able to distinguish you all those years ago. There's rustling in the background that distracts him as he becomes closer and closer to your property.
And that's when the smell hits him. Between blood and metallic, the strength of the gas looms over him. It's like coming into a gas station for him, and he's sure Bucky can smell it as well.
"You hurt a hair on her body, I won't hold back," he threatens, already feeling that same, dreaded coldness he had when he found Stark trying to resuscitate you. Everything is mixing together, and he can't differentiate between feeling so pissed off or having the fear that he won't be able to make it in time.
"Oh, Steve," she whispers into the phone, lighting yet another match and holding it up. "I'm not here to hurt, Y/N." Relief floods through him, but he doesn't stop walking. "I'm here to kill her."
You watch as the small wooden piece falls right to the floor, catching flame and dragging all around the room. You try your best to pull yourself out of the restraints, but with the two bullets lodged in your body, you're stuck in a channel of fear.
Smoke is all you can smell, and coughing is what you can do as you watch Amelia walk back over to you. It was like deja vu, but this time, she wasn't doing anything to help you. She was standing by, smiling as you try your best to keep the smoke out of your lungs.
Steve starts to sprint down the road, your home coming into view. The smoke is as easily detectable as hearing the fire roar on the other end. The call disconnects, and with Bucky running right next to him, he's on the porch withing minutes, trying to get into the house. There were wardings marked off with what had to be a knife, and the moment that they entered the kitchen, there was a few blood piles not big enough to be draining.
"Split up, she could be anywhere." Without much of a command, Steve rushes up the stairs and starts to kick in doors. Every room is left empty, and he's left to feel so much worse every moment of it.
By the time he gets to your room, he can see where the fire had slowly started to come down. The window was barely holding on, and he turns around just in time for the glass to break, the flame escaping.
He rushes out of the room, staring up at the ceiling until he finally sees the string. With a single pull, he's able to climb up the stairs, being met with smoke you possibly couldn't handle. The attic was completely doused in the fire, everything ruined by smoke and flames as he tries to navigate his way through as best he can.
Steve feels his heart stop when he sees you on the table. The last bits of consciousness are flickering in your eyes, and your skin is basically burning to the touch when he rushes over. He doesn't look for Amelia as he takes the gag out of your mouth, tilting your head and leaning down to hear your uneven breaths.
"Steve?" You whisper, coughing before you can even finish his name and placing your head back down.
"Yes," he says, too distracted with trying to figure out how to get you out of here without hurting you even more. "Shit, Y/N, you're bleeding out." He hadn't seen the blood until you moved, watching as it starts dripping down your stomach and underneath you.
You hum sarcastically, but watch as he does everything he can to give you gentle touches. His fingers work the rope around your wrists, and he catches your arms as they weakly fall to your side, before he moves down to your legs. The rope had burned through your skin, but he's not so worried about it as he is with the few bullet wounds.
Coughing only makes everything worse, and you push against his hands when you feel just how cool they are. The smoke is starting to get too much, but watching him through this is all you need to know that you shouldn't close your eyes. No matter how much they drop.
"I need to get you out of here." Steve's words don't register in your ears, and he looks up to see you're barely even conscious, your gaze clouded and mind most likely starting to become delusional. "Y/N, you with me?" He cups your cheek with his hand and redirects your focus. You hum, and he nods, trying to accept the fact that you were dying again in a similar situation as the last. "Alright, listen to me. I need you to hold your breath for as long as you can while I carry you outta here."
"I'll walk myself."
"You can barely keep your eyes open," he argues, much to his demise. Arguing with you at the moment was pointless. You're in shock and barely functioning as it is. "Just don't argue with me for once in your life!" He shouts over the road of the flame as the window finally shatters, his body covering yours to stop the glass.
Pressure on your body is all you can feel, and you instinctively try to push him off. His weight is not at all comfortable, and the blood is sticking to your skin as you try and breathe through the smoke. It's troubling and hard and confusing and painful.
Once he's off of you, your body is lifted off the table, and you find his arms a lot more comfortable. The best around burns your skin, but you don't mind it as much as you force your head to his shoulder. The odd warmth of it all helps with seeing around you, eventually listening to him by holding your breath and waiting for your head to explode.
Getting outside was a blur of movement and red and yellow. There were voices and gentle movements, but all in all, you were coughing every few seconds, trying to clear your lungs. Steve was just a dream of hope as you faded in and out, not really convinced he had shown up.
Amelia was in the past now. Wherever she had run off to wasn't anymore of your worry as you finally let your eyes close. Your home was gone, and everyone was going to find out the hard way that you were dead. But the same way Stark had find you.
In flames.
Steve stitches up your wounds in silence. You had passed out hours ago, and to everyone else, they would think he wouldn't care at all to how you turned out, but he knew he hadn't wanted you to be hurt in any way. So cleaning you up, changing your clothes, and fixing your injuries was how he was helping you, even if you're partially sleeping and partially under shock influence.
He had carried you all the way back to the hideout. Bucky found Amelia and ran after her once he had went up to the attic, and she was now with police with the anonymous tip from them. Steve had stopped at the pond to wash the grime off your body, hoping you would at least wake up and tell him off, but you were limp in his arms.
Taking you back to here was easy. The three others had been silent besides the few questions, and he made sure you were still alive every now and then, trying to wake you up. Your lungs are completely filled with smoke, and being able to hear it only causes worry and doubts. But you had shifted at times, groaning and muttering a few words he hadn't been able to hear before you fell back into your unconscious state.
Steve wasn't at all surprised you hadn't been awake by the time he got you back to the place the four of them were staying at. Blood loss was part of the reason, but it was obvious you were under a lot of stress, taking it out with your sleep as he set you along an extra bed.
Helping your wrists was the last part he was doing. He was able to take the two bullets out and stitch the wounds before he started to clean up the blood and rubbed raw skin on your hands. The past few hours have been silent and oddly comfortable. Natasha told the other two men to leave him be, and she brought by some of her clothes, throwing them at him along with a look he wasn't going to go into.
Your fingers twitch under his hold, and he looks up to see you're just trying to open your eyes. In the darkness, you can't see him, pulling back your arm, only for him to pull it back.
"Calm down." He sees your eyes widen a little and hears you take a sharp breath in. You cough everything in your throat, the pain in your stomach becoming apparent. Steve leans over for the glass of water he had brought over and helps you sit up, pushing it to your lips. "Drink, it'll help clear your lungs."
Finishing off the glass helps you realize just how thirsty you were. It does nothing to help the ache in your throat, but you don't complain as he fills it up again, only half way this time.
"More?" He asks. He sits next to you when you nod, singlehandedly sitting you up as he holds the glass to your lips. "Are you okay with sitting up? I need to dress your wrists and try to get that cuff off." Pointing out the silver ringlet around your wrist only has you really feeling the weakness in your core. It's like being drained of everything and left to feel the after effects of just how tired you are.
Nodding, he leans you against the unpadded headboard of the bed. His hands hold a gentleness you had forgotten he could possess, and you lean into it, finding comfort in his ability to be careful enough not to hurt you any further.
"How do I get this off?" He pulls at the metal around your wrist, gaining your attention again. You hadn't realized he had moved back to your side, now trying to find him in the dark. "We don't even know what this is, but it looks like it's killing you." Noting the paleness in your skin, Steve points it out to you.
"Draining me out," is all you can muster up with whatever strength you have before you're coughing again. The ache in your throat is unavoidable, and feeling it scratch has you leaning back on the headboard, only wanting to go back to sleep and forget this ever happened.
Steve watches as you close your eyes again, barely even moving with his pushes. He moves to the other side of you and starts on your other wrist. Apologizing was going to have to wait for another time. A time where you could be fully conscious and not have the risk of you forgetting. There was no way to tell if you were fully here, but he knows somewhere in you trusted him.
There was only a distant look that shone in your eyes, and the coldest parts of him had the chance to melt. He was a total asshole, has been for years.
But he would change for you.
Just as long as you come out safe in the end.
Word Count - 9946
There will be a potential part 2 to this