AN: Dedicated to @syalala7 for all the votes! Thank you so much :)
The silence in the room screamed louder than those men ever did.
Blood painted the water stained walls. It dripped slowly, crossing paths on the way down. The lights in the room swayed back and forth, illuminating the room in certain areas and shadowing others. Bodies lined the floor, limbs twisted around as if they were rag dolls. Natasha stood in the middle of it all, blood splattered on her fierce expression. Her chest heaved as her eyes stared forward, focusing on nothing in particular. The sound of her heartbeat erratically thumped in her ears.
These bastards had nothing. No information. No money. Nothing even trade-able in value. They were gypped by their employer, who was clearly protecting Omega Red from her wrath. Whichever member of the Hellfire club protecting him will meet their long, torturous fate eventually.
A struggled inhale rose from one of the bodies. The man reached forward, latching onto the ground with his broken nails in an attempt to pull himself. Blood trailed down the front of his skull, dowsing in his face in crimson ravines. Natasha stepped on his leg, forcing him to stay put. He cried out in agony between ragged breaths. In a surge of urgency, he spurted out, "I will give you a name if you let me go! Please!"
The name of their employer? Is it someone in the Inner Circle? They're untouchable. This could be a breakthrough. Natasha didn't hesitate to jump at the offer. "Talk."
The man licked his lips sloppily, sucking in air when he could. He hesitated, indicating that he rethought about what he was doing. Before Natasha could put more pressure on his leg, he cracked, "Red Onslaught. His radical plans exceeded what the Hellfire Club originally wanted and they turned him away." The silence he received in response caused him to panic. "That's all I know, I swear!"
Then go.
Natasha stomped on the man's neck with a sickening crunch.
She wiped her face off with her dirty shirt and discarded it. The clean sweatshirt she had thrown aside earlier now came in handy. In order to ponder about the name, she needed to calm down. As she put the sweatshirt on, she remembered something Matthew Murdock once told her about steadying her heart rate.
Natasha walked out of the building and onto the cold street.
Walk through the motions. Listen to the city. See it through other senses. Your heart will calm down... A sigh escaped her lips. Matt might've been full of bullshit, but he did know a trick or two on how to tap through Natasha's mental walls.
The benefit of hunting so late became apparent almost instantly. Hardly any engines echoed against the buildings, meaning few cars traveled. Gasoline hung lowly in the air. Yelling in two houses ensued, but the rest remained in slumber. The constant buzzing of the street lights flickered in and out as the old bulbs struggled to keep up with the power. Glass broke somewhere in an alley. The crisp, chilly night air burned her nostrils until a horrid stench hit her in the face. Piss. Garbage. Rotten food. Body odor. The overpass housed the city's homeless. She didn't realize she was already halfway back home. Too bad she didn't have any money on her.
Natasha put her fingers on her other wrist to test her pulse. Back to normal. Thanks Murdock. A hint of a smile nearly blessed her lips, yet it disappeared when she heard His footsteps behind her.
"I see letting go of this grudge is going to be difficult," Clint, or whatever vague version of him Natasha's mind had created, spoke up. He waited for a minute, and was met with painful silence. He caught up to her in a half jog, the tone of his voice low, "They need you back home, you know."
Ugh. Did Murdock have any advice to get rid of voices?
Ignoring him was the key. None of that mattered as long as those two butchers were still out there. The thought that those villains could kill more people at any moment made Natasha's stomach churn. More loved ones lost on Natasha's watch. How could she stand aside and let it happen?
"A lot of stuff is going down. Haven't you watched the news?"
She hadn't touched a television in god knows how long. This hunt called for complete isolation for invoking thought. Planning. Something, anything, that didn't make Natasha feel like a horrible human being for ditching her team. Any answer would only make Clint retort a ridiculous comment.
A gasp of excitement broke the silence. "Look, Nat, a dog!" Clint ran over and knelt down next to it. Natasha stopped to look at the dog, but her eyes darted quickly over to the stranger sitting next to it.
James Buchanan Barnes.
Natasha's breathing hitched. James? All the way out here? Why? With the way he looked, he had definitely seen better days. Even the days in the Red Room appeared better than this. In an instant, the pain of losing Clint was overshadowed with concern.
His metal arm hid underneath the red long sleeve shirt and black gloves he had on. A ripped hat covered half of his stringy brown hair. Seeing him slightly shake emphasized how cold it truly was outside. The dog growled, drawing Natasha's eyes over. The thin golden retriever curled up beneath a worn blue jacket.
She knelt down and held her hand out to allow the dog to sniff her hand. When the possibility of the threat faded, the dog let its tongue hang out. Its tail wagged underneath the coat and a small twinkle lit up in its eyes. While petting the dog, she peered over at her fallen colleague. "James?"
The dead gaze he held remained for a moment longer. The agony emanated off of him, expressing how torture and guilt ate up his soul. Most of all, the rings around his eyes stood out. When he finally broke his concentration, a hint of recognition fell across his features.
"Come on, James." Natasha held her hand out.
He hesitated. Then, with a small nod, he took her hand. Both stood up and dusted themselves off. He motioned towards his new companion, "I promised this dog I'd protect him from the other dogs."
A small breath that resembled a chuckle managed to easily push through Natasha's throat. With all the stories Steve told, only the truly genuine Bucky would protect a dog that reminded him of pre-war Steve. Maybe Hydra's hold on him didn't stay solidly rooted.
And maybe...just maybe...this dog would portray one last gift that reminded her of Clint. A part of him that couldn't live on now could with her.
For a moment, she nervously glanced around for any visual confirmation of Him. Nothing near the dog. No one watched idly from the sidelines. His voice never echoed in her ears, ranting on about something random or going home. It was utterly, and disturbingly, quiet. Maybe this was a sign that she was headed down the right path once more.
She nodded her head in the direction they were going, motioning to bring the dog with him. A small smile tugged at Bucky's lips as he patted his legs for the dog to follow. He retrieved his jacket from the ground and silently walked on.
Questions drifted across Natasha's mind. She shoved her hands into her pockets and stared a few buildings ahead. "What are you doing out here?"
"Got into the city two nights ago. Looking for a place to stay where no questions are asked."
Of course. Straight to the point. Simple. Nothing ever changes with him. "Good thing I found you then." Didn't know how...or why she found him, but having company that doesn't fully know what happened back home felt so refreshing. Without the guilt ridden glances and awkward silences, she was able to breathe and focus on revenge.
Natasha unlocked the door to her flat and let James walk in first with his dog. She turned on the light and locked the door behind her. The flat itself was hardly any bigger than a hotel room. Small black and white tiled kitchen on the left side. Yellow and green tiled bathroom on the right. A rickety bed and a dark oak nightstand were in the corner. A corkboard dangled from a nail in the creme wall. An oak bistro table and set of chairs attempted to fill the empty space. Other than that, the room was void of furniture. She threw her keys down onto the table and sat down. "How long has it been since you relapsed?"
Bucky took his hat off and hung it on the back of the chair. He ruffled his matted hair as he glanced around, trying to avoid the question. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? When traveling, time is lost to the wanderer. He simplified his thoughts into one statement, "Since the attack on SHIELD." He hesitated, yet still grabbed the gun from the back of his pants and set it gently onto the table. "Just in case."
"James..." Her eyes were glued to the gun as painful memories emerged again. The fear of not being able to control your own actions or emotions. The fear of having the chance to hurt your loved ones. The fear of being the monster you were built to be. James placed that gun there for Natasha's protection. If he were to relapse, it was a sign giving permission to end it. In the end, Natasha nodded.
In a sense of hope, she confided in him, "Way back during our Red Room days...We had planned to leave it all for the fifth time around and actually committed to it. To hell with those Russian bastards, you would always say." Natasha paused and looked down at her clasped hands. "The only catch was I relapsed. I tried to kill you because that's what they wanted me to do. When we fought, you brought me back. You did that, James." Her eyes flickered back up to meet his. "Don't constantly live in fear of it happening. You saved me from it. I will not hesitate to do the same."
Bucky bobbed his head slowly, running through the memory again and again. He yearned to remember it, but his mind had been wiped too many times to do so. He clenched his fist as a lump caught in his throat. How could he remember their days in the Red Room, but not remember anything like that? He switched topics to avoid the frustration, "I can sleep on the floor..."
"No. Take the bed. I wasn't going to sleep tonight anyway." No way in hell. There was too much on her mind. Too much at stake. Too many variables to consider. Not enough time. Natasha pet the dog one last time before leaning back in her chair. "I'll get you clothes and food in the morning. Get some rest."
If he did know one thing, it was Natalia was too damn stubborn. Arguing against her was pointless once she set her mind to something. He admired her for that. "Thank you." Bucky set his jacket on the seat and called the dog onto the bed. The dog happily jumped up and ran in circles on the warm blankets. Bucky smiled and got comfy, allowing himself to rest easy for once. Soon enough, both of them were out like a light.
Should Bucky stay? Would calling Steve be such a bad idea? This wasn't his fight, and having him there could easily escalate the situation. Then again, he was starting to gain his footing again The brainwash had faded enough to bring back some resemblance of the old James. If he leaves with the team, he could relapse. Can't have that. No one on the team knows how it is like to go through that process. So, he would stay. For how long? Not sure. Natasha nodded to herself as a confirmation to stand up and plant herself into the indented piece of carpet in the corner.
A cork board hung up on the wall composed of intertwined connections of string, note cards, and photographs. Locations and dead ends held majority of the board. Targets of all kinds also tied into the loop ranged from lowly henchmen to the huge mutant question marks that ran the entire crime ring syndicate. Most indicated towards the Hellfire club, but now a new player emerged. Natasha wrote in in big, bold lettering on the note card: RED ONSLAUGHT?
She stepped backwards as she bit her lip. Her eyebrows furrowed together in contemplation and her arms slowly crossed themselves. Who were they? What did they want? What are they planning to do that even the Hellfire club didn't even want to be a part of it?