If we're all being frank here, it was quite obvious that Barnes and you hadn't had a moment for a while now. With the emotional strain that tied a noose around both of you, it seemed like your paths were meant to be in opposite directions. The circumstances forced you both apart. And honestly, distance is not bad. It's not too hard to handle either in regards to relationships. Yet, there was just this vacancy and lack of security present when you both are not close.
Sound pretty fücking cliché, right?
Well, those were the exact thoughts running through the old man's head when he snatched your hand from his ašs and reeled you into him. He hadn't touched you in so long, that in that brief moment of silence, all he could think about was how prettily your fingers fell into the slots between his and tangled in warmth.
Though you were a stubborn ašs motherfücker, and you'd never admit it out loud like your romantic fur-ball, both of you knew the feelings were mutual. A subtle smirk crossed your lips as you came to notice the whereabouts of the man's hues. "What are you thinking?"
Twinkle Toes shook his head, his azure eyes locking with yours. "What was that all about? Inside, I mean."
You heaved a sigh, glancing towards the tent that he was gesturing towards. "I honestly have no clue . . ."
"With the way things were going, I thought he would have said something about—"
"Yeah, yeah . . . I know."
There was a beat. "Well, that's a problem for another time. Forget that. I've thinking about speaking with you for a while—"
"Ugh, I knew it. I knew it! I knew this was going to happen." You said, tearing yourself away from Barnes. "You're breaking up with me, aren't you?"
The male's eyes widened to the side of golf balls. "No, no! That's not what I was going to talk to you about . . . But . . . I mean . . . are we even doing that? Dating?"
"I mean, are we not?"
"I . . . I don't think we've actually taken the time to talk about that . . ."
You hadn't talked about that.
Sweet baby Jesus. After everything you've been through— everything you've talked about with him— you had never taken the time to tell him about your feelings or what you expected out your bond.
Why were you always lagging behind on normal everyday things?
But then a thought crossed you.
From the way things sounded, it seemed like— just slightly— that he never looked at the relationship the way you did. It was as though he did not see the ting you both had as an authentic emotional involvement. Although it was dispiriting, you had no one else to blame. From day one, you seemed to always call out sex and made it seem like you were only searching for a hook up. So if that's merely what the man saw your relationship as, then you really couldn't ask for more, could you?
"I'm . . . sorry that was . . . too abrupt."
"No. No— that's honestly fine. It's just . . ."
"Yeah . . . awkward . . . I know . . ."
"Uh, so, erm. What I was hoping to say before was that I . . . think I need to go back. To Steve." Buchanan gradually softened his tone, his calculative gaze attempting to decipher your expression to see what sort of reaction to come out of the discussion. But when you gave him a gentle nod, the man resumed. "He's . . . he's my best friend, (Y/n). Steve's stuck with me through high and low waters and I blew him off like he was nothing. I blew him off again. And it doesn't sit right with me, you know? I haven't been able to get him out of my head. I just need to go tell him everything's alright. That everything's good. That I'm happy . . ."
'Happy with you,' Your mind added on, falsely.
"I understand. You need to go set things right with him before you come back or I swear," you broke off, chuckling beneath your breath, "I'll feel guilty."
"Please, no. You've got nothing to feel guilty about." The nudge that he gave at your shoulder soon turned into a protective grasp. It was as though a thousand feathers melted to create his touch. He was so gentle with you as if you would break if he did anything harder. How could this grown man— with years of experience— not understand what he was doing to you? "You'll be alright? With everything that's going on?"
"I'll handle it," you shed a feeble, but convincing grin. You were heartbroken, but unwillingly coming to the realization that maybe all of this was not as real for him as it was for you.
Bucky gave you a generous smile before he departed, leaving you all alone once again. You told yourself that this was it. You were not going to be insanely infatuated with the man anymore. It was better for both you and him this way.
And just as you were picking up the last of your heart and sanity, your focus suddenly shifted to something that happened earlier. You recalled some jacked up shït Lexon did to you. Mind control? Did he mind control me? But I thought only the son of—
Not another thought was needed to be shed. Not another word was needed to be said. You barged into Lex's mötherfücking tent like your life depended on it. The quirky male hadn't moved since you last saw him, rather he was dressing himself in that lusciously long black coat— which you were sure wasn't washed for centuries. "Lexon— Jesus, we need to talk."
"Again?" He asked, opening his mouth to add onto a joke about your heavy panting. But you immediately cut him off short.
"The founder of Pyreford used his son as the first subject of the institution. He went through the absolute worst treatment but fortunately, he escaped before it could have killed him—"
"Well, they did try to melt his brain."
"No one else had their heads fücked with. At least, not as intensely. Rumor has it, he ended up with—"
"Mental manipulation."
And then there was a stabbing silence. One that left you staring at the male, wide eyed, while he's gaze was on the floor, shamefully. Your chest tightened, heart crying out for him. "You left Mason . . . you left all of us in that place. You could have stopped everything from happening— from us turning into these things that can't live amongst society."
"Oh. So I was supposed to single-handedly save everyone from the institution?"
"You could have at least tried—"
"Oh, doll. Trust me. I did try. And left me with this." Lexon shoved back his raven mop of hair near his right temple. There was an aged, wrinkled wound present on his scalp. It was a result of a bullet, you assumed. "My father did it. He thought ending me was better than having me spread word about the experiments. He thought having me dead was better than ruining every horrible thing he was doing."
You pursed your lips, unable to say anything more. It was difficult for you to process all that had happened. "Mason and I . . . we couldn't go back to our families. Not because they wouldn't accept us or anything like that. Not the reasons you folks don't go home. But because our family pushed us through this program although they knew how risky and dangerous it was. They used us. It's not safe for us to go home. That why I picked the warehouse for us. I told Mason that we'd meet here and start our life all over again. I was so proud when he told me he'd bring all of you. He was going to make up for all the trouble my father put us all through."
"But . . . Lex, do you think he might have been possessive of us? Keeping us away from our families and all?"
"No. No. Of course, not. Mason and I— we only wanted one thing for everyone, especially those from the institution. Family. We wanted all of you to be loved and cared for. And if their families were not willing to accept their mutant child, then we will be there. The Ambassadors will be there for them . . ." You wouldn't have believed the quiver in the male's voice if you weren't a thousand percent sure that you weren't high. Lexon had a look on his face that made your stomach do turns. You knew what he was thinking about.
"You miss him?"
" . . . More than you'll ever know."
There were several things about Mason that made you despise his existence. The things he did to you. The things he did to the Ambassadors. Almost everything he did made you want to kill him. But the one thing that made you falter in your hate was how he treated his dear brother.
How much he had manipulated him over the years.
Lex had always seen the good in Mason, even though there was none to begin with.
Hence, the thought of having shot such a terrible human being made you feel absolutely god-like. But on the other hand, seeing the consequences his disappearance had left on Lexon made you feel like the scum of the earth.
If you just told him the truth, maybe all his pain and suffering and longing and misery and sorrow and everything would come to an end. Just before the words, "I killed your brother," slipped from your lips, the most core-shaking shriek reverberated its way through the warehouse.
A moment or two afterwards, chattering filled the vacancy of the building. Everyone, including a troubled Lex and you, headed towards the source of the sound. Your heart was racing. Your thoughts began to spin about, cluttering your logic as notions buzzed in your head like a hornet's nest.
Any time you heard screams like this— you were the one to brush it off, simply dismissing it. Usually the teens were fussing about or attempting to fish for attention so you didn't mind. But after recent events, you felt like you had to panic. It was unwise not to.
Again, a thought returned to your mind.
How can someone like you have it easy in their life?
And after seeing the horrifying sight before you— Marissa holding the body of the male you killed, sobbing aggressively— you felt as though your heart fell to the floor.
But forget you.
The look on Lex's face was even more sickening. The man was already to pale to start with, yet, you were still able to see color drain from his face as his chestnut hues fell on the carcass. The male paced cautiously to the centre, the swarm of teens opening a passageway for him as he trotted towards the dead body. "W. . . Who is it?" Kethan's gravelly voice cracked as his throat thickened with tears. He was battling to hold back. "No . . . no. You're wrong. You're fücking sick, that's not him."
And Lexon believed it. For a fraction of a second he believed it. He believed that it wasn't his sibling. But all of the body's features— the mousy locks, the now-pale emerald hues, and the blood-stained fawn-skin— it was far too familiar. All too much like his brother. "It can't be you. You . . . you're supposed be alive. You're supposed to be okay . . ." And then colorless male whispered something. And although no one else in the warehouse could hear him, you did.
"You're all that I had."
It was pin-drop silent. The bodies in the room fell soundless as though they all wanted to hear every shallow breath that slipped shakily from the man. But soon enough, not even figuratively, the heat from the tension swallowed the warehouse entirely. The male sucked in his breath before locking his darkening hues to the crowd that encircled his show. "I can feel it, you know? I can feel someone shaking in the grounds because they know. Because they know who did this. Because they know who . . ." The foreigner paused briefly, momentarily glancing down at what was left of his sibling. Abruptly, the man stood, hastily brushing his backhand against his salted cheeks.
Despite the number of years you practiced being emotionally numb, your subconscious mind was stirring a storm that seemed inevitable. You had practiced day and night for your encounter with Lex, so that was not of any concern. It was that your confession of murder would be so upfront and in the eyes of public. What was the worst that could happen? You'd be stoned to death, but that was well-deserved.
"Who did this? C'mon, grow a pair and tell me who did this!"
You pried your lips open, the words running through your head like a marathon. You hoped that shutting your eyes would lessen the burden and fear that was pooling inside. And soon enough you confessed.
"It was the Winter Solider!"
Bucky?
Whispers and gasps animatedly spread through the crowd like wildfire. The name echoed like a mantra. Opening your eyes, you realized that the familiar voice that uttered the innocent man's name was not you, but rather the boy you once believed was your companion. Goro stared blankly ahead, his eyes flickering towards your direction in a millisecond when he realized that you were drilling holes into his skull with your stare. Although you should've suppressed your horrified expression, with everyone's suspicion broiling, you really couldn't. The situation that your best friend had put you in was something worthy of a Stephen King- slash- Lee Child novel.
"Barnes . . . he did this?" Lex asked, almost equally as taken aback as you were. He had grown fond of the ex-assassin too over his time at the Ambassadors. He recognized that Buchanan had some sort of potential to bring goodness to the organization. Hence, hearing the news about the Winter Solider certainly did twist his reality.
"Remember when he beat the shït out of Mason that one time? Bucky punched a hole straight into the boy's face! He probably came around to finish him for good this time!" Your heart was throbbing from the accusations made.
Remember Rahul? And how egotistical and attention-loving he is? Well, this was his time to shine. The moment he heard the soldier's name, he was all in the game. "Yeah! He's been working with the Overseers from the institution. He's the reason why we're always cowering in this stupid warehouse!"
"The only people who will love for us or care for us is our families. But ever since we all escaped, the guy's been on a mission to clear them out. That way we have nowhere else to go."
"Goro!" You called breathlessly, baffled by the fact that the soft-spoken healer had added onto the hatred that was spurring. "What the fück do you think you're doing—"
"Shut your trap, (Y/n)."
Your eyes widened. You struck his chest. "Don't tell me what the hëll I'm supposed to do—"
"You know what? I bet he's herding us up in here so that eventually the Overseers will come and finish us off so that no one will have to know about the shït they put us through!" Another, unidentifiable teenager hollered. And soon enough, the Ambassadors were heartlessly hollering, their voices reverberating through the building.
Lexon Kehthan scrambled onto a nearby crate, focusing the attention of the inattentive teens with his screams. The veins in his neck grew evident from the volume in which he howled in. "This is enough! We— we're not going hide anymore. We are going to show those Overseers, the murderous Winter Solider and all else who stands in our way, what we can do. We'll show them everything we're made out of."
And with a look of pure abhorrence, the male muttered, "And I swear, they'll hate what's coming."