Part 1

Bucky.

"Barnes!" you gasp, lying flat on the ground where you've been thrown by the explosion of a nearby car. You're really getting sick of being knocked around all the time, tossed through the air by some kind of freaking alien or asshole in a suit.

You regret ever associating yourself with the Avengers.

This isn't even your day job!

You own a bakery, for fucks sake!

You know your cheek is cut, you can feel it stinging, the blood starting to run down your face. The pavement is hot beneath you, burning your palms and covered in ash and debris. You reluctantly push to your knees, body aching in every possible way.

Stupid Captain America.

If he'd never walked into your bakery, you wouldn't even be in this situation!

It had just been another Saturday, you'd been icing your cakes and baking your fucking muffins like you always do. You like routine, you like knowing what to expect out of your day. You have a boring and precise schedule you follow.

You'd known who he was the second the bell above your door dinged, but you'd plastered a smile on your face and asked how you could help him.He didn't look that intimidating in person and out of his fancy, patriotic suit, either. He'd just been a blonde man in your shop looking at overpriced cupcakes.

If that damned earthquake hadn't happened, due to some alien interference you're sure --- if the stupid ceiling hadn't cracked, if that stupid beam had just stayed in place ---.

You can literally go on forever.

You'd literally made a list at one point.

You never should have reacted the way you had, but it had been instinctual. You'd reached up thoughtlessly, jutting your hand into the air. The ceiling, which had started to collapse on the two of you --- how the hell did you have such bad luck that he of all people was in your shop that day??? --- causing it to halt in midair. You'd held it there for a moment, then shoved with all your might, forcing the ceiling to go back in place. You'd twitched your fingers, hearing the grind of metal twisting.

You weren't an idiot, you'd known if you didn't fix the beam somehow the ceiling would just fall down again, and you'd just finished baking that tier cake, it didn't need to be squished!

However, saving your cakes had put you in the spotlight. You'd had the unfortunate mishap to be born with an extra ability, one you've mastered quite well. You'd never been afraid of it, rather, you'd embraced it. You're an orphan, so you've never had some caring, prying family in your life.

You grew up by yourself, made your own way in life, and mastered (you hope), your ability. You're no Scarlet Witch by any means, but you consider yourself a force to be reckoned with. Apparently, thanks to Captain America's big mouth, so did S.H.I.E.L.D. You'd been put on their stupid watch list, and basically been drafted against your will into the Avengers!

You're still incredibly pissed over it, having to drop everything to rush out every time some alien got a hair crossed in his ass. You blame Steve Rogers, and you remind him of it every day you're in his presence. You know he feels guilty, and you're going to milk that as long as you can.

You should be home working on your cake, drawing those cute little frogs across it for that kids birthday tomorrow. This stupid battle was making you incredibly behind schedule!

Oh, wait --- you shouldn't be lost in thought right now, had you hit your head or something? Yeah, because a concussion is exactly what you need right now.

You shake your head, trying to concentrate. You look up, and force yourself to your booted feet, having to wear the black armor with the governments logo on it --- you can't very well save the world in a dye-stained apron, you suppose.

You lick your lips, finding you're steady. Bucky is halfway down the block from you, his metal hand wrapped around some other mans throat --- you hope that's just an enemy and not an unfortunate civilian. 

Battle is so loud, too!

You've never been in a fight, so of course they'd trained you how to defend yourself. You know the basics, although you doubt you'll ever have to use it. If you notice someone, they're not getting anywhere close to you.

You can hear some more errant explosions, the sounds of fighting and angry voices --- is that a dog barking somewhere?

"Stupid freaking aliens," you mutter, brushing your black clothing off, dust covering your dirty hands. You're a stickler for hygiene, something else you're not appreciating.

You start forward, knowing you can't just stand there all day. You're not sure who exploded the car ten feet from you, but they're getting an earful back at their tower! You're not invincible, or in a multi-million dollar suit, either!

You're literally in some tough nylon or something!

You raise your hand, your body moving before your brain even registers what happens. The piece of falling building, a good chunk of a skyscraper, suddenly hovers in the air. Ah, yes, more random civilian screams, wonderful for your headache.

You frown, and move your hand, gently setting the chunk onto the sidewalk.

Natasha had asked you once how your power worked, if you felt the weight of the objects you could move. You don't, it's not like you can actually --- well, it's hard to explain. You just think about something, and it moves. You've found using your hands help you maneuver it a little better, help sort out where you want it to go, although you don't need to use them. You can feel a pull, and eventually it's like your muscles start to ache and burn if you use your power too often.

Today, though, mostly you've just been tossed out of a moving car and tossed through the air.

It's not started off well, you realize.

The scowl on your face is permanent as you stride forward, your long hair drawn back into a ponytail, which you can feel hitting your back. You're impatient for the fight to be over, for everything to calm down where you can go home again.

You just want your peace and quiet back.

To be alone once more.

"Barnes!" you call, seeing the metal man taking a brief moment, his beady eyes flicking around the war torn area of the city. He was surrounded by debris and a few bodies, and you gave him props for being such a badass. He doesn't talk much, he has that wounded, angry look in his eyes all the time that lets you know the world was shit to him too.

You know Rogers story, what happened to him --- the entire world basically did. You know about Hydra, how it kidnapped Barnes and tortured him and made him go all badass for a while. Rogers gets stuck in an ice berg and his buddy becomes the Terminator --- another reference neither of them get, too.

Bucky doesn't hear you, your voice is drowned out by the rumbling. Your steps falter, and you look up, eyes widening as the sun is blocked out.

No one said anything about some crazy spaceship!

Fucking aliens!

You hesitate, then make for cover immediately into one of the empty shop doorways, not about to be a target on the middle of the street. Bucky, however, doesn't move, just stares up at the giant, hovering craft. It's humming, which you find kind of strange, you're not sure what it's doing.

You can hear the radio crackle in your ear, the ear piece suddenly reminding you that you're connected to everyone else as well.

Huh.

Have they heard all your cussing?

"Does anyone else see that giant tin can?" you hear Rogers ask, sounding resigned. You've no idea where the rest of your teammates are, you're all spread out around the city at this point, Iron Man and his winged bro-bro flying around above.

"Who's is it?" Natasha demands, her voice crackly and hard to hear, she must be farther away. "Can anyone tell what it's doing?"

"Right now, it's just hovering." Barnes says, his voice clear in your channel. His accent isn't as heavy now as it used to be, not like when you first met him a few months ago. Sometimes it slips back in, little words lilting. "Should I investigate?"

"No, don't engage. Let's not entice it." You hear Tony Stark interrupt. "I'm a few minutes away, I'll scan it. Is there any markings?"

"Not that I can see." Bucky's voice is thoughtful, but you can see his scrutinizing gaze. He has no idea you're nearby, you're sure of that. You don't intend to reveal yourself, either. Hopefully, you can just disappear into another direction.

"Everyone, check in." Rogers sighs. You hear everyone mumble into their mics, and you know Rogers is counting off on his fingers, making sure the number is right. You don't immediately say anything, it not occurring to you to even speak. Most of the time, you feel more like an observer, just like you have your entire life.

You're not really a part of them, and you never will be. You're just someone who's come into their lives for a brief moment, staying on the edge of their attention spans. You'll disappear soon, just like you always do, and they'll forget all about you.

It's happened enough to you in your life that it doesn't bother you anymore.

Your eyes flick up, your white teeth digging into your plump lower lip as the ship suddenly makes a funky sound, like crunching metal. You stare as the bottom starts to open, metal grinding as something starts to drop out of it.

"Shit! Shoot it down!" Barnes suddenly gasps, his voice startled. "It's a weapon, it's another one of those ---."

He doesn't get to finish.

The weapon he spoke of, it looks like a giant laser. The spaceship is hovering between the buildings, probably about eighty stories above you. It's blocking the sunlight, making it impossible to focus on anything else. The laser is now out in the open, very machine looking, something you're not very good with. It almost looks like someone just build a large version of a child's toy.

However, as you see the rings around it spin quicker, lighting up a bright, bright red, you know it's no toy. You can feel the heat from where you stand on the street, and you grit your teeth, hunching down a little more into the brick doorway.

This so isn't your day.

The laser deploys, causing you to gasp as your hands fly to your ears. You whimper, curling in on yourself at the high pitched, milk-curdling sound it emits. The sound of the explosion is awful, and the ground around you rocks and rumbles. You can feel the backlash seconds later, the force of the attack shoving you hard into the wall; you can't move, all you can do is helplessly lean against the brick, the force absolutely too much. You can't even breathe, your lungs feel like they're burning!

Shit!

Finally, finally, it's over! You collapse down onto your knees, sucking in long lungfuls of air. You hardly dare look behind you, you hardly dare think about what you're going to see. You can hear everyone screaming over the radio channel, bellowing to take the ship down no matter what. You don't see what everyone is going to do about it, you can see Stark hovering around the ship, staring down at the glittering shield around it.

This is your city, and it's being destroyed.

You feel almost helpless as you look up, knowing you're once again covered in dust and ash. Your skin is prickling, the heat is starting to get to you, and you're having a hard time breathing again there's so much pollution in the air.

You've been in a few battles, but nothing has ever been like this.

It's awful.

And you can't do anything about it!

You clench your hands, your hair falling around your face, sticking in the blood on your cheek. You stare upward, watching as Tony throws everything he has at the spaceship, missiles lifting from his shoulders and smashing into the craft over and over --- he wasn't making any difference!

"Status report!" Rogers demands, and for a brief moment you're irritated; did none of them even notice you didn't say a word?

"The south side of town is done," you hear someone cough, although you don't recognize the voice. "It's burning to the ground."

Wait.

The south side?

Your shop!

No!

You worked twelve years to buy your own bakery, you've basically worked it from the ground up! There's no way --- did aliens just destroy everything you care about? Your home? You live above your bakery, it's literally all you have in the world.

No, no they have to be mistaken. Your shop is on the higher end of the south side, in a nice neighborhood where people walk their dogs down the street and you offer them homemade doggy treats because you like animals better then people. Surely, the ----.

"How bad is it?" You hear Rogers ask hesitantly.

"It's bad."

Fuck!

They'd fucked up your shop!

You look up angrily, your nails digging rivets into your palms. These aliens, whatever the hell they were, are ruining everything for you! You've worked so hard --- you'd just baked that kids stupid cake, and you're supposed to put the stupid frogs on it today!

Your eyes burn for a brief moment, but you're too angry to really grieve. No, you're enraged. You can feel the heat sweep your body, tighten your throat, squeeze your spine. You tense for several seconds, all your happy moments disappearing before your eyes.

You'll destroy them.

Once again, your body moves. This happens a lot, you moving or doing something before you register what's happening. You find yourself crawling up onto one of the nearby cars, getting a little closer to the spaceship. Your neck aches from looking up so long, but at this point, it's the least of your pain. You rub your hands together in anticipation, cracking your knuckles, as if any of that helps.

You tilt your head a little, your eyes narrowing as your hand rises. You know what you want to do, you want to crush every being. You want to start at their throats, you want to squeeze until their eyes pop from their skulls.

Unfortunately, you'll have to settle with that stupid weapon. You angle your fingers, forming them into an almost claw. Considering your body is already aching, if you feel any pain from concentrating your power so hard, you don't notice.

"My fucking bakery," you mutter, your nose curling. "My fucking bakery!"

It's like you can feel your power, another part of you, wrapping around the laser. Stark is still fighting the shield  around the craft, as is Falcon and another you don't bother to look at. They're never going to get through the shield in time, you don't see why they don't attack the fucking weapon that's obviously through the shield.

You grind your teeth, hearing your jaw pop. Your power is slithering its way around the weapon, almost like a snake getting ready to squeeze its prey. You can't explain the feeling, you can't explain to anyone how your power works, how it's just simply an extension of yourself.

All you know is that you can control it, you're not a danger to anyone, you've obviously survived the past twenty-something years without causing some kind of catastrophe.

Well, maybe that should change.

You're about to show these aliens who they're bloody well messing with.

You can feel it, your power has curled tightly around that weapon. Now all you have to do is squeeze is a little.

You feel the resistance immediately, your fingers not wanting to curl inward. You're trying, and you can feel the muscles in your wrist strain at the pressure. It's as if your own hand is around the laser, and you're trying to crush it.

You're going to crush it.

You hold your breath, thrusting your other hand into the air. The ship rocks immediately, turning nearly on its side. It rams into the buildings closet to it, causing more debris to crumble downward. You ignore it, feeling your hair lift off your shoulders --- great, now you've lost your hair-bow.

That was the last one you had!

Damned aliens!

You shove your hand up again, and for the briefest moment, you can see your power shifting through the air, ramming into the underbelly of the ship and sending it rocking dangerously again. Good, that should help expose the weapon some more.

The craft is half in the building now, and you know it's stuck, it's having a hard time moving. It's not humming quite as loudly now, for which you're glad.

Now, about the crushing.

"Shit!" you hear Stark say, and you see his iron suit back off the ship.

Smart man.

You squeeze your hand again, feeling the pressure start to give. Your lips press into a thin line, and your freezing fingers wrap around your wrist, steadying it. Your neck aches, but you don't break eye contact with the laser weapon, feeling like you're some idiot in a comic book.

You're beyond enraged, all you can think about is your bakery, your livelihood. You don't want to save people for a living, you don't want to fight for the betterment of the world --- it was shit and that was never going to change, so why bother?

The bakery made you feel normal, it's all you have in the shitty world. You treasure it, it's your baby --- and now they've taken it from you!

There's a horrible crunching noise as the weapon begins to collapse in on itself, pieces of it flying off in different directions as your power overwhelms it, choking it. You hear the groans of scraping metal, the explosions as it starts to malfunction. You can feel the smirk overcoming your lips as you tilt your wrist back, the laser groaning as its tilted upward.

They can shove it up their ass.

You bend your arm at the elbow, and then shove up again with all your might, sending the laser smashing through the bottom of the ship. Immediately, fire explodes into the air, and for a moment, it blinds you.

You raise a hand to shield your eyes as the ship literally implodes, taking down the building it's lodged in and everything else around it. You feel the force of the backlash, just like you had the first time.

It knocks you right off the car, sending you sailing through the air --- you should really invest in some bubble wrap or something for the hard landings.

To your inane surprise, the landing doesn't hurt as badly as you expect. You're disoriented for a few moments, your ears ringing painfully, your breathing shallow. The aching of your body is nothing to joke about, your body is letting you know how much it dislikes the situation you're in.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your hand lightly spasming. You hold it tight against your chest, your elbow down tingling, as if it's been asleep for a long time. You're not sure where you are, if you're dead, if you're under debris or if you're ---.

Is that a hand on your ass?

Your eyes pop open, bloodshot and immediately furious. It takes them a second to focus, and you blink, suddenly deflating.

Oh.

You're on top of Bucky Barns, apparently he pillowed your landing earlier.

Nice!

Well, that he pillowed your fall, not that you're on top of him.

Is he okay?

"Barnes?" you wheeze, unable to currently move your body. He's on the sidewalk, his good arm wrapped around your hips, which is why you feel his hand on your ass. He must have grabbed you just as the backlash hit --- he probably saved your life!

So, naturally, you're concerned for him.

His eyes are closed, his head rolled to the side where you can see some cuts on his scruffy cheek. He's breathing, so he's not dead, maybe just unconscious? You hesitate, then roll, groaning as you fall off his chest and onto your side. You cough, your throat burning from the dust in the air.

You can't move, your entire body hurts so badly you could cry. You fight the painful tears, forcing them back --- you can't lost control, not now. You hold your hand to you, just now starting to get feeling to return. You finally dare to look up, seeing nothing but fire in the sky. The ship is done, its in flames, but so is half of the city.

You hope they're all dead.

"Barnes," you mutter again, rolling around until you manage to get to your knees. You frown as you look over at him, hair straggling in front of your eyes. 

Is he okay?

You hesitantly raise a hand to your ear, but the piece there is gone, apparently knocked out. You don't know how anyone else is, if they're okay or not. You hope so, but they're of no concern to you now.

"Barnes?" you reach over with your right hand, patting his chest, shaking him slightly.

Well, he's unconscious, that's lovely.

You grimace, glass and concrete crunching beneath your knees, biting into your skin as you shuffle closer. You grab his collar, shaking him roughly, hoping he didn't hit his head too hard.

"Barnes, you fucker, wake up!" you snap, starting to grow worried. He didn't get hurt helping you, did he? You didn't even realize he knew you were around, let alone would rush to you to grab you before you could be seriously injured!

Oh lord.

Now you're starting to freak out.

"Bucky!" You hesitate, both of your hands suddenly cupping his face. "Bucky Barnes, wake up!"

His eyes flutter, but that's the only response you garner.

Your brows furrow, and then your palm strikes his cheek sharply. His eyes pop open almost immediately --- you barely dodge his metal arm as it reaches for you, his body feeling like hes under attack. You roll hastily away from him, watching in alarm as he turns toward you, reaching for you with no emotion in his eyes.

You can see how he could be frightening, that soulless look in his eyes --- you're almost scared of him yourself.

"Barnes?" you gasp, skittering back, as you see the sound of his name jogs him. He blinks a few moments, a look of confusion overcoming his face before he comes back to himself. You let your breath go a little, seeing his dark eyes become their normal warm color.

You like it much better.

"Are you okay?" you demand, although you don't move any closer to him. He nods his head, looking up, hardly acknowledging you now. He stares at the destruction above him, at the heat. Flaming pieces of debris are crashing down all around, it's sort of surprising neither of you have caught fire yourselves.

You probably should move somewhere else, you reason.

You crawl to your feet, letting the wall help you as your legs wobble. Okay, so taking down an alien ship single-handedly takes a toll.

You rub your face, brushing the strand of hair off your cheek that had dried in the blood. You pat your pockets, but you hadn't thought to pack anything handy.

Not even a napkin.

You frown, flexing your hand again, feeling it start to return to normal. It's bruised, you know it'll be black and purple in the morning, but you don't care.

It's worth it.

"Come," Barnes suddenly says. You hesitate, tearing your eyes from the flames above you to stare at the dark headed man walking away from you. You don't want to follow him, you want to go home, see what's left of your life. You want to just walk away, go in the opposite direction and not ever look back.

You shouldn't even be in this mess.

But, your legs start moving, although you sort of limp, admittedly. You follow Barnes, seeing he's leading you to where one of the parks are. Are some of the others meeting there? You'd love something cold to drink, something to soothe your throat.

Maybe a hamburger too, that would be nice.

Mmm.

Your stomach rumbles, and you sigh, wishing you'd thought to grab lunch. Your day had turned out so differently then you'd expected.

You and Barnes don't speak, you have nothing to say to each other. You don't know him well, just of him. You know he's quiet, that he and Captain Fancy Pants are close. Rogers babies him, kind of treats him like a wounded, wild animal most of the time. You doubt Barnes will turn on the Avengers any time soon, he seems pretty attached and content in his place at the moment.

You figure you like him well enough, even with those wounded eyes of his. You don't like looking at them, you feel sad every time you do. You can't imagine what he's gone through, what it must have been like. You're not sure if he was awake all those years, when he was brainwashed and all that, if he knew everything he did. You sort of hope that he didn't know, maybe it would be a little less guilt for him.

Poor Barnes.

You think that sincerely.

You know you're half sarcasm, but it's how you function, get through the day. Usually your smart comments are taken the wrong way, and you don't bother to correct people. The less they like you, the more they'll leave you alone.

"You could slow down," you finally grumble, irked at his quick pace. You're having a hard time keeping up with him now, you're absolutely exhausted. You've fallen quite a bit behind him, and finally you just stop. He ignored your words, so you doubt he'll notice.

You sit down heavily on a set of steps, your legs going out from under you. You simply can't walk another step, and you're not going to force yourself. You're very sure you're going to have blisters tomorrow.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, looking at the holes and rips in your black jeans. You're so tired, you don't want to fight anymore. You can still see the spacecraft from where you sit, and you're content to watch it pop and crackle from the distance.

You look over, but Barnes is no where to be seen. You're glad he kept going, you don't really want to see any of the others. You lean your shoulder against the railing, taking mental notice of all your aches and pains.

It'll be worse tomorrow, of that you're sure.

You continue to work your hand, if you don't it burns. It's so sore, and you hate it when it's like that. 

You're also glad you lost your ear piece, you don't have to listen to anyone speak, either.

What's that?

You blink, seeing something suddenly detach from the flaming spacecraft. It's another, much smaller ship, probably full of whatever survivors were left. The survivors of the evil, fucking aliens that burnt down your fucking bakery!

Your hand rises again, and you see the escape pod suddenly jerk in midair, struggling. It's all you can do to hold it still, to not let it escape. You can feel it pushing, bending your hand back, but you refuse to let it escape.

They're not going to get away with this!

You won't let them!

Your crash it.

You bring your hand down, and the pod follows, tumbling hundreds of feet and smashing into the center of an intersection a block away from you. Your hair lifts off your shoulders, but you don't move from where you're sitting, just watching.

God, your hand hurts.

You give it a moment, and then fumble to your feet, hopping a little to take pressure off your aching leg. You watch the pod as the dust clears, seeing the dents in it, almost like fingerprints. You hobble forward, your hair falling into your eyes, starting to feel a little numb.

You're so tired, but you're not going to pass up on this opportunity.

You gaze at the pod, seeing the side door fly off, a few aliens staggering out in disarray. They're coughing and hacking, dressed in strange clothing with tight, stretched skin across their faces. You don't know what they are, you don't really care --- they're going to pay.

Again, your hand rises, catching one of them as they start to dart for safety. You catch him by the throat, your head tilting a little again as a small smile plays on your lips. You like watching him squirm in the air, how his legs twist and flail. You're going to choke him to death, you're going to make him suffer.

Or her.

You can't tell.

Your eyes flick to the other aliens, just daring them to make a break for it, to dare move. You'll snap their leg bones into chop sticks.

"Do you know what you did today?" you ask, your voice raspy and harsh. You're not sure if they even understand your language, but you don't care. "You destroyed something very precious to me with your toy gun up there."

You lower the struggling alien to the ground, releasing him. You group your hands together into a circle, forcing all the aliens back to back, whether they like it or not. You know you can crush them, just give one good squeeze and make all their eyeballs pop right out their pointy skulls.

It's not going to bring your bakery back, it's not going to return your life to normal --- but it'll certainly feel nice.

"(Y/L/N)!"

Huh?

You glance over your shoulder.

"Don't!"

"Don't want?" you snap at Barnes, seeing him running towards you. He's pretty quick for a man his size with a metal arm.

You're a little surprised he came back.

"The others saw the pod fall, they're on their way," he informs you, his eyes on your face. He finally gets a good look at you. Your hair is loose now, and there's blood on the left side of your face, strands of your hair dried there. You look rough, your hands shaking where you hold them still. You're going to be in a lot of pain tomorrow, he can tell.

He saw what you did.

He'd turned, he'd watched as you'd climbed on top of that car, how you'd thrust your arm into the air. You'd taken down an entire spacecraft whereas none of Stark's explosives could even make a scratch. You'd brought it down like it was nothing!

What the hell are you?

He's never seen anyone with power like that, not unless they've been genetically messed with. Sure, there's that young witch girl, but she has no idea what she'd doing. The rest of the Avengers are modified, or heavily trained and skilled... or just rich and have their toys.

But you... you're not like the rest of them.

You've never looked at him distrustfully or judged him like the others do, waiting for him to snap at any moment.

The first day Bucky saw you, Agent Coulson was dragging you into Stark tower, the unofficial headquarters for the Avengers these days. You'd had almost a sullen look on your face, white powder on your clothing, flour he realized later.

Agent Coulson had just sort of announced the newest addition to the team and shoved you down everyone's throats. You're a baker, you have your own place, and you'd stopped a ceiling from falling on Steve's head with telekinesis, if Bucky recalls correctly.

He's seen you fight before, always with an annoyed look on your face. You disappear as soon as the battles are done, he assumes you go home and return to your normal life. You heavily dislike being involved with them, you've made that abundantly clear from the start.

Bucky likes you, honestly. You're quiet, but when pushed, you have a razor tongue. Back in the day, he would have gone after you like a man with a death wish. He would have pursued you until you punched him in the nose --- which is pretty likely, considering your personality. He doesn't say much to you, mostly because he doesn't know what to.

He hasn't read your file, he doesn't know what you're about or your history. He prefers not to know, to not get to know you. In this line of work, you're going to get hurt, maybe even die. He doesn't want to let himself like you and then watch the life drain out of your eyes a few days later.

Still, you amuse him with your biting, sarcastic comments to the others, how obviously disdainful you are. You don't think being an Avenger is glorified, you seem to despise every second of it. You've said over and over what a waste of time it is, and although Bucky doesn't agree, he doesn't argue with you.

Now, he has a great respect for you. You've been holding back a long time, in every battle he's seen you in. Watching you take down an alien spaceship made him understand why you always looked so bored and impatient. You're a strong woman, passionate about your work --- you have a fierce control over yourself he's not seen in anyone. You can control your powers, there's no worry you're going to fly off the handle and destroy half a building.

You managed to stay under the radar for your entire life, until Steve walked into it.

He seems to have that affect, screwing people's lives up just by entering them.

"Don't kill them." Bucky says after a moment, drawing your attention back to him. You're a good person, he knows you are. He doubts you've ever killed anyone in your life, and you don't need that blood on your hands, alien or not. There's a line he doesn't want you to cross, if he's being honest.

He can see it in you, the same pain he feels sometimes. You're uncomfortable around the others, as if you don't quite fit in with them, and he feels the same way. He was once their enemy, and now their friend? No, he knows some of them still hold reservations against him, but he doesn't blame them.

One word from a Hydra agent, one specific word, and he'd be their super soldier again.

It's not safe for people to be around him, to trust him with their lives when so clearly he's dangerous. You have walls, thick ones, built so hardily around yourself Bucky's not worried they'll ever break.

Maybe that's why he likes you, why he'd run towards you when that ship had crashed, the only thought on his mind catching you before you hit the ground. He didn't want you hurt anymore then what you already were, he wanted to stop your pain ---.

"Why shouldn't I kill them?" you demand, glaring at the metal man beside you. "Look at what they've done! They've destroyed my shop!"

"You don't know that." You're worried about your bakery? Is it on the side of town that the laser obliterated? Bucky has never been, although he's tasted your cupcakes and they're divine. You're an excellent cook, and your designs are pretty, too. You're an artist as well as a soldier, but every person does have two sides to them.

"Aren't I? They hit the south side, that's where my shop is," you mutter, staring the aliens down, tightening your hands just enough to make them squirm. "I don't have anything left."

What?

Bucky stares at you, a little surprised. He knows you're serious about your shop, but... does it mean that much to you? It's just a building.

"Just don't kill them." he repeats, not knowing what else to say. You glance at him again, growing edgy. His brown hair is in his eyes, black on his cheeks from the fires and all the fighting. He reminds you of a small child, meek almost, despite you know what kind of killer he really is.

You just don't get him.

You doubt you ever will.

"If you kill them, if you take that step, no matter what race they are, you'll have blood on your hands." Bucky says after a moment, still not looking at you. "It's something you can't come back from."

"What makes you think I haven't killed people before?" you scoff.

"You're not that kind of person."

You frown at his words. True, you're not really the malicious, murdering type. You might be spiteful and vengeful, but you've never taken another life. You look at your captives, your helpless would be victims.

You don't want to let them go. They'd destroyed the city, taken countless lives --- why shouldn't you break their bones and make them wish for death?

Admittedly, the first snap and you'd probably puke, you're not really that good with the whole gore thing. Odd, considering your new line of work, but you definitely didn't choose it.

You cut your eyes at Bucky, then back at the prisoners, and then back at him.

You know he's right, that you shouldn't kill them. His words are pretty firm, and you suppose coming from an assassin they're sound. He should know what he's talking about. If you kill them, you won't feel any better about yourself or your situation. Taking their lives won't replace any of the others lost, and it'll just make you feel worse.

You'll become just like them.

You don't want to be a monster.

You hesitate, but slowly your grip laxes, all of the aliens looking relieved as they slump. Bucky relaxes, and you swear for a moment you see the hint of a smile on his lips.

You're suddenly unsure if you let them go for your own sake, or for his.

~~~~~~~

"It looks like just a scratch, you shouldn't need stitches," Natasha says as she leans over you. You nod your head, barely listening to a word she's saying. She and Stark had come blazing in like their asses were on fire, quickly apprehending the very still captives. You and Bucky had just stood there, side by side as they were carted off.

Your fingers curl against your raggedy pants, letting the red haired woman wash the blood from your face. You'd looked horrid, and already your hands are turning blue and purple. No one has mentioned the fact you took down the spacecraft, and you're wondering if they even know.

If they don't, you'd prefer it that way. Your eyes flick to Bucky where he stands with Rogers, a butterfly bandage on his cheek. He doesn't look injured, he looks perfectly ready to rush into another fight.

You don't see how he's still standing.

Your muscles are aching, and their shaking, making it impossible for you to get up out of the chair any time soon. You've never been through anything like that, and you hope to never go through it again. You despise ---.

"It looks like they're retreating for now," Tony Starks voice interrupts your thoughts, and you turn your gaze to him where he walks into the room from the elevator, holding a thick stack of papers in his hand. "Taking down their weapon earlier proved that we're a force to be reckoned with."

"That's a relief," Natasha says, straightening as she looks at Stark. "We'll have time to regroup and form a counterstrike if necessary. We don't know who these guys are, or even what they want. They could be in league with Loki like Thanos, or ---."

"Or they could be something completely different," Falcon interjects, looking troubled. "We're at the disadvantage, I don't like it."

"We'll figure something out, we always do," Natasha assures him, wiping her hands.

"So, how did we take down the ship?" Hawkeye asks, his bow and arrows at his feet. Everyone is gathered at Stark tower, recovering from the recent battle. Everyone else is patched up, you just happened to be last because you're fussy and don't like attention. "Did anyone see what happened?"

You suddenly tense.

You don't want anyone to know what happened.

Your eyes flick to Barnes of their own accord, your face passive but eyes betraying your fear. You don't realize it, but Barnes reads you easily.

"I did." he says after a moment, all eyes turning to him. Your fingers clench nervously in your lap, your back rigid as you wait for him to spill. "It escaped the main ship, but the pod appeared to be damaged. It made it a little ways through the air before something inside malfunctioned, causing it to crash into the street where (Y/L/N) and I were."

You stare at him, an obviously surprised look on your face.

He didn't rat you out?

"Are you sure that's what happened?" the blonde Rogers asks him, standing across the room with shield still in hand.

"Yes. That's what I saw," Barnes nods his head firmly, unwavering. He doesn't look at you, his poker face is much better then your own. Your shoulders relax slightly as everyone accepts the story, not thinking twice about it, you hope.

You lean back into your chair, gazing at Barnes for a few moments before looking back out over the city.

You hope you have a home to go to after all this.

~~~~~~~~

It's not as bad as you'd thought it would be. Your building is still standing, most of the street is. From the looks of it, though, you won't be opening any time soon. Your windows are all smashed out, whether from looting or just the resonance from earlier, you're unsure. Glass and wall fragments crunch beneath your boots as you hesitantly step inside, sighing at the wreckage.

Your tables and chairs are all turned over and busted, and you didn't even want to talk about your glass display cases, or lack there of. It looks like a few pastries made it where you had them stored in the back, but overall... your bakery is doomed.

How are you supposed to survive when you don't even have a business? You didn't spend eight years slaving away at someone else's bakery, learning all their tricks so you could one day have your own, only for it to end like this!

This sucks!

You walk over to the counter, sliding the back door open.

One apple pie, still in pristine condition thanks to its container. You lift it out of the case, setting it on the counter where your register should be. You stare at it a couple minutes, your heart sinking low in your chest.

Everything is ruined.

What are you supposed to do?

How can you build back from this?

Your eyes go to the door as you hear the bell above it ding, probably the one thing that had survived the explosion. Your brows rise as you see your visitor; at least he'd been nice enough to use the glass-paned door (although of course it held none now), instead of just stepping through the massive holes in the walls.

"What are you doing here?" you ask Barnes, seeing the hesitant look on his face. He glances around, taking in the wreckage of the bakery you'd been so angry over. He supposes it was a nice place a few hours ago.

"I... came to see if you needed anything," he says uncomfortably, not looking at you; he has a habit of that, of avoiding eye contact at all times, kind of like a whooped pup. You wish he would look at you, just once.

"Unless you can rebuild my bakery, I don't need anything from you," you say shortly. You figure he has some ulterior motive, he wouldn't come of his own free will. One of the others probably sent him for one reason or another.

You turn away from him, shuffling through the mess.

"It doesn't... need too much work." he says after a moment, stepping up to the counter. You have a random pie sitting out, the only thing that looks normal and untouched in the entire store. You're fumbling around through some of the debris, muttering beneath your breath about damned aliens again.

You snort at his remark.

"I don't know if I'll ever be able to open again," you sigh, finally finding what you're looking for. You lift up the squished box, tugging it open. "It's ruined."

"It's not ruined, it just needs some work."

"Work? You mean the entire building needs to be dozed and a new one built," you huff, lifting two forks out of the box. You don't want your pie to go to waste, yet you know you can't eat the whole thing by yourself.

And, well, since Barnes is around... you could offer him something, as a thank you.

"Here," your offer him a fork, seeing his brows furrow. You wave it impatiently in his face, wanting him to take it already. "You know what a fork is, don't you?"

"I --- yes."

"Good. Then help me eat this pie, it's the only thing in here that isn't ruined." You mumble, digging your own plastic fork into the crust. "It's apple, so I hope you aren't allergic."

"I'm not."

"Good." you sigh, leaning against the red counter as you lift a bite to your lips.

You want to ask Barnes why he didn't rat you out earlier, why he didn't tell everyone that you're the one who took down that spacecraft. Your stomach had twisted itself into knots wondering over it, but you're honestly too afraid to ask.

He has his own reasons, and you don't want to question them. You hope he doesn't intend on hanging it over your head later on, because you're very sure you'll turn his silver arm into a tuna can.

So, you let it go, instead choosing to eat in absolute silence. It's strange at first, but amiable. He doesn't turn down the pie, nor does he spit it out after the first bite, so you're assuming he likes it. He's just eating silently, his eyes on the counter, never wavering.

Why doesn't he look at you?

Or anyone?

What is he so afraid of?

You're afraid you're growing more and more curious about Bucky Barnes, much more then you should be. You're worried about the fact that maybe --- just maybe --- you're starting to like him in a way you shouldn't. He is attractive, even with the fact he could be a robot. You never denied yourself that, but you definitely don't know this man.

You try not to know anyone, actually.

But that's not the point.

Point is --- you kind of want to know him.

You want to know a little bit about him, he intrigues you. He's a warrior, a fighter, and he'd saved you earlier today when he didn't have too. He'd convinced you not to murder anyone, of which you know you'd have thought of for the rest of your life.

He is just.... peculiar.

The curious case of Bucky Barnes.

You take another bite of your pie, shamelessly looking over him.

It's starting to look like a case you'll want to solve.