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Y/n's POV
I promised I would never lose myself again, that no more harm would be done by my own hands.
But here we are.
I knew something horrible ought to happen as soon as Steve entered our apartment, and that we were far too late. I let myself get too caught up in fighting the soldiers instead of running away, but running was beginning to feel even more exhausting than fighting. That's why we stayed in Bucharest for so long. We thought we were safe there. We thought nobody could find us. Instead, we were drawn out.
Once again, we were used as the tools that we were built for.
Pretending to not remember Steve proved to be more difficult than I could've ever imagined, and although I couldn't recall every single detail, I knew Steve. I knew Bucky. All I wanted to do was reach out and embrace him, to grab my two best friends and hold them once again.
I couldn't see what the Winter Shadow was doing when I went back under. What she had been instructed to do clearly couldn't have been good if our capture had been so carefully planned out by that man.
I just don't understand. Why was he doing this? What were his motives?
I blink away the heaviness in my eyes, letting light pass through as I take in the scene around me. My heart instantly skips a beat when I noticed my arm enclosed in a series of heavy machinery parts, preventing me from moving.
Where was I? This was some kind of abandoned warehouse by the looks of it, but who brought me here was the real question.
I jerk my arm, attempting to yank it out from the dense metal and free myself, but to no avail. This was the first time I felt real fear in a long time. The Winter Shadow had been taught to surpass any sign of emotion, rather to anticipate danger. Is there really a large contrast to anticipation and fear though?
Breathe Y/n, breathe.
Suddenly I hear a series of groans from the other side of the machinery. I recognize that voice.
"Y/n?"
My attention snaps to the other voice in front, relief washing over me as soon as I saw the familiar man, Sam and...
Steve...
"S-Steve?" I heard the person on the other side say before I could open my mouth.
James Buchanan Barnes.
Bucky, my Bucky.
And Steve.
My two best friends. My home.
I watched as Steve's eyes darted from me, to Bucky, to me again. An expression on his face that could only be described as uncertainty. Uncertain that we were the two best friends he grew up with.
