Sergeant James Barnes took up his position between Captain America and Dr (Y/N) (L/N). Their army had formed in tight groups, organised in neat lines, about a half mile away from the force-shield. The enemy had arrived, and they weren't going to surrender. (Y/N) was shaking slightly, rubbing his hands together and pulling at the tips of his fingers. There was an uneasiness to the doctor that Bucky Barnes hadn't seen since the war. 'Here,' he said, reaching for (Y/N)'s hand and holding it in his comfortingly, 'we're going to be alright.'
(Y/N) nodded unsurely, biting his lips as though he wasn't sure whether or not to say what he wanted to, 'we can only win so many battles Buck,' he said finally, looking up into his eyes, 'what happens when we've won all the fights we can? What happens when we run out of victories?'
Bucky squeezed his boyfriend's hand tightly. He'd never thought of war like that. It wasn't a game of endless possibilities to him. The only outcome he could see for himself was winning. He always won. The country he'd fought for seventy-three years ago ultimately won. As the Winter Soldier he'd always won. When he had to fight for a healthy mind to be with the man he loved, he'd won. Losing wasn't in the cards for James Buchanan Barnes.
'You don't run out of victories, (Y/N),' was all he could say as scaly, humanoid, creatures began to claw against the barrier, 'not when you're on the right side.'
A few of the creatures were getting through now, bounding towards them. Bucky rose his gun with one hand, instinctively stepping in front of (Y/N) with an arm held out, pushing him backwards behind him. 'You don't need to protect me, Buck,' (Y/N) (L/N) said looking a little uncertain of himself, resting a hand on his shoulder, turning him to look into his eyes, 'not right now.' James Barnes nodded reluctantly, letting (Y/N) (L/N) walk forward and float off into the air, magic encapsulating his hands.
He'll be safer up there, Bucky thought, as his hands gripped the machine gun in his arms. He felt his face screw up slightly as he aimed and began picking off the strange beings galloping straight at them. He'd been about to shoot his twelfth when a loud red blast exploded it. His eyes faced to the sky where (Y/N) was directing balls of crimson magic at the enemy. The red coat he wore was flapping in the wind, his hair pointing in every direction as he moved quickly through the air.
When the horde seemed to begin retreating, (Y/N) returned to Bucky Barnes's side, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and pulling at his hair in an attempt to tame it. 'Is that it?' he asked Steve, 'are they going?' Steve Rogers only shook his head as a portion of the force-shield separating them from the enemy began to disappear.
'We control where they get in, and they can't get behind us – to Vision,' explained Natasha Romanoff, getting into a running stance. (Y/N) simply nodded, but the confused glare he was giving Steve and Romanoff told Bucky that he didn't completely understand the plan.
'Wakanda forever!' yelled T'Challa, leading the army towards the invaders. Bucky followed, whilst (Y/N) returned to the air, his hands charged with magic.
Sergeant Barnes went to where the fighting was thickest, just as he always did. Water from the shallow river filled his boots as he shot at the oncoming horde of alien creatures. In a moment of uncharacteristic clumsiness, he tripped backwards over a small boulder, losing grip of his M249. Bucky tried to reach for the SMG holstered on his back, but a group of the frightening beings had him pinned to the ground, gnashing their sharp teeth in his face.
He heaved against their weight, simultaneously attempting to pull himself out from beneath them, and kick them away. The earth rattled beneath him as something dropped to the ground. Red veins ran through the ground, tearing apart the dirt. With an insanely bright scarlet flash, he could breathe. The aliens were gone, their body parts scattered up and down the shore of the river.
YOU ARE READING
The Red Soldier: Rise of the Red Soldier
Fanfiction(Y/N) (L/N) had finally found peace, away from the horrors civilisation held. He'd found a solace when surrounded by his own grief, but a jet plane parked outside his front door changed all of that seventy years after the death of his two friends.
