My Name Is Bucky [FemBucky&Sam]

The Winter Soldier

For a place that’s overrun with all kinds of criminals, Bucky doesn’t remember security ever being this tight. It makes her wonder just how far she will really have to go to make them all think she’s still who she was. It scares her, still, but still, she keeps it locked away just for herself as she slips into the car. Zemo sits in the middle of the backseat, she and Sam sitting either side of him, and she’s scowling, deep in thought as she stares out the window to see them being escorted by the six motorcycles trailing either side of them.

When they reach their destination, Bucky shuts herself down, doesn’t look at Sam at all as they get out of the car. They reach the inside of the bar and from then onwards, Bucky slips into place right behind Zemo and doesn’t open her mouth to say a single word.

“Come.” Zemo motions for Sam to go first and he does, reaching the bar with Zemo, and Bucky trailing closely behind. “Here we are.” Zemo smiles, slips his leather gloves off and places them on the bar top.

“Is that... The Winter Soldier?”

“No shit, idiot.”

“Fuck that! I’m outta here!”

Bucky can already hear the whispers of curiosity, the murmurs of fear, can already feel hundreds of eyes on her, if not, feel them on her metal arm. She says nothing, for now, does nothing, only keeps her ‘don't fuck with me’ mask on. She stands the opposite side of Zemo, briefly glances to check if Sam is OK and then glares back out into the crowds with murderous intent clear on her face, ready in her bones.

Another thing she was afraid of – really the real thing she was afraid of – is her ache for violence. Her too many years with HYDRA have blunted both her mind and body so that she knows only pain. Both how to give and receive it.

She loved her days in the Howling Commandos, loved how they all praised her for her perfect aim. But that was quite different, she knows, it feels more than that now. She no longer wants or needs to prove herself. With the Winter Soldier, it’s more the raw need for violence.

But maybe it’s like Dr. Raynor said; “It’s normal. Especially in your situation. You spent almost a century doing only one thing. Doesn’t matter what the thing is. If you do something for that long, and then one day, you’re finally free to do whatever you want... It takes a lot of time for you to adjust. It may even take a lot of time for you to want to change...”

But Bucky does want to change and she reminds herself of that, over and over again, because right now, it’s what’s keeping her from feeling too guilty over what is probably (if Zemo gets his own way) going to happen real soon.

Sam glances around the sea of eyes planted on the three of them and does his best to calm his nerves. He places his hands calmly on the bar top and immediately regrets it when he feels how sticky and wet the wood is. He tries not to grimace, instead, discretely pulls his hands back to his sides to wipe them furiously on these itchy-ass pants he’s been forced to wear.

Bucky sees from the corner of her eye – doesn’t know how she doesn’t “break character” – as she quickly pulls her glare back to the crowds to keep herself from doing just that. She sees most of the crowds have gone back to what they were doing, but is pleased to see they’ve all given her a wide birth.

“She’s got a new arm.”

“Definitely an upgrade.”

“Shit could get real.”

“Shit’s definitely gonna get real.”

It will if they don’t fuck off – Bucky thinks as loudly as possible, and the trio of burly tattooed men all freeze when her eyes land on them.