[1] hostility ▷ bucky barnes [✔]

[6] ▷ runaway

CLAD in black, James Buchanan Barnes pulled the red, white, and blue suited man from the dangerous waters. He had Artemis Schmidt's heavy body thrown over his still dislocated and aching shoulder, the wet hair of her pony tail draped over her head, sticking to his clothes. He laid his old friend down on the sandy shore, kneeling down and gently placing her on the sand as well, his hand resting carefully behind her head.

He watched her for a couple of seconds, hoping that she would start coughing up water and wake up. When she didn't do anything, he slapped her cheek gently. "Sin, wake up." He pleaded. Her head slightly bobbed to the side at the impact, but she still made no effort at all to move. His breathing began to become rapid as he stood to his feet, grabbing her by her waist and hoisting her up over his metal shoulder, not thinking about the pain stinging in his flesh arm.

He gave a quick glance back at Steve Rogers lying on the shore, before he took off as fast as he could through the woods and towards any type of safe haven that could protect him and Artemis Schmidt from the cold world outside that was prowling to catch them.

+++

When she opened her eyes, a wave of repulsion hit her like an 18-wheeler. She sat straight up, coughing and gagging up the salty remains of the water stuck in her throat. She used the back of her hand to wipe her mouth, her crystal blue eyes finally wandering about her surroundings.

She realized that there was a piece of damp cloth under her, and her eyes trailed down to it. It was a black coat; one that was not her's, and her memory swiftly came back in check. She jumped up to her feet, startled as to where Bucky's brooding frame stood or sat, and why he wasn't present. The large room echoed as her feet hit the ground, and it frightened her even more so.

"Hello?" She called, but her voice only echoed once, twice, three times, — before becoming deathly silent again. "Soldier?" She asked again, but no answer came back to her. She reached down to grab the jacket, only to be hit with another wave of repulsion. What was inside of her came up and onto the concrete floor below her, and she fell to her knees, holding her throat as it felt like fire coming up her esophagus.

When her spell was over, she fell onto her hands and knees, exhausted. She heard heavy footsteps running towards her, and once she felt a presence directly behind her, despite her weakness, she jumped up and kicked for the face. A cold, metal arm grabbed her ankle, but not harshly, and she knew exactly who it was.

"Where the hell were you?" She asks as he let go of her foot. He said nothing back to her. However, he ignored her, walking briskly by the kneeling frame of the sickened girl and to the wall, putting his back up to it, and sliding down.

His broken state stopped her sarcasm in its tracks. This is what I was sent here for, she thought, this is my job.

She slowly walked over to him, taking a seat directly beside him. It was silent for some time before he opened his chapped lips, his lonely voice speaking, flaring up her bones with every crisp word.

"Who am I, really?" He spoke, causing her eyes to meet his. She looked down at the vibrant red on his forearm nonchalantly, pursing her lips at he huge gash. He had cut out his tracker, and most likely had cut her's out as well while she was unconscious.

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes," She started slowly, and his fist immediately clenched. Her small hand quickly covered it in assurance. He became less tense after that, and she elaborated more on why these things were happening, why all these things were happening to him, and why in general.