a lion among wolves, bucky barnes (hiatus)

fourteen.

WASHINGTON D.C.
2014

JUNE did not sleep well that evening.

Her eyes did not shut once. Her heart's pounding was like the pulse of a drum, a fist beating against her chest. Surely she had lost her mind.

Bucky Barnes was sleeping in the next room. The epitome of the violence and agony Hydra was capable of existed not ten feet from her, and the notion rendered June motionless. He could lose it. He could kill her, and some small part of her wondered if he still wanted to. Dozens of scenarios passed through her mind. June pondered the possibility of Barnes slitting her throat as she struggled to sleep, thought of him abandoning his façade and eliminating her like he was meant to months before. June loathed her imagination.

For hours, her ears strained to catch the slightest sound concerning Bucky, but she did not hear so much as the low rhythm of his breathing. Not a whisper came from the second room, and somehow this unnerved June even more. Her head turned restlessly on her pillow, towards the window, through which slanted pale beams of moonlight. A sickening guilt crept through her insides. She knew deep in her chest that she should tell Steve. She wished he was there alongside her, Sam as well. A pair of familiar faces would bring June peace — but she was not then living in a world with privileges such as that.

She thrashed beneath the blankets, frustrated and desperate. Sleep evaded her as if it was funny to see her so distraught, so anxious to lose consciousness. Her mind roared with fear. It was like June had been in a senseless daze when she agreed to let Bucky stay, and just now the effects were wearing off. Cold, numbing worry forked through her, worry about how Steve would react, what Bucky might do, what her own consequences might be. And now, to add to the load upon her shoulders, Barnes had told her the world had given her a new name. Cutlass. June thought it was a bitter word, not smooth or impressionistic or graceful. It did not roll off the tongue, nor offer any condolence — if anything, it sounded sinister. Cutlass.

June's chest flittered with doubt. Should she even sleep at all? Should she let her guard down for such a long time? She didn't think she'd be able to anyway, for so extreme were her anxieties she felt as if she could burst into tears at any moment.

Finally, she could take it no more. With legs numb and shaking, June disentangled herself from the blankets and got to her feet. Quiet as a moth, June slipped out of her bedroom.

When she stepped into the living room, her breath caught in her throat. Standing before the front door, just inches from the knob, was Bucky.

"Hey," June husked, her voice hoarse and unlike her own.

Bucky jumped and wheeled around, his pale eyes wild with alarm. June was sure if he had a gun in hand, it would be aimed at her forehead.

"What are you doing?" June asked him calmly, though the answer was rather obvious.

"Leaving," Bucky said flatly. "This was a bad idea."

June found herself speaking before she could think. "Don't. Wait, please, just . . . wait."

"Why?" Bucky said .

"I just — " June pressed her lips together, suddenly agitated. Why was she not encouraging him to leave? Was that not what she had so desperately wanted moments ago? For him to let her return to the quiet life she spent alone? "I don't . . . want you to draw attention to yourself. If you're arrested before Steve can talk to you, I'll never hear the end of it . . . . Just wait until morning. If you still want to go then, I won't stop you."

"Why aren't you scared?" Bucky demanded abruptly with desperation in his voice. "How can you stand it? How can you stand having me in the next room?"