Lambs for Slaughter Part 2

Chapter 16

Bucky was finishing up grilling the burgers out on the balcony patio when it happened. While Steve prepared the fries and chips for lunch, Dean was tasked with stripping the lettuce and cutting into the onions and tomatoes for toppings. With the balcony door open, Bucky could hear Dean's sharp cry and the clatter of the knife as it hit the wood tile floors, and Steve's subsequent shout of "Dean!" as he rushed to catch him before he hit the ground.

Bucky abandoned the grill and shoved inside, eyes wide and slightly frantic as he took in the scene of a scream tearing out of Dean's taunt throat while he clutched onto his arm, Steve laying sprawled out on the floor beneath him yelling up at JARVIS to alert Dr. Banner and the others. Bucky crashed to his knees beside them and hovering, unsure of what to do. "What happened?"

Steve shook his head and grit his teeth, "I have no idea!"

A flash of deja vu from this morning hit him hard, and the corners of Bucky's lips twitched downwards as he moved to push up the sleeves of Dean's shirt. They both inhaled sharply when the Mark was revealed, pulsing and angrier than they'd ever seen. "Stevie."

"Shit," Steve swore, breathing out heavily. "Amara."

XX

Dean blinked. One moment he was listening to Rogers whistle an old, nearly forgotten tune, and the next he was sitting in an old, wooden church pew. The greying stone structure surrounding him arched towards the sky, the stained windows allowing colorful rays of sunlight to filter in while the room full of parishioners chatted lightly following the packed service.

The preacher, a balding man with a trimmed grey beard, shook hands of those who came up to commend him on the morning's message, and Dean watched his eyes fall on a newcomer. Someone he'd obviously never seen before. Amara. Her long, tight black dress was out of place in the crowd, and it was painfully obvious that the parishioners noticed. Women clad in bright colors and tasteful dresses, skirts, or pantsuits huddled together to whisper while the stocky old men in suits leered.

"Hello," the preacher approached her kindly. Dean wanted to tell him to run, to flee - to save himself, but he was stuck, frozen in time, with no hope of warning these people of what was sure to come.

"Are you in charge here?" Amara asked, her dark gaze sharp and demanding. "I'm looking for God."

The preacher's eyebrows rose, but he smiled gently at her. "Oh, of course. We all look for God, in all things."

"No," Amara shook her head, clarifying. "I need an actual meeting. In a room."

"Well," the preacher chuckled, looking around his chapel. "It's the right place. This is his house, and the way to reach him is through prayer." He gestured towards a few couples in the front row pews, down on their knees and foreheads touching their clasped hands.

Amara frowned, tilting her head to examine the parishioners. "Like them, you mean?

The preacher nodded and tapped a hand against the wood in front of her."Go ahead, take her out for a spin."

He walked away to give her some space while she tried to mimic the prayer position the man pointed out. Her eyes fell closed and she whispered to herself, most likely trying to speak to her brother. Her lips moved with the movement, and although Dean was petrified at being in the same room as her, he couldn't help but notice how full they looked. He hated himself for it.

"It's not working," Amara grit out, her shoulders tensing up in frustration. The preacher wasn't too far away to hear, and came back to offer her a smile. "Of course it's working. He heard you."