Necessary Good, Unnecessary Evil | No rest For Wounded Souls [Bucky Barnes]

Stalemate

"When truth is buried, it grows. It chokes. It gathers such an explosive force that on the day it bursts out, it blows up everything with it."
-Émile Zola

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Nova's POV

I pull up behind a black pickup, killing the engine and waiting in the car with the tinted windows up.
My eyes move across the street, seeing a woman with two kids stepping out of a blue house with a white fence.
The older one has curly dark hair, and he can't be older than ten years old.
The woman lifts the youngest child, putting him in the backseat. The oldest roams around the grey Ford Focus, getting into the passenger seat.
She gets in too and slowly leaves the driveway.
I wait for a couple of minutes, keeping an eye on the other car in the driveway.
Once I'm sure they are not coming back, I get out of my car and walk down the street, pushing open the white-painted wooden gate.
I peek in the window, not seeing anyone inside, and use my powers to open the door without making too much noise.
A bright hallway welcomes me, pictures hanging on the walls on both sides.
I close the door behind me, stopping to listen to my surroundings.
Old music plays in the distance, and I follow it, arriving in the kitchen, seeing a man standing in front of a table, a yellow cloth resting on his shoulder.

I press my finger on the power button, turning off the radio, and the man turns around, his eyes widening as he sees me.
"Zdraste, Drago." I enunciate, my accent feeling thicker after spending so long without speaking Russian.
The man in front of me stays immobile, staring at me.
He's worried but doesn't seem surprised. "I was expecting to meet you again, sooner or later." He states, keeping his chin up.
I notice his hand slowly moving under the table, and I sigh, annoyed. "I wouldn't do that, Drago," I suggest, nodding at his hand.
He stops his movements, gulping. "The neighbors are still at home. You don't want to blow your cover, do you?" I smirk, watching him step away.
I walk to the table, shoving my hand under it and grabbing the hidden gun. "What do you want?" He frets, keeping his eyes on me.
"What do I want?" I laugh, unamused. "Let's see," I hum, checking the gun to see if it's loaded.
"I see you have quite the life," I mutter, looking around. "A nice house, a family... how does a man like you manage to find so much to lose?" I wonder, narrowing my eyes.
"If Nočnaja Gadjuka can be an Avenger, Drago can live in the suburbs." He scoffs, and I nod my head, walking closer to him.

I used to be far too scared of him, terrified. But now? He's just a man. I could kill him within seconds and leave the scene unbothered. I guess that's what years of pain do to you. They break you down to pieces, forcing you to pick up your own remains and put them back together.
But that's not who I am. Not anymore.
"Who was with you the night Hydra found me?" I inquire, holding up his gun.
"I can't believe it..." He snickers, shaking his head.
He looks up at me, rubbing his chin. "Why don't you check your list? You already got Borut and me," he shrugs.
I frown, confused. "Who's Borut?" I ask.
"Oh, please. I know what happened to Borut. How was Bucharest?" He wonders, staring at me with a grin.
"I only remember you, dipshit. I don't know what happened to your friend." I mutter, starting to lose my patience.
Drago lifts his brows, surprised. "Oh... that's interesting." He chuckles, finally making me snap.
I hold up my closed fist, bringing him to his knees and pressing my gun against his forehead. "I'm done playing. I want the name of the people who took part that night. Or you and your family are going to pay for all of it." I seethe, feeling my heart beat faster.
He breathes in sharply, keeping his eyes fixed on mine as he grins. "You wanna know who put a bullet in your mommy's head, huh?" He whispers, his shoulder shaking as he tries to break free from my control.
I feel rage growing in my chest and move my finger on the trigger, waiting for him to speak.

Drago sighs, looking away for a second. "How much time did you spend looking for him, huh?" He frowns.
I clench my fist, watching him hissing in pain. "Answer the question," I snarl, lowering down to his face.
"It's always the one we trust the most who disappoints us the most." He says, his grin growing on his face.
"What are you talking about?" I whisper, my brain trying to process what's happening.
"I saw you got closer to him," he hums, his face tense as he studies my face to spot any reaction. "tell me, did you sleep with the man who killed your mother?"
His words hits me like icy water, and I feel my stomach twist. This can't be real. He must be lying.
All this time, I would have known. Bucky would never do this to me.
"The Winter Soldier," I whisper, losing my focus on the present as my mind tries to absolve Bucky.
Flashes of an old nightmare creep in my mind, and I finally see him.
The man who was holding a gun to my mother's head. The shine wasn't from the gun but from his metal arm.
I feel my chest getting tight, my whole world breaking down into pieces.
Is that what he's been hiding? He knew. He remembered and lied to me.
Bucky killed my mother.