pov- imagines

YOUR HAND IN MINE- B. BARNES

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, mentions of wanda maximoff, steve rogers, sam wilson, and tony stark
warnings: mentions of murder, hydra, the red room, mcu type stuff but no actual things about it, they're just referring to background.
about: prompt bucky and y/n holding hands because there's a crowd but not letting go when they get out of it.

the street is unsurprisingly crowded with cameras and screaming protestors when you and most of the rest of the avengers walk out of the coffee shop. even if you'd lasted at most ten minutes inside, just ordering your drinks as fast as you could so you could all get back to the tower as fast as you could, it only took one nosy bystander to snap a picture of the illustrious winter soldier and newly introduced widow, along with a gaggle of avengers, to bring the crowd of vultures outside the shops' doors.

wanda is in front of you, pushing her large sunglasses up the slope of her nose and pulling the hood of the dark hoodie she wears over her head. you can hear harsh words directed at her through the crows—some people refuse to acknowledge they don't know everything from what happened at sokovia. steve, from her side, inhales and exhales sharply before forcing a tight smile on his face to meet the people screaming at him, some saying praises and others, not such niceties. sam ignores the crowd, taking a sip from his coffee and staring straight ahead while bucky, next to you, clenches his jaw and looks down at the floor, all the pairs of eyes that follow him carrying an inconceivable amount of undeserved hate and fury. the things they scream at him are akin to the ones that have ravaged his mind ever since he can remember, but they don't make your frown lighten any less. his fingers are tapping against his thumb in a repetitive motion, the anxiety from crowds shining through bright and clear in his actions as he tries to make himself smaller, unseen.

you can make out some statements of hate towards you, very similar to the ones thrown at bucky and had been at natasha, letting you know how everyone knew of your crimes and your current status as a murderer. you can only stop yourself from rolling your eyes. a red-faced, sweaty woman screams about how good of a match the winter soldier and man-eater—that's what they were referring to you as now. you couldn't lie, you didn't hate it—were. two murderers who deserved to be killed for the crimes they weren't truly guilty of together. probably off murdering together according to them.

she doesn't stop the hand that reaches out to bucky's. your fingers squeeze the vibranium hand—he always keeps it away from the crowds if he can help it—and grasp tightly. you can feel a tiny pull at the edge of your lips when he lets himself hold your hand back.

you'd met him a couple of months ago in romania, and then again when you were on the run with him, sam, and steve, then just him and steve. it used to be silent breakfasts and curt nods of acknowledgment until you had suddenly blurted out that you understood—the weight of victims that everyone says aren't your fault but the stick of the blood drying on your hands begs to differ—and he had blinked, taken aback but now carrying the knowledge that you probably had more in common than he'd like. he started greeting you with quiet words until he eventually began to tell you about the good old days in the twenties, and didn't pry when you didn't tell him about your own childhood—probably already aware you either didn't have one or preferred you didn't.

you were friends now, but touching—holding hands—was uncrossed territory neither of you had crossed even if you'd wanted to. until now, at least.

he gently squeezes your hand when things begin to get a little too much for him, and you squeeze back, looking ahead.

it's an anchor for him, something to reassure him he's still there and, most importantly, you're there, right next to him, ready to pull him back if he needs it. crowds make him nervous, but your hand in his makes him feel like he has a sheen of protection covering him from prying eyes, or at the very least, someone there to defend him even if he doesn't think he deserves it. just like he would do for you. he can see the knowing look in steve's face when the punk catches him and you together, as well as the realization—the implications. the hope—in his mind: bucky knows those kills aren't really y/n's because she wasn't really y/n.

would that mean he knew his own kills weren't his?

you made things so complicated, made him rethink all of his guilt, only making him feel even guiltier until he forced himself to put it aside to think about in the furthest future he could.

your linked hands are hidden from the crowd until it eventually dissipates, either from the cops that are beginning to arrive to avoid a mob or because they've finally gotten bored and decided to get a life. even when the only people around you are your fellow avengers and a few passerbys that barely notice you, your fingers stay interlaced, and wanda is gracious enough to only smile at it, staying quiet about it until you two finally realize your friendship isn't a friendship anymore.