Reaching Out | Bucky Barnes

4 | Friday, May 28th

"I am going to go crazy..." I mutter.

Bucky, Vision, Wanda, and I have been sitting in the living room for the last hour, scrolling through shows and movies. None of us can agree on what to watch. Well, Wanda and Bucky can't agree, Vision and I could care less.

"I just don't see why we can't watch Jaws, it's a classic and on my watchlist," Bucky argues.

"Because it has no plot and the graphics are terrible," Wanda retorts.

"And you would rather watch what? The movie with the talking lions?"

"The Lion King is actually a classic," Wanda counters.

"Alright, I'm out," I say standing from the couch.

"Traitor," Vision mutters, crossing his arms.

"Y'all have fun," I call over my shoulder as I head up the stairs. My mind wanders over what I can do instead of staring at a wall, and as I reach my room my eyes fall to the window.

It's nice out...

I turn to the desk, deciding to take my watercolors outside rather than being stuck in here. I gather my supplies before filling the small bottle with water and tucking everything into my bag as I make my way to the hall. I can still hear Bucky and Wanda bickering when I reach the bottom of the stairs and round the corner to the back door. As I get outside, I walk to the spot I went my first night here, settling myself against the tree before pulling everything from my bag. My pallet balances on my knee as I set everything in front of me and scan the area, taking only a moment before being sucked into the painting.

When that one is done, the sun is setting, and I start a new one, trying to capture the colors of the sky above the dark forest. It isn't long before it's too dark and even the Compound's lights are too dim to see the lines on my paper. I let out a huff, dropping the brush into the case and snapping it shut annoyedly at the inability to finish, but then I remember.

My hands root through the contents of my bag a moment before my fingers wrap around the lighter I grabbed from the store a few weeks back. I fish it out and ignite it, pulling until there is a ball of fire larger than my fist floating in front of me. I stretch the flame, shaping it to be long and flat, then hover it a few feet above me, allowing it to light the paper enough to finish my painting.

The fire weakens with each brush stroke, but I finish before it completely disappears, dropping my supplies beside me while the painting dries.

I beckon the flame towards me, then, the same as I do with water, I begin to weave the string of fire around my fingers. The steady heat is a warning not to let it too close to my skin, having learned the hard way that while I can manipulate it, I can still get burned.

I was 14, still just learning to experiment with my powers.

My parents and I were on a camping trip and one night when I was sitting in front of the fire, I just got the urge to pull at the flames. That's when I realized I could control elements other than water. At first, I only pulled a small amount, made it hover, then let it fall back into the pit. But then I got cocky, and with my parents busy looking for one thing or another, I pulled more. And more. Until I had a large handful suspended a foot in front of me. I pushed and pulled it, shaping it in different ways and weaving it through my fingers.

"Y/N!" My dad shrieked.

My immediate reaction was to cover the fire with my hands, to hide it away from my parents. Obviously, that was a bad idea. We laughed about later on; about just how stupid I was trying to hide fire like it was a stolen toy, but in the moment, it hurt like a bitch. I dropped the flame back to the fire and my mom opened a canteen, letting me pull a stream of water into my hands.