Mother Earth ||| Bucky Barnes (2)

5 | 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐁𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐬𝐭

𝙰𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙰 𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙵𝙵
2016, 𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚜𝚒𝚡

"So where are we going?" I asked as Natasha and I walked through Norway, on our way to a train station, going somewhere.

Natasha didn't answer me until I kicked her in the ankles, making her stumble and whine. "Budapest. Will you relax?" She said, kicking me back.

I dodged her kick, rushing up next to her in fear of being separated. I had my staffs and my weapons in my backpack, but I didn't want to use them.

"Budapest. Why?" I asked, taking in our surroundings. Norway sure was beautiful.

She scoffed, before she answered. "Budapest. We're going to Budapest." She reiterated, making the 's' sound like an 'sh'.

I furrowed my brows, confused by her pronunciation of the word. "Budapest. There's no 'sh', so Budapest ." I told her.

Natasha rolled her eyes, clearly done with me. "It's Budapest, but whatever." She said again, as we came to a train station.

We used fake identies, of course. My long hair was not braided into an intricate bun, as I refused to have it down. Natasha was now copying my braid, with her long red locks in a simple french braid. I commented on it. She pulled my hair.

The train ride wasn't terrible, but it was an extremely long 29 hour ride. I re-read The Book Thief and Pride and Prejudice twice each in that time period. I could've watched a movie on my old phone, but that would've reminded me of every Disney movie Bucky and I used to watch every day. I wasn't ready for that yet.

And 29 long hours later, Natasha and I were walking the streets of Budapest. I had no idea why we were here, but I wasn't going to ask.

"Why are we here?" I did it. Damn me.

Natasha kept walking briskly down the street, keeping a watchful eye open. "I used to live here. There's stuff we need to do." She explained, and my eyes widened.

I took in the new information, discreetly placing a gun into my waistband out of nervousness. "Is this where you tell me what happened in Budapest with Clint?" I asked, ignoring the rest of her statement.

She smiled a little bit, before shaking her head and grabbing my hand, pulling me with her.

We walked down the streets of the city a little while longer, before arriving at a rundown apartment building, that was in slightly better condition than my home in Romania.

We passed some people with guns, making me grow uneasy. Natasha led me to an old elevator, ignoring my pleas to use the stairs. When I misbehaved with HYDRA, they would lock me in an elevator, having it go up and down at rapid paces for days at a time. It scared me still, so I left Natasha alone, and walked up the stairs by myself.

Recently I feel as if Natasha doesn't care about my trauma as much as I care about hers. She used to, so much. She would ask me about what goes through my head all the time, she would check to make sure I was getting through everything. I did the same to her, and it was like a routine. But now, she barely checks to make sure I'm still walking with her, or doing okay. She didn't ask me once about Bucky, or prison, and it hurt.