Blades & Ballet | Bucky x Reader

Nine

Baltimore, Maryland.

I take the lead as we wander the streets of a lower-class neighbourhood. Rusty chain-link fences divide the yards of the small, rundown houses, but the families living in them make the most with what they have, decorating their properties with flowers, ornaments, and lights.

As we pass a couple of young kids, one of them shouts to us. "Hey, it's Black Falcon! What's up?"

"It's just Falcon, kid," Sam corrects.

"No, no," the kid argues. "My daddy told me it's Black Falcon."

"Is it because I'm black and I'm the Falcon?" Sam asks.

"Well, technically..." the kid hesitates. "I mean, yes."

"So, are you, like, Black Kid?" Sam jokes. The kid sighs as his friend laughs.

We continue down the street and up onto the front porch of one of the houses. I knock on the door, and a young man answers.

"We're here to see Isaiah," I tell him.

"Nobody named Isaiah live here,' the man replies.

I glance at Sam before turning back to him. "Look, we just want to talk to him."

"You must not hear what I just said," the man argues. "You ain't getting in this house. Y'all can leave now."

"Tell him the guy from the bar in Goyang is here," I press. "He's gonna know what that means."

"All right, wait here," the man agrees, closing the door.

"Nice kid," Sam remarks. "How do you know this guy?"

"I used to," I explain. "We had a skirmish during the Korean War."

"And how can this guy help us?" Y/n asks.

"I never said he could," I answer, shooting her a glare. "But he might be able to give me and Sam an idea into what's going on. You, however, have no reason to be here, so feel free to leave at any time."

Y/n scoffs.

The young man returns a second later, stepping aside to let us into the house. One at a time, we step over the threshold. I see Isaiah standing in the kitchen toward the back of the house. He's older now, his curly hair now grey and his mahogany skin leathery and wrinkled.

"Isaiah," I greet. "This is, uh, Sam and Y/n. This is Isaiah. He was a hero. One of the ones that HYDRA feared the most. Like Steve. We met in '51."

"If by met, you mean I whupped your ass, then, yeah," Isaiah corrects. I offer him a small smile. "We heard whispers he was on the peninsula, but everyone they sent after him, never came back. So, the U.S. military dropped me behind the line to go deal with him. I took half that metal arm in that fight in Goyang, but I see he's managed to grow it back... I just wanted to see if you got the arm back, or if he'd come to kill me."

I shake my head. "I'm not killer anymore."

"You think you can wake up one day and decide who you wanna be?" Isaiah retorts. "It doesn't work like that. Well, maybe it does for folks like you."

I hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to respond, and I spare a quick glance to the others. When my gaze falls on Y/n, I see that she's dropped her eyes to the floor, a look of contemplation on her face.

"Isaiah, the reason we're here..." I finally say, "is because there's more of you and me out there."

Isaiah scoffs. "You and me."

"And we need to know how," I finish.

"I'm not gonna talk about it anymore!" Isaiah exclaims, grabbing a small tin from the kitchen table and chucking it at the wall, where it lodges into a wooden beam.

Sam and Y/n's eyes widen in shock.

Isaiah approaches me. "You know what they did to me for being a hero? They put my ass in jail for thirty years. People running tests, taking my blood, coming into my cell. Even your people weren't done with me."

"Isaiah..." Sam soothes.

"Get out of my house!" Isaiah shouts.

The young man steps forward, ushering us to the front door. Once outside, Sam storms down the porch steps, leading the way back up the street.

"Why didn't you tell me about Isaiah?" Sam demands. "How come nobody bring him up?" When I don't respond, he stops in his tracks, blocking my way. "I asked you a question, Bucky!"

"I know," I reply, trying to think of a way to explain.

"Steve didn't know about him?" Sam asks.

"He didn't," I confirm. "I didn't tell him."

"So, you're telling me that there was a black Super Soldier decades ago, and nobody knew about it?" Sam questions.

A siren sounds before I can answer him, and we finally notice the police car that pulled up beside us, blocking the street ahead.

"Hey," the officer greets as he and his partner step out of the car.

"What's up, man?" Sam asks them.

"Is there a problem here?" the officer questions.

"No, we're just talking," Sam answers.

"We're fine," I add.

The officer turns to Sam. "Can I see your ID?"

"I don't have ID," Sam responds. "Why?"

"Sir, just calm down," the officer tells him.

"I am calm," Sam replies. "What do you want? We're just talking."

The officer turns to me and Y/n. "Is he bothering you?"

"No, he's not bothering us," Y/n states.

"Don't you know who this is?" I ask them.

Finally recognizing me and Sam, the officer's partner steps over to him to whisper in his ear. "Hey, these guys are Avengers."

The officer's eyes widen with shock and recognition. "Oh, God. I am so sorry, Mr. Wilson. I didn't recognize you without the goggles. I'm really, really sorry about this."

All around, groups of people gather in their front yards to ogle the scene as a second police car pulls up.

"Guys, just wait here, okay?" the officer requests, walking over to the car.

I turn to Sam. "I didn't... I didn't tell anybody about Isaiah because he had already been through enough."

Sam doesn't reply, and the office returns a moment later. "Mr. Barnes? There's a warrant out for your arrest."

"Look, the president pardoned him for all that," Sam defends, assuming they're referring to my acts as the Winter Soldier.

"Not for that," the officer explains. "You missed your court-mandated therapy. It's like missing a check-in with your PO. I'm sorry, Mr. Barnes, you're under arrest."

I sigh, quickly glancing at Sam before following the officer to his car. He cuffs my hands, and I look back at Sam and Y/n once more before climbing into the backseat.