The Red Soldier: Captain America and the Red Soldier

ISSUE #15

'Hello?' (Y/N) asked, his voice groggy and his throat sore.

'(Y/N)!' the excited voice of James Buchanan Barnes exclaimed. (Y/N) bit the insides of his cheeks, fighting back the words that fought to spew from his mouth. All he wanted to do was return to him, wrap his arms around his torso and bury his head in Bucky's chest, but he'd made a promise; a promise he was yet to make good on.

'Not arrested anymore then?' he laughed, a few sobs escaping his lips. It hurt to laugh; although (Y/N) wasn't sure whether it because of his bruised ribs, or the pounding in his head. Upon arriving in Northumberland he had done his best to bandage himself up, but there was no cure for bruised ribs – except perhaps his father's recently opened scotch, which seemed to dull the pain slightly.

'No,' there was a pause, 'just been worried about you, doll.'

'Don't,' (Y/N) said, more forcefully than he had intended to.

'Sorry, I didn't...' apologised James Barnes, 'I know you don't like that...' He seemed genuinely apologetic, something which caused (Y/N)'s heart to ache.

'It's not that,' he sighed. It was that – sort of. He hated being called that, he found it demeaning; he wasn't a 'doll'. The words he had wanted to say seemed to lodge themselves in his throat, choking him into submission.

'(Y/N)' James Barnes's voice spoke up once more, sounding rather perturbed.

(Y/N) (L/N) swallowed, rubbing at the corners of his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve, 'I'm still here,' he responded, his voice hollow.

'Then what is it?'

His left hand rested behind his neck, it's dirty fingernails digging into the skin, as though they were trying to wrestle the words out of his throat. Eventually, they won, 'I'm not coming home, Buck.'

A shallow breath sounded from the other end of the line, 'you're what?'

'I'm not coming home,' the phrase cut him deeper this time.

'You're not coming... What? (Y/N), I'm confused, are you hurt?' James replied in a series of short, panicked breaths.

A small sob pried itself from his lips, 'I'm safe, Buck.' He held the phone away from his face, wiping his eyes and taking a deep breath in a fruitless attempt at composing himself. 'I'm sorry, I just... I can't... I...' His mind battled itself, imploring him not to divulge his plans to James Barnes.

The sound of footsteps could be heard through the receiver now. It was apparent to (Y/N) that his boyfriend was in a state of panic as he quickened his pace. 'You can't what? (Y/N), you're scaring me,' he shouted.

(Y/N) let out a small chuckle against his sobs, 'that terrifies me.' He wiped his eyes, never had he thought he'd hear James Buchanan Barnes admit to being afraid. 'Who am I supposed to rely on if Captain America is scared?'

'(Y/N), Stop!' his boyfriend demanded him, 'just tell me where the fuck you are!' (Y/N) wanted to tell him that there was no need, that he'd be home in the next couple seconds, that he'd order them a pizza and they could spend the rest of the day watching television and drinking cold beer; however, he couldn't allow himself to do so. 'I'll find you... We can take some time off, visit Sharon and Biscuit in Wakanda? Or maybe we can stay with Violet for a while?' Bucky bargained desperately, his tone soothing now.

It all sounded lovely. A few weeks away in Wakanda, a couple weeks with Violet, but he couldn't abandon Wanda in her time of need – he couldn't leave the Scarlet Witch.

'I'm sorry Buck.'

There was a sharp cracking sound as he slammed his phone into his dresser. He stared down at the phone screen, a jagged line ran through the length of it, splitting the glass into two uneven pieces. With unsteady hands he tuned his and his brother's old radio, surprised it still worked after so many years.