The Red Soldier: Captain America and the Red Soldier

ISSUE #27

(Y/N) carefully opened the doors to his and Bucky's wardrobe, his knees bending until he was on his haunches and his eyes were facing the safe. His left index quickly tapped out the code, the small metal door swinging open to reveal the safe's contents: two passports and a decrepit-looking book. The Darkhold had lost its appeal. No longer did it intrigue (Y/N) (L/N). Even when his fingers brushed against its cover as he picked it up he felt nothing. It seemed he was apathetic towards the Book of the Damned, quite different to the excitement which had coursed through his veins the first time he'd come into contact with it. 

        The bedroom door burst open, James Barnes entering the room all dressed to leave their apartment. 'Are you ready?' he asked, one hand in his pocket whilst the other fiddled with a set of keys. (Y/N) nodded his head, shoving the Darkhold into his brown canvas satchel unceremoniously. He followed his boyfriend out of their apartment, jogging alongside him as they descended the stairs to the ground floor. 'Where did you say we needed to go again?'

        'Bleeker Street,' replied (Y/N), trying to shove the door open with his broken arm whilst his other held the strap of his messenger bag. 

        Barnes pushed the door open with ease, holding it open whilst (Y/N) stepped out over the threshold of their building. 'Yeah, but which house?'

        'Well I don't know the number,' admitted (L/N), 'but I'll know it when I see it.' They continued towards Bucky Barnes's motorcycle, ignoring the car (Y/N) was currently unable to drive. 

        James mounted his bike effortlessly, 'great,' he stated sarcastically, 'loving the very specific directions doll.' He offered (Y/N) a hand up into the seat, a gesture which went ignored. (Y/N) (L/N) scoffed as he clambered up onto the seat and rested his arms around his boyfriend's waist, using his unbroken one to hold on tightly. 

        'Asked you to drive me,' huffed Dr (L/N), 'not for the lip.' Barnes swiftly apologised, sticking his keys into the ignition and speeding off in the direction of Manhattan. 

The pair zipped through lines of traffic at high speeds, the wind blowing through their hair and drying out their eyes. (Y/N) felt his heart in his throat, his adrenaline levels surging. It made sense to him now why his boyfriend enjoyed riding the death-trap so much. Even on the back of the bike, where he held onto the driver for dear life, he felt powerful. Cars passed them by, flipping them the bird, beeping their horns, and swearing loudly from the safety of their seats behind their steering wheels. Despite being a passenger, it gave him a great sense of entitlement; he wasn't beholding of the speed limit over the Brooklyn Bridge, he was removed from the rules regarding traffic lights in Greenwich Village. Without using his magic, he still felt powerful. 

        The bike skidded to a halt when (Y/N) began to pound at James Barnes's back with his working hand. Bucky drifted against the curb, stopping opposite a large brown brick building. Dormers protruded proudly from its curved roofs, a circular window grew out of the attic. 'This is it?' Barnes asked, turning his neck to face him.

        'Think so,' nodded (Y/N). He'd never seen the New York Sanctum from the outside, only from behind the large circular window, and from within Stephen Strange's quarters. He jumped down from his boyfriend's motorbike, loosening the straps of his messenger bag and running a hand through his windswept hair. 

        Bucky rested a hand on his waist, 'you going to be alright? I can wait outside if you want, or come in with you?'

        'I'm returning a book, it's not hard; I've been to a library before, I know how returning books works.' 

        Bucky held his hands up in mock defence, 'those sorcerer guys are creepy, just wanted to know if you fancied any back up in case they use their weird yellow wiggly woos on you.'