chapter eleven // calling for help

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"I know that you'll find me after the fall. I know that you're waiting. I know that you'll find me there."
-After the Fall by Chelsea Wolfe

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reyna's point of view

I woke up trapped, but I didn't mind.

Because instead of being trapped in a cage like an animal, or trapped in a family with a murderous father, I was trapped in Bucky's arms. His breath was warm against my neck, his long hair tickling my shoulders. His strong biceps enveloped me in his scent, a musky, evergreen smell still lingering from our night spent in the forest. He surrounded me. But I didn't feel threatened.

Instead, I felt safe, for the first time in a very long time.

The last time I'd ever felt this safe was when Steve had found me right after the fight in Sacramento, as I stood over the broken form of my father, my hands dripping red with his blood. Steve had taken me in his arms, pulling me gently away from what I'd done, and whispered, it's ok, it's over now, it's ok in my ear over and over until i couldn't think about anything except what he was saying. His arms had been the only thing barricading me from the outside world, where guilt, anger and despair lay in wait, like a predator hunting its prey.

Steve had given me my first real home since I was a child. I appreciate it more than he'll never know.

Bucky's hold on me now was similar to Steve's hold on me that night, a desperate, oh-god-please-stay-with-me feeling to it. I could start to picture another home- a home that maybe I could have within Bucky.

Everything was quiet except the sound of our breathing and the faint resonating pitch of a bird chirping outside the window. It was peaceful, pleasant. My thoughts were light and easy.

Until the window shattered.

A bullet came flying through the window in the corner, screaming towards us before embedding itself in the wall barely an inch from Bucky's head. His eyes shot open and he shoved me to the ground before I could even process what had just happened.

I hit the ground with a thud and Bucky landed on top of me, propping his elbows on either side of my head as he shielded me with his body. Another bullet rocketed into the room, slamming into the bed right where Bucky had been half a second earlier. I reached out to the left of me and grabbed our bag, which was propped up against the bathroom door, and fished out our guns. Bucky took his from my hands and gave me a stern look.

"Don't even think about moving," he breathed, glaring for a half a second to prove his point before he jumped up and headed for the window. I let out a string of curse words as he aimed and fired at our attackers point blank, not bothering to shield himself at all.

He fired nine times in a row. After he fired his last bullet, he dropped his hands to his side and ran back to me.

"More might be coming. Grab your stuff and follow me very closely," he ordered, slinging our bag over his shoulder. I stood and snatched my jacket from the nightstand, sliding it on and pulling the hood over my head. Bucky saw what I'd done and did the same with his own hood.

We crept down the sidewalk. No more threats were visible, so once we were clear of the building, Bucky gave me the signal and took off running. I sprinted after him.

We made our way into the woods opposite of the woods we'd come from, leaping over tree branches and flying past old, forgotten structures now overgrown with weeds. We didn't stop running for at least a mile. Not a single gunshot rang out, but we would be naive to think that whoever had attacked us didn't work for someone powerful. If someone with money and a well trained army wanted us dead, they'd get their way at some point. It was just a matter of when.

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