Multi-Fandom Imagines

The Avengers [b. barnes]

Pairing: James 'Bucky' Barnes x Reader

Imagine: Noticing the look in a strangers eyes that you know all too well.

Warnings: It's not really a romantic imagine 

You leaned against a brick building, people watching. You had to spend your days doing something and being out and about helped you keep your sanity.

Your eyes widened as you caught sight of a man across the street. He was leaning against a building, just like you, eyes darting around. To anyone else he didn't immediately stand out in the crowd and he wouldn't have caught your gaze if not for his expression.

You recognized the hate and fear and sadness, because when you looked in the mirror you saw the same things. You didn't know why or how but you just knew. Maybe it was your subconscious, maybe just a hunch, but you knew.

And before you could think twice your feet were moving towards the man. You faced him square in the eye and asked, "How long were you away?"

The man look startled for a moment, before grabbing your wrist and pulling you behind the building, into an alley. He pushed you up against the brick wall, holding his arm against your neck.

 You weren't scared.

"Who are you and what do you want?" 

Without so much as a bat of your eyes you slipped out of his grasp and spun around, facing him again. Your arms hung at your sides and your fingers tapped against each other. "I'm someone who wants to stay away from both Hydra and Shield-and I can spot a veteran of either a mile away."

He relaxed slightly, giving you another once over. 

"The names (y/n)." You stuck a hand out and the stranger stared at it for a long time before hesitantly shaking it.

He deemed you not a threat, with your relaxed stance and emotionless face. He was not the first to make that mistake and he would not be the last. He walked back into the street and you followed.

"You probably don't wanna know my name," he mumbled as the two of you walked side by side.

"I don't care who you are or what you've done. Shit happens." 

"Bucky," he whispered after a moment of hesitation.

You gave him a tight lipped smile. The name sounded a bit familiar but didn't ring any alarm bells. "Nice to meet you Bucky."

You wandered down the street together, giving each other tiny pieces. He used to be a solider, you used to be a weapon. He didn't have anybody, neither did you. He had a place to stay, you didn't. 

At that answer he stopped and turned to you.

"You kinda look like shit," he observed, studying your face.

"I've been on the run for a couple months now. And the nightmares don't care to let me sleep," you answered bluntly. You had no reason to lie or tiptoe around the truth.

He nodded to himself before biting his lip. "You can stay with me. But one slip, one reason for me not to trust you, you're out."

"Same to you."

You shook hands, a kind of sick deal, and he led the way back to his apartment.

"This place is pretty crappy," you observed as he unlocked the door and led you in. "Perfect for people like us," you finished, setting your back pack on the couch and collapsing.

"I'm just gonna take a real quick nap." You said with a yawn, curling up on the dusty couch.

"I'll keep watch." He grumbled, sitting at the kitchen counter.

You nodded and closed your eyes.

"Night."

"Night."

—

You woke up to a strange burning smell. You sat up and wiped the sleep from your eyes, stretching. Your back was aching from the shitty couch, but you'd take it over the ground any day.

You could see Bucky hunched over the stove, smoke billowing up around him.

"Are you trying to catch the apartment on fire and burn me alive?" You asked as you walked over.

"I was trying to make French toast," he grumbled. He grumbled a lot, you noticed.

You gently pushed him away from the burning pan and set it in his sink. "How about you sleep and I cook us breakfast?"

His eyes were bloodshot and you were sure he hadn't slept. He didn't respond and just watched you with careful eyes as he sat down at the counter.

"Or not." You didn't expect him to trust you yet, but you thought you'd offer anyway. You searched his tiny kitchen, gathering ingredients.

You mixed the eggs, soaked the bread, and put them on a new, clean, sizzling pan. The only fruit you managed to find were plums so you cut them up and sprinkled them with sugar. 

You finished and plated it all, setting it on the kitchen counter. "Plum french toast." You declared, sitting next to him and digging in.

"You're a pretty good cook for being a runaway." He manages to get out with his mouth full of plum and fried bread.

"I didn't have much to do, so I learned to cook. I haven't had anyone to cook for in a while. It feels pretty good." You confessed.

It was silent as you both finished breakfast.

"What do we do now?" For the first time in a while, you had no idea what was supposed to come next.

"You could shower. You smell like the sewer." 

You couldn't help the small bubble of laughter that left your mouth. "I agree."

You grabbed your bag and found your way to the bathroom. You took a lengthy shower, spending a majority of the time just standing underneath the water and thinking. By time you stepped out it was early afternoon and Bucky remained in the same exact spot.

"Do you ever do anything? Or like.....leave your apartment?" You asked as you attempted to brush out your hair.

He shrugged. "There's not much I can do."

"There's gotta be something. I mean, even when I'm on the run I still go outside. Besides, they don't exactly expect you to be out and about in plain sight."

He didn't move a move and kept his gaze on the wall.

You rolled your eyes. "Well I'm going to the market. You're low on everything, and I'm not gonna let us starve."

He grunted and you took that as his response. You slipped your beat up shoes on and headed out the door. You paused in the doorway, your bag on your shoulder.

You could very well leave your bag here with Bucky, but that was a guarantee. A guarantee that you were coming back, that you were staying. You looked back to him for a moment, his eyes now on your hesitating form.

With one more look you threw your bag on the couch and disappeared through the door.