Target [Winter Solider/Bucky Barnes short story]

7.

(Heeeey, it's update day cuz I'm sick and too lazy to do anything else. Alex swears quite a bit :3 -8/30)

I stood, frozen in fear, as the car got closer. Something, someone, pulled me out of the way and when I looked to see who or what, I found myself face to chest with the assassin that should have killed me by now.

"Are you stupid? You don't just stand in the middle of the street when there's a car coming towards you!" He hissed. I blinked.

"I- I- what just- what?" I stuttered. The scene replayed in my mind. "I don't even- I can't- what the hell? Did I seriously just- just not even move? God I'm an idiot. What the fuck is wrong with me?" I held my head in my hands, wondering if I had a death wish. "Why did you pull me out of the way, I thought you wanted me dead."

The assassin shook his head. "I've changed my mind about that." He stated. I stared at him for a moment. Someone yelled something in a language I didn't understand and the Winter Soldier grabbed my arm and started pulling me. I had to run to keep up with him.

We ended up miles out of the city, in a different town.

"Can we stop running for the night? I'm tired." I yawned. I'd asked this more than once, each time the answer had been no. I hoped this time the answer would be yes.

The soldier looked back at me and nodded. "Yeah. There's a motel up ahead. We can stop there for the night."

I cheered quietly. "Yes! Sleep here I come." The assassin shook his head, laughing quietly.

"Did you get the flower?" He asked, seemingly out of nowhere. I raised an eyebrow.

"What flower?"

He didn't respond. We kept walking, stopping only when we got to the motel.

The lighting in the motel lobby was better than the lighting in my apartment, so I got my first actual glimpse of what he looked like when we walked into the motel.

The soldier looked like he'd been through hell and back.

"Oh god, what happened?" I asked, concern coloring my tone. I stepped closer to him and he took a step back, raising his hands.

"Nothing. I'm fine." He answered. I shook my head.

"You and I both know that's a lie." I said. "You look like you've been through hell." He shot me a dirty look before going to get a room key, then led me to the motel room.

I moved a chair away from the little table that was against one of the walls and made him sit down, then got a warm wash rag and started cleaning all of the dirt and what I suspected was dry blood off his face.

"Seriously though, what happened?" I asked him again. He winced when the wash rag passed over a cut on his cheek.

"I got into a fight." He answered evasively.

"With who? No normal, sane person would fight you. You're intimidating and probably bring a literal meaning to 'death glare'." I said. The soldier chuckled at the statement.

"My boss."

I whistled. "And your boss, he's the guy that ordered you to kill me?"

"Yes... and anyone that got in the way." The soldier said, sounding hesitant to answer. Something clicked.

"My mom." I murmured. He nodded.

"Why'd you cut your hair?" He asked, changing the subject.

"My mom liked my long hair. It reminded me of her. Memories like that are painful." I answered. "Why do you ask?" He didn't answer. "Okay. Are you hurt anywhere else?" I tried, changing the subject like he just did.

I knew he wouldn't want to answer, but the look I gave him must've worked to my advantage.

"My ribs are sore, I think they're bruised. Maybe one or two are broken. I think I cut my side." He answered the question. I made a face, my next statement/order was sure to sound weird.

"Alright, take your shirt off so I can see your ribs." I told him. He did so without giving me any weird looks. Immediately my attention was drawn to a fading, red star on his left shoulder. It reminded me of the note that was with the rose, in the hospital room all those months ago. I didn't say anything, deciding it would be awkward to bring that up right now, and turned my attention to his now bare torso.

"You were right about getting cut and the broken rib." I muttered, frowning. "How have you not passed out yet?"

He shrugged. "I've had worse than a broken rib and a cut on my side."

I flinched in sympathy and started working on cleaning the blood off his side and bandaging the cut.

What was probably hours later, I found myself staring at the ceiling. I heard sheets rustling and closed my eyes, feigning sleep.

Lips pressed against my forehead. "I'm so sorry. For everything." A quiet, familiar voice whispered. "I wish I could make it up to you."

The covers were pulled up, over me. The soldier tucked me in, like I was a child, and turned the lights off before returning to his bed.

"Goodnight, Alex." He whispered. I waited until I was sure he was asleep before responding.

"Goodnight."

(Word count: 901)