Siren Song ~ A Bucky Barnes story

Who The Hell is Sebastian?

If someone had told me yesterday that I would be living on the run with Bucky Barnes in a week, I would have brushed them off as just another crazy New Yoker. But here I am, in a rundown apartment in New York, dangling in the air with a cold metal hand grasping tightly around my neck.

Kinky, right?

But I should probably start from the beginning and explain how I got here...

I take in a deep breath of the fresh upstate air. Relishing in the smell of the newly fallen leaves. I've always thought the air smelt best in the autumn. Especially when surrounded by the densely forested area of upstate New York. It's much more pleasant than the heavily polluted manhattan air that I'm accustomed too.

I race down the empty winding road on my motorcycle, my blonde hair whipping in the wind.

Now, I know you're supposed to wear a helmet while riding a motorcycle, but I was just getting so sweaty under that damn thing that I couldn't take it anymore.

Besides, I'm not really in any danger. The street is completely clear and I'm only going 20 miles over the sped limit. And I would be going faster if it wasn't for the fact that this thing is at least 40 years old. It was a hard decision when buying my bike wether I wanted to go for speed or go vintage. Of course in the end I went with vintage.

I'm always a huge sucker for vintage.

But in this moment I'm kinda wishing I went for speed. I still have 4 hours left until I hit Manhattan. It's 10pm right now and my goal was to get back before midnight. I have a job in the morning and I do NOT want to be falling asleep tomorrow in the makeup chair. If I had known I was going to be working tomorrow I would have left sooner, but as usual my agent told me about the shoot last minute.

Incase I haven't made it clear, I'm a model. I have been since I was 12. I never really wanted to be one, it just kinda happen. I was scouted by New York Models when I was on a field trip to the Statue of Liberty with kids from my orphanage. When the lady from the agency told our caretaker that they thought I had what it takes to make it big one day she immediately had me sign with them. Not that she actually cared about my future, she just saw it as a way to make a quick buck.

Of course here I am 8 years later and have yet to 'make it big'. Tired of the roller coaster of successes and failures of modeling I was actually on the verge of quitting. That is, until I got a call from my agent a few hours ago telling me that Vogue had booked me to shoot the cover of there November edition tomorrow.

Which is the main reason why I'm currently speeding. That and that it's just fucking fun.

At least it was until a pair of bright headlights seemingly appeared out of nowhere right in front of me.

Acting fast I quickly swerve out of the way, into the forest on my right. I grip my handles tightly as my bike bumps and jerks, running over rocks and tree roots, only stopping when it rams into a large tree stump. My bike flips and I'm thrown ten feet forward in the air, falling to the ground with a thud, and banging the back of my head on a rock.

"Ughhh" I groan in pain as I bring my hand to the back of my head. I wince when my fingers make contact with the wet and sticky substance now flowing from the gash in my scalp. My vision starts to go blurry and I blink a few times trying to clear it. As the world around me starts to darken I know I only have moments before I lose conciseness.

I should have worn the fucking helmet.

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When I finally come-to the first thing I see is the bright sun shining through the orange-leafed tree tops. The position of the sun leading me to believe it's mid day. Damn, my agents going to kill me for not showing up. Hopefully Vogue is sympathetic.