The Winter Wraith (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Chapter 9 - Stories Past

The ride back to base was uncomfortable to say the least, and you're pretty sure it was your fault. Asking the Winter Soldier to dance? What were you even thinking? Oh wait. You weren't. The silence was awkward and suffocating, but every time you opened your mouth to say something you thought of the moment he rejected you and had to remind yourself that, clearly, he didn't want anything to do with you. He wouldn't even look you in the eyes!

At least you made an effort to act normal, he just reverted back to pretending you don't exist. Fine then, you think to yourself, I don't want anything to do with you either. But then you wonder if you should apologise, only you can imagine how well that would go down: Sorry Soldat, it was stupid of me to think that you might actually say yes! I mean, can you believe I was foolish enough to ask you to dance-

You're jerked out of your thoughts by the grating squeal of the car tyres on the asphalt. You're out of the car the moment it stops, trying not to rush your pace as you head to you quarters and away from the mess you've made.

~

You stalk through the stark white hallways and corridors, Hydra employees and soldiers alike jumping out of your way. You keep walking until you get to a simple grey door with the numbers 307841 painted on them in black block letters. You don't know what the numbers mean, nor do you care. As you reach to activate the facial recognition, you hesitate. Once you go inside the room, you won't be able to exit until you're called for. Normally, you'd resist going in here as much as you can. It's literally built to contain you; the walls and doors are triple-layered steel with some other material you haven't worked out, BZ gas stored in the roof to release if you refused to cooperate, 360 degree cameras and many other 'deviation prevention' tools, as they call them.

You know you've tried to escape before, although you can't remember why you would do such a thing. Drawing a deep breath, you open the door.

The gun is in your hand before your mind had registered what it was seeing. A panicked shout, followed by, "Don't shoot! It's me, Viktor Lenkov, your handler. Remember?" Your eyes assess the man standing in your room. He doesn't seem to have any weapons on him, soldier escorts or any other threats. But was your handler doing in your room? You don't bother to respond as you start unloading your weapons onto the lone wooden table where a Hydra soldier will come to collect them later.

Once, you recall, you tried to keep a small dagger. Ironically, it had made you feel safer. Of course, Hydra found out and decided it was necessary to 'demonstrate' how dangerous a weapon like that could be. On you.

"I came to talk to you," Lenkov says.

"Is that so?" you drawl, removing the last of your weapons and wondering how long he's been waiting here.

"Well, officially I'm here to assess your compliance and mental stability."

Rolling your eyes, you push past him and head to your bedroom, which consists of a single bed and old lamp. "Wait!" Lenkov jumps up, one hand stretched towards you as if to grab you. You silently dare him to try it. "Please."

You stop, one hand on the doorway. He takes this as a sign to continue, "Just a little bit of time, 10 minutes at the most."

"5 minutes," you growl, complying.

It's funny, you think to yourself, how he's acting like this is my choice. Surely he knows I would have to obey him if he commanded it?

Sighing, you both take seats at the small wooden table laden with your discarded weapons. "So," he begins, "how was your mission?"

"Great," you deadpan.

"Are you...sure? You look like you want to murder someone," he pushes.

You don't think your eyes could roll any further. "I'm the Winter Wraith, that's how I always look."

He chuckles, and you can't tell if this annoys you or makes you slightly like the man. Probably the former. "Your shoulders are tense, your eyebrows are scrunched, your arms are crossed-"

"No they're not." you say, attempting to remain defiant even as you ever so slowly uncross your arms.

"Sure," he replies, trying and failing to hide a smirk. "Well, how would you describe your overall mood right now, how are you feeling?"

Oh, you know, like an idiot.

Um, like I completely messed up?

I feel like I've made a complete fool of myself in front of Winter Soldier and now you want me to tell you about it? Maybe sob while I tell you the life story I don't even remember?

"What do you care?" you snipe. "Look, no offence, but as far as I'm concerned you're just another Hydra fanatic here to pretend to control me until I'm put back in cyro. And this whole 'friendly' act you've got going, don't think they haven't tried that before, it always ends the same way," With a fed up handler looking for someone they're allowed to take their frustration out on, looking for someone who won't fight back, looking for you.

"Is that what you think this is?" he asks quietly. You can tell he seems hurt by your accusation, but you don't bother to reply. Now that you've said it, you're not going to apologise. "A long time ago," he begins, lacing his hands together on the table, "there was a young man."

You scoff, is he seriously about to tell you a story?

He continues, "He lived in a small town near Rostov with his husband and dog whom he loved very much. One day, a group of armed men arrived at the village, claiming they were there to give the residents a real purpose in life."

"Hydra." You mumble, having heard many variations of this story. Hydra arrives, people volunteer and Hydra goes on to do good things, help people, so on and so forth.

"The residents were confused, but welcoming nonetheless. For days they fed, clothed and drank with the strangers. But, on the fourth night, the residents were massacred. Children and women were slaughtered and the men were taken prisoner to be experimented on."

You've never a heard a version like this before. You feel like a child who's just been told their fairy tale princess is a murdering psychopath.

"One experiment, however, went wrong and he could not be controlled. The experiment murdered five soldiers and two of his friends that day. He would have killed more, had it not been for the young man. The raging experiment recognised his husband and stopped. He stopped fighting, stopped moving, and a soldier shot him dead." His eyes begin to mist, but you can tell he won't let them fall.

"The remaining residents overthrew the soldiers and ran them out of their home. But that one man, the man who had lost his husband, decided to join the soldiers so that one day he might find a way to save someone. The way he couldn't save his husband." His voice shakes ever so slightly, though he looks you dead in the eyes.

You gulp, unsure of how to respond. For all you know, this a test of some sought.

"Why are you are telling me this?" you whisper, afraid of the eyes and ears hidden all over your room. Are they listening right now?

"Why do you stay here?" He ignores your question. "Why do you stay when you could get away?"

No one's ever asked you that before, not that you've ever felt you have a choice. You guess the answer is simple, then, "Because... I'm meant to. I have to."

He eyes continue to search your face as if looking for something more.

"I have to," you repeat, somehow less sure of your answer.

Although you despise the look of pity lighting his eyes, his words strike something deep inside you, like the spark of a match, when he says, "Maybe there is hope for us yet."