Actions Speak Louder Than Words
Pulling the rusty chain across and locking the supposedly sturdy entrance, you slammed your fist against the door. The safehouses you stopped at had been getting significantly worse as your journey across Europe continued. With the fear of being broken into haunting your dreams, you'd gotten very little sleep since you and Barnes had left Bucharest. And now, twelve days later, you had only made it to Deva. You'd expected to be out of Romania by now but the weather had scuppered your plans. The winter frost made it unsurprisingly hard to navigate the countryside. Walking an average of eight hours a day, your movement had slightly increased since departing but it was still a strenuous task to guide you both.
You slumped down until you were sitting on the floor. Tears threatened to stream down your face. It had become harder and harder to control your emotions as the days crept on. After that first night, Barnes had kept up his relentless flirting but now they felt more like backhanded compliments. He'd always find some way to insult you. It felt like no matter what you did, he never actually enjoyed spending time with you, even though you tried so hard to keep the atmosphere lighthearted. You heard the shuffling of feet move from the closed bathroom door before the soldier emerged back into the small living area. Wiping your hand over your face, you regained your composure. Nothing good would come from him seeing you like this. The cold tiled floor was hard against your tired limbs; maybe you should start getting ready for bed. Thankfully SHIELD had managed to put multiple beds in all of their safehouses. You assumed that this was so they could shove as many agents as possible into one place, probably cheaper that way. When they were established after the war, finances had been a major issue. Now, with government intervention and the avenger's help (though it was mainly Tony who funded them), money was not a problem for the institute. But apparently, they had failed to update the facilities they forced their agents to spend the night in.
Picking the bed furthest away from the door, you sat down to unlace the heavy boots that covered your aching feet. Maybe you should invest in some compression socks. You'd heard some younger agents raving about them before you left. Supposedly they'd help with the pain. Too exhausted to get changed, you lay down fully clothed and pulled the thin blanket over you.
"Of course, you'd pick that one icicle," Barnes scoffed, annoyance laced in his remark. "At least you might stop shivering: don't think I can take another night of your teeth chattering." He moved closer to your bed. You could hear the cogs whirring in his brain. Leaning over your exhausted form, he smirked softly before lowering his eyes.
"If my impending imprisonment, as you call it, is so imminent," he laughed at his alliteration, "then why do you walk so slowly?" His insults were almost constant at this point. "I mean you'd think that an agent such as yourself would be able to move faster than this. It's like travelling with a snail," he mocked. Every self-deprecating thought you had about yourself was being repeated back to you by this man. It was too much.
"If I'm so slow, then why are you still here?" you asked bitterly. Not waiting for his response, you continued, "Oh right. That's because you need me. Without me, you'd still be wandering around Bucharest, counting the days until the EU arrests and murders you. Without me, you'd spend eternity haunted by the torture you endured from HYDRA. Without me, you'd never have the chance to reclaim your life and finally destroy the Winter Soldier." You could see the realisation gradually darken his pupils. "So no matter how slow you think I might be, or how loud my chattering teeth are, or how tired my feet get: you need me to become James again. You need me to become Bucky again."
"I warned you not to call me that," he spat back at you.
"What are you going to do about it, Barnes? No matter what you do, I'm here to help you. And that means I'm not leaving," confidence began to rise in you. "So you need to stop with the insults. All it is doing is diminishing the little respect and sympathy I had for you." He shifted away from your bed. It appeared that your warning had little effect. Sighing, you rolled over and closed your eyes.
"Okay," he answered surprisingly, "I'll tone down the insults if you never call me that again."
"Which one: Barnes or Bucky?" you could hear him physically wince at the names.
"Both. Never call me anything related to him. He is dead."
"So what should I call you soldier?"
"Anything else," he should not have given you that power.
"Okay, how about Dick?"
"Haha, very funny sweetheart," he muttered sarcastically.
"What? It's short for Richard," you joked.
"I'm not letting you call me Dick."
"Alright, I'll be serious. How about Tobias?"
"Tobias?" he questioned, "Tobias." The name rolled off his tongue, "I like it."
"Okay then Tobias," you smiled at the progress you'd made with him. It wasn't much but it was a start. "We need to sleep now, got a big day ahead of us."
"Uh-huh," he replied, "goodnight then cheesecake." You didn't question the odd term of endearment, it was probably some weird 30s slang.
"Goodnight Tobias."
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Walking through the almost desolate streets of Dobra, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Ever since you'd left Deva earlier that morning, you thought that something was wrong. It felt like something was closing in on you. Almost as if you were being followed. And now, after over six hours of travelling, you decided to alert Barnes, or Tobias as you now called him, to your worries. Directing him to turn into a narrow alleyway, you checked behind you one last time. Still nothing.
"What are you doing?" he asked, obviously confused by your sudden change in route, "we need to keep going if we want to make it to Tisa before nightfall."
"Shh. Keep your voice down," you warned. Your eyes darted around the alley, fearful that your suspicions were correct. He noticed the worry in your voice and placed his right hand on your shoulder. He still hadn't let you touch his left one since that first night. Probably didn't trust you now. Fair enough.
"What is wrong?" he whispered, "Tell me IceCube." Even though you'd forbidden him from insulting you, he'd decided that IceCube would be today's nickname. It's because you're always cold, he'd explained that morning. Apparently, it wasn't an insult, just a fact.
"I think we're being followed," you finally explained.
"Shit. Why didn't you tell me earlier? How long have you thought this?"
"Since we left this morning."
"What the actual fuck, you imbecile. You let us travel for six hours, knowing we were being followed."
"I didn't know Tobias. I just had a feeling."
"You need to trust your gut more. And you need to tell me as soon as you feel this next time."
"Hopefully there's not even this time," you retorted.
"You should really listen to our soldier, agent," a voice spoke out, "I thought SHIELD trained you for these situations." Moving out into the sliver of light that illuminated the alley, a tall figure wearing an all-black suit stalked towards you, gun raised in front of him, a clear show of power as he pointed at your head. Barnes stepped forward but the man pushed the pistol to your forehead.
"You stay right there soldier. All it takes is one bullet through her skull, and all hope of you returning to society is lost," the gunman taunted, "and we wouldn't want that now would we?" Shit. You both had no choice but to remain stationary. "Anyway, I don't want that kind of blood on my hands. I think I'll leave that to you, soldier."
"Who do you work for?" Barnes questioned.
"Now, now, now. What makes you think I work for anyone? Let's just say that HYDRA owed me a favour and I was curious to see if they delivered."
"What the hell does that mean?" you asked; if this man was HYDRA, you were fucked.
"You'll see," he pressed the gun further against your face, "this won't hurt him, but it will hurt you." Pushing you in front of him, you felt the cold metal move to sit on your lower neck, almost between your shoulder blades.
"Желание (Longing) Семнадцать (Rusted) Ржавый (Furnace) Рассвет (Daybreak) Печь (Seventeen) Девять (Benign) Добросердечный (Nine) Возвращение на родину (Homecoming) Один (One) Товарный вагон (Freight car)" Shit.
"Готов соблюдать (Ready to comply)," the Winter Soldier replied. Fuck.
"Kill the girl." He shoved you forward.
Remembering his previous aversion to shooting you, you sped out of the alley, hopeful that his gunshot would not follow. You knew the soldier would be hot on your tail. At least he didn't have a weapon - if you could outrun him, maybe you'd think of a way to deactivate him. But he'd be fast. You were almost certain of it. Steve had explained that the soldier had only walked towards him when they fought. But Steve's version of walking was Sam's running, so you couldn't rely on that. Dashing between the narrow streets, you mentally cursed yourself for allowing this to happen. You should have disarmed the man instead of letting him overpower you. And now you were going to die at the hands of the person you were supposed to be saving. You could almost hear the avengers mocking you. They'd been proven right. This was a stupid idea. At least they thought you were already dead, that means they won't have to mourn you again. You ran like your life depended on it - which it did. Turning your head slightly to look behind you, the soldier kept up his pursuit, a strong stride towards you nearly faster than your sprinting. This was impossible. There was no way you could outrun him. But how to stop him?
Suddenly your mind replayed a conversation you'd had with Natasha. You'd been discussing things between her and Clint when you'd brought up the time he was mind-controlled by Loki.
"So how did you break him out of it in the end?" you knew Loki's magic was strong and had always wondered how Nat had overpowered him.
"Cognitive recalibration," she replied with a smile. She was clearly amused by your blank response as she let out a small laugh, "I hit him over the head Y/N."
That was the answer. Your punches alone wouldn't be able to do it. A super-soldier was much stronger than Clint. No offence to him. Maybe a large stick or wooden pole? Searching around, whilst still running, proved to be a very difficult task. The streets were immaculately clean for some reason. Why did they have to be litter conscious? Caring for the environment wasn't going to stop humans from killing you. Without warning, you were suddenly running out of the town and back into the countryside. Now you were really fucked. There was absolutely nothing out there. Panic flooded your mind, as a stitch began to form in your side - you were not built for long-distance running. Sweat and tears ran down your face, clouding your vision. A hard object collided with your moving body. The pain threatened to slow you down but the adrenaline allowed you to remain standing. It was a fence. And you had broken one of the posts. This was perfect. You grabbed the broken piece of wood and clutched it close to your chest. The soldier continued to stalk towards you, his face drained of any emotion, his metal hand gleaming in the sunlight. You prayed that you'd be able to hit him before he hit you.
The seconds felt like hours as you waited for him to reach you. This would be a lot more daunting if he had been armed, or if you hadn't spent the night wrapped in his arms. His fist was clenched and he pulled it back ready to strike you. One blow would probably knock you out. Hopefully, one blow with the fence post would knock him out. You ducked as his synthetic arm powered forward. Narrowly missing your head, you pounded the post against his skull, praying you'd hit the right spot. He staggered slightly away from you before collapsing to the ground. You had done it. Moving your fingers to his chest, quickly checking if he was breathing, you sighed with relief.
Eyeing a car behind the fence, you decided that now would be the perfect time to start driving. If that man had been able to find you, albeit he claimed to not work for anyone, it meant that any organisation could do it if they wished. You spotted the keys still in the ignition. Yes. Now you just had to drag Barnes over to the car. He was unsurprisingly very heavy. You guessed he was probably around 230 pounds of pretty much pure muscle. After around ten minutes of trying to haul his unconscious body over to the vehicle, you realised it would be easier to drive it to him. Positioning him in the back seat, you clipped his seat belt in and restrained his arms behind his back. This was not going to be an easy thing to explain when he woke up. You had both previously planned to stay in Tisa that night, but now that you had the car and Barnes was already asleep, you figured that you could just keep driving until you'd left Romania. Maybe you could even make it to Budapest.