Chapter Text
Being James Buchannan Barnes’ guardian angel had never been easy. But most of all, it had never been normal.
A normal guardian angel experience would be to watch them grow. Sure, there were moments where there was pain – in some lives more often than others. But there was always the reassurance that they were growing. Aging. Until eventually, they finished their path and that was the end of that guardian angels job.
When James had been born, Y/N thought her job would be relatively simple. He had a good family and a good best friend. And he listened to her directions. He protected those he cared for and he had fun.
But then the war hit. Y/N came into work each morning, sat at her desk and watched as the janitors cleared away another angel’s station. It was always quiet, and everyone seemed a little dazed. The usual bright white glow of the place seemed dimmer with the nerves of it all, and most of the angels’ steady hands shook as they tried desperately to guide their humans to safety.
James was drafted. Y/N had let out a sob when the telegram came. Bucky had sobbed with her, his mother’s arms smoothing over his back as he clutched at his hair. He was scared.
32557038. Sergeant Barnes, James Buchannan of the 107th Infantry Regiment.
It was engrained into both their minds. And it was the moment Y/N thought her job was going to be a short one. She was certain of it when Bucky had gone to the front lines in France and had been captured by Hydra.
She screamed with him when they tore his brain to pieces. It wasn’t that she felt the pain too although all she wanted was to take it from him and carry the burden. It was that with whatever they did to him, each shock, each freeze, each needle, she lost a little bit of him. She lost her ability to help. And so, she sat, slumped in her chair, watching as they ripped apart the very thing she had been sworn to protect.
When Steve came, it felt like things were going okay. Both she and Bucky were overwhelmed with relief – and surprise – when that hunk of a man broke down the door and rescued him. But it was short-lived, because barely a year later, Y/N was watching Steve desperately reach out for his best friend, only for Bucky to fall endlessly against the snow.
She had been dragged out screaming by the other angels, each of them feeling the hurt radiating off her as her light dimmed. She hadn’t expected to walk into work a week later and be sat at the same desk – watching the life of James Buchannan Barnes again. Only this time, it was hardly a life at all.
It only made Y/N’s determination grow – she pushed harder to break through. For over fifty years she sat at her desk doing nothing when he was frozen. She begged and pleaded, violently protesting any attempt to wipe his memory when those trigger words were spoken. She screamed at him when he killed, trying desperately to reinstall the conscience she knew was buried deep beneath layers of programming and pain.
The other angels noticed her grow hard. She looked like the rest of them. She still wore the white chiffon and silk of an angel. Her wings retained their smooth white feathers. Her skin still sparkled gold.
But Y/N no longer acted like an angel. She lost her politeness. She lost the smooth tone of an angel and it became harsh. She was sarcastic and snappy with her co-workers. She was sarcastic and snappy with her superiors. But no one doubted that she had a reason to be just that. And so they took it in their stride.
Y/N became almost the class clown, using her humour as a defence mechanism when the worst days hit. It was an attempt to detach herself from the horrors she saw in daily life. No-one knew exactly the extent of the anguish she experienced vicariously through Bucky on a daily basis. She used to show colleagues videos of Bucky swooping in to save Steve or of him hugging his sisters, flirting with a girl, going to the Stark Expo. Now, no one asked to see what Bucky was up to nowadays because it wouldn’t be good.
There were days when sarcasm and wit couldn’t cover her pain. When Bucky would be tortured until he was nearly dead, she’d curl up in a ball on the floor and squeeze her eyes shut, begging them to end it – to let him die and let her free. But it never happened. They always kept him alive – physically at least – and Y/N was left working late in the night, trying to piece back together his brain.
When Hydra fell, Y/N was too far gone. She’d seen too much and, although Bucky couldn’t possibly remember all of what he had done – not with all the wiping and resetting – Y/N did. And it haunted her perhaps more than it haunted Bucky. She remained the cold, hard, sarcastic angel Hydra had turned her into and there was no escape from that now.
But she was good at her job. It was another thing no one denied. She kept him as safe and as stable as she could for the longest time. A less experienced guardian would have lead him right back to Steve – after all they knew who he was. Y/N knew better. She may know Steve – but Bucky did not. Not yet. And so she spent over a year guiding him back to him in a more subtler way. With books and museums, all the while, hiding out, knowing this wasn’t truly the end.
And she was right. The events of the Civil War tested her. On the one hand, she could drive Bucky to complete safety – away from Steve, the Avengers, his past. She could have kept him on the run. Bucky didn’t have to help Steve find the base. He didn’t have to protect his friend.
But one thing had been pinned on Y/N’s pinboard since the day Bucky was born.
Life is an echo.
Maybe Bucky had unintentionally put a lot of bad into the world over the past century – but he sure as hell wasn’t going to continue to. Life is an echo and Y/N would be damned if that echo wasn’t going to be a good one from now on.
Wakanda had been the ultimate second chance for Bucky and it had been all she’d dreamed of for him. She watched with tears in her eyes as Shuri and the other techs in Wakanda healed him as best they could. She longed for the days Bucky would work on his farm until sunset. She felt peace wash over the both of them when Bucky sat in the grass, a goat kid in his lap and a bottle clutched in his hand, watching the breath-taking Wakandan sunset set over the trees.
However, Bucky would never be Bucky without his protective instinct. Y/N thought, and partly hoped, that that protective instinct would be fulfilled with his life on the farm. That changed with Steve’s first visit – when she felt the protectiveness swell in Bucky’s heart when Steve told him of his antics. Y/N knew that although this life was peaceful for Bucky – although it was safe and secure – it would never be completely what he wanted.
Shuri made him a new arm the next week. He left his farm with the father of one of the children he’d helped in the area – with the promise of visiting at least once a month – and moved into the city. He became one of T’Challa’s guard, working adjacent to the Dora Milaje, and helped on Black Panther missions as his new codename – The White Wolf.
When Steve made his ninth visit, a little over a year later, Bucky was ready to leave with him. Back to New York – to the Avengers. Y/N knew this would mean more danger, but a good echo. And that’s all she wanted for Bucky.
It was on his second day on the compound that she got a call from her superior, asking her to come to his office. She begrudgingly made her way past all the other desks, stomping rather less gracefully than an angel was expected to until she reached the white door of Anthony’s office.
“Anthony, this better be good because Sam finally taught Bucky the wonders of free online porn and-“ She froze when she noticed it wasn’t just Anthony that was sat in the office. A short man with white hair and a moustache was leant against the wall, holding a paper weight in his hands. He was looking at her, but he and Anthony were facing each other, indicating they had been talking before she entered. Both wore pristine cream suits and ties, eyebrows cocked at your speech.
Y/N instantly recognised the man – who wouldn’t. He was the all-seeing one. He held all the power in the universe and most people living in it didn’t even know it.
“Mr. Lee,” Y/N’s cocky tone dropped when she curtseyed, turning soft and pleasant – how an angel’s should be.
“Please, Y/N, call me Stan.” He said, sitting at the head of Anthony’s desk. Anthony sat beside him on an armchair he’d pulled up, gesturing for Y/N to sit before them at the other side of the table. Y/N followed the order immediately, hands folded in her lap as she chewed her lip.
“I’ve been watching you closely over the past millennia, Y/N,” Stan leant forward on his elbows, narrowing his eyes at her. She chewed her lip harder and tapped her sandals softly against the carpet. “It has been a tough one, has it not?”
“It hasn’t been… normal,” Y/N settled with, furrowing her brow. She felt a need to defend herself. “But I have tried my best.”
Stan laughed, sitting back in his chair and shooting a glance at Anthony who smiled. Y/N instantly felt self-conscious.
“We know that,” Anthony nodded, shooting her a look that was meant to reassure her. Anthony had been superior here since she started and had been along for most of Bucky’s toughest rides. At his support, Y/N relaxed a little, turning back to Stan with pursed lips.
“May I ask why I have been called in here?”
“We’re thinking of trying something new,” Stan stood, rounding the table so he was stood before you. “James Barnes has been an interesting case for you and he will continue to be for a long time now I assume. We have come across very few cases like this in the past, but we have never truly figured out a way to deal with them properly. We were hoping, you would try out a new way.”
Y/N shifted in her seat uncomfortably, glancing between Stan and Anthony nervously.
“We would like you to go down to Earth.” Stan placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, forcing her to focus on him. “To be by his side. Support him from there.”
There was a moment of silence as Y/N let her composure fall. She stood, a look of shock on her face as she tried to control her breathing.
“You want me to go down to Earth. Me. An Angel. Go down.” Y/N muttered before cracking a small smile and mumbling under her breath. “That’s what she said.”
Anthony tried to stifle a giggle at her words and Y/N fought to recompose herself.
“This is insane.” She laughed, stumbling backwards away from Stan who smiled calmly at her.
“Listen, Y/N. These Avengers and super soldiers, they don’t just need intense emotional guidance and protection. They need as much physical protection as we can give them too. And so for that, we were thinking that you need to join him on Earth too.”
“Why not try this on Steve’s guardian angel. Or Carol. Or what’s her face erm… you know…”
“Diana Prince?” Anthony suggested, and Y/N snapped her fingers, enthusiastically pointing
“Her!”
“Not under our jurisdiction.” Stan shook his head. “And as for Steve and Carol, they’ve been through a lot. But they’re not ready for the world yet.”
“You on the other hand are cold, sarcastic, occasionally mean, sometimes a bit of a bitc-“
“Alright, alright Anthony. We get the picture,” Y/N raised her hand to silence him and Anthony scoffed out a laugh.
“What he means is, you’re ready to live on earth. You’re ready for this.”
Y/N spluttered to find a new excuse and the men watched her fail, leaving her a spluttering, sighing mess.
“I don’t have a choice in this do I?” She finally mumbled, slumping her shoulders and running her hand through her smooth hair.
“No, I’m afraid you don’t,” Stan smiled, throwing his arms out in a gesture as if to say ‘what can I do?’ Y/N wanted to say ‘a lot, Stan, you’re in charge of this shit show,’ but she didn’t. She just slumped back into the chair and threw here head back, looking up at the ceiling of fluffy white and pink clouds above her.
“Alright, Bucky boy. Get ready for hell.”