Chapter Text
Bucky made it very clear from the start—The New Avengers weren’t going to be anyone’s lap dogs. Not the government. Not Valentina’s. Not anyone's.
Ever since he somehow ended up as the de facto leader (still a weird title to him), he’d laid down one rule: they move on their own terms. No orders unless they agree to them. No missions unless they choose to take them. And absolutely no manipulation.
“We’re not your damn puppets, Valentina,” Bucky had snapped during their last heated meeting. “And in case you forgot, we’re sitting on enough dirt about you to bury your career six feet under. You’d need a full-on industrial washing machine to scrub your name clean again.”
His voice had been sharp, cold, final. And Valentina? For once, she had nothing to say.
So for the past few months, The New Avengers operated on a need-to-act basis. Mel handled most of the intel, combing through chatter and whispers. Bucky made the final call—either the whole team suited up, or he’d take the risk and go alone.
Today, he chose the latter.
A decision he’d soon come to regret.
“You sure you don’t want backup?” Mel asked, concern threading her voice as they fly through the quiet sky of Latvia, far away from the nearest soul. The old estate they were headed to had that kind of unsettling silence—like it knew it was hiding something. Like it was waiting.
Bucky adjusted the strap of his parachute, giving Mel a sideways grin. “From who? Sam?” he chuckled. “He’s got his hands full with that Celestial Island situation. Some diplomatic mess I’d rather not touch with a ten-foot pole.”
Mel looked at him like she was trying to figure out if that was a joke or not. She never could tell with Bucky.
“I’m serious,” Mel added. “We don’t know what’s in there. Just weird activity picked up by old surveillance. If it’s even a little bit HYDRA-related, it’s a risk. You sure you don’t want at least someone watching your six?”
Bucky gave her a cocky look that screamed I’ve survived worse.
“Mel. I’m Bucky Barnes,” he said, smug but not unkind. “Scouting enemy’s territory is practically a hobby for me at this point.”
Mel rolled her eyes so hard it could’ve been audible.
“Cocky old man,” she muttered under her breath, but yet, she didn’t argue.
She knew Bucky had earned that arrogance. Even if it made her heart twist with unease.
Minutes later, under the cover of darkness and with only the moon as his witness, Bucky leapt from the aircraft.
The wind howled around him.
The ground loomed closer.
And somewhere below—inside that cold, crumbling property, something waited.
Something he wasn’t ready for.
*
“He went out alone again?”
Ava’s voice sliced through the room like a knife, bringing everything to a sudden, awkward halt.
John lowered his phone, mid-scroll.
Alexei froze with a chip halfway to his mouth.
Yelena stopped filing her nails mid-swipe.
Even Bob paused, pencil hovering just above the page of his sketchbook.
Yelena was the first to answer, her eyes still locked on her nail file. “He said it was just recon. No action. Thought he could handle it solo.”
“Still,” Ava muttered, arms crossed tightly over her chest, “that’s the second time this week. What’s the point of having a team if he keeps playing lone wolf?”
John smirked faintly. “You mad he didn’t take us… or mad he didn’t say goodbye to you ?”
Ava shot him a sharp glare. “Don’t be a jackass, Walker. What if something goes sideways and we’re not there to back him up?”
Alexei, ever the loud one, shrugged casually. “Come on. He’s Bucky freaking Barnes . He once flipped three tanks by himself in the desert. This is probably just a stroll for him.”
But Ava wasn’t buying it. Her stomach was twisting. Her gut told her something was off .
“Where is he, exactly?” she demanded.
“Uh…” Bob blinked, thinking back. “Latvia, I think? I overheard him and Mel earlier.”
The air shifted instantly.
John’s posture snapped upright. The teasing in his eyes disappeared. For the first time in a long while, he looked rattled.
“Wait. Latvia?” he repeated, his voice low.
Bob nodded, now catching the sudden weight in the room. “Yeah. Why?”
Even Yelena looked up now, brows furrowing. “What’s in Latvia?”
Ava stepped forward, her heart hammering. “ Someone better start explaining. Now.”
John ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. All the usual smugness was gone.
“If Bucky’s really out there… alone... then we need to prep the Quinjet. Right now. ”
No one questioned him after that.
The room, which moments ago was filled with snacks and sarcasm, now buzzed with urgency. Ava grabbed her gear without another word, the others already moving in sync.
Something was wrong. And Bucky might be walking straight into it.
Alone.
*
The warehouse complex Mel had mentioned looked like something straight out of a horror movie. Abandoned, crumbling, forgotten by time. The chain-link fence had more holes than metal, weeds climbed over broken concrete, and the lights—what was left of them—were dead. The only thing lighting Bucky’s path was the beam of his flashlight, cutting through the thick night air. Gun in his other hand, he moved cautiously, every step echoing louder than it should’ve.
“It’s too quiet,” he muttered, voice low but sharp, speaking into the comm in his ear. “What kind of suspicious activity were you saying again?”
Mel’s voice came through, steady but tense. “Well, a few nights ago, a convoy of five identical trucks pulled up here. No markings. No lights. Just in and out. It was too clean. Too coordinated. Not government. Not junkers. Just… wrong.”
Bucky exhaled slowly, sweeping the flashlight across another section of decaying metal and silence. “So what you're saying is… either I’m about to find some bad guys or I’m ghost hunting.”
“Don’t joke,” Mel snapped, her tone edged with worry. “If you don’t find anything in thirty minutes, I’m pulling you out.”
He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Relax. I’ll be fine.”
Famous last words.
Because before he could say anything else, pain exploded at the back of his skull. Hard. Fast. A brutal crack that sent him crashing face-first onto the cold, wet concrete. The metallic stench of rust filled his nose as his flashlight rolled away, its beam flickering uselessly across the floor.
Bucky barely had time to blink before he twisted onto his back, gun half-raised—but it was too dark to see.
Another hit. His cheek split open under the impact. He grunted, forced himself to focus—and finally got a glimpse of his attacker. Roughly his size. Dressed in tactical gear. Movements too fast, too strong.
Shit.
Super soldier.
His body reacted before his brain could catch up. He fought back hard—brutal, efficient—but even as he knocked the guy off balance, he could feel it in his gut. This wasn’t over.
How many of them are there now? How many damn super soldiers did they make?
Then—
BANG!
The shot cracked through the air like a thunderclap.
Everything went still.
Bucky’s breath hitched, heart hammering in his chest. He blinked, body frozen for a second as he tried to process what just happened. Had he fired? No—he hadn’t pulled the trigger.
And then he felt it.
Burning. Hot. Deep.
Pain flared in his side like a fire had been lit inside him, spreading from his gut up through his ribs. He staggered, blood roaring in his ears as another presence stepped out of the shadows.
“Thanks for doing the hard part for us, Sergeant Barnes,” came a voice. Smooth. Cold. Confident.
Bucky spun with a growl, vibranium fist already swinging—but the agony hit again, sharper this time, and his knees buckled.
“ Bucky!! ” Mel’s voice was distant, panicked. She was still in his ear, but it felt like she was miles away. “ Talk to me—what the hell happened?! ”
He couldn’t answer. Could barely think. The pain was overwhelming now, wrapping around his insides like a vice. But he refused to go down. Not yet. Not like this.
With a broken snarl, Bucky threw himself at the shooter, teeth gritted, vision blurring—but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. One of them went down hard under his punch, and for a split second, he thought maybe—just maybe—he could win this.
Even if it killed him.
That’s when the unmistakable roar of a Quinjet echoed overhead, slicing through the night sky like thunder. Bucky didn’t need to look—he knew that sound. Help had finally arrived.
His friends are here to help him.
"Just know this isn't personal, James," one of the super soldiers said coolly—the one who had shot him. Bucky didn’t even bother listening to the rest of that garbage. With the last ounce of strength he had left, he slammed his vibranium fist right into the guy’s face.
But it was taking everything in him just to stay conscious.
His vision blurred, and his body swayed. He was on the edge, barely holding on. Before he could take another swing, he saw movement—fast.
John Walker burst into the warehouse like a wrecking ball, shield tucked under his arm like a taco shell and rage written all over his face. Right behind him was Alexei, decked out in his worn Red Guardian suit, grinning like a maniac and yelling something about “real action” like this was his long-lost glory days.
Bucky figured Yelena and Ava were close, probably mopping up outside or lying in wait to kick someone’s ass. He wanted to make it out there, to see them—to help.
He took one shaky step forward.
And collapsed.
The pain in his side flared up viciously, white-hot and pulsing like a warning bell in his skull.
The bullet. It was still in him.
He’d been through hell before—losing his arm, decades as Hydra’s puppet, even fighting aliens from another freaking planet—but this was different. This bullet wasn’t normal. It felt like fire, crawling under his skin, making his vision swim and his limbs heavy.
He hated it.
Hated how weak it made him feel.
Then, suddenly—
“Bucky! Oh my god—”
A familiar voice. A rush of warmth.
He blinked, and there she was—Ava. Kneeling next to him, eyes wide and wild and filled with panic. He stared at her like she wasn’t real.
“Hey… ow,” he mumbled, wincing as another sharp stab of pain rocked his body. His jacket was soaked now, dark and heavy with blood. “What… what are you doing here?”
Ava looked like she was about to explode. Her chest was heaving, and her eyes—were those tears? Red-rimmed and glassy.
“You’re seriously asking that right now?!” she half-screamed, voice cracking.
But Bucky wasn’t listening to the words anymore. Just… her. Her face. Her warmth. The fact that she was here, in front of him, felt unreal. Like a dream he wasn’t sure he deserved.
He tried to sit up, but Ava’s hand pressed firmly on his chest.
“Don’t you dare move,” she snapped, voice trembling.
He wanted to argue—of course he did—but the pain was too much. He couldn’t even get the words out.
“Walker! Alexei! Get your asses back here—Bucky’s hit bad! I need help—now!”
“I’m… I’m fine,” Bucky rasped. A lie. A stupid, obvious lie.
Ava glared down at him. “Shut up. Or I swear, I’ll shut you up myself.”
That made him grin. Or try to. “Wouldn’t mind seeing you try…”
He laughed softly—then instantly regretted it as pain ripped through his side again. He gasped, groaning as his hand clutched the wound, now slick and wet and warm with blood.
Ava's eyes dropped to it. Her face paled.
And something broke.
She watched helplessly as his blood seeped through his shirt, pooling fast and sticky around his fingers. He was shaking. She could feel it. He —the one who always took the hits, the one who never showed weakness—was falling apart in front of her.
Her breath caught.
He was dying.
She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t mean to. But the tears came anyway, streaming down her cheeks as she pressed both hands against the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding, to do something .
“Stay with me,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Please, Bucky… stay with me.”
And for once, he didn’t have a witty comeback.