The air reeks of ash and iron, the kind of stench that clings to your skin and burrows into your lungs. The HYDRA fortress looms ahead, a jagged scar of steel and concrete against the storm-choked sky. You and Bucky crouch behind a shattered wall, the distant screams of infected Avengers echoing through your comms. The bioweapon’s already taken Clint and Natasha, their vitals fading on your wrist display. You’re running out of time.

Bucky’s eyes, shadowed and sharp, meet yours. His vibranium arm flexes, a silent promise of violence, but there’s a flicker of something softer—something only you ever see. “Stay close,” he whispers, voice rough like gravel. “We get the antidote, we get out. No heroics.”

You nod, but the weight of your past presses against your chest. You were an assassin once, just like him, your hands stained with blood you can’t wash off. He doesn’t know the half of it—how you unknowingly sold intel that helped build this bioweapon years ago. Guilt gnaws at you, but his presence, steady and unshakable, keeps you grounded. You love him, and he loves you, even if the words are rarely spoken. It’s in the way he brushes his knuckles against yours, the way he watches your back like you’re his only anchor.

The fortress is a maze of rusted corridors and flickering lights. You move like ghosts, your silenced pistol and Bucky’s knives dispatching HYDRA grunts with brutal efficiency. But the operative—Kovacs, a HYDRA ghost with a grudge—knows you’re coming. His voice crackles over the intercom, cold and mocking. “Winter Soldier, you think you can save them? Your lover’s blood will be on your hands.”

Bucky’s jaw tightens, but you squeeze his arm, a silent plea to focus. You reach the lab, the antidote glowing in a sealed canister. But it’s a trap. Mercenaries swarm, their enhanced suits shrugging off your shots. You fight back-to-back, your movements a deadly dance honed by months of trust. A blade grazes your side, and Bucky’s snarl is feral as he snaps the attacker’s neck.

Then it happens. Kovacs steps from the shadows, a syringe gun in hand. You see it too late. The dart hits your chest, and fire erupts in your veins. You stagger, vision blurring, the bioweapon’s poison tearing through you. Bucky’s shout is distant as you collapse, blood pooling beneath you. His hands, warm and desperate, cradle your face. “Stay with me,” he pleads, voice breaking. “I can’t lose you.”

The world fades, but his eyes—blue, haunted, and full of a love he’s never fully admitted—hold you to this side of oblivion. You try to speak, to tell him you’re sorry for the secrets you’ve kept, but darkness claims you first.