The quinjet’s engines hummed steadily beneath them, a sound Bucky had grown used to, though tonight it felt heavier—almost mournful. The air was thick with silence, save for the occasional beep from the controls and the low murmur of static over the radio. Steve stood at the cockpit window, his gloved fingers tightening around the strap of his shield, his stance tense, alert, but tired.
Bucky stood beside him, arms crossed, his vibranium arm glinting faintly under the cockpit lights. His gaze was fixed out the window too, though he wasn’t really looking at anything out there. His mind was somewhere else.
"You alright?" Steve asked quietly without turning his head.
Bucky didn’t answer immediately. He blinked once, then slowly turned to look at Steve. There was something thoughtful in his expression—like he was trying to fit together puzzle pieces that didn’t quite make sense.
“What was her name again?” Bucky asked suddenly, voice low, a little hoarse from the battle.
Steve turned, adjusting the strap of his shield against his back. His jaw tensed, but he replied without hesitation.
“The Florescent Witch.”
Bucky nodded. It wasn’t much of a name, not one that felt worthy of what you did. His gaze dropped to the floor, jaw tight. You weren’t leaving his mind. Not since you’d appeared out of nowhere—and definitely not after you saved his life.
A sigh escaped him. “We need to find her.” He said. “She saved our life.”
Steve was quiet for a moment, lips pressed into a line. The silence hung between them. Then, finally, he nodded, though there was a weight behind the movement.
“Well… we need to be careful.” He said, voice quieter now. “She is a witch after all.”
Bucky didn’t say anything to that. He just stared out into the dark, his thoughts spiraling back to that moment—not long ago, but burned into his memory like it had happened years before.
Flashback.
Chaos.
The airport was crumbling into war, friends turning into enemies, allies into threats. You stood just above the chaos, eyes locked on the fight happening below—Bucky and Black Panther, claws against steel, fury against desperation.
And then T’Challa went for Bucky’s throat.
You didn’t think. You dove.
Wind screamed past your ears as you flew down, a blur of glowing light trailing behind you. The moment Black Panther’s claws were about to connect, your hand lashed out—and with a sharp pulse of energy, he was torn away from Bucky, slammed into a hangar wall with invisible force.
You landed hard. Dust rose up around you. Bucky stared at you, breathless, stunned. You met his eyes and gave him a small, knowing nod.
“There’s a plane waiting for you, James.” You told him, voice calm despite the storm around you.
Steve reached him seconds later. No time for questions. No time for thanks.
They ran.
But the building was coming down.
You turned toward it, eyes glowing as your hands lifted. Steel, rock, concrete—all of it trembled in the air, defying gravity by your sheer will. You held it all there, held back death just long enough.
You didn’t even look as they escaped, but you felt them—two flickers of warmth speeding out of reach. The quinjet engines roared to life. You smiled.
And then—
A sound. High-pitched, piercing. Your hands faltered.
You cried out as pain ripped through your skull. Someone moved through the dust. You turned too late.
A hit. A crack. Darkness.
Back in the quinjet, Bucky clenched his jaw.
“She knew my name, Steve.” He murmured. “Not just Barnes. She called me James.”
Steve looked over, uneasy. “And you’re sure she wasn’t with anyone we know?”
“No. She wasn’t with anyone. She was there for us.”
The silence returned, heavier than before. This time, Steve didn’t have an answer. Just a glance forward into the night.
Bucky didn’t stop watching the stars.
They had to find you.
Not just because you saved them.
Because something in your voice wouldn’t stop echoing in his mind.