IGNORANCE NEVER STOPS

Her night was eventful to say the least. After Bucky had walked away, she bimbled back to her alcove, not seeing the point in keeping on begging. She ate her sandwich as she was curled in a ball, hoping to ward off the cold, stomach clenching at the large amount of food she'd eaten. She must have fallen asleep at some point, as when she woke up she was greeted by an inky sky and aching back. Not being able to fall asleep again, she collected her few belongings - her hat and her blanket - and wandered the streets of Bucharest. Unlike others, Ileana found something rather intriguing about the nighttime, being able to see the world sleeping wasn't that scary to her. It calmed her. She felt as though she would be accepted. She guessed that's why she didn't think herself as a fool for strolling the streets in the early hours of the morning. 

She never thought of herself as careless.

Yet when her stomach felt uneasy, she blamed it on the food she'd had, and not her gut instinct she normally trusted. When she felt the back of her head burn under someone's heavy gaze, she passed it off as the wind rushing towards her. 

When the loud, heavy footsteps came, she couldn't think of an excuse. They clattered against the pavement, the sound reverberating down the empty street. And they sounded as though they were headed straight for her. 

Not thinking about it twice, she broke out into a sprint, her knobbly legs nearly buckling under the sudden demand. Her arms pumped relentlessly at her side, in beat to the breaths rapidly released. Her legs burned mercilessly but she carried on, her stumbling strides becoming slower by the second, her fear ruling her.

That was all they needed. 

Her attacker pounced, launching their body into hers. They collapsed to the ground with a thump, their bodies becoming tangled. Ileana cried out as her knees skinned the ground, her cry quickly silenced by a hand wrapping their fingers around her hair. They tugged at it, slamming her head into the ground. Another cry left her, blood freely flowing into her mouth. Metal enveloped her taste buds, grit grazing her tongue. 

As many times she had imagined the end of her life, she never pictured this. 

That's why she fought back.

Thrashing against the assailants grip, she freed a hand. Not wasting a second, she plunged her hand into her pocket, fumbling for her knife. Her hand brushed the blade, and her fingers caressing the handle when the attacker snatched at her arm.

"I don't think so darling," They purred, twisting more of her hair in their hand. "Now honey, all you need to do is answer a few questions and I'll consider letting you live."

Ileana bucked against their grip, desperate to be free. The chill of their breath sent shivers down her spine, and she cringed when they leaned even closer until they were practically nibbling her ear.

"Tell me, how do you know James Buchanan Barnes?" Ileana continued fidgeting, the weight of the attacker on top of her halting her movements. Her attacker chuckled deeply, tugging once again on her hair.

"Speak girl!" They boomed, deafening her. She couldn't contain the small whimper that left her body. Tears sprung to her eyes. Death wasn't something she feared, but she was petrified of what led up to it.

The grip on her hair loosened, the spiking pain in her skull lessening to a dull throb. Her relief was short lived as her attacker snatched at the tattered material of her shirt and pulled her over, so she was on her back. She could see that her attacker was about six foot, clad in black and a gun pointed straight at her head. She gulped.

"Don't make me ask you again, I'm a very busy woman," her attacker pulled back the hammer on the gun. "Where is James Buchanan Barnes?"

Even if Ileana could speak, she didn't think she'd be able to muster any words. Trembling, she shrugged, slowly trailing her fingers down to her pocket. A hand stomped on her arm, brutally twisting their foot. Ileana bit her lip so hard that blood was drawn, all to avoid howling out. The agony was indescribable. "Be a good girl and answer my question."

Unsure of what to do, she shrugged her shoulders again. Her attacker sighed loudly. She squatted down, and they poked the gun into Ileana's chest, hissing. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but it stops now. Where," she paused, her words silent long enough to hear the click of the guns safety, "Is James Buchanan Barnes?"

Ileana stayed still. She counted her breaths, relishing what she believed would be her last. 

"Fine, be that way. We can find him another way." Without missing a beat, the attacker pulled the trigger. Pain erupted in her side, setting her body on fire. Ileana was the wood, and her assailant was the lit match. "Good riddance."

The pain couldn't be described in words. Even the most brutal couldn't do the agony any justice. Blood pumped from the wound enthusiastically, running towards the ground.

Nameless and without remorse, the attacker stared into her eyes, watching gleefully as Ileana's widened at the impact. Her breath caught in her throat, oxygen begging to enter. A small tear escaped from the corner of Ileana's eye, the horror of what had happened dawning on her. 

She was going to die. 

Yes, Ileana often pondered the afterlife more than what would seem healthy; honestly she didn't want to find out so soon. She wasn't exactly young, but she wasn't exactly old either. She was at an age where her death wouldn't be considered a tragedy, and more like an eventuality. She didn't know why this bothered her- no one cared enough to learn even her name, so why would they care when she died? A dead, mystery woman is more likely to be forgotten than the person who wasn't labelled as 'Jane Doe' in the morgue. 

It's this thought that made anger rise within her. Ileana may be homeless, and may think of herself as a nobody, but she certainly deserved to be remembered. And that wouldn't happen if she was dead. 

Gathering up her courage, she allowed her hand to plunge into her pocket fighting past the burning sensation working its way up her arm, and before she could think twice about it, she snatched the knife out and stabbed the smug monster. They gasped, stumbling back. Their grip on the gun instantly loosened, both hands pressing down on the wound. Red seeped through their fingers, blending into the black fabric. Uncaring that her attacker most likely wouldn't understand, or be able to see, Ileana signed to her. "Karma's a bitch."

The attacker sniggered, shaking their head. "A mute. My freaking luck." 

White hot fury burned in Ileana's veins. How dare they label her as her condition. How dare they degrade her. Her hand seemed to act on instinct, arching the knife into their body for the second time that night. Their heavy body landed on top of her as she kept driving the knife into their flesh, blood spraying all over Ileana's body. The attacker's wretched gaze never left Ileana, their mouth remaining shut. Their breaths were getting lower and less frequent; Ileana was oblivious to this, relishing the rare overwhelming feeling of power. 

For once, she was in control. 

Ileana didn't like to admit that she didn't notice the attacker's breaths falter, and then cease to exist. She was too lost in her control, too lost in her thoughts. At least now Ileana had left her mark, no matter how evil and sinister it was. 

Panting, she shoved the body off of her, vision blurred. She could no longer tell where her own blood was on her clothing, as both hers and the monsters had blended together, becoming one. She had been too consumed by blind fury that she didn't pay attention to the gun shot in her side profusely pumping blood. It dripped from her body onto the street, and some reached towards the mutilated body mere feet from her. Forcing herself to be composed, she stretched to the body, and trying to ignore the stillness of their body, she yanked her knife out. With shaking hands, she wiped it on the corpse. 

Ileana glanced down at her useless arm that had long since gone numb besides the occasional throbbing, and to the hole in her abdomen. She needed to stop the bleeding, and the only thing nearby that would help was the monsters clothes. Taking a deep breath, she moved her most likely broken arm to the fabric, mentally preparing herself for the pain before tightening her hand around it. She bit down her cry of pain, chewing on her tongue to keep herself quiet. The throbbing had grown, now pulsating torture throughout her very being. Powering through, she used her knife in her other hand to tear the fabric. 

Once she ripped it away from their jacket, her eyes caught sight of something peculiar on the sleeve. It was some kind of bird, it's wings trapped by the circle surrounding it. She wasn't sure why but it made her teeth set on edge. 

Ileana's attention moved from that pretty quickly, as she wrapped the fabric around her midriff as best as she could with only one hand. With no means as to kept it tied, she simply tucked it into the other layers, and prayed that it would be helpful enough. 

"You look like you handled that well," A familiar gruff voice rumbled in Romanian from the shadows. Squinting, Ileana attempted to focus on the figure, but the darkness was too dense for her to be able to see. Without having heard the voice, she'd still be ignorant to the fact that someone was there. She only shrugged in response, aggravating her broken arm, hissing when a fresh wave of pain drowned her. Taking her attention off of the familiar stranger, she clenched tighter at her stomach with her non-broken arm. Already she could feel the blood pooling - praying didn't make it tighter. 

Footsteps sounded closer, until the person was squatting right in front of her. Ileana had no choice but to look up - Bucky. His hat was angled on his head, obscuring his flawless eyes. His mouth was drawn back in a grin, proud of her for taking down the enemy by herself. She was stronger than she looked. 

That smile fell when he caught sight of the strip of black fabric wrapped around her stomach, a thin trail of blood leaking from beneath it and how she cradled her right arm. Casting a cautious glance both ways, he smoothly picked Ileana up off of the floor, wrapping her left arm around his neck and wrapping his arm around her waist. Warmth surged up at his touch. She struggled, trying to get out of his grip. Unable to sign to her without dropping her, he chose to speak instead. "You're going to bleed out if you just sit there."

Ileana shrugged, instantly regretting it when another flare of pain shot up her body. Instead she continued to squirm. Bucky sighed, guiding them in the direction of his hideout. "I'm stitching you up, end of conversation." 

Ileana dug her feet into the ground, halting the pairs progress. She kicked herself after for being so stupid as her arm jolted. She never missed the ability to speak when she never got a chance to experience the gift so many people took for granted; sometimes she wished she could communicate with anything other than her hands. She didn't dare move her right arm, just to ask a question. 

Bucky heaved a large breath, glancing at the dead body. "I'm guessing you want answers."

Ileana nodded, her head feeling lighter. 

"If you let me stitch you up and get you a sling for your arm, I'll tell you anything you want, okay?"

Reluctantly, Ileana agreed, giving into the growing wooziness and persistent man. He appeared to be relieved, and scooped her off her feet when her steps stumbled. She was grateful that there weren't any people out and about; even if there were she knew that none of them would acknowledge what happened. 

People never stopped being ignorant. 

They wouldn't have paid attention to when the girl with a skeleton bursting to break free and drained skin passed out.