❨ 𝑽𝑰𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑶                 . . .                   𝑏𝘰𝘰𝑘 𝑖𝑖 ❩
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
━━━ 𝙱. 𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙴𝚂 / ❛ i will 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡,
𝙨𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡 of 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 ❜

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘༄⋅°
𝐓𝐄𝐍,                                            𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙴𝙽 !

THOUGH BUCKY DIDN'T want to admit it to Steve, he was glad he got to spend some time in police custody after getting into that whole fiasco at the airport. He even thought that he needed to serve more time, but Steve thought two weeks was fine for the ex-assassin.

When Bucky was told he could call one person, he immediately called his best friend and told him to 'pick him up when he thought he learned his lesson. What he didn't expect was for Steve to wait two weeks; he thought Steve being Steve was going to pick him up as soon as he called. He stayed in that jail cell during the day and only came out when it was mealtime. The other inmates were too scared to even come near him, all except one. A young boy of 20 who had been wrongly accused of theft. A boy named Barry Allen. He would tag along with Bucky and treat him like a normal person, he treated Bucky with respect.

"Why?" Bucky asked him once while they were eating the slush they called 'healthy breakfast food.'

"Why what?" Barry played with the grey thing, the slimy texture grossing him out. "Why do you even talk to me? I'm a murderer, an assassin," Bucky rested his chin on his fist, tapping his foot on the floor as he stared at the officer guarding the exit to the basketball court. "Well, a murderer and assassin, yes, you are that, but you are also a patriot, a veteran, you need the respect that you deserve for protecting the country ― hell, the world! ― during World War II," came Barry's reply, who straightened up immediately.

"But I killed people. Innocent people without a second thought."

When that escape Bucky's mouth, a sharp slap was delivered from Barry, jerking Bucky's head to the side and Barry pointed a finger at Bucky. "You were under the control of HYDRA, remember that, no matter what you did, it wasn't you ― well, it was, but that doesn't matter ― it wasn't the real you. It was them! It was HYDRA, and you know it. You are a victim. Let me spell it out for you: V-I-C-T-I-M. Victim," Barry dragged out the 'm', exaggerating his point.

Bucky rubbed his sore cheek and sighed. Barry was caring and fun to be around, but he was stubborn at times. But, overall, Bucky was glad that he got a person to call a friend. When he was alone in Bucharest everyone ignored him, the only people that spoke to him were the vendors that sold him plums. "When will you stop putting yourself down?" the younger male asked.

"When I get back with the girl of my dreams."

Barry smiled; he could possibly arrange their return to each other. "What's her name?"

"Her name is Diana," Bucky breathed, his mind going to the memories of 'that night'. "She was the one who stopped World War I. Apparently, according to her, the first world war was caused by an envious god. His name was Ares."

"How did she know it was him?" Barry wondered, letting his mind drift off the picture a beautiful woman, but realized he was picturing how his dream girl would look like. A tall busty blonde. With an ass. And perfect teeth. "I don't know. She never got to that part."

"You got into a fight or something?"

"Yeah, we did."

"I'm sorry, Ja―'

"―Bucky. Everyone calls me Bucky. Well, minus Tony Stark. He calls me 'The Wiener Soldier.'"

Barry couldn't help but laugh at this. "So if he calls you the Wiener Soldier, does that mean you like to eat sausages or that he has seen your penis?" Bucky glared at the younger male, but he couldn't stay mad at him. He liked to be around him, a guy who seems like he doesn't have friends and is really nice. "None of those, I actually hat―"

"Mr Barnes, Mr Steve Rogers is here," a guard stood behind the veteran, his thumbs hooked around his belt loops and leaning his weight on his right leg. "Dude," Barry chuckles, "are trying to look like a cool police officer like in those movies?" The officer didn't smile, though. He instead pulls Bucky up roughly by his arm, Bucky getting defensive. "Hey! Hey! Dickhead! That's my only arm, I need it." "Whatever," the officer ― whose name was Richard, which anyone to anyone who doesn't know, the nickname for any Richard is Dick ― grumbled, pulling Bucky harshly through the crowded tables and out of the mess hall, loud shouts of 'let me go, I can walk myself,' escaped Bucky's lips, every prisoners' heads turning to their direction.

Some laughed quietly - a well-known assassin getting pulled out like a ragdoll by some guard that was 2 heads shorter than him.

"I'm free to go?" Bucky asked the guard, his black eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Yes," Richard sighs, "Mr Rogers has paid your bail."

Bucky nods slowly, still confused, but wondering why Steve didn't let him rot in there. But what about Barry? He was the only other friend that he had besides Sam and Steve. The other Avengers were just the co-workers of a good friend, the people that you asked to go out with after your friends are all too busy so you turn to them for entertainment.

"C'mon, Bucky," Steve beckons the one-armed man over, gesturing with his head to the door.

Bucky reluctantly lumbers over to Steve, making plans on bailing Barry out, wondering where he could get the money. Bucky had noticed - but never acknowledged it to anyone - that Barry was awfully energetic, always wanting to walk around or jog, and when he talked, he talked faster than anybody, but Bucky could still decipher what he was saying. It seemed as if Barry was faster than anybody around, but wanted to keep it a secret. Bucky shook his head at the thought; Barry could easily have ADHD, it could explain why he was animated all the time. "Buck, something's worrying you. What's wrong?"

Bucky sighed. "There's a kid in there that was wrongly accused of burglary ―"

"How do you know he was wrongly accused?"

"Steve, the kid's only nineteen, and he seemed too good to be a thief. He helped me in there. He talked to me when no one else would. He seems too happy to be a thief. He doesn't look like a troublemaker. At least, not like I was when we were little."

Steve snickers, "remember when you tried to dance for a piece of cake?" "Steve, I was only ten," Bucky opens the door to the small Bugee that was used during the 'undercover mission' before what they liked to call the Civil War.

"Yeah, you were only ten though you tried to do a striptease for that poor woman."

They shook their heads, trying to contain their laughter in, but the wall broke and their laughs filled the small, cramped area. "How old was she?" "I think she was 67. She looked mortified at your dance."

"Whatever," Bucky guffawed, "I was gyrating my hips perfectly. I could be a bellydancer for all I know."

"A deadly assassin bellydancer. I'd pay to see that," Steve pulls out of the parking spot with caution, "I'd pay to see that."

━━━━ ∘༄⋅°  𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 ━━━━ ∘༄⋅°

BUCKY WAS CURRENTLY in Paris - at the Louvre Museum where Diana worked to be exact - watching her out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to look at a painting that depicted a small girl with beautiful blonde curls and a white dress holding a book, staring out to the people of the museum. "Storybook. Painting by: William Adolphe Bouguereau. Reproduced by: Thomas Baker."

He liked the painting, it was pleasing to his eyes, and it didn't have too many things to focus on. It was simple. A blonde girl in front of a dark blue-green background in a white dress holding a book. Easy.

Diana was walking around with a few of her superiors, showcasing each statue and painting. She wore a beautiful burgundy dress with black boots, her hair thrown up into a ponytail. She smiled and laughed at each joke they threw, trying to be polite to them, but Bucky noticed one thing: her eyes didn't seem to be as bright as they were before. Her eyes were dull and red-rimmed as if she had been crying all night long. And Bucky also noticed something else: she wasn't wearing any make-up. She had a small tint of natural blush to her cheeks, dark circles around her eyes and freckles. Brown freckles made her look more child-like. And Bucky thought that it made her beautiful.

But he also realized something else: every time she smiled it never went to her eyes. As if smiling hurt her. Her inviting and alluring voice carried off the walls of the large building, enticing more people to her group, the French words rolling off her tongue easily and flawlessly.

"C'est la statue Hera, également connue sous le nom de 'Hera Campana'. Fabriqué au 2ème c. AD, est une copie en marbre romaine de l'original hellénistique," she points to a large marble piece portraying a woman in a Greek toga holding a dowel and tablet, seeming as if she was giving a speech. It also looked like the Statue of Liberty, just without the flames of the torch and the spiky crown. Instead, it had a flat crown with a piece of 'cloth' attached to it.

Just as Diana turned to talk about the Storybook painting, she locked eyes with Bucky. Looking away awkwardly, she went back to directing her group, telling all of them a joke that they thought was funny, guffawing loudly. As Diana walked closer to Bucky, he strode away, weaving through the crowd of visitors and into the bright Paris sunlight. He wanted to do something well; wanted to get his mind off her for as long as possible. And he knew just what to do.

━━━━ ∘༄⋅° 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓 ━━━━ ∘༄⋅°

BUCKY walked into the police station he was in, nodding a silent 'hello' to Dickhead, placing $1,000 on the counter, all in cash. Dickhead furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "How did you get this?" "I have rich relations," he shrugged. Thank Tony Stark for being a billionaire, but an asshole - "Call me a 'Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist' and I'll give you the money." "Who are you bailing?"

"Barry Allen."

"The ADHD annoying burglar?" Dick asked. "He's not annoying," Bucky fumed, trying to protect the small child - well, teenager. He reminded Bucky of a younger self like he was before all this HYDRA shit happened. If anyone, anything, tried to hurt Barry, he would kill them. He didn't want the happy-go-lucky Barry to become depressed, to become like him.

"Alright," Dick sighed, shrugging.

Dick saunters out of the room, grabbing his keys from the hook on the wall, and leaves Bucly to his own device, hugging his arm around himself. Bucky watched the news reporter talk about the traffic - an accident happened on the highway - and hears the door open again with Dick holding Barry tightly by the arm. Barry didn't seem to care, instead, his face brightened at the sight of Bucky.

"Bucky!" He giggled like a little kid on Christmas. "You left me all alone in there, everyone seemed happier without you around."

Bucky couldn't help but smile and laugh; this kid's energy was contagious. "Can we get ice cream? I really would like some ice cream. I haven't had ice cream in weeks and I'm starving." Bucky wrapped his arm around Barry, pulling him closer, "After we go eat something. You look like a matchstick."

If Bucky had Diana, Steve, Wanda and Sam - and possibly a dog - he would have a perfect and mismatched family of weirdos. Three people that became strong from test tubes, one African-American retired Army "pilot", a woman who was birthed from clay, and one hyperactive kid that loved to laugh and live life.

All outcasts in life, yet together they were perfect, and that's all Bucky ever wanted. A family.