THUNDER GROWLED FAINTLY in the distance, echoing like a warning. A cold wind snaked through the shattered windows of an abandoned warehouse in Stuttgart at the edge of the rail lines—steel and concrete twisted by time, rust-stained walls soaked in the ghost of something forgotten.

Inside, the flickering light from a single hanging bulb swayed overhead, casting shadows like specters across the floor.

Then, a sound—a groan.

Bucky stirred.

His breath hitched as his eyelids fluttered open, vision blurred. Concrete above him. Chains. Metal. He jerked instinctively, his body tensing—but his metal arm was locked in place by a vice, clamped so tightly the metal groaned under pressure. Panic surged in his chest.

Before it could rise too far, a voice—gentle, familiar—cut through the fog.

"Hey, hey," it whispered softly. "Easy now. You're safe."

Bucky blinked until the voice came into focus.

Ariel.

She knelt beside him, her long, red hair a silent comfort to him, her hands lightly resting on his arm—not the metal one, the human one. The soft touch of someone who knew exactly how fragile he really was inside.

"I'm here," she smiled, her eyes like sunlight breaking through the storm.

He let out a slow, shaky breath. "...Hey."

"You'll be alright," she murmured with mock sternness, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. "No one's gonna hurt you now."

Then she turned her head. "He's up!" she called toward the shadows. "Steve—Sam!"

Footsteps echoed fast across the concrete.

Steve was already moving, slipping through a broken archway with that purposeful stride of his, eyes locked onto Bucky. Sam followed right behind, alert and tense.

"Steve," Bucky breathed, relief and exhaustion twisting together in his chest.

But Steve didn't speak right away. His shoulders were tight, arms folded as he stood just outside arm's reach.

"Which Bucky am I talking to right now?" he asked warily, voice low and cautious.

A pause.

Then—Bucky exhaled a weak laugh, wincing. "Your mom's name was Sarah," he said hoarsely. "You used to wear newspapers in your shoes."

A beat of silence.

Steve's face softened. A smile ghosted across his lips. "Can't read that in a museum."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Just like that, we're suppose to be cool?"

Bucky's shoulders slumped. "What did I do?"

The guilt cracked through his voice like thunder.

Ariel saw it. Felt it. The weight he carried wasn't just physical—it was heavy with shame, memory, ghosts. She reached out without thinking, placing a small hand on his knee. Her thumb brushed in a slow, soothing motion, grounding him.

Steve looked at his friend and answered simply. "Enough."

Bucky shook his head, a groan of frustration leaving his throat. "Oh, God, I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words."

"Who?" Steve pressed.

"I don't know," Bucky muttered.

"People are dead," Steve said. "The bombing, the setup. The doctor did all that just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than "I don't know.""

"He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "Why would he need to know that?"

Bucky's gaze turned cold. "Because I'm not the only Winter Soldier."

Ariel's heart skipped a beat.

Steve's expression froze. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "Who were they?"

"Their most elite death squad," Bucky rasped. "More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum."

"There were more of us..." Ariel whispered, still kneeling beside him, her voice quiet with sorrow.

Bucky glanced at her—at the sadness in her ocean eyes. "Worse," he said softly.

Steve stepped closer, jaw clenched. "The doctor, could he control them?"

"Enough," Bucky said, voice low.

"Said he wanted to see an empire fall", Steve said.

"With these guys he could do it," Bucky explained. "They speak 30 languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize, They can take a whole country down in one night. You'd never see them coming."

Silence hung in the room like a noose.

Steve and Sam pulled back, whispering amongst themselves near a stack of old crates.

Ariel stayed.

Still.

Close.

Bucky glanced at her, voice catching. "I'm sorry. For what I did. If I ever hurt you—I didn't mean to. I wasn't... me."

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. But she didn't let them fall.

Instead, she leaned in without hesitation, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug. Her frame was small, but her heart—her heart was huge. Warm. Forgiving. Brave. Full of light.

"You never stopped being you," she whispered into his shoulder. "Not to me."

Bucky's eyes widened at first, startled by the contact—her warmth, her scent of salt and sea and wildflowers. But slowly, his arms came up around her. He held on, as if she were the only solid thing in a crumbling world.

And in a way... she was.

They sat there like that, in the middle of an abandoned warehouse at the edge of Stuttgart, surrounded by silence and memories of war.

Two survivors. Two lost souls who had never stopped believing in each other.

Almost like brother and sister.

And sometimes, in a world full of pain and monsters, that was enough to keep going.

From across the room, Steve watched them, his expression unreadable, but his eyes heavy with something between sorrow and protectiveness.

The quiet moment between the two pierced something deep in him. Memories of war. Of losing people. Of holding on by threads.

He turned away, jaw tense.

Beside him, Sam stood with his arms crossed, gaze flicking between Steve and the pair in the distance.

"This would have been a lot easier a week ago," Sam said under his breath, voice calm but edged with frustration.

Steve didn't respond right away.

"If we call Tony—" he began, the thought already tasting bitter. But his eyes kept drifting back to Ariel, who now sat cross-legged beside Bucky, murmuring something soft that made him—actually smile, if only faintly.

Sam shook his head. "No, he won't believe us."

Steve frowned. "Even if he did..."

"Who knows if the Accords would let him help", Sam finished, his tone dry.

Steve exhaled slowly, the weight of leadership heavy on his shoulders. "We're on our own."

Sam paused... then grinned. That slow, confident grin he only pulled when something chaotic and brilliant was brewing in his mind. "Maybe not. I know a guy."

Steve raised an eyebrow.

Sam just kept grinning.

✧˚ · .

The air was damp and still, heavy with the scent of oil and coming rain. The echo of distant traffic rumbled overhead like a restless storm waiting to break. Shadows clung to the underpass walls like old secrets, and everything—everything—felt too quiet.

Thanks to Sharon, they'd retrieved their gear—barely. She hadn't said much, but her eyes had shimmered with the same rebellious glint that once danced in Peggy's. She didn't have to say it out loud: This isn't justice. This isn't right. But I know what side I'd be on if she were still here.

Steve hadn't stopped thinking about that.

Behind him, Bucky and Sam leaned against a stolen blue car—half-watching, half-pretending not to. The engine ticked in the cooling air. But Steve's attention shifted when he heard soft footsteps approach from behind.

Ariel.

She moved like a memory—quiet, careful, as if afraid to disturb the moment or maybe afraid of what it meant. Her boots scraped against the gravel. Her red hair was wind-tossed. Like always she clutched the necklace, dangling from her neck like an anchor.

And her face...

Her face looked like she was holding her breath underwater, like the weight in her chest was pulling her deeper.

Steve turned to her, immediately sensing it.

"What's wrong?" His voice was soft. Anchoring.

Ariel blinked, startled, her grip tightening around the chain at her throat.

"What do you mean?", she asked, too fast, too light.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "You only play with your necklace when something's bothering you."

Her lips parted, but she didn't answer. Instead, her eyes dropped to the ground. She didn't want him to see the crack in her voice.

He stepped closer.

She inhaled once. Deep. Slow. Then, finally, she whispered, "I don't even know where to start."

He waited. Gave her space.

"It's like... like I'm being torn in two," she said, wrapping her arms around herself. "Between my heart and my head. I don't want to fight the people I care about... but I don't want to lose them either–"

Her voice broke on the last words. A single tear spilled down her cheek before she could hide it.

"I can't lose you," she admitted. "Not you. Not again."

Steve's jaw clenched. His heart shattered silently in his chest.

"We'll get through this somehow—"

"I know we will", she looked up at him then, blue eyes shining, so full of truth it nearly knocked the wind out of him. "What I'm trying to say is... promise me," she breathed. "Promise me you'll protect Bucky first. They're not coming after us. Not really. They're coming for him."

She tried to smile, but it quivered. "You know it, too. That big grumpy teddy bear with the metal arm," she added, jerking her head toward the car, trying to lighten the moment. "He's the real target."

Steve's eyes flicked past her—Bucky and Sam were both very obviously pretending not to eavesdrop. Typical.

Then she added, quieter, with a flicker of something aching and hopeful: "Besides... somehow you always find your way back to me."

He didn't hesitate.

"Always," he said.

That one word held everything—his loyalty, his hope, his love for her.

She tried to laugh, but a sob caught in her throat instead.

Before she could fall apart, he was already closing the distance, lifting one hand to gently brush the tear from her cheek. But then he left his hand there—cradling the side of her face like she was made of something precious, irreplaceable. He looked at her as if the world could fall apart around them, and he wouldn't blink.

And oh, God, he was proud of her.

Of how far she'd come from the scared girl he once met. Now she stood in front of him like a fighter, raw but brave, still holding onto her heart.

He pulled her into his arms, slow and sure, until there was no space left between them.

She stood on her toes to reach him, arms wrapping around his neck, and their lips met in a kiss so full of ache, it felt like the world held its breath for them.

It wasn't desperate. It was sacred. It was a vow.

When they finally pulled away, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the cold air, Steve whispered, "You know I love you."

Ariel nodded against his chest. "I know," she whispered. "I love you, too."

He held her tighter, his arms like armor around her fragile frame. Her head rested over his heart. His chin tucked into her hair. For a moment, it was just them—two souls in a storm that neither of them had chosen.

Across the lot, Sam nudged Bucky.

"You ever seen Steve look like that?"

Bucky snorted. "Known him my whole life. Never seen him smile like that once."

Sam folded his arms and smirked. "Damn. She really is his soulmate."

Bucky glanced at the two figures under the overpass—Ariel glowing like a lighthouse in the dusk, Steve holding onto her like a soldier clinging to peace.

"Yeah," Bucky murmured. "She is."

✧˚ · .

The stolen blue car screeched to a halt near a remote hangar, its engine sputtering like it knew what was coming. Ariel stepped out first, wind catching the ends of her red hair as she surveyed the vast, mostly abandoned runway.

The air smelled of jet fuel and damp concrete. A low fog curled along the asphalt like the quiet before a storm.

Ahead of them, a large white van was parked crookedly, like it had arrived in a hurry. From it emerged Clint his usual calm laced with the tension of someone who knew this wasn't just another mission.

"Cap," Clint said, extending a hand.

"Clint," Steve replied, gripping it tightly.

"Hey, Nixie." Clint turned to Ariel with a crooked smile, using the nickname he'd always teased her with.

Ariel gave him a soft smile and waved. She didn't speak—saving her voice for the battle ahead—but the joy in her eyes spoke louder than words. Despite the tension, it felt good seeing familiar faces. Family.

"You know I wouldn't have called If I had any other choice," Steve said quietly, his guilt evident. He knew Clint had a family. A wife. Kids.

Clint waved it off. "Hey man, you're doing me a favor", he turned to Wanda. "Besides, I owe a debt."

Wanda stepped out of the van then, arms open as she made a beeline for Ariel.

"Thanks for having my back", Steve said.

"It was time to get off my ass," she said with a grin, thick Sokovian accent curling around her words.

Ariel gave her a tight hug, resting her cheek for a moment on Wanda's shoulder. The brief comfort helped.

Steve looked back at the van. "How about our other recruit?"

Clint grinned mischievously. "He's rarin' to go. Had to put a little coffee in him, but... he should be good."

He slid open the van door.

Out popped a disoriented, slightly panicked head of dark-haired chaos.

The new guy blinked like a confused cat. "Wait—where am I? What time zone is this?" He nearly toppled out of the van.

"Come on. Come on", Clint said.

Then his eyes landed on Steve.

"Captain America," he breathed.

Steve reached out a hand. "Mr. Lang."

Scott grabbed it with both hands and refused to let go, eyes wide like a kid on Christmas morning. "It's an honor. I'm shaking your hand too long. Wow! This is awesome! Captain America."

Holy crap, I'm touching THE Captain America. This is the best jet lag I've ever had, he quietly thought to himself.

Steve chuckled awkwardly, trying to retrieve his hand.

Scott turned around, looking at Wanda and Ariel like he just walked into a museum. First Wanda. "And you! I know you, too. You're great! And—oh my God—Ariel?! My daughter loves you."

Arielle blinked, startled, but her expression instantly softened.

"She's your biggest fan," Scott continued excitedly, pointing to his phone as if she'd materialize from it. "Cassie pretends to be you in the backyard all the time. I got her swimming fins for her birthday and she's always diving into the kiddie pool yelling, 'Ocean power!' and then shoots me in the face with a water gun and screams you know pretending she's you with your Siren scream until the neighbors complain."

Ariel laughed softly, a dimple blooming on her cheek. "She sounds like a fierce little sea-star," she said, voice warm and melodic despite the nerves tightening in her chest. "Please tell her I'm honored to be her hero."

Scott grinned ear to ear. "She's gonna scream when she hears that."

Then, in pure Scott Lang fashion, he turned to Steve again and—like a raccoon with ADHD—grabbed his bicep. "Okay but seriously, what do you bench? Vibranium trucks?"

Steve blinked. "Uh—"

"Jeez. Ah, look, I wanna say, I know you know a lot of super people, so . . . thanks for thinking of me", Scott rambled before his gaze landed on Sam. "Hey, man!"

Sam smiled faintly, arms folded. "What's up, Tic-Tac?"

"Uh, good to see you. Look, what happened last time when I . . ."

"It was a great audition, but it'll... it'll never happen again", Sam replied.

Steve stepped in. "They tell you what we're up against?"

"Something about—some, psycho assassins?" Scott guessed.

"We're outside the law on this one," Steve said gently. "So, if you come with us, you're a wanted man."

Scott shrugged like it was no big deal. "Yeah, well, what else is new?"

From the back, Bucky finally spoke for the first time.

"We should get moving."

"We got a chopper lined up," Clint announced.

Just then, a loud siren blared through the airport's sound system: Achtung! Achtung! Dies ist eine Notsituation. Alle Passagiere müssen den Flughafen sofort evakuieren. Attention! Attention! This is an emergency. All passengers must evacuate the airport immediately.

"Evacuation protocol," Arielle translated automatically, exchanging a look with Bucky.

She and Bucky were the only ones fluent in German—he from his days as Sergeant Barnes, and she because... well, she was born and raised here.

"They're clearing the airport," Bucky added.

Sam sighed, crossing his arms. "Stark"

"Stark?", Scott asked confused.

Arielle turned toward the others, heart pounding. The moment they'd feared was here. Not just a fight for survival—but a battle against their own.

She looked at Steve, and for just a heartbeat, he met her eyes. That unspoken tether between them tightened.

No more pretending this was just another mission.

This was war.

They were about to stand face-to-face with the people they once trusted—called family.

And there was no turning back.

Steve's jaw tightened as he gave a nod.

"Suit up."