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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

Baltimore, United States of America

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Thankfully, the ride for Washington to Baltimore was only short because it left little time for Trickery to think about how stupid she was being.

What rational person would decide to follow a person they just met across the world because they were being chased by multiple government and non-government agencies? Why would someone even consider the idea? Especially if they couldn't even remember their own name, their birthday or their parents.

It's not like they were just going on a holiday to Europe and would sightsee everything the beautiful continent had to offer? No, they would be on the run. Depending on each other because their lives were on the line. They could both go to jail, especially Trickery who would probably never see the light of day again due to her powers.

And her not going to jail solely depended on a man that she barely knew.

No sane person would ever do what she is doing.

But Trickery decided she would blame her poor decision making on the lost brain cells she experienced from being punched by Captain America. He literally knocked all the sense out of her.

Well, at least that was what she was telling herself.

But Trickery's only consolation was that Bucky seemed to be a decent person (well, in the two hours that she has known him). During the car trip, he seemed to know just when to interrupt Trickery's many trips into her memories, begging to try and bring something to the surface. He would interrupt with small talk, something to take her mind off of it. He would mention the weather outside or bring up something he heard in the news.

It was never much, but she was grateful for it.

But before long, the pair were pulling up outside of a dilapidated hotel off the highway.

A few of the windows had been taped up with duct tape, adding to the hotel's lack of appeal that Trickery felt as she looked over the place.  Where there was still glass it was grey with the grime of twenty years. The door was thick and oak with a brass knocker that looked like a lion head. Trickery supposed it was meant to be golden in color but over time, it had faded away to pure rust.

But Bucky didn't seem anxious about entering the hotel. So Trickery followed behind, trusting that he knew what he was doing.

The two walked into the building, grimacing at the stale scent of perfume that polluted the air, assaulting their nostrils. The wind followed them in, whistling up the corridors as loud as the pied piper.

Trickery glanced around the reception, furrowing her brows as she noticed that the tables had ashtrays instead of flowers and old newspapers haphazardly strewn throughout the room. The mousy green wallpaper was chipped and halfheartedly covered by dark photographs and dollar store artworks. And if she strained her ears enough, she could hear the faint sound of insects crawling in the walls.

The hotel was decrepit, shabby and cheap.

But it was a place within their budget where they probably wouldn't get caught. So Trickery kept her criticisms to herself.

"Hi, how can I help y'all?" A voice called out, making Trickery whirl around, muscles tensed and ready to attack.

Bucky, noticing her shock, placed his cool metal hand on her waist and slowly guided her over to the desk which the woman sat behind.

"We are looking for a room for the night." Bucky answered plainly, oblivious to Trickey's frozen state as she felt the chill of his metal hand seep in past her clothes and make her body shiver.

"Awesome, that'll come to $50." The lady replied enthusiastically which Trickery guessed was due to the lack of visitors they seemed to have.

"We'll take it." Bucky nodded, turning to Trickery and giving her a look that she understood immediately.

She had wondered how they were going to pay for the room, considering that she obviously had no money and she assumed Bucky had no job.

With a sigh, she let her mind focus on the steady pulses emitting from the woman's brain. She felt her own mind connecting with the woman's, and then she started painting her illusion.

It was simple, really.

The lady saw Trickery hand over a $100 note. Upon seeing the crisp, green paper, her eyes lit up and she immediately fished out their change, handing it over to Bucky who stared at Trickery in awe.

It was his first time seeing Trickery manipulate someone (well, someone that wasn't him), and the sight of it was mind-blowing. Here Trickery was, staring at someone with crazy silver eyes, trying to get them a room for the night for free. And she somehow got the lady to hand her $50? All while she stood there as still as a statue. He didn't even know what she had done himself.

The fact that someones' mind could so easily be manipulated, to be fooled into seeing something that wasn't truly there, it amazed him. But the thought was equally as scary too.

"Right well you have room 11. It's up on the first floor at the end of the hallway." The woman informed them, handing the keys over to Bucky who turned his gaze from Trickery's now chestnut eyes.

"Thank you." Bucky said, nodding at Trickery before they walked towards the staircase.

The pair walked up the stairs, following the woman's directions towards the end of the hallway. Ignoring the chipped paint job and the dirty white walls, Bucky unlocked the door to their room and held the door open for Trickery who entered the room first.

Her immediate impression wasn't very good.

Despite the lack of light, she could make out that the carpet was an interesting mustard color with sporadic patches of brown that she assumed were stains. Just like the hallways, the white (well, what was supposed to be white) walls were chipping and exposing the rotten wood underneath. There was a basic kitchen with a crummy looking microwave and stove. The lounge room wasn't any more impressive, there was a fabric couch that looked like it came out of the last century and old tv which was no bigger than the stove in the kitchen.

The overall sterility of the apartment was questionable and the obvious single bed posed a problem for the pair. The spiderwebs that decorated the walls would also have to come down. Trickery may have been a monster and assassin herself but spiders still scared her.

So all in all, the apartment was terrible. The only thought that made the room the slightest more appealing was that it was only for one night. After that, she wouldn't have to see the room ever again.

"You can take the bed." Bucky spoke, breaking Trickery from her chain of thoughts.

Trickery shook her head immediately. "No, I want you to take it."

"I don't sleep anyway so you can have it." Bucky countered, giving her a look that said 'just shut up and take it before I make you.' So to appease him, she stubbornly turned her gaze away and stalked over to the bed, dropping her backpack on it aggressively.

She could feel Bucky roll his eyes but he said nothing because they both knew that regardless of who took the bed, neither of them would be able to get any sleep at all.

So Bucky set himself on the couch, roughly kicking the boots off his feet and laying on the couch which was much too small for his large physique. The entire bottom half of his legs were hanging off the side of the couch but he didn't complain. Trickery contemplated demanding that he take the bed but she was pretty certain he would still refuse.

So Trickery followed Bucky's lead and threw her own boots of her feet and shuffled underneath the covers of the bed hesitantly, screwing her nose up at the smell of chemicals that invaded her nostrils. She could almost feel the small bugs crawling over her body underneath the sheet but she simply squeezed her eyes close and talked herself out of it. Because the room was dirty, but it couldn't be that dirty.

Or so she hoped.

It felt like hours that Trickery laid there, just thinking. She thought about Steve. She remembered the look of familiarity and grief that overwhelmed his blue eyes when he saw her. How he called her Allie as if he knew her, as if they had once been friends. He said they fought in World War 2 together, which couldn't be possible since that was over 70 years ago. But then again, she was not one to question the impossible.

She thought about Loki. The way his dark hair shone under the faint light, contrasting against his fair, ivory skin. She remembered his proposition, world domination. The way he talked about it was if the actions weren't even his own like he was being controlled or he knew what would happen in his future. And obviously he carried out with his plan. The posters that she saw on the way into Washington portrayed him as the devil incarnate. Like he was a monster, just as he had said all those months ago.

And she thought about her profile that sat inside her backpack at the base of the bed. She wondered what information it held. If it could tell her who she was, who she is now. But in order for her to find that out, she would have to find out everything that she had done. All the people she tortured, the innocents she condemned to death, the true nature of who she was fighting for. She would finally know if she was the monster that she believed she was.

Which is why she hadn't opened it, for the fear of what information it held inside. For the fear that there would be no redeeming her past transgression. That her place in hell had already been secured.

Still that didn't mean she still wasn't curious.

But alas, she must have been thinking too loud because Bucky spoke up, breaking her from the endless cycle of toxic thoughts.

"Having trouble going to sleep?" He asked, shifting his feet uncomfortably on the couch.

Trickery glanced at him in shock, faintly making out his appearance amidst the darkness of the night. "How did—"

"I can hear your breathing." He explained. "When you get lost in your thoughts your breathing picks up."

"Oh."

"So nightmares or memories?" He questioned softly, understanding the delicacy of the conversation he was about to initiate.

"Huh?"

"What's keeping you up? Nightmares or memories." He asked again.

Trickery briefly wondered why he would ask such a thing, but then she remembered that Bucky had lived through it too. He knew what it was like so if anyone would understand, it would be him.

"My nightmares are memories." She murmured and Bucky nodded, understanding her sentiment all too well.

"It may not seem like it but be grateful that you can't remember everything you did at HYDRA. Once you remember what you did, you can't unremember it." He told her, wishing that he could go back to the days of oblivious bliss. Wishing he could go back to the days where he didn't know the exact amount of people he had killed and the looks on their faces as he tore the life from their bodies.

"How do you cope with it all." Trickery questioned.

"I don't." He said plainly. "Every minute of every day I am reminded of what I have done. Of the people that I have killed and the families that I have left broken. And when it feels like it can't get any worse, I then remember something else. I remember another person, or two, or twenty that I have killed. It's a never-ending cycle."

Trickery felt her heart break at his words. The sorrow in his voice, the slight uptake in his breathing and the racing of his heart revealed to her just how much it affected him. The nightmares that plague his entire being, that threaten to push him in the direction of insanity. It was a scary thought, that the misdeeds of their past would prove to be a reckoning for their future.

"So that's what I've got waiting for me." Trickery mumbled regretfully.

"You just have to somehow remember that even though it was you, it also wasn't. It was your hands that killed them, you were the one to take their lives. But you had no control. You were forced to do it. You were trained to do it. HYDRA killed them through you." Bucky explained.

"And that helps?" She asked.

"No, not really." Bucky answered and Trickery let out a sad chuckle at his answer.

"Great."

"What do you remember?" Bucky questioned, shifting his gaze towards Trickery with interest.

The first thing that came to mind was Loki. The amulet around her neck seemed to burn against her skin at his words too. The same amulet that magically brought back her memories from that day where she first met Loki. She had initially hoped that it would bring back all her memories but she knew that would be too easy. HYDRA would make sure that she suffered.

She contemplated telling Bucky about Loki. But just as before, the rational side of her mind won. As if Bucky would believe her, and even if he did, did she trust him enough with the truth? Sure he seemed nice enough, and she was here sharing a room with him, but this could all be a farce for all she knows. She didn't know him well enough to suddenly share the only memory she had.

"Nothing really. I don't remember anything about you or about Steve. I don't remember anything about my family aside from Mikael. I can only remember what happened in the last few days, before that it's just blank." She stated, looking at Bucky to see if he picked up on her lie. But if he did, he chose not to ask about it.

"What do you remember about him." He inquired, curious about the HYDRA operative that every one of his past handlers seemed to rave about.

"It's not exactly like that." She said. "I had this mantra that I used to say when things got bad or confusing at HYDRA. When I began to doubt myself. I used to just repeat everything that I knew was true so that I could cling to something. So that I knew who I was. So I was someone."

Her confession piqued Bucky's interest, and suddenly he found himself completely engrossed in the conversation.

"What was it?" He asked.

Trickery turned her gaze to the ground, taking a deep breath in as she prepared herself. "My name is Trickery. I am 25 years old. I live in Siberia, Russia. Mikael is the only living member of my family. I work at HYDRA. My family worked at HYDRA. I have powers. I can make people feel, see and hear things that aren't real. I can see into people's memories. I am a spy. I am an assassin. I am Trickery." She answered, slightly embarrassed as she lifted her gaze back up to meet Bucky's. It was as if she exposed a piece of her very being to Bucky. A part of her that was fragile and damaged. And she hoped that he would treat it with care.

"I used to repeat it for hours, trying to search for anything in my mind that would prove what I was saying was right. Trying to prompt any sort of memory that I could, but obviously it never worked." She continued wistfully.

"How did you know all that stuff about you?" Bucky questioned. Back at HYDRA, he knew absolutely nothing. He knew he was the Winter Soldier and that was it. He didn't know where he was, who people were, or even who he was. So hearing that she knew some stuff about herself was surprising.

"I think Mikael had told me, but I can't quite remember." She responded, furrowing her brows as she searched through her very few memories to see if she had ever been told that information about herself.

Bucky nodded at her answer, understanding the frustration that came from not remembering your past. From not being able to remember events that you should. Even the minor, insignificant events that don't really matter at all, were infuriating.

"So, Trickery, is that what you want to be called?" Bucky asked, knowing that not being able to remember who you were was the most frustrating part. Thinking back to a few months ago, the fact that he didn't even know who he was nearly made him jump off a building. Imagine going around, living your life when you didn't even know your own name. It pushed his sanity to the absolute brink.

"I—I don't know." She stuttered, having not thought of the topic until now. "What do you want to be called?"

"I am Bucky. That is who I was and who I want to be again. If I continue to be the Winter Soldier then I am still the same monster who killed all those people. But if I am Bucky, if I am who I was before all of this. Then maybe I will be able to get back to that. Back to who I was." He explained sorrowfully.

But she understood, much too well.

She understood the pain, the scars, the broken pieces that HYDRA left behind when they tried to build their desired monsters. She knew that everything that had once made them who they were had been stripped away, leaving a blank canvas for them to create the perfect soldier. And that was all they were, soldiers. They weren't people and whether they could become people again seemed to be the lingering question.

And she wasn't so sure they could be.

"We will never be able to get back to who we were. We are too scarred, too broken. We are all the worst parts of the people we once were. How could we ever get back to who we were?" She countered.

"But we are still them, Allie and Bucky. Underneath all the sin, the murder, the bloodshed, we are still them. For all those years that we were at HYDRA, we were Trickery and the Winter Soldier. We had no choice. But now we have a choice. And if we want to remain as Trickery and the Winter Soldier then we have no hope of being free of HYDRA." Bucky replied forcefully, trying to get his words to resonate with her. "Trickery and the Winter Soldier, they were the killers. But Allie and Bucky were the victims."

His words made sense. If she really wanted to continue being Trickery, then she had to embrace the worst parts of her. She had to continue being the killer, the soldier, the assassin that HYDRA created. She would have to continue being the person who murdered many innocent people without any just reason.

She would continue being the exact person who she was trying to no longer be.

Or, she could choose to be Allie.

She could be the victim, the person who had their life ripped away from them in order to be that version of Trickery. She could be the person who potentially had a family, who had friends, who had a reason for living that didn't involve slaughtering innocents.

But how could she be someone that she couldn't remember? Where would she even start with rebuilding her life? There were too many unanswered questions, too many variables that she couldn't explain.

So she was stuck in limbo, confined to be someone who had no real story. Forced to be someone with no purpose, no life, no apparent future.

And that scared Trickery, because what was the point of living if there was no end destination in sight. There was nothing binding her to existence, forcing her to continue living. So what was the point? She couldn't think of a singular reason to justify her existence, not when it came at the expense of so many others. Not when all her past actions were sins and crimes against humanity.

And that made giving up seem so very appealing.

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Hey everyone!!!!

Sorry about that weird ending but I got a little stuck on how to finish the chapter.

As always, I am so very sorry about the HUGE wait for this chapter. I know it has been over 2 months (which is unacceptable, ik) and I am trying to make up for it by pumping out as many chapters as I can over the next 2-3 weeks. My school has officially been shut down due to stupid coronavirus so I will have plenty of time in quarantine to write!

On that note, I hope that everyone is safe and well. It is scary how our world has changed in recent months and I can only pray that everyone remains healthy and unaffected. I hope that wherever any of you guys are is safe and that the people you love and care for are safe as well.

P.S, I also wanted to give you all a huge thanks for getting Tricks to 33k reads, Trickery to 4k and me getting 100 followers! I honestly don't know why any of you guys follow me but I am grateful regardless! I wouldn't be here without any of you so I just wanted to show my appreciation and gratitude xx

aNYWAY... Onto the questions!!

1. What did you think of this chapter?

2. What do you want to see happen next?

3. Where are you guys from?

4. How are you spending your quarantine (if you are in it lol)?

Until next time my loves!

- Grace xx