Before we get started, thanks for being so chill this past weekend. I had a great trip, and I will be posting again soon. I'm gonna ask that no more requests be sent in for Bucky, and no request for others unless you have a fairly specific ideas. Basically just no, readerxcharacter with no other details! Haha, but other than that we're all good!

Not Requested

One Shot 32

In Bucharest, Romania you met him. A man with a prosthetic arm, and long dark hair. He was lost and afraid. But then again, so were you.

After losing your entire family in a car accident, you didn't really know what to do with your life. You decided to go on a vacation around Europe to clear your head after the funeral. Spend some time living life and enjoying what the world has to offer.

Things got worse after you were mugged and beaten to a pulp in Austria. Since then you couldn't go back to America. No money, no Visa, no papers nor passport. Not even any valid form of ID. And with no family back to vouch for you, no way for an American Embassy to properly ID you.

So you drifted. Catching a train here, learning a few words there. Eating what you could, when you could. Making money when possible. All of that changed when you reached Bucharest.

You sat at a cafe, wearing your dirty clothes, and wishing you couldn't feel the judgmental eyes on you. You paid for your coffee and left quickly, suddenly getting emotional over the state of your life and how you were powerless to fix it.

As you ducked into a side street alleyway, you bumped into a broad chest.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed, not even knowing how to apologize in Romanian.

"S'fine," the man replied. You wheeled around to face him.

"You speak English?" You asked frantically.

"Yes," he replied "I was-am an American," he said.

"Oh thank god," you said

"What happened to you?" He asked gently, taking a step closer.

You sank down to the floor of the alley and leaned against the wall. He followed suit, and you proceeded to tell him everything that had happened to you in the past 3 months.

He listened intently, and nodded sympathetically at parts and when you finished he said, "I know how it feels to be lost and alone,"

"What's you tragic backstory?" You asked sarcastically.

"Doll you wouldn't believe me if I told you,"

"Try me, I'm desperate for human interaction right now," you urged now a little more curious.

"Tell you what, come to my apartment for a little bit. Sleep on a mattress, and eat some food," he offered. "Then I'll tell you how I landed up in Romania,"

"I don't have any money dude. Can't pay for food. And I don't want to invade your place," you put up your hands in a show of defeat.

"You wouldn't be invading, you've been invited. Come one, you look like you could use a hot meal," he tried again.

As if on queue, your stomach growled angrily. He was right it had been weeks since you had eaten anything hot.

Finally you accepted his offer, he stood up and offered you a hand. You took it, but he didn't drop it until you had reached the door to the apartment.

The apartments were shabby and run down. But they had rooms with actual locks and keys. And that's safer than sleeping in the street.

His apartment was very small. One room, with a mattress on the floor and sleeping bag on top. A tiny kitchenette, and a small bathroom.

He invited you to sit a the table that sat in the middle of the room, and you gladly accepted.

He began pulling out things from the refrigerator, getting ready to make good on his promise of food. He made two omelettes, and although he was physically bigger than you, he gave you the larger omelette knowing you'd need it.

After you finished eating the omelette, which was really good, he guided you to sit on the mattress while he showed you his "tragic backstory".

"I was a prisoner of war," he started. Enough said, you already felt bad. "My captors brain washed me to work for them. I did some really bad things,"

He told you just about everything. Meeting his friend in Washington DC, finding out more about himself, living like a nomad around Europe. Finally staying in Bucharest because it was just low key enough to suite his needs, but enough people for him to interact with.

"You're just as lost as I was," he said "I know it sucks,"

"I don't want to be alone," you admitted "I never planned to be alone in my life,"

He looked you in the eyes, "You don't have to be alone,"

"I have no where to go," you said in a hollow voice.

"Then don't go anywhere, you can crash here until you figure out what to do,"

"No. You've done enough for me Mr.- I don't even know your name," you protested.

"James. He stuck out his hand for you to shake "James Buchanan Barnes,"

"(Y/n) (L/n)," you shook his hand.

And that was it. He was your best friend. He let you stay in his apartment, and helped you find a place where you could get a job to help pay the rent, he even began teaching you basic Romanian.

Eventually you figured out there was more to his story, and he was forced to tell you the whole truth about his identity had the whole arm thing.

You didn't mind that he kept it a secret, you would have too. But it was good to know.

You and Bucky shared the Bucharest apartment for 8 months. Though it stayed sparse and dirty. It certainly wasn't perfect, but it was enough.

Until one day, you got home from work and saw soldiers staggering away from the building. You sprinted up the stairs, and found your apartment door smashed to bits.

Inside the widows were shattered and blood stains littered the ground. One of the floor boards was punched out, and Bucky's journal lay discarded in the corner.

You picked it up, looking at the picture of Steve, his friend. You sat down against the wall where the bed used to be and waited, clutching the book to your chest.

You waited, and waited but he never came.

You had hoped that he would come back for you, or something... But he didn't.

So, you cleaned the place up as much as you could. And then you just, kept going as if he hadn't left at all. Go to work, make dinner, and sit alone in the tiny apartment that felt all together too big without him.

At night you laid down on his mattress. Under his unzipped sleeping bag like a blanket. On the fourth night, you finally began to cry. Finding that you could not stand being alone again. You were back where you started. Lost.

About two or three weeks past and you were still caught up in a state of depression from his sudden departure. But you were still going to work every day. And buying foods he had liked to eat. Always keeping candy bars in the cupboard.... just in case he came home.

One night you unlocked the door to the apartment, too tired to cook or even change. All you wanted to do was fall onto the mattress and wrap yourself in the sleeping bag that still smelled of your best friend.

But when you opened the door, there was a man sitting at the kitchen table. Your heart leapt with joy.

"James!" You cried. The man cringed ever so slightly. He stood up and faced you. It was not James. Your heart sank down to your toes.

"Do you know who I am?" the man asked. You did, you recognized this man as Steve Rogers.

"If you're looking for James, he's not here," you said sadly. It was then that you realized the severity of what had happened to your friend "I.... I don't even know what happened to him," you voice cracked.

Steve approached you slowly with his hands up.

"Your name is (y/n), right?" He asked you. You nodded in response. "I know where he is,"

Your head shot up, and you moved forward impulsively. "Is he alright?"

Steve caught your arms and took a deep breath.
"Miss (y/n), he was wrongfully accused of murder. The people who came to the house were here to take him into custody," he explained.

"He wouldn't do that. He can't have done anything like that, not when he's doing so well," you said.

Steve's grip on your hands tightened, "You're right (y/n), he didn't do it. It's all been cleared up, but-"

"Then where is he? When is he coming home?" You begged.

"He asked me to come get you," Steve said. Suddenly your knees gave out, and you sank to the ground. Steve guided you gently so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

"He's alive?" You asked quietly.

"Yes. And I will take you to him when you're ready,"

You attempted to stand, "I'm ready now,"

"No no no," Steve insisted. "You need to get some sleep first,"

That was all it took, you were already beyond exhausted when you first got home, but with all of this information at once had overwhelmed you just a little.

The next morning you shoved what few belongings you had into your bag and left Bucharest on a private jet, accompanied by Mr. Rogers.

It landed in a country you had only heard of in passing, Wakanda. You and Steve sat in the back of a government vehicle with blacked out windows.

"Mr. Rogers?" You asked quietly.

"Just Steve," he said with a compassionate look.

"Steve. Why is the Wakandan government taking us to see James?" You had been very quite and didn't question much of anything in this process up until now.

"It's very difficult to explain (y/n).... Has he told you about the brainwashing he went through?" Steve asked, you nodded "Well the programming is still buried in his head. He can't control it. So he made the choice to be put some place safe until science can find away to cure him,"

"Oh," you said. This isn't that bad. He couldn't come home because he didn't want to hurt you or anything else.

The car ride was long, you couldn't help but be nervous. After man hours driving through what guessed was a jungle, you arrived at a complex in the middle of nowhere.

Inside you were greeted by a clean crisp looking lobby. A lady at the front desk at Steve, he walked over to her, gently guiding you in the same direction.

"Imani, this is (y/n). She's here to see Bucky," Steve said. The woman smiled and nodded.

"Of course, go right up," she said.

You and Steve rode the elevator up many floors. The doors opened, and you were met by a handsome man with a very serious expression.

"It is good to see you again Mr. Rogers," the man said, they shook hands.

"Miss (l/n)," the man said offering his hand to you. You placed your hand in his.

"(Y/n) this is my friend, King T'Challa," Steve said. Your eyes went wide.

"Oh, please excuse me your highness. I didn't know-" you babbled.

"It is just a title Miss (l/n), to my friends I am just T'Challa," he said you nodded. "I am told you are here to see Bucky," said the king.

"Yes," you whispered.

"Follow me,"he told the both of you.

You and Steve followed him into a lab. Steve grabbed your hand, though you didn't know why.

Steve walked you around a large metal containment unit that had wisps of dry ice steam coming from the top.

As your rounded the corner you were horrified to find James was inside the steaming containment unit.

"James?" You whispered with tears brimming your eyes.

His eyes were shut beneath the frosty glass. And only shoulder of his prosthetic arm was left on his body. You couldn't find words nor actions to express how you felt.

All of the sudden you realized you had entirely forgotten how to breathe. Strong hands were holding your arms from behind, and far away voice was calling your name.

This was too much at once. Too much. Your body went limp, and you clattered to the ground.

You didn't even try to hold back the sobs that wracked your body. Steve sat behind you, rubbing your back soothingly.

Finally once the worst of the crying was over, you had brought your knees up to your chest and hugged them close. Steve leaned on you gently, taking the time to be sad about his friend too.

"He isn't dead you know," he whispered.

"But why. Who would do this to him?" You said softly "Hasn't he suffered enough already,"

"(Y/n) he chose this for himself," Steve said. It did not occur to you that he wanted this... That he actively chose to leave you.

"He chose to lock himself away from the people who care about him?" You asked.

"No. He chose to protect the people who care about him," he countered.

You waited a long time to answer.

"He told me I didn't have go be be alone. He said I would never have to be alone again," you said.

"You're not alone (y/n). He told me all about you, and made me swear on my life to find you," he explained "He won't be in that ice box forever, and until he comes out I'm going to take care of you in whatever way you need me to,"

"What did he tell you about me?" You asked, looking up at the resting face before.

"Just that you lived with him, and was worried about happened after he had to leave,"

"He was right to worry. The apartment was practically destroyed. I didn't know what to do..."

"When you're ready I'll take you back to Romania, I'm sure your friends and family-"

"He is my only family," you said.

Steve waited for you to elaborate, so you did. You told him the whole story of how you landed up in Bucharest. And how Bucky had taken you in off the street.

"He's all I have," you said in a small voice.

"He's my family to (y/n). You're not alone,"

"I love him," your voice cracked at the last word. Tears flooded back to your eyes. Steve said nothing for a long time.

"Did you tell him?" he finally asked. You shook your head. "I think he already knows,"

You shook your head again, not trusting your voice.

"You should have heard the way he talked about you," Steve said "He poured his heart out, about the sweet dame he left behind in Bucharest. He went on and on about how you keep the apartment looking decent, and how you sing on Sunday mornings when you cook breakfast. He talked about how warm you are, and how normal you make him feel," this caught you off guard.

"A man only lays himself out like that, if he really loves someone," Steve finished.

"Will he remember us when he wakes up?" You asked softly.

"We can only hope (y/n),"