Joana

It was 1945. 3 years had gone by since Joana Kegley had last seen her boyfriend and her best friend. Winnie had gone to college, so Jo only got to see her on the weekends. Grams' was flourishing, which kept Jo busy enough to attempt to keep her mind off of the war raging in Europe. When she wasn't at work, she was at the library, trying to teach herself as much as she could.
She felt alone so often, that she took to wandering the streets. There, she often found homeless people or those who are being abused by passer-byers. That was something she couldn't stand. If there was anything that Steve had taught her over the years, it was to never let the bully win. If you even turn your cheek, you're letting them win.
As Jo walked home from letting Bucky go that day 3 years ago, she saw a man on the street, shivering in the cold, letting the pouring rain wash the dried blood off his face. He sat across the street from her. She froze, staring through the rain at the man. Her heart, which had broken for her love, was now breaking again for the man in the cold. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and crossed the street. As she neared the man, he lowered his face to look at her. She said nothing as she sat next to him.
Together, they sat in the rain, both shivering in the cold for a few minutes, gazing at the gloomy sky above them. She stood.
"Would you like some food? My Grams' isn't far from here. We have food and warm clothes and an extra bed," she told him. He looked up at her, almost as he did staring up at the sky. Tears swam in his eyes as she offered out her hand. It took him a few moments to take it and pull himself up. Silently, she walked him home.
The man was named Robert Merrick. Grams made food as Jo showed Robert to the showers. She provided him with some of their store clothes and a razor. When he sat down to eat, Jo could tell how much the shower, a beard shaving, and a new set of clothes could do for a guy. He must have been in his mid-thirties, and she wondered why he was living on the streets, but she thought it too rude to ask.
Now, 3 years later, Robert worked for Grams. He and the girls got alone beautifully and they treated him like an older brother. He never forgot what they had done for him.
Ever since she picked Robert off the streets, Jo felt obliged to continue to do so. She always carried food with her and extra money and slips of paper with the shop's address. She handed these things out freely. She could be found in alleys around a fire, sharing her wild stories with those who lived without a roof over her head. She befriended the homeless children and woke up early in the morning to give them breakfast before Grams' opened.
But she didn't stop there. If she saw any kind of assault on the streets and in alleys, she had no choice but to intervene. Grams would sigh every time she came home with a ripped dress, a black eye, a bloody person under her arm.
Surrounded by the scum of the street, Jo finally felt as if she was making a difference. The people she befriended didn't care about what gender she was or the color of her skin. They repaid her kindness with stories and information no book could teach her.
In 1945, Bucky and Steve stopped writing letters, but Jo had no fear, for she knew the war was drawing to an end. And then, the day came when it was confirmed that the war had ended. At the first sound of the news, Grams, Robert, and Jo celebrated. Jo went afterward to meet her friends off the streets and gave them the same news, to which everyone rejoiced. When Winnie got home, there was another celebration. The only thing that Jo could think about was the fact that her boys were coming home.
Her boys are coming home.
Her boys are coming home.
Her boys are coming home.

A few days later a woman walked into Grams'. She had a bright red hat and her lips were painted the same color. The way she walked pulsed confidence and strength. Jo went to greet her with a smile.
"Are you Joana Kegley?" The woman asked, her accent obviously British.
"Yes ma'am, I am," Jo responded.
"My name is Peggy Carter. I worked with Steve Rogers and James Barnes," she said. Jo's smile wavered.
"'Worked'? What do you mean? What's going on?" It was then that Jo recognized the look on Peggy's face. It was disdain, despair, grief, pity. Peggy Carter didn't need to answer the question. Jo felt nothing except a sudden, sharp pain in her chest. She grabbed the cloth of her dress, curling it in her fist. She grabbed the table behind her and gripped it tight, using it to keep her upright.
Peggy reached into her purse and pulled a stack of letters.
"They never stopped writing you," she said, her voice wavering. Jo choked on a sob. Peggy held the letters in her hand, her wrists shaking.
"I'm so so sorry. Joana, James and Steve have died." And thus, Peggy opened the floodgates of Jo's eyes. She let go of the table and fell to the ground, knocking over a few of the models as she did so. Peggy jumped, reaching out her full hands to try to keep the girl off the ground. Jo sat on the floor, tears rolling from her eyes. Her eyes were wide open, her nose burning, her jaw aching. Her breath came out short and ragged, as if someone was squeezing her lungs repeatedly. Peggy crouched before her, setting the papers down. Jo ran her hands through her hair, trying to catch her breath. Peggy reached forward to give the bawling woman a hug.
"No, no, no, no, no, no," Jo whispered as Peggy wrapped her arms around the young woman. Jo clung to Peggy's arm. She sunk her teeth into the cloth of Peggy's dress, not even realizing that she was doing so.
So there she was, a 23-year-old woman in the arms of another, the two crying over those they loved and those they lost.
That day, Grams', which had previously been so full of happy memories, was stained with the tears of two broken hearts. Nothing would be the same again.

A year later, Jo still hadn't fully gotten over her loss. She still felt Bucky's lips against hers and she still cried over Steve's old sketches. She feared that she'd never find a way to forget her friends. She didn't know if she wanted to. There was nothing she wanted more than to see her friends again, and there was nothing any of her loved ones could do to pull her out of the abyss she'd thrown herself into.

She was walking home one night. Usually when she walked home, one of her homeless friends would walk with her, just to make sure she was safe. Tonight, it was a man who was cruelly named James. He was not much older than herself. He was the bastard son of a black woman who had an affair with a married white man. He was ruining his mother's life, she had said, so she kicked him out and now he lived on the streets. He was kind to Joana, and one of the older men always said that he was sweet on her, which made her slightly uncomfortable. He seemed to be the only person who could get her mind off of her long lost friends.
They walked in the dead of night, silent as to not attract attention. Little did they know, no matter how much they tried to avert attention from themselves, someone was waiting for them.
As they walked past an alley, they heard muffled cries from somewhere behind a dumpster.
James held out his hand for her to stand back. Jo froze in her place and watched James walk down the alley. As he passed the dumpster, something leaped out from behind it and grabbed James by his neck.
"James!" Jo screamed. She took a step forward, but someone grabbed her from behind, wrapping their arms around her arms, pinning them at her waist. She struggled to get away from her assailant and go to James' aid. Before her very own eyes, the man holding James whipped out a knife and sliced his throat. Time warped around her. She could feel her hair slowly stand up on the back of her neck and on her arms. The air filled with the metallic smell of blood. She was surrounded by the smell and the taste of the thick crimson liquid of her friend. His body hit the floor with a final thud. The finality of the moment caused a shriek to escape Jo's lips.
"James!" She wailed, her eyes unnaturally dry. "James!"
The man started dragging her backward. He covered her mouth to stop her screaming.
The other man approached her, his face dark, menacing, terrifying. She tried to scream from beneath the hand of the man holding her, but it was no use. One of them (she couldn't tell which), grabbed her neck and squeezed. She choked and gasped and the arm loosened from around her. She now rose in the air, the man's grip tight on her neck. It wasn't long before the world darkened and she fell into a deep, unintentional slumber.

Waking up was the hard part.
It started with the screaming in her ears. It roused her enough to realize that the screaming was just, in fact, ringing. She didn't know what was ringing, but it was loud and she wanted it gone. She noticed, not long after that, the terrible headache that followed. Her eyes had yet to open, but she squeezed them tighter together, trying to shake away the migraine. She attempted to lift her hand to rub her temples, but her hands were bound to the arms of a chair.
At that point, her eyes flew open, but all she could see was the inside of a burlap sack. She shook her wrists, trying to break free from the bonds. She started to squirm, realizing that she was strapped to a chair. The memories of the night before began to sink in, and she tried to scream, but was met with a hoarse, tight throat that throbbed almost as terribly as her head did.
"Help," she croaked.
"Hello?" A voice called from beyond her mask. She tried to reply, but the pain in her throat kept her from it. Had the ringing in her ears not existed, she may have recognized the voice. Before the voice could call out again, a loud sound of clanging metal filled whatever kind of room she was in.
"Stop moving and pretend to be asleep," the voice hissed. Obediently, Jo rolled her head to the side, but she was unable to close her eyes. A door somewhere to her left slid open with a painful screech of metal against concrete. Jo shivered.
The methodic thudding of combat boots against hard ground resounded through the room, leaving Jo with a bottomless pit of dread in her stomach.
A hand grabbed hold of the burlap sack and a few strands of Jo's dark hair. He yanked the sack from her head, along with the hairs. She would have yelped in pain, but the pain in her throat and the sudden brightness of the small light above her head stopped her from doing so.
She squinted against the light, turning her head away. She tried to look up at the man before her, but all she could see was the dark figure of a tall, large man. He said nothing, instead, he stepped out of the way of Jo's line of view.
She still had trouble making out who was sitting before her, but she could tell it was another man strapped to a chair similar to herself. He obviously recognized her, however.
"Jo?" His voice cracked, as if someone had their hand around his throat. As he said this, the ringing in her ears slowly faded and the voice almost sounded like someone she knew.
However, as her eyes adjusted to the light, and she could see the defining features of the man. She saw first a metal arm, which was strange to her, but when she reached his face, her heart broke into a thousand pieces and leaped with joy at the same time. A shattered smile appeared on her face. She almost couldn't believe what she was seeing.
"Bucky?"

______

Eh. I don't know how much I like this chapter but whatever. It was necessary.

Thanks for tagging along on this adventure. I hope you enjoy the ride.

I am so happy that you guys take time to read, vote, and comment on my story. You must understand my joy.

Comment or PM me if you have any suggestions or you just need to talk. I'm always ready to listen. :)

Go in faith,
authorsbane