Y/N’s curious, clumsy, and has a knack for asking the wrong questions at the wrong time. Bucky’s a hot-headed prick with a dark past and communication issues. Both are paired for training, and neither party is all too thrilled.
Word count: 1200
“This is the training room.”
You nod even though you’re barely processing anything you’re being told.
Three days ago you’d woken up in an abandoned warehouse, with no idea where you were or how you’d gotten there. There were significant gaps in your memory and a you were in lot of pain. Then someone in a red metal suit had entered your field of vision, frowning, and you’d passed out, wondering if it was all some kind of dream. When you’d come to for the second time, you were in the infirmary and this man, (Steve?), started saying something about a group of enhanced individuals and you being one of them. It took all your willpower to not pass out again.
“We don’t know what your abilities are, but given your enhancements, people are going to come after you. It’s important that you learn to defend yourself.”
You’re still not sure what ‘abilities’ he’s talking about, or what he means by 'enhancements’.
“Training is usually carried out by Natasha or Wanda,” Steve’s speaking again, barely taking notice of you staring at him with eyes wider than plates. “But since they’re away on a mission, we’ll have to find someone else to train you.”
You nod your head, still trying to understand everything. The names are meaningless to you, and you’re not too keen on getting trained by anyone, especially not if they all have the same stressed out demeanor that Steve seems to radiate. There’s a dull headache beginning to throb at the back of your skull, and honestly, you just need to close your eyes for a bit.
“We should go speak to Fury.”
As if you know who that is. You just nod and follow after him as he hurries along.
Everything about Director Nick Fury is unnerving, from the immaculate state of his office to the way his eye seems to be looking right through you. You swallow hard as he addresses Steve, keeping his eye trained on you the entire time.
“And we don’t know what her abilities are?”
You grit your teeth, still uncomfortable with all the talk of your abilities and your supposed enhancement. You can barely remember your own name.
Nick sighs and seems to be in deep thought. After a moment, he turns his body to you. “Can you shoot a gun?”
You look at him incredulously. A gun, you? You could barely hold a kitchen knife without fumbling with it. To hold, no, to shoot a gun? If this was any other situation, you might have laughed. Instead, you shake your head. “No, sir.”
He turns back to Steve. “Well, she’s going to have to learn. Barnes is the best sniper we’ve got. He’ll train her.”
Steve winces, and for a moment he looks like he’s about to say something else, but Fury turns his attention to the screen in front of him, clearly dismissing the two of you.
Steve leads you through the maze-like halls of the compound, until finally, you’re standing in front of large double doors. He pauses and looks to you with a sigh. He seems beat down, dark circles and pallid face. You almost sympathize, but then realize you probably look much the same.
“Bucky’s a good guy, Y/N. Just remember that.”
You’re not sure what he means, or why that’s even relevant, but you don’t have time to think as Steve pushes open the doors and strides inside before coming to a stop in a living-room of sorts, where two people are seated on the couch. Neither of them seem too happy to be in the other’s presence.
Upon seeing Steve, both of them stand, and the one to the right smiles brightly. He’s the first person you’ve seen that looks relaxed at the compound, wearing sweats and a t-shirt and an expression of genuine interest on his face.
“Captain,” he greets, but it’s more out of mock respect than a soldier-like salute, and even Steve’s eyes crinkle. You can tell their friendship goes a long way. His brown eyes glance at you. His smile doesn’t waver, and it’s so contagious that you can’t hold back the smile that makes its way onto your lips.
If this is Barnes, then maybe training won’t be as bad as it sounds.
Your spare a glance at the person to his left, dressed in the same relaxing attire but looking nowhere near as calm. Every part of this man’s body language screams stress, from head to toe. Upon seeing you, his scowl deepens, and you drop your smile.
“Buck, you’re taking this round of training.”
The guy to the left grins and turns to you. “And I’m guessing she’s the one who needs training?”
Steve nods and you feel your erratic heartbeat slow down significantly. The warning that Steve had given you earlier disappears to the back of your head; the guy seems so chill and laidback, it’s a breather. You smile back, until–
“Oh man, good luck.”
The confusion must show on your face, because the guy turns to Mr. Scowls-A-Lot and claps him on the back. “Meet our resident Grinch, Bucky Barnes.”
Your heart drops to your stomach and Bucky glares at you, fingers curled into a fist. You want to ask him what put him in such a bad mood, but you’re not sure you’ll stay alive long enough to hear the answer.
“Can I talk to you for a moment, Steve?” Bucky’s jaw clenches and his face is slowly turning red. Even Steve, who seems to be in charge here, grimaces. With a sigh, he follows Bucky to the other corner of the room. You plop down onto the sofa.
“I’d say don’t worry but, I’d definitely worry.” You turn to the first guy, and he holds out his hand. “I’m Sam.”
“Y/N,” you shake it, then gesture to the duo in the corner, having a pretty heated conversation. “Is he always this…”
“Grumpy? Only on a good day.” When he sees your face pale even more, Sam laughs. “I’m just kidding. He takes some warming up to, but he’s not a bad guy.”
He repeats exactly what Steve had said, and for whatever reason, the words aren’t reassuring in the least. Bucky and Steve’s conversation seems to have escalated to loud whispers now, and you catch certain phrases here and there, “I don’t know… Nobody seems to… Can’t be trusted.”
The last one hits you hard, and you want to be angry, but Bucky’s right. You barely remember anything about yourself and you have supposed abilities that you’re pretty much in the dark about; even you can’t trust yourself.
The clock on the wall shows the time to be just past two in the morning, and just as the second hand makes its way around the face for the second time, Bucky walks up to you, fists clenched and breathing heavily through his nose.
“Meet me in the training room tomorrow morning. Six a.m. sharp.” He’s less than thrilled about the whole ordeal, and you can only match his level of discomfort.
As he storms out of the room, you throw your head back onto the couch and groan.
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