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He remembers that voice. The low rumble, accompanied by warm touches that are kind and gentle. The voice that promises no one will harm him, that's he's safe. The voice that had been taken away from him one night, suddenly vanishing without a trace, leaving him alone in the cold dark rooms.
They'd said you'd been killed by the enemy and gave him a new Handler. New hands that hurt, a new voice that brought only pain. Every night he curled up on the cold hard floor, he clung onto the memories of that low voice and warm touches. Nothing could wash those memories away, not the painful machine they had him strapped to, not the endless beatings. It was those memories that kept him going, gave him a sliver of hope that one day the pain would stop. He'd refused to believe the enemy had gotten you, he knew you were skilled, smart and strong. There was no way you'd just die and leave him behind, it had to be some sort of trick.
It was some sort of trick.
Here you stood, a gun pointed at his chest. You were alive and well, but for some reason stood on the opposite side.
"I don't want to hurt you, James."
James. His name. The name he'd given you when you asked what his name was.
"Y/N." Your name. The name you'd given him when you asked what his name was.
Your throat bobs as you swallow hard, but your hand remains steady. The gun's muzzle doesn't move, your finger curled around the trigger. It's not aimed at his heart, it's aimed at his right shoulder, but he knows that the moment he tries to attack a bullet will find its way into his leg. He's seen you do that before, when you wield a pistol it's as if the pistol is an extension of your body and he's never seen you miss.
"Stand down, please." Your voice cracks and he can see the look in your eyes. It's the same look you give him when he's injured and it fills him with that weird feeling in his chest.
"They said you were dead." He needs to know what happened. He needs to know why you left him. He needs to know why you're standing on the opposite side.
"Of course they did. Can't go around admitting that one of their prized assassins went rogue, can they?" You chuckle, but it's tinged with sadness. He's confused, why are you sad? Why did you leave?
"Why?" That one word is all that can come out of his mouth.
"I'm sorry for leaving you behind. Believe me, I've been trying to find a way to get you out too." You take a step closer to him but the gun remains pointed at his shoulder. "Please, James. Put the rifle down and surrender. I have a way out, we can leave this all behind."
"I can't." He has to complete his mission and return to his Handler. Return to the blonde man. Running away would be to fail his mission, and he cannot fail. He will be punished if he fails, and he doesn't want the pain. "I cannot fail."
"I promise that Hydra will never get their hands on you again." Your voice is strained but he can see the fire in your eyes. You mean it, every word. You've never broken a promise before, he knows you will do all you can to keep him safe. You always have, on every mission, but he's confused and hurt. You left him behind, and he doesn't know how to confront that.
He lowers the rifle and sees the way your eyes brighten. You take a hopeful step towards him but he turns and runs. He has to report back, his Handler has to know that you're alive. Maybe Hydra will take you back, make you his Handler again. He wants that back, he wants you to be his Handler again.
He wants to feel safe again.
"Mission report."
He looks up at the blonde man. So many questions he wants answered, but his Handler only wants his mission report. They refuse to tell him who the man on the bridge is, the blonde man who called him 'Bucky'. The blonde man is his mission, they firmly say, nothing more. There's no need for further questions about him.
"Y/N. They — they're alive." He looks pleadingly at his Handler. "They weren't killed by the enemy."
"So it seems." His Handler seems disappointed. Why? You was one of their best, not once had you ever failed a mission. Why wouldn't Hydra want you back?
"Can you kill them?" His Handler kneels down, looking him in the eye. "Can you kill them for me? They have turned traitor, betrayed us both. They have to die."
His breath hitches. His flesh finger twitches. Kill you? Can he?
Betrayed us both.
You had left him behind, faked your death, and that had hurt him. Did that warrant your death? He inhales shakily, you are his mission now, along with that man on the bridge who seemed to know him, but he doesn't know if he can do this mission. There's something that's preventing him from nodding, from executing his mission perfectly as always, and it only makes him even more confused.
"I —" He can't give an answer. He doesn't know the answer, and it scares him.
"Wipe him."
He lets the doctors push him back onto the chair and opens his mouth. The gag goes in and he feels his breaths getting more rapid. He knows the pain that will soon follow and his mind automatically slips into the memories he's hidden as best as he can. Memories of warm hands, memories of quiet chuckles, memories of tender moments.
Memories of you.
After the blinding hot pain he desperately searches his mind, clinging onto the few memories that remain. Even after everything, he still wants you back. He misses you, misses your touch, misses your warmth. Maybe he can convince you to come back, show his Handler that he doesn't need to kill you.
Y/N.
Your name floats around in his empty mind, anchored by a thread he's created to prevent it from being wiped. He clings onto it, repeating it in his head. He cannot forget it, it's the only thing he has left that's warm in this cold dark place.
He doesn't see you afterwards. Not until he pulls the man called Steve from the river and disappears behind some bushes, panting hard. Blood mixes with water and trickles down his face, he doesn't know why he saved that man but something tells him that he'll find out in due time.
The bushes rustle and his head snaps up, metal hand curled into a fist. His eyes narrow, muscle tensing up until he sees you emerge. Your hands are raised in surrender, palms open to show that you mean no harm and he relaxes.
You don't ever harm him anyways.
"I…know a place. We can lay low there, figure out what to do next." You hold out a hand. "You don't have to accept, it's your choice. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness but here's my way of trying to make amends for leaving you alone in Hydra's grasp."
He takes a hesitant step towards you, searching your gaze for any hint of a lie but there's none. You speak the truth, and he lets himself trust one more time. He can afford to do that, with you, because deep down, he knows you want nothing more than to protect him.
You've always fought to keep him safe from harm, going as far as to kill potential Handlers when they dare to have their way with him. Despite the punishments that followed, you never stopped looking out for him. You were his safe haven once and you were willing to be one again for him.
He exhales, reaching out with his flesh hand and feels something bloom in his chest when your hands connect. He likes the feeling, likes the electricity that crackles along his skin. It feels nice, comforting, and it's new. Your fingers intertwine with his, a small smile creeping onto your face.
You're as warm as ever, your touches as gentle as before and he realises just how much he's missed this. He yearns for more, wants to be by your side again, wants to watch your back while you watch his. He wants that feeling back, the knowledge that you always have him, the comfort of your back against his.
You drive the chill away, enveloping the memories of cold hard floors and white hot pain with your genuine love and care. He lets you lead him to the safehouse, watches as you fumble with the keys and angrily shove the correct key into the keyhole.
You're still as clumsy as ever when not handling a gun, and that makes him smile a little. You never punished him for smiling, you even encouraged it with your own smile and that always displeased the higher ups. You never cared anyways, not when it concerned him. When you were with him, you weren't the Hunter, nor his Handler. You were simply Y/N, and he was James.
"Welcome home, James." You turn around, smiling at him as you push open the door. "I hope it's to your liking."
His gaze never leaves you, not even to look at the house's interior.
Home.
He never thought he'd ever call any place that word again, but here he was, standing at the door of a place he wouldn't mind calling it.
"Home." The word feels foreign on his tongue.
"Okay, maybe not yet, but hopefully in time." You laugh, gesturing inside. "Come on in."
Your eyes sparkle and he decides he likes that look on you. He takes a step inside, properly looking at the house's interior and turns to find that you've dropped the keys by accident. He bends down, picking them up and feels his hand brush against yours.
"Thanks." Your words are a whisper. He lets his hand linger against yours, feeling the warmth that emits from your hand and lets himself smile wider.
He was right. Choosing you over Hydra, that was no mistake. Not when you offered only kindness while Hydra only offered pain. He would do his best to be James, repaying you for everything you've done for him. But first, he would start calling this place home, because this place has you in it.