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It's weird, waking up alone in bed. You've gotten so used to the presence of another body lying next to you, one muscled flesh arm and one metal arm wrapped around you, holding you tightly. You've learned to sleep only on one side of the bed lest you get kicked off, and the habit continues even after he's gone. The silence of the morning and the coldness of the sheets on the other side of the bed remind you of what happened last night.
A chill pricks your skin as memories flash despite the pounding in your head. If Bucky was here, you'd see a glass of water next to some aspirin — never ibuprofen, you didn't like having to pronounce it so Bucky figured you wouldn't want to consume some, even if it was for a silly reason —, feel a warm hand cupping your cheek followed by a forehead kiss. This morning you wake up cold, and all alone.
You remember leaving the party early after the exchange and using your title, which is still viable after beating some people up, you rented a room for yourself and crashed on the bed. That's about all that happened. A heavy weight pressing down on your chest, you're not sure how to feel about last night. Maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong. Him being right means you have to apologise, and the thought makes you sick. Your stomach churns and you rush to the toilet, vomiting all the contents of said stomach out.
Panting, you stay kneeling by the toilet bowl, head hung. You squeeze your eyes shut, struggling to stop the tears but they fall anyways. You'd already lost him once before, when Thanos snapped him away, and you'd fought tooth and nail after some convincing from Natasha as well as Steve to bring him back. The second time it's your fault, and that knowledge makes the pain even worse.
You weep, hating the sounds that fall from your lips and slump against the toilet bowl. It hurts, everything hurts. Your eyes water, your throat is burning, your heart is shattered and you want it all to end. It would be easy, and nobody would miss you.
Not anymore.
A knock sounds on your door and you quickly clean yourself up, flushing the toilet and wrapping a towel around your head to hide your ugly mess of a face as much as you can. Grabbing the pistol hidden under your pillow, you move to the door, hand resting on the handle.
3, 2, 1, now.
The door opens with a click and your powers activate, warning you of no danger. You exhale softly but keep a firm grip on your gun lest things go wrong. Letting down your guard in Madripoor is the same as asking to be killed, and you're not about to die to some random goon.
"Hunter! It really is you! We've been awaiting your return ever since rumour spread that you appeared at Selby's bar!"
You eye the man in front of you warily, then it clicks.
A piece of your past, back when you had first escaped Hydra and fled to Madripoor. You'd taken on whatever jobs were available, and that quickly caught the eye of many leaders who tried to recruit you but you'd turned them all down, wanting to remain alone. Then a job offer came in to eliminate a dangerous group, so you'd taken it without a second thought but the so-called 'dangerous' group was made up of scared children and elderly, unable to fend for themselves.
You couldn't do it. You couldn't pull the trigger for some reason. Maybe it was your conscience slowly returning after years of conditioning under Hydra, maybe it was the fact that if you disobeyed, you could kill the one who gave the orders this time around. No more brainwashing, no more conditioning, no more punishments for failure. You were on your own, and free.
But it was most probably the fear in their eyes that made you see a reflection of yourself in them.
So you made a choice, and it felt good to. You spared them, guided them secretly to where you stayed and told them they could stay there. You would also go after the one who put a bounty on their heads, and bring his head back as proof that they no longer needed to live in fear. They'd agreed, and offered to help scavenge for food, collect intel, but most importantly, expand your network in Madripoor — the key to survival in this rotten city. You'd been more than happy to accept the offer, and it had benefitted everyone. It wasn't long until you were the name whispered among the streets, a name feared in the shadows.
The Hunter.
It felt nice, to be needed, to be depended upon, to be able to depend upon. Sure, it took a while, with you double checking every piece of intel and food before consuming it, but after some months you'd let your guard down around them. The group came to be known as The Pack, and it grew to include more frightened citizens of Madripoor who had no where else to go.
Then the fateful mission came. You knew Shield had eyes on the prize as well, but it was too good a challenge for you to pass up. Besides, you wanted to see what the fabled Shield was capable of. So you'd taken the bounty, reassuring The Pack that you'd be back, that you'd stay safe, but it was a lie. You'd been captured, made into a Shield agent, unknowingly worked for Hydra who had infiltrated Shield, escaped when you found out, and the rest is history. You never thought you'd see The Pack again, until now.
"Casimir." The man before you was a scrawny teenager the last time you'd laid eyes on him, but his mannerisms and scent remain unchanged. He's still a cautious yet cheerful person, and it warms your heart to see that Madripoor hasn't broken him.
He beams, obviously delighted to see you haven't forgotten him, but how could you? He'd fought you the first time you'd met him, believing you to be a threat, and you admired his spirit. You'd never considered fighting back against Hydra until the day you saw Bucky lying on the cold hard metal floor, covered in blood, bruises and various liquids. Punished for absolutely no reason, tortured because they could.
The memory stings and you quickly push it away. "Is there something you need?"
"Will you return to The Pack? We've missed you, thought you were dead too. We thought Shield had executed you." His voice is laced with sorrow and you smell a hint of sadness, but there's also hope. Hope that you will return, hope that you will take your place as the leader of The Pack once more.
"I —" You're not sure. You want time to sort things out, get rid of the loose threads that are your feelings for Bucky. Casimir's eyes gleam with hope, reminding you of the time when Bucky had looked to you with such eyes, lips curved into the biggest smile he could possible muster. The delight in his ice blue eyes when you asked him out for the first time, the way he had gripped your hand tightly, as if you would disappear at any moment.
"Give me three days." You make up your mind. "If I don't show up by then, assume I will never return."
Casimir's face falls for a split second but quickly brightens again. "The Pack will be excited to see you again!"
With that, he leaves and you lock the door, slumping against it. The towel come apart, falling onto your lap and your vision blurs with tears once more. You want to take it all back, you really do, but something's stopping you from doing so. There's this coldness that has settled within your chest, and it's slowly freezing the rest of you. Your hands feel numb, and soon your feet do too.
No more. No more crying, no more weakness. You are a lone wolf, you've always been. The Hunter needs no one — no pack, no friends. The only thing you need is yourself, your instincts, and your weapons.
Pushing yourself to your feet, you drink the bottle of water on the table and begin to pack. The Pack knows where you live, and you have to move. You have to move to somewhere where they will never find you, somewhere in the deepest depths of Madripoor. Maybe a cage fighting area just like the previous time you lost Bucky. The Pack hates those kinds of places, it bring back traumatic memories.
Yeah, that sounds good. You're great at fighting, everyone's always told you so. You were born and bred to fight, to kill, to destroy, and that's the only thing you can do. So that's what you'll do. You'll fight for your life each and every day, just like back in Hydra, and what happens next? You don't know. You haven't thought that far ahead and don't care to do so.
Slinging a backpack over your shoulder, you slip out of the apartment through the window, thankful to your last night self that you'd gotten a room on the second floor. You're not sure who you are anymore, the Hunter is dead, killed by whoever you are now. You remember the name Aeron, the Welsh name of the god of battle and slaughter in Celtic mythology from the mythology book you've left at Bucky's place.
Aeron. Maybe. Nameless sounds good too. No One sounds weird.
Sighing, you push those thoughts away. You can decide on a moniker if you want to, or let the crowd decide for you. Maybe that's a better option, who knows how creative those minds can get. Leaping from the window, you vanish into the shadows, a skill honed for years and head to no where. You can survive Madripoor, you've done it once you can do it again. Besides, if Death chooses to claim you right this instance, you're not going to fight it. You've lost everything, there's no point clinging onto this wretched life. So you walk on, glancing at the lost and broken, observing the rich and drunk, and leave the Hunter behind.
~
Bucky watches from the jet window as the plane takes off, leaving Madripoor behind. No, it's not just Madripoor that's being left behind, you're being left behind too. He's torn, distracted, wondering if he should have convinced you to stay somehow.
"Hey Buck?" Sam leans closer. "You alright?"
He laughs hollowly. "I just broke up. I'm perfectly fine."
Sam raises an eyebrow but doesn't press the issue further. Bucky will talk when he's ready, Sam is sure of it. In the mean time, he'll just have to keep a closer watch on his best friend.
Bucky watches as Madripoor grows smaller and smaller until it fades from view, wondering where you are right now, wondering if you're safe. He shakes those thoughts out of his head, reminding himself that the two of you have broken up and there's no going back. You didn't seem like you wanted to mend the relationship anyways.
It's fine, he's already lost so much, what is one more person?