Lighthouses

Her skin felt like it was on fire. It was nowhere near the pain that she'd felt when Tony had pressed that button, but the constant sensation that sparked across every nerve was getting too much to bear. She kept her eyes tightly closed, for fear of the great red expanse she would see if they were opened. The last thing she had seen was the car making a right run onto the highway as Barnes slammed his foot on the gas.

On the road again, running had become the only thing that felt natural. But this time something was different. She'd spent the past days in the depths of Barnes' mind. She'd seen the glimmer that existed underneath his dead expression. He wasn't the Soldier anymore. And she wasn't an asset either. Yet in those brief moments before Tony, she'd felt the pull within him, and even inside herself. His expression had so quickly switched from desperation to violence, Wanda had barely had time to tell the two apart. She too had felt a horrible tug, the very second when she could feel the pain from Stark's weapon welling up inside her, demanding a large source with which to express itself. She'd experienced that dark desire to pull upon the mind and will of the masses. The instant she pulled the gunman's aim of off Barnes she was reminded of the violated look on Barnes and Pietro's faces when she had used her abilities on them.

The doctor had been right. She wasn't supposed to be a hero. She was a lightning rod, a mere object meant to channel something greater than herself for whichever cause she supported at that moment. And wasn't that what a monster was, anyway? Less than a person? Barnes' thought he was a monster, but that wasn't his problem at all. He was too many people at once. Inside his mind was more human than she had ever experienced in her life. Without Pietro, her power became her other half, and she found it making more than her decisions. The red glow that the doctor had called a miracle, had instead become her affliction.

"Too much and too little," she mumbled feverishly, as another wave of white hot pain struck her with all its force. She couldn't help but laugh. "Maybe we'll make a whole person one day." She was distantly aware of Barnes' shouting a response in the seat next to her, but what Wanda was suddenly made aware of, were his warm fingertips pressed against her forearm.

The lightning in her skin had found an outlet. She gasped, opening her eyes to a sudden blinding glow of scarlet. She couldn't tell if she was screaming or just trying to breathe, her eyes drowning in the overwhelming sea of red. Wanda could now hear exactly what Barnes was saying. It was a simple word, yet he was barely able to get it out.

"Please," he stuttered. Looking over to him, she finally found his blue eyes, bright a lighthouses, just before they rolled into the back of his head. Wherever those eyes went, Wanda's powerful mind followed.

A pair of scrawny boys played patty cake with one another, the smaller one breaking off into a barrage of coughing. The memory sped through life, as the dark haired boy grew. He moved on from patty cake to fist fights, split lips replacing smiles, and winks giving way to black eyes. She watched him develop from a gangly pre-teen traversing Brooklyn with Steve in tow, into a suave confidant. He spend his days with his ill mother and strong-willed sister, while his nights were pre-occupied with jazz clubs and red-lipped women in pencil skirts. She could feel her eyes start to water, as the images continued to flash with increasing velocity.

Wanda saw him receive his enlistment letter, say his goodbyes, and ship off. His training flashed before her eyes in a barrage of blood and mud. Her eyes weren't the only part of her body that was piercing with pain. It suddenly dawned on her that she was witnessing his entire life in a matter of seconds. She saw a grimy, rusty operating room, spotlights glaring in his face. The images were moving so quickly, Wanda barely had time to understand, or even differentiate them. A man desperately ran through a burning building. That image was immediately followed with one of a frozen landscape. Her vision went red, white, and every color in between. A doctor in blue scrubs tested out a decrepit looking bone saw. Wanda saw the faces of over 50 people, with no distinct characteristics except their blank dead faces. Then, someone began speaking, a voice she didn't recognize, in words that were just out of her range of comprehension. "желание," the man's voice boomed, each word more confusing than the next, "ржaвый, Семнадцать, Рассвет," he paused a moment, as if checking her reaction. "Печь, Девять, добросердечный, возвращение на родину, Один, грузовой вагон."

She was almost physically wrenched from the memory, back into the world, in a mess of thick, black smoke, and acrid choking smell. Her environment seemed to have exploded into cacophony and chaos. As she drowsily opened her eyes, Wanda barely had time to recognize the absence of pain in her head, before survival instinct kicked in. She coughed, rolling over in her seat, only restrained by the belt over her shoulder. Fire, she thought immediately, as smoke poured into her throat. Fire, run, escape. Squinting tears in the exhaust, she clawed at the door, completely disoriented.

"Wanda!" a raw voice screamed. The door gave way, and she was able to gasp in fresh air, hacking as she did so. She sprawled on the hard ground, still struggling to get to her feet. "We have to go!" Barnes shouted. Wanda was still blinded from the smoke, but she somehow managed to stumble forward, away from the fire and ruin.

"What's going on?" she coughed. The air was getting clearer, and as Wanda turned to look back, she suddenly came to the realization of what was happening. The grimy stolen sedan was tipped on its side, beaten and dented to all hell, smoking as fires leaked out of broken hood.

"I couldn't drive," Barnes growled, "not with you in my head." She could still see the highway through the trees and fumes. They must have gone off the road.

"It wasn't my fault," Wanda panted. "I couldn't help it." Barnes gritted his teeth, his metal arm wrapped around the nearest tree. She was suddenly aware of the tension on his face, his sweaty pale face intense and taught. He was using the trunk as a support, his right leg barely touching the ground. "Are you okay?" she asked. Barnes closed his eyes, his breathing shallow. She followed his focus from his face down to his leg. The ankle of his pant leg was darker, wet and glistening.

"We can't keep doing this," he shook his head. "I can't put all of this at risk. It isn't worth it." Barnes turned so his back was now pressed against the tree. He bowed his head, profiled against the fire and smoke. Wanda stared in awe.

"I don't care about the risk," she said. "I chose this. I still choose this."

"This isn't your choice," Barnes said, wincing as he moved his leg. She waited for him to say something else, anything, an explanation. Instead, he stood stony as a statue without speaking or even looking at her.

"Barnes," she whispered, "If I didn't think you were worth it, I would have left you tied to that tractor." Wanda was again left waiting for a response that wasn't coming. He tucked his chin against his collarbone, just staring down his nose. His jaw moved up and down with the rhythm of his breath.

Then all at once, he exploded into motion. Barnes swept between the trees, only slightly slowed down by his bleeding leg.

"You can't leave!" As her rage reflected in her voice, and her palm. Barnes was stopped in his tracks, red swirling at his feet. She could see his muscles straining against her, his teeth gritting back and fort as his jaw tried to crack the unbreakable bounds of her abilities. "You've run from everything and everyone that has ever given you a chance!" Energy tore through her nerves with each individual word. "I'm not letting you run from this."

"Wanda," he managed to say, voice tight and rough. "Please. Stop."

"Steve has been looking for you for over a year," she accused. "You knew he was out there, and you still ran. I'm telling you that I still want to help you, that I'm willing to take the risk, and yet you want to run again. I'm not letting you!" Wanda could feel her eyes watering and it only made her grip on him tighten.

"I've had too many people force me to do things that get innocent people hurt. Wanda," Barnes said. "I never thought you would be one of those people." Shock lessened her grip just enough for him to turn and look at her. She stared into his eyes, those blue lighthouses sweeping the expanse of ruin, and suddenly understood. And with that understanding, she felt the world come crashing down.

The sun had finally risen to mark the beginning of a gray day at the empty gas station coffee bar. Clint was on his fourth cup of the morning, stretched over the morning news. The headline "ASSASSIN RESURFACES TO A FURIOUS STAMPEDE" only reflected the dreary steel sky on the windows outside. Steve couldn't bring himself to read the entire article himself, but his companion had poured over the story again and again for the past half hour. Natasha's call had sent the pair into a flurry of desperate research, perusing any news that had broken, and compiling what they already knew. Clint had gotten barely 2 hours of sleep before the phone call. and Steve had even less. The early news from their friend had left him wide awake.

Bucky had hurt someone, after the brainwashing had been broken. Bucky had stabbed someone. And not just anyone. Tony Stark.

Steve sighed, pushing the newspaper to the corner of the table. "Is there any way we can figure out where they're going?" Clint took a sip of coffee, shrugging.

"There's a reason no one could find The Winter Soldier for all those years of operation," he said, looking lost himself. "And they're running. I don't think they even have a plan."

"There has to be some way to track Wanda at least," Steve sighed.

"God, I wish we had Banner," said Clint, almost laughing. He ran his fingers desperately through his hair. "Hell, I wish we had Stark."

"We just…" Steve came up blank. "We have to figure out something. And fast."

"Right now the only thing we can track looks like their trail of destruction," the archer said, "and the trail looks completely random." Steve looked over at the discarded paper bag, several of the different slips sticking out the top.

"If you haven't noticed," he said, "his entire mind is sort of random."

"But what about Wanda?" Clint asked, flipping through the newspaper with a baffled expression. "She at least has to have some strategy."

"Maybe he's rubbing off on her," Steve said, resting his hand on his left temple.

"I hope she's rubbing off on him," Clint snorted. "Maybe she got him to stab Tony."

"I can't believe he did that," said Steve.

"Someone was bound to stab him at some point," Clint tried to comfort, the exhaustion shining through his words. A tired Clint was a Clint without a filter. "At least it wasn't me. God knows Laura has enough Tony related paperwork to deal with already."

Steve nodded pensively, staring out the window. "Is he still bothering you about a property search?" he said. He knew the archer would answer the question whether he asked it or not.

"Are you kidding?" Clint slowly exhaled, making erratic gestures. "For a playboy, he sure knows how to bury other people in paperwork-" He was cut off by his cell phone buzzing angrily on the table. The agent caught it between his palms, just as it vibrated off the edge. Clint read the caller ID in a split second, before squinting, and reading it again. He turned the phone so its screen faced Steve. "Recognize the number?" Steve shook his head, hands already clenched under the table. Clint shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, but his doubtful eyes gave it away.

He lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?" Steve carefully watched Clint's reaction, the voice on the other end loud enough to be audible from across the table. While he flinched away at first, the archer's eyes lit up in recognition. He gripped the phone so tightly his skin turned white. His mouth worked wordlessly along with the receiver, clinging to every word. "Slow down," he interjected. "Where are you?"

Steve locked eyes with him, mouthing "Who is it?" Clint struggled to plug a pair of tangled headphones into the phone jack.

"Wanda," he mouthed back. Steve sat up in his chair, the muscles in his body all tensing at once. Clint finally got the headphones in, handing one earbud to Steve with trembling fingers. "Breathe," the agent instructed in a fatherly tone. With the earbud in, Steve was suddenly aware of heavy scared breathing.

"Wanda, it's Steve," he announced, trying to keep his voice level and free of any kind of emotional response. "Where are you?"

"It's not important." Her voice was heavy and her tone vague. Clint shook his head, raising both eyebrows. Steve nodded, pressing on.

"Clint and I are in Ohio," he said. "We've been looking for you."

"I'm not a lost child, Steve," Wanda responded. "I don't need you to find me." Her tone was somehow flustered and level at the same time. She was hiding her anxiety just under the surface.

"Breathe, Wanda," Clint reminded. "If you don't want to be found, why are you calling us?" The silence on the other side of the line was so profound, Steve was sure that she had hung up.

"He's gone," she whispered in a shaking voice. "Barnes is gone." It took Steve a moment to realize that she was referring to Bucky. He couldn't help but be surprised at the notion of Bucky willingly going by that name. The only people who had ever called Bucky "Barnes" were military commanders too careless to call him by his title. He didn't even immediately register the significance of what she was saying.

"What do you mean he's gone?" Clint interjected.

Wanda began to explain, "I-" The end of her response was replaced with roaring white noise. Clint flinched away from the phone, tugging at the end of his earbud.

"Wanda, wait! Where is-" Steve tried, clutching the edge of the table.

The noise finally gave way to a robotic announcement, "Your line has been disconnected." Steve struggled to stop himself from cursing as he tore the headphone out of his ear. Clint appeared to internalize his own frustration, closing his eyes and massaging his temples.

"Damn," he muttered, shoving the newspaper to the other side of the table. The two broiled in the utter tragedy of the entire situation, both lost in their own thoughts. Steve opened his mouth to say something else, but before the words could pass his lips, the phone started buzzing again. Clint didn't even bother to look at his companion before picking up the call. Steve rushed to get the earbud back in.

"Wanda!" Clint urged immediately, giving the person on the other end no time. Yet, when the responder finally spoke, it was in a cool, hushed voice.

"She called from a public phone booth," the woman warned.

"Nat?" The pair exchanged a nervous glance.

"Who taught Maximoff to use a public, traceable phone when she was avoiding detection?" she hissed. At first, the question seemed ridiculous and out of nowhere, but the underlying meaning quickly dawned on Steve. Of course Tony and his team had gotten hold of the call. They probably already knew where Wanda was.

"You have the coordinates?" he asked.

"Everyone has the coordinates, Steve," Natasha sighed. "Why do you think the call got disconnected? Tony is itching to go." The image of an aggressive, injured Tony Stark was not one that Steve wanted to be facing. Clint seemed to agree.

"He's not gone already?" the agent questioned. He passed the pen and paper over to Steve, shoving the rest of the assorted newspapers into his duffle bag. It was suspicious to leave the gas station in such a hurry, but at that point, they really didn't have much of a chance.

"He's getting clearance to leave the hospital," said Natasha. Steve could hear her hurrying on the other end. They were on the move. "But believe me, people are already on their way." I'm sure, Steve thought resentfully.

"Where was she?" Clint said, before quickly adding "Wanda, I mean." Steve clicked the pen in anticipation.

"Yellow Springs, Ohio," she said. Steve scrawled every word. Natasha read off a serious of latitudes and longitudes, along with a brief description of the area. It would be wooded, she explained. The phone booth was right off the highway.

"Thanks Nat," he said out of the corner of his mouth, tearing the sheet off of the pad. Still held together with the headphones, Steve and Clint started out the door, discarding their cheap cardboard cups.

"I'm headed out, boys," Natasha announced, just as Steve was met with the cool morning breeze. He shivered.

"Wait!" he stopped. "Do we have a location on Bucky?" Steve could hear her sigh, audibly struggling for the proper words.

"Steve, you're not going to like this," she warned. When the captain said nothing of protest, she continued. "If everything Wanda said was true, Bucky ran." It was a revelation that had been gnawing at the lining of Steve's stomach ever since Wanda had called. He couldn't help but feel sick. Bucky had stabbed someone and run off. It was behavior that mirrored his streak after Washington. It was behavior that reminded Steve of the Winter Soldier.

"He could still be-" Steve tried. As the words passed his lips, he became aware that he was convincing himself, not Natasha. She wasn't buying it either.

"Focus on getting Wanda," the assassin instructed. "Tony doesn't want her. He'll get to Bucky before you can do anything."

"Wai-" Steve tried again.

"I have to go." She hung up.

"Nat's right," Clint confessed, pulling out the headphones as they headed to the car. "Wanda's out there. She's scared. She doesn't know what she's doing. She's just a kid." Steve shrugged into the driver's seat.

"Next stop, Yellow Springs, Ohio."