Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

              “You’re a damn fool Barnes…” Regretful words, muttered quietly under the breath of a man hunched on his motorcycle, a small journal clutched in his hands. Despite the regret in his tone, Bucky didn’t show any signs of turning the engine back on and leaving the ruins to their quiet, creepy existence. No, in fact, he intended to find a way over that fence and get beyond those double doors with no one catching him. The building he parked beside looms into the night sky like a clawed hand, desperate to put as much distance between itself and the ground as it can. Bucky grimaced slightly as he slid off his bike, knowing that feeling all too well. High metal gates tower between him and his destination, but he didn’t consider them an obstacle, not when there was something much more important, potentially buried inside. 

        In his time apart from the team and technically on the run, Bucky had been doing what he could to fill in blanks in his mind, ones that stood out more painfully than others. He could let go of the fact he doesn’t remember much from his childhood anymore. He could even let go of how little he remembers from his post-HYDRA wake up call, a blurred mess of pain and exhaustion rolling into a darkness he can’t tackle, not yet. But some? Some blank spaces came with nightmares and Bucky had been seeing this building in his hellish dreams for a little over a month. 

              Roosevelt Asylum.

        It was unclear why exactly he remembered this place, or what it meant for the holes in his past, but digging around in what HYDRA files he had access to, he had found mention of the Asylum twice. And that was good enough for him. 

        The journal snaps closed in his hand and Bucky tucked it into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. Making sure his bike was secure but easily accessible in a rapid get away, he took a running jump at the metal fence and climbed over. Thudding down on the other side, he paused, crouched, to take in his surroundings of overgrown plants, cracked stone pathways and trash thrown over by careless passers-by. Nothing immediately jumped out at him, so Bucky made his way up the steps two at a time and slid leather clad fingers into his pocket for his lock pick. To his surprise, they weren’t needed, as his testing of the door handle hadn the door swinging wide open. Eerie. 

        While that raised his suspicions a little as he stepped inside, he had read about how often kids played pranks here. Testing their endurance and bravery inside the great haunted asylum in the hopes it would earn them a badge of honour. Bucky tried not to judge too harshly, but sometimes it made it difficult to distinguish between teenage prank and the threat of someone working out what he was up to and beating him here. 

        This wasn’t the first time retracing HYDRA’s steps had led him right into a trap in a derelict building. 

        Despite his attempt to be stealthy, the door slammed behind him with an echoing thud and Bucky winced, eyes slowly adjusting to the low light inside. The reception was a wreck; the desk rotting, cabinets smashed and overturned chairs spilled from here to the nearby hallways. Bucky took a few cautious steps forward, scanning the room before him, hoping something would jump out at him to trigger some kind of memory. Nothing did. Nothing familiar, at least. He noted dark stains on the walls and floor underneath the graffiti left by victors and recognised it immediately. Sprays of old blood from something awful a long time ago. The stains explained the scent Bucky was detecting as he chose left and headed down the corridor. The scent of blood and death. 

        The more Bucky explored the building, the more he began to think he had just dreamed the place up somehow. That his mind had simply woven a connection in his mind between two irrelevant things and it was just pure coincidence that he’d found the name of the Asylum in some old files. None of the rooms attracted him, none of the derelict corridors brought any sparks of recognition and the deeper he explored, the more he convinced himself that this was a lost cause. Not only was nothing familiar, he couldn’t find any hints of HYDRA ever being here, past or present.

        It wasn’t exactly HYDRA’s typical gig either. In all his research, when it came to finding hidden cells to either destroy or burn, their leap into the medical field had been more into research and high-tech torture, not asylums and people just needed help and care.

        Bucky’s exploration of the asylum eventually led him to a series of disconnected rooms on the upper floor, rooms that also showed the same rate of destruction as the rest of the building. One room made him stop in his tracks. It didn’t look familiar, but the scattered papers on the floor and the overturned filing cabinets suggested an office. If he was going to find any connections, this would be a good place to start.

        Bucky carefully picked his way over some debris by the door and headed inside. While the room was in a similar state of disrepair as the rest of the building, he was interested to find that some of the filing cabinets still contained intact files and scattered paperwork showing signs of age. Bucky slid his gun back into his belt and began rummaging through the papers. He poured through each drawer, having to discard the majority due to damage and age, but finally a file caught his eye and he let out a low, sad whistle. 

        The file was tucked so far at the back that it had become trapped between the drawer hinge and the inside of the cabinet wall, resulting in mostly chewed up, useless paper. That wasn’t what caught his attention, however. As he pulled the file free with a muffled rip, the HYDRA logo became clear in the dull lighting. The logo was pressed lightly into the inside folder, the symbol on the paper like nothing more than a whisper. A reminder. It was confirmation, at least, that HYDRA had been here and god knows what they’d done while they were here.

        Confirmation brought little comfort, however, as Bucky’s own involvement in the place was still worrying him. As he flipped through the unreadable file, a gnawing sensation began to form in his gut. His involvement in places, even back then, had never been for a cause of good. He was either sent somewhere to kill, threaten, scare or, on occasion, be rewritten. He exhaled tiredly as he flippe through it, realising there was nothing useful or readable left inside. Typical. He tossed the shreds back into the cabinet and shoved the drawer shut. Despite the symbol, he still had zilch in terms of info. Bucky sighed, running leather covered fingers through his hair and pressing down on his skull, a vain attempt to ease the heavy tension that had been building in his head since he stepped through the door.

        Deciding to resume his search, Bucky turned around and immediately jumped. Standing in front of him, not two feet away stood a woman. A woman dressed in a dirtied, ripped nightdress with her hair hanging in ragged clumps around her face. As Bucky stared, shock dissipating quickly at being snuck up on, he realised that she appeared to be injured. No, not injured… mutilated? Her left eye was so brutally swollen it looked like her eyeball had popped right out of the socket, melting down the left side of her face. A few moments of complete silence pass as Bucky stared down the woman, unable to comprehend words to explain what someone like this was doing running around a place like this, but before coherent thought could catch up with his movements, the woman lunged at him with hands outstretched.

        Instincts kicked in and Bucky ducked under her grasp, darting to the left and making his escape out into the corridor. What should have been a sprint to the end turned into a fast scramble to stop as the woman was there as well, out in the corridor, and she lunged towards him once more with noises that didn’t reach comprehension. Bucky grabbed for the weapon in his belt, reaction and survival overruling any sane thought, and he brought it up to aim at the woman.

              “Hey!” Bucky barked out sharply, taking a step back to maintain distance while trying to get her to acknowledge him verbally. Who was she? Confirming HYDRA had their claws in this facility and getting attacked immediately after? He really should sit down and write a HYDRA scare tactic handbook. 

              “Hey!” he barked again as the woman paid him no heed and continued to loom before him, “back off. I don’t wanna shoot you.” The woman showed no sign she was even listening and, to Bucky’s surprise, her form appeared to flicker right before his eyes. A blink and she was gone, another blink and she was right back in front of him, close enough that his nose was filled with the scent of burned, rotten flesh. Without thinking, Bucky scrambled backwards, firing the gun once and letting out a yell of shock - his scramble backwards had taken him right over the edge of a collapsed floor and he tumbled down in the mess and darkness below.

***

        Back at the entrance to the Asylum, the door swung open slowly, revealing two men standing in the doorway squinting at the dark and dour within. The tallest, Sam Winchester, pushed the door open wider for his brother, Dean, to step through first before following. Sam pulled a handheld video camera from his pocket and flipped open the screen, holding it up while Dean fished his own device out of his pocket; an EMF meter.

              “Getting readings?” Sam asked as he scans their surroundings through the video camera. In answer to his question, a high-pitched squeaking rang out from the device in Dean’s hand.

              “Yeah, big time.”

              “This place is orbing like crazy,” Sam frowned slightly, watching as the camera picked up what their own eyes couldn’t; shifting shapes and lights only visible, currently, on his screen.

              “Probably multiple spirits out and about,” said Dean, stepping over an upturned chair and leading the way down one corridor.

              “And if these uncovered bodies are causing the haunting…” Sam began-

              “We gotta find them and burn them,” finished Dean. “Just be careful, though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit… is the pissed of spirit of a psycho killer.”

        Using their items as guides, Sam and Dean moved down the corridor, continuing their search for the source of the EMF readings and anything that looked like a body requiring burning. As they moved into a set of rooms, Sam lingered in the first with his camera while Dean followed a spike in EMF reading into an adjoining room.

              “Hey, you think that bike outside belongs to a kid too spooked to come back for it?” Dean called through the entranceway. Sam rolled his eyes with a smirk, scanning around him with the camera.

              “We’re not stealing that bike.”

              “I’m just sayin’, it’s a pretty sweet ride to leave lyin’ around a dump like this,” Dean laughed, “be a shame to leave it for the ghosts.” Sam huffed out a laugh in agreement, glancing back through to check Dean was still within eye shot before looking back at his camera. 

              “Dean?” Sam called, brow raised as he catches sight of an old woman on the camera. Long strands of filthy hair frame her mutilated face, one eye blooded and hanging out of the socket. “Dean!!”

        Dean came running through immediately, shotgun drawn and upon seeing the woman lunging for his brother, yelled “Sam, get down!” Sam threw himself out of her reach as Dean opened fire, emptying 2 salt filled buckshot rounds into her frail form. With an eerie screech, she disintegrated in front of them, leaving both brothers panting in her wake.

              “That was… weird.” Sam frowned as he picked himself up from the grimy floor and dusted down his jeans.

              “Yeah. You’re telling me,” Dean grimaced, glancing at Sam to give him a quick check over and make sure he was unhurt before he reloaded the shotgun and headed back out into the corridor.

              “No, Dean, I mean it was weird she didn’t attack me,” Sam said as he followed.

              “Looked pretty aggro from where I was standing,” replied Dean, leading the way down the hallway, this time with the shotgun raised up in his hands should the spirit, or any others, decide they wanted another crack at Sam. The entire building freaked him out, more so than he was willing to admit and seeing the spirits immediately target Sam when he was already vulnerable, it was worrying.

              “She didn’t hurt me,” Sam insisted. “She didn’t even try! So if she didn’t wanna hurt me, then what did she want?”

        Dean came to a stop, lips parting to raise a counterpoint that he didn’t give that damned spirit a chance to hurt Sam, when a clattering noise came from the room they had paused outside. Raising his shotgun, finger ready, Dean took a step forward. Sam pulled a torch out of his pocket and shone it into the room, scanning the light around before settling on an upturned metal bed covered with a ragged sheet. A silent look passed between the brothers as they approached and as Sam reached out to tip the bed over, Dean prepared to fire at anything remotely ghost-like on the other side. 

        However, as the bed clattered aside, they were both surprised to see a girl crouched behind the bed, facing the corner. At the removal of her protective barrier, the girl spun around with a shriek, clearly terrified.

              “Hey, hey it’s alright, we’re not going to hurt you. It’s okay. What’s your name?” Dean dropped to his haunches in front of her, lowering his weapon so not to scare her further.

              “Katherine. Kat,” she squeaked out after a moment of trying to find her voice.

              “Okay. I’m Dean, this is Sam.”

              “What are you doing here?!” Sam asked, a hint of exasperation slipping into his tone that earned a sharp look from Dean.

              “Uhm… my boyfriend, Gavin.”

              “Is he here?” Dean asked, “is that your bike outside?”

              “What?” Kat shook her head, frowning, “uhm… no, no he’s around here, somewhere. He thought it would be fun to see some ghosts in here. You know the stories, right? I thougth it was just… y’know, pretend. Not… not real.” Her voice shook, and Dean reached out to help her up to her feet. “I’ve seen things. I heard Gavin scream and… and I heard gunshots and….” She trailed off quietly, chest heaving as she clutched her hands to her body as if it would protect her.

              “Alright. Kat? Come on, Sam’s gonna get you out of here and then we’re gonna find your boyfriend, okay?”

              “No! No I — I’m not going to leave without Gavin. I’m coming with you.” Kat took a cautious half step forward, as if the force of her words could somehow rustle up the courage she was attempting to channel. Dean glanced at Sam, who gave him a half-hearted shrug in answer.

              “It’s no joke around here, okay? It’s dangerous.”

              “That’s why I gotta find him. I can’t leave him here. And if this is part of his prank, I swear to god—”

              “Oh, it’s not a prank,” Dean replied with a half laugh, cutting her off before he sighed and waved them out to the hall.

              “Alright, I guess we’re gonna split up. Let’s go.” 

        Outside the room, Dean asked Sam to continue his search while he took Kat towards where she had last heard Gavin scream. It wasn’t ideal for the situation, but the sooner they found the missing kid, the sooner they could get back to actual business. Sam said his goodbye and headed back up the corridor while Dean and Kat headed through some double doors into a darker wing of the Asylum.

              “Gavin?” Kat called, finding her voice a bit more now that she wasn’t alone. Dean hung back a few steps, intending to be protection should anything sinister decide young teenage girl was its delicacy, but as they continued their search room to room, there were no signs of life, living or spiritual.

              “I got a question for you,” Dean began as they checked off the umpteenth empty room. “You’ve seen a lot of horror movies, yeah?”

              “I guess so,” Kat replied, glancing over her shoulder at him and watching as he passed her to take the lead into a darker section of hallway.

              “Do me a favour,” Coming to a pause at a fork in the corridor, Dean turned towards her. “Next time you see one? Pay attention. When someone says a place is haunted… don’t go in!” 

        Kat let out a sharp, irritated breath as Dean moved off down the corridor, but he ignored it. Baby-sitting teenagers who thought they knew better was not how he thought this trip was going to go. That, and he was starting to doubt that letting Sam go off on his own in a place like this when his inner ESPN was already sensitive, had not been the best idea.

***

        Sam’s own search was going a little better. While he had located nothing ghostly, he had come across Gavin who had been sprawled, unconscious on the ground. He’d managed to wake the teen with some light shaking and after a bit of freaking out, Gavin had confirmed who he was and that he was okay.

              “Take it easy,” Sam instructed quietly, helping Gavin to his feet. “My name is Sam. We found your girlfriend hiding a few corridors back.”

              “Kat?” Gavin glanced around nervously, taking a subtle step closer to Sam, “is she alright?”

              “Yeah. She’s worried about you. Are you sure you’re okay?” Sam asked, running his eyes over Gavin once more just to make sure there were no injuries hidden by adrenaline.

              “Yeah, I was running… I think I fell…” Gavin lifted a hand to rub at his forehead, glancing behind himself again just to be sure.

              “Running? From what?”

              “There was this girl. She was… I thought she was Kat at first, but then she… wasn’t. And her face was all messed up, it was…” Gavin shuddered briefly, unwilling to dwell on the image too much in his mind.

              “Okay but, listen. Did this girl… did she try to hurt you?” Sam asked, his brow furrowing as he compared their two encounters in his mind. Two women, possibly the same spirit? But despite the encounters, neither of them had been harmed. Yet.

              “What? No, but she… uh…” Gavin’s cheeks flushed suddenly, a dusting of pink that had Sam’s brow raise in surprise, prompting the other to continue. “She... kissed me. I thought she was Kat, so I.. y’know.”

        Sam’s brow stayed raised, swallowing his surprise. 

              “So… uhm, okay, but she didn’t hurt you physically, right?”

              “Dude! She kissed me! I’m scarred for life!”

        Sam rolled his eyes then, sighing before he motioned for Gavin to follow him. They had to find Dean before any other spirits decided to say hello.

              “Trust me, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. Now, do you remember anything else? Did she try to talk to you or anything like that?” he asked.

              “Well… yeah, actually. She tried to whisper something in my ear but I freaked man, and I ran. I ran like hell.”

***

              “You son of a bitch.” Dean broke the silence between himself and Kat as the torch in his hand flickered and died. As darkness fell around them, he felt Kat brush up against his back. “It’s alright, I got a lighter.” His reassurance was met with a noise of agreement and he fished through his pockets for said lighter.

              “Ow! You’re hurting my arm!” Kat exclaimed.

        Dean lifted his attention away from his pockets, finally finding his lighter hiding in his jeans and flicking it on. 

              “What? I’m not touching you.” As the lighter flickered on, highlighting them both in dull orange, Dean realised Kat wasn’t close enough to have brushed against his back, and he definitely wasn’t close enough to grab her arm. Glancing down, Dean glimpsed a filthy, rotten hand wrapped around Kat’s arm before she was dragged into the nearest room and the large metal door slammed shut behind her.

              “Kat!!” Dean immediately began to pound on the door, desperate for some kind of reaction on the other side. Struggling with the lock proved futile, and using all his available strength to kick the door didn’t budge it either.

              “Let me out! Please!” Kat screamed from inside the room and Dean could hear her own pounding fits on the other side.

              “Kat! Hang on!”

        Glancing around, Dean’s eyes landed on a discarded metal pipe on the floor. He grabbed it, starting to smash at the door near the lock to dent the metal enough that the lock would shake loose. His efforts were futile, and, with a note of worried frustration, he discards=ed the pipe in favour of again grabbing the handle and trying to use his weight against the door as Kat screams inside.

              “Dean?!” Sam yelled on approach as he sprinted down the corridor, Gavin tailing behind him, “What’s going on?!”

              “Kat’s in there with one of them!”

              “Help me!!” Kat screamed from inside the room, “get me out of here!”

              “Kat!” Sam pressed against the door, trying to make himself heard over her screams of panic. “Kat, it will not hurt you. Listen to me, you’ve got to face it, you’ve got to calm down!”

              “She’s gotta what?” Dean grabbed Sam’s elbow to stop him from endangering the teen, but Sam shook him off. “Listen to me! These spirits, they’re not trying to hurt us, they’re trying to communicate. You gotta face it. You gotta listen to it.”

              “You come in here and face it!” Kat screeched from the other side of the door, and they heard a thud as her back hit the door in panic. “No!”

              “Come on, Kat!” Sam yelled again, “Look at it, come on. You can do it. I promise it will not hurt you!”

        Silence fell on the other side of the door and Sam pulled back, breathing deeply and sending a concerned glance to Gavin, who was pale, likely unable to grasp exactly what was going on.

              “I hope you’re right about this,” Deam muttered, his heart pounding harder than he would have liked. Sam wasn’t giving him a lot to go on, and while he trusted Sam completely, it was still a risk. Silence fell, and they waited, cautious, for Kat to give a sign as to what was going on inside. Suddenly, the lock clicked into place and the door swung open. Kat appeared in the doorway and Dean grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the room as Sam ran inside. He re-appeared a few moments later, shaking his head at Dean; the room was empty.

              “137,” Kat spoke shakily after she’d gathered herself enough, “it… it whispered in my ear…. 137.”

              “Room number,” Sam and Dean said in synch. Gavin ran to Kat and gathered her up in his arms, cupping her cheek and asking if she was okay. As the couple reunited, Sam and Dean took a few steps away to make sure they couldn’t be overheard.

              “Alright,” said Sam, “if these spirits aren’t trying to help anyone, what are they trying to do? I mean… other than snog Gavin.”

        Dean’s brow shot up, glancing back at the recently rescued couple before he shook his head. “I don’t know. But Room 137 better give us some answers.” Sighing, Dean turned back to the teens. “Alright, you guys ready to leave this place now?”

              “That’s an understatement,” Kat breathed out as Gavin dripped at her arm like was the sole thing keeping her from going missing again. Dean rolled his eyes a little, exasperated, before turning back to Sam. He reached for his shotgun again and tipped his head towards Kat and Gavin.

              “You get them outta here. I’m gonna go find room 137.”

Chapter Text

        Taking point, Sam led Kat and Gavin down a hallway, looking for the familiar route that would take them back to the main entrance. He kept his gun close to his chest, glancing back occasionally to make sure both teens were still following. After a moment, Kat hurried to fall into step alongside Sam, glancing up at him.

              “So… how do you guys know all about this ghost stuff?” she asked.

              “It’s kinda our job,” Sam explained.

              “Why would anyone want a job like that?”

        Sam shot her a look and gave a half shrug, laughing. “I had a crappy guidance counsellor.”

              “And Dean?” she continued, “He’s your boss?”

        Sam paused at a corner and glanced around, making sure it was safe before they continued. “No.” Kat looked like she had more questions, but before she could ask them, Sam hurried towards a door and tried to open it. The hinges creaked, but the locks remained steadfast. Sighing, he moved on to the next door, but something also jammed it shut and Sam’s shoulders fell as he realised what’s going on.

              “Alright, we got a slight problem. Whatever’s in here doesn’t want us to get out. Not yet.”

        The look crossing Gavin’s face reminded Sam briefly of a Scooby-Doo episode. It would have been humorous had the situation not become so dire.

              “Can’t we just break a window?” Gavin asked, huddling up next to Kat, who glanced at him and rolled her eyes, exasperated. 

              “There are bars on all of them,” she stated flatly before turning to Sam. “Is it the patients? They don’t want us to leave?”

              “No…” Sam shook his head, “I think…. I think it might be something else.” Sam moved down the hallway to test another door, confirming his theory as Gavin paced around.

              “So what are we gonna do!?”

              “I’ll tell you what we’re not gonna do,” Sam said as he returned to them, “we’re not going to panic.” He shot Gavin a stern look, one that Kat copied and while Sam briefly questioned why she wasn’t so scared anymore, the question dies as his phone rings. He rummaged through his jacket for it, seeing Dean’s caller ID and answering quickly.

              “Yeah?”

              “Sam!” Dean yelled through a crackly line, breaking up sharply in Sam’s ear, “it’s coming for me, I see it!”

              “Where are you Dean?!”

              “In the basement, hurry Sam!”

        Sam hung up the phone and shoved it back in his pocket, taking a step away from the teens before moving back and shoving his shotgun into Kat’s hands. 

              “Do you know how to handle this?” She nodded (much to Gavin’s shock), and Sam nodded back. “Alright. It’s loaded with rock salt. It may not kill a spirit, but it will repel it. So if you see something, shoot.” With that, he took off, running back into the depths of the building.

***

        The deeper into the Asylum Dean went, the more he noticed how heavy the air seemed to get. It shifted uncomfortably close around his shoulders, and he couldn’t help but follow the feeling. It makes sense that the closer he got to whatever was in room 137, the closer he was to the tragedy that happened here. Still, it wasn’t a pleasant feeling and as Dean took another turn down another hallway; he lifted the torch to check the numbers on the passing doors. As he did so, his boot struck something solid yet soft. It was sudden enough to make him stumble, and Dean lowered his gun to his torch and followed the beam to the cause of his trip.

              “What the—?” To his surprise, his torch highlighted a pair of dusty blue jeans. Dean used the torch to follow the leg up to the curve of an ass, the hem of a leather jacket, and up to the face of a bleeding, unconscious man.

              “Son of a bitch,” he breathed out, dropping to his knees beside the man and reaching to grab his shoulder. There’s a note of surprise when his hand closed around what felt like a solid shoulder pad, but it didn’t last as he shook the stranger. No response. Dean glanced back over his shoulder, thoughts turning to Kat and Gavin and how they hadn’t mentioned a third party member. His hand then moved up to the man’s neck, fingers pressing gently against warm skin - a good sign - to check for a pulse.

        It was those fingers pressing to his neck that finally roused Bucky back to consciousness. The press of something near his neck had instincts kicking in before he’d even had a moment to register where he was or why every bone in his body ached. He threw an elbow back towards the source of the contact and was surprised when he hit something. Dean attempted to turn his head away from the blow as soon as he saw it coming, taking the hit to his jaw rather than full in the face. He let out a yell, falling backwards to the ground as Bucky followed the attack through by lunging up to grab the figure and slam him hard into the ground. Throughout those brief moments, all Bucky could think of was the women with the butchered face. Dean groaned on the ground, jaw throbbing violently from the blow - what the fuck did that guy have up his sleeve? And yet, as fast as Bucky had attacked, the grip on Dean’s jacket slipped and wooziness descended. 

              “Hey, hey!” Dean, recognising the fogginess in the stranger’s eyes, tried to reason with the man now straddling him. “Hey relax! I ain’t here to hurt you.” As the dust from the scuffle faded, Dean could get a good look at him. He looked confused, blooded matting to the side of his face from a concerning head wound that had smeared blood down a square jaw, and Dean knew exactly what the foggy eyes of a concussion look like. “Look, I’m human. See? I’m human.”

        Dean held up his hands, palms upward. Considering everything else going on here, it made sense this guy had run into the spirits too, and taken a tumble if the head wound was anything to go by. Just beyond the man’s head, Dean could see a gaping hole above them and he winced inwardly. As he held his hands up, counting on the stranger being unable to tell the difference between real and spirit, he felt the man shift his weight back, then he slid from Dean’s hips to rest on the floor against the nearest wall.

              “Shit,” croaked Bucky, “sorry. I’m sorry I…” Bucky slumped back against the surface, pressing a dirty palm gingerly to his forehead. His head was swimming and his brow creased as he fought to focus on the man in front of him. “I was… there was a woman, and she was — she was… and then I — I fell.”

        Dean dragged himself up into a sitting position, reaching for where his gun had fallen.

              “A woman with a fucked up face? Yeah, I know sunshine, story of the day.” Dean sat there for a moment, letting out a breath of confused feelings - though it was unclear if he was more bothered by the discovery of another civilian, or that it hadn’t been unpleasant to have a handsome man straddle him like that. He watched as the stranger gently felt around his face and discovered the source of the bleeding with a sharp wince and intake of breath. “My name’s Dean,” he said, “are you here with Kat?”

              “Ow…. I’m Bucky,” he replied with little hesitation at that moment. “Kat? No, I… I don’t know a Kat. I was just…” Bucky trailed off with a groan and his head dipped between his shoulders. Come on Barnes, shake it off. Before his chin could hit his chest, Dean was there, crouched next to him, catching his jaw and tilting his head back up. 

              “Alright, less thinking, more getting up out of the dirt, okay?” Bucky gave an audible grunt in response and Dean slid an arm around his rib cage to haul him to his feet. For someone so small, he was definitely packing a lot more muscle that Dean expected, judging by what he could feel through the jacket. Leather jacket - it didn’t take much of a leap to decide that the bike Dean had seen outside had to belong to this guy. Still, it wasn’t ideal finding another civilian in this place, but Dean couldn’t leave him here, and he certainly wasn’t in much condition to find his own way back to Sam. 

        The world tipped and Bucky leaned heavily into Dean, heavier than he would like, given the circumstances. The change of state caused his stomach to lurch as much as his head swam, but as they stumbled down the hallways, additional movement seems to help with the clarity of his thoughts. He’d taken worse falls than this and walked them off, so why something happening in this place was spinning his head so much was a mystery, at least for now.

              “Oh great,” Dean muttered, flashing the torch up to highlight the room number of the only available open door within ten feet. Room 137.

              “What?” Bucky lifted his head, finding stronger footing as Dean guided him into the room. “What is it?”

              “Oh nothing,” Dean grumbled, spotting a chair which he carefully deposited Bucky into and gently patted his cheek. “Just fighting off angry spirits, rescuing teenagers and hot bikers, getting punched in the face while trying to find the office of the big bad that used to run the place; all before said angry spirits decide they’re bored with us and come knocking. All in a day’s work.” 

        Bucky had questions, of course, shifting in his chair as the wooziness dissipated, and he let out a soft huff of laughter when , out of all of Dean’s words, his mind settled on one particular phrase. 

              “Wait, you think I’m a hot biker? Are you just saying that so I don’t feel so much like an ass for falling through a floor?”

              “Well, unless the jacket’s a stylistic choice?” Dean laughed then before straightening up and taking a proper look around the office. The room was a mess, filing cabinets pushed over, papers everywhere, the walls stained. He shone the torch around the room, scanning all the items before turning it back to Bucky. 

              “You alright? You need me to take a look at that?” Dean indicated to the head wound that Bucky was delicately pressing at with leather clad fingers, but he shook his head despite the wincing. 

              “No, I’ll be alright, just give me a minute.” Bucky looked up and met Dean’s eyes, squinting a little in the torchlight but staring for a few long seconds before his gaze dropped to Dean’s mouth where the faint shadowing of impact along his jawline was forming. He smirked faintly. “Sorry for clocking you one.”

        Dean shrugged it off, waving a hand at Bucky to show he didn’t mind, but he didn’t miss how vibrant Bucky’s eyes were reflecting the torchlight. Focus Dean, focus. It was a minute distraction that he shrugged off as he turned back to the room and began rummaging through the cabinets and loose folders scattered over the desk. Nothing immediately jumped out at him, which earned a quiet groan of frustration. 

              “What are you looking for?” Bucky asked, watching as Dean moved along a wall of cabinets, pouring over each one. After the altercation with the woman, he hadn’t expected to find anyone friendly down here, but now that he’d got his bearings back and the throbbing in his skull had lowered in noise, his defences were raising once more. Who was this guy? And why was he here? He didn’t look like the typical HYDRA good and Bucky was fairly certain anyone on his tail would have just shot him in the back of the head rather than picked him up like this, but he couldn’t take any chances. “You said spirits? Like ghosts?”

        Dean glanced over his shoulder, flicking the torch over to illuminate Bucky before he sighed. 

              “Yeah, exactly like ghosts. So… the people that used to stay and be treated here have decided to come back for a little vengeance. My brother, Sam, thinks they’re looking for help. So I’m here, looking for anythin’ that’ll tell me what happened here that might explain why our resident spirits are so needy.”

        Silence followed as Bucky searched for something to say, but where Dean expected disbelief, he was met with understanding instead. 

              “Explains why the woman was in the room I was in, then in the hall so quickly. I thought… mutant or tech or something. Didn’t consider…. supernatural.”

       Dean straightened up and stared at Bucky before he shrugged. “Yeah, well, if it was something living like a mutant or some science nerd, we wouldn’t be here, my brother and I. But why are you here?” His tone switches to a little accusatory. “You don’t look like you’re after a spooktastic night with an asylum sleepover.”

              “No,” Bucky replied softly, “not exactly.” Bucky slowly leaned forward, giving his head a little shake and placing his elbows on his knees to try and ease the aches from the impact fall. Everything about Dean appeared to scream honesty, but Bucky was an assassin. He’d worked with some of the best in the world, and while Dean didn’t strike him as asset material, he’s still cautious. 

              “Honestly? I was tracking an old HYDRA cell, and some documents mentioned this place. Thought it’d be best I take a look, just in case.”

              “HYDRA?” That gained Dean’s full attention as he pulled back from rummaging in his current filing cabinet. “Here? Well… violent spirits usually come from violent deaths, and HYDRA aren’t known for their kindness, are they? Who knows what they put those patients through.” Dean scoffed slightly, muttering something about bastards under his breath as he resumes his search. 

              “Yeah,” Bucky agreed quietly, and that gnawing pit in his stomach started to get worse. Dean’s apparent knowledge of HYDRA might have been a concern 5 or so years ago, but since all their info had been dumped online, and their involvement in SHIELD and all high-profile governments had become hot news, he wasn’t that surprised. As Dean spoke, he also hadn’t shown any flinching signs at HYDRA talk, but was that enough to trust him?

              “Violent deaths… you don’t think someone came here and killed all these people, do you?” As the words left his mouth, the pieces started to slot together in his mind. Maybe it was him. Maybe he was the one that caused all the violent deaths here. It wouldn’t be the first time they sent the Winter Soldier to clean up a mess and it wouldn’t have been peaceful for the victims. 

              “No,” Dean said, “back in the 60s the patients rioted and many people died. Question is… why.” 

        Just as Bucky’s panicked mind was working the pieces of the puzzle to fit in his mind, Dean’s statement shattered it completely. A riot, by the patient’s own hand. Not a Winter Soldier slaughtering. But if that was the case, why did he know this place?

        Dean finally gave up on the cabinets, letting out a disgruntled sigh. Just as he was about to turn back to Bucky, he spotted a loose panel peeling away from the back of a cabinet. Leaning close, he worked to pry the panel off as Bucky sunk back into the chair with a muted groan. After some work, the panel popped off and hidden behind is a satchel full of loose papers and notes. 

              “This is why I get paid the big bucks,” Dean grinned, pulling the satchel free and dumping it down onto the desk. He looked at Bucky with a smirk. “Bingo.” Dean slid his gun back into his waistband and placed the torch between his lips as he rummaged inside the satchel, pulling out a journal stuffed with loose papers. Journal in hand, and the rest of the bag empty, he moved around the desk and dropped into the seat next to Bucky. Dean balanced the torch in one hand while he flicked open the journal with the other. 

              “Holy…” Bucky leaned forward on the armrest, closer to Dean to get a look at the journal. There was the HYDRA symbol again, pressed into the front cover like some kind of secret seal. Bucky’s blood chilled at the sight. No matter how many times he saw it, no matter how many monstrous people he killed or arrested, the sight of his previous leash holders continued to draw one reaction; fear. What was worse than the symbol, though, much worse, was on the inside. The journal was filled with hand draw pictures of medieval looking medical instruments and detailed synopsis and analysis of the instruments in use. Everything from ice pick lobotomies to extreme electroshock therapy; all tortures focused on the mind and manipulating anger, aggression and more.

              “Well, all work and no play makes Dr. Ellicott a very dull boy,” Dean said, slowly reading through the pages. Bucky was quiet, his heart starting to hammer painfully hard in his chest. Seeing the designs, from the instruments to the devices used to strap patients down, it became scarily clear why he knew this place, and why it had been in his dreams. 

        He was here. Back before the riot, he was here with HYDRA, under HYDRA experimentation. It came back to him in a rush; being strapped down to a table, tortured, electrocuted, experimented on to see how far they could push the aggressive killing machine without breaking the control they had over his mind. Attempting to see if increased aggression would have a desired effect on his ability as a killer. As much as Bucky tried to keep his composure, it didn’t last for long. He had to tear his eyes away from the journal, finding a spot on the floor to stare at, to focus on calming the turmoil building in his gut. 

        Dean, after flipping through a few more pages with a look of disgust on his face, noticed Bucky’s apparent discomfort and slammed the journal shut. He slides forward in his chair and placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, brows twitching together in concern. 

              “Hey, you okay?”

        Bucky tensed slightly under the contact, but he nodded quickly, waving a hand up to his face. 

              “My head- spinnin’ a little, y’know? Think I took that fall harder than I thought.” It’s a weak lie by all standards, but Dean bought it, at least because he assumed the contents of the journal had simply been too graphic for Bucky. Not entirely unexpected, considering Dean had certainly built up a resilience to that kind of thing. He stood up and shoved the journal into one of the deep pockets in his jacket.

              “All that blood? I’m not surprised. Come on, we gotta find my brother.”

***

        It didn’t take them long to get back to the ground floor, Dean leading the way back to the main entrance, hoping to get Bucky out before the good doctor came knowing. Bucky didn’t complain. He’d got the answer he’d been looking for, so lingering around here any longer was pointless. Putting distance between himself and her was indeed the best solution. 

        Just as they made it back to the main foyer, Dean rounded the corner to see Kat aiming a shotgun towards him. He saw her just as she pulled the trigger, causing Dean to throw himself back around the corner. Doing so meant he had to shove Bucky with him to stop either of them from getting hit by the spray and they landed together behind the wall.  

              “Damn it, damn it, don’t shoot! It’s me!” Dean yelled over his shoulder before he glanced down at where he’d landed on top of Bucky. Bucky groaned softly before giving Dean a light shove against his shoulder. A quiet apology was murmured and the two climb to their feet.

              “Sorry! Sorry,” Kat called as Dean cautiously came around the corner, the wall now decorated with the shotgun blast.

              “Son of a…” Dean murmured before his eyes lifted to Kat and Gavin by the door. “What are you still doing here!? Where’s Sam?”

              “He went to the basement. You called him.?” Gavin said, gaze slipping to Bucky and frowning before taking a step closer to Kat.

              “What? I didn’t call anybody,” Dean said, glancing back at Bucky as if looking for confirmation.

              “Who are you?” Gavin asked, but Kat cut any answer Bucky was about to give off. 

              “His cell phone rang. He said it was you. You needed help in the basement, so he went straight away. All the doors are locked, we’re stuck here until whatever this is ends.” Her gaze moved to Bucky, and he suddenly felt very on display. It was one thing to sneak into a place like this with no witnesses, but to have 3 people see his face? It was sheer luck already that Dean hasn’t recognised him from the countless news reports churning out lies, but these two? The chance increased. 

              “Basement, huh?” Dean glanced around them before checking his weapon and glancing at Bucky. “You should stay here with them, keep each other safe and I’ll be back.” Dean turned to leave, but to his surprise, Bucky moved with him. They had retrieved his own weapon from his accident site, so he has no qualms with following Dean and repaying his earlier help, especially since it didn’t sound wise to let him go off by himself. Something had already tricked his brother into splitting up.

              “I can help,” Bucky said. “She’s clearly a good shot and if it’s luring you to the basement…” 

        Concern for Sam had Dean agreeing almost immediately and the two of them took off towards the basement. 

***

        Dean led the way into the basement, gun drawn and moving with careful yet hurried steps for Bucky to follow. Bucky didn’t mind following Dean’s lead, not when he had got a pounding headache and a lack of experience around so-called spirits. 

              “Sammy? Sam, you down here?” Dean called out as they weaved their way deeper into the basement. Dean was growing more and more concerned at the lack of response. Had he taken too long? Had Sam fallen victim to Doctor Ellicott? Dean’s heart pounded as he pushed through a ragged curtain. “Sam? Sam!”

        He glanced back at Bucky, who nodded his head to the left, showing he’d take the next turn. As Dean turned around, he jumped back in fright and automatically raised his shotgun as Sam seemed to appear right in front of him.

              “Man, answer me when I’m calling you! You alright?”

              “Yeah. I’m fine.” Sam frowned, glancing behind Dean to where Bucky had come to a stop a few feet behind, gun held loosely in his hands.

              “You know it wasn’t me who called your cell, right?” Dean asked, lowering the shotgun and letting out a sharp breath of relief. 

              “Yeah, I know. I think something lured me down here. Who’s this?” Sam nodded to Bucky, who, after a beat, stepped forward. 

              “This is Bucky. I found him face down in the dirt. Guy took a tumble through one of the floors after a run in with the melted face lady.” Dean explained as he looked Sam over, checking for injuries or anything out of the ordinary. Bucky raised a hand in greeting, but Sam barely acknowledged it. “Turns out the good doctor, who’s probably the one that lured you down here, was on the HYDRA pay role, sick bastard. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

        Sam shook his head. “No. How do you know it was him?” There was a moment when Sam glanced at Bucky, a moment where Bucky felt like the eyes boring into him from Sam Winchester were eyes he’d seen before. As soon as it happened though, the moment passed and Dean’s voice cut through any distraction. 

              “’Cause I found his log book. Apparently he was experimenting on his patients, awful stuff. Makes lobotomies look like a couple of aspirin. The riot? It was the patients rioting against him. Dr. Feelgood was working on some sort of, like, extreme rage therapy. He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger, then they would be cured of it. Instead, it only made them worse and worse and angrier and angrier. So I’m thinking, what if his spirit is doing the same thing? To the cop? To the kids in the seventies, making them so angry they become homicidal.... Come on, we gotta find his bones and torch ’em.”

              “I’m sorry,” Bucky cut in, “torch his bones?”

              “Yeah,” cut back Sam, a little sharp, “burn the bones, kill the spirit.” He turned back to Dean. “The police never found his body. “

              “Yeah, I know. The log book said he had some sort of hidden procedure room down here somewhere where he’d work on his patients. So, if I was a patient, I’d drag his ass down here, do a little work on it myself.” Dean’s exploratory roaming of the room ended when he opened another door. He glanced inside, then gestured with his head for Sam and Bucky to follow. 

              “I told you I looked everywhere. I didn’t find a hidden room,” Sam insisted as they headed deeper into the office. Bucky hung back near the door, not wanting to intrude on something he wasn’t fully equipped to handle. That and being here, down in this room, gave him a sickening sense of familiarity. Like he’d breathed this air before and seen these walls before they became stained with dirt and grime.

              “Well, that’s why they call it hidden...” Dean replied, a twinge of sarcasm lacing his tone before he paused and turned on the spot towards a muffled sound of wind coming from one wall. “You hear that?”

              “What?” Sam took a step away from Dean as he crouched down near the wall and ran his hand over an invisible seam. Air rushed around his fingers and Deam smirked, triumphant.

              “There’s a door here.”

        As Dean pressed his fingers into the wood to try and work out how to open the door, Sam spun on the spot and aimed his gun at Bucky. Bucky didn’t have time to react in the split second Sam moved and opened fire, the blast hitting Bucky clean in the chest and sending him crashing back into the other room. Just as quickly, Sam turned the weapon back on Dean. “Step back from the door.”

        Dean flinched sharply at the gunshot, but the gun halted his sharp rise to his feet. He looked from the barrel, up to Sam’s face, then behind his shoulder to where Bucky had been standing.

              “Sam, put the gun down.”

              “Is that an order?” Sam scoffed, the weapon twitching in his hands.

              “Nah,” Dean shook his head casually, “more a friendly request.” He stood slowly, cautious, as Sam kept the gun level with Dean’s rising chest.

              “I’m getting pretty tired of taking your orders,” said Sam.

              “I knew it. Ellicott did something to you.”

              “For once in your life,” Sam said, voice raising and tight with anger, “just shut your mouth!”

              “What are you gonna do, Sam? Gun’s filled with rock salt. It’s not gonna kill me and Bucky ain’t gonna take too kindly to gettin’ shot.”

        Without warning, Sam shot Dean too. The shot hit him square in the chest, sending him backwards through the hidden door and crashing down onto the floor.

              “No,” Sam breathed deeply, as if trying to calm the anger within, “But it will hurt like hell.”

***

        Dean woke with a start, sucking in a few painful gasps of air and slowly pushing himself up onto an elbow.

              “Sam!”

        Sam stood over, gun in hand and a dark, sharp look in his eyes. This wasn’t going well. Dean took another tight, painful breath and glanced around the room they’d crashed into, spotting Bucky down on the floor near one of the over-turned gurneys. He looked like he was still out of it, but after a beat, Dean could see a subtle shift in Bucky’s shoulder indicating that he was still breathing. His attention switched back to Sam with a soft grunt.

              “We gotta burn Ellicott’s bone and all this will be over, and you’ll be back to normal.”

              “I am normal,” Sam snapped, “I’m just telling the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? ’Cause you’re following Dad’s orders like a good little solider? Because you always do what he says without question? Are you that desperate for his approval?!”

              “This isn’t you talking, Sam,” Dean tried, but he felt the sting of those words. The bubbling concern in the background that his father hadn’t been here, that they’d just been sent to a spot to clean up a mess and all he could do was trust that doing this would help John with whatever he was fighting with.

              “That’s the difference between you and me,” replied Sam, “I have a mind of my own. I’m not pathetic, like you.”

              “So what are you gonna do, huh? Are you gonna kill me?” Dean asked, annoyed and shifting subtly to reach behind him. Fingers curled around the handle of his weapon.

              “You know what? I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We’re no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago.”

              “Well, then here,” Dean sighed and pulled out his gun, barrel down and offered it up to Sam. “Let me make it easier for you. Come on. Take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt.” Sam paused, confliction flickering over his face as he hesitated. Dean shook the weapon upwards. “Take it!!” 

        After a beat, Sam took the gun and pointed it at Dean’s face.

              “You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger. Do it!”

        Dean’s taunting ended when Sam did pull the trigger. While the chamber clicked empty, Dean felt a punch of despair in his chest. Having Sam standing above him? Trying to kill him? Not a good feeling. Sam tried to pull the trigger again, and again as Dean climbed to his feet. As Sam got distracted by the gun and its inability to fire, Dean punched him hard right across the face. Sam crumpled to the ground and Dean moved to stand over him, eyes hard.

              “Man, I’m not going to give you a loaded pistol!” Dean delivered another vicious punch to Sam, knocking his brother out cold and nearly falling back over in the process. Regaining his balance, he patted Sam on the shoulder, “Sorry Sammy,” and turned his attention to where Bucky was slumped in the far corner.

              “Poor guy,” Dean muttered under his breath as he closed the gap between them reached for the other man. All it took was another touch and Bucky jolted awake with a gasp that quickly turned into a coughing fit. Bucky looked around wildly for a few seconds before his gaze settled on Dean and he squinted up at him.

              “Dean? Your brother is he—?” His words trailed off as he spotted Sam slumped on the ground near the door. “Shit. Your brother’s a bit of a dick.”

              “Nah,” Dean shook his head, offering Bucky his hand and helping him up to his feet, “That ain’t Sammy. Not inside. Dr. Ellicott musta got to him before we did. He’s influencing his mind so we gotta find those bones and burn them. You okay?” Dean glanced up and down Bucky, noting the shreds in his jacket showing where the salt blast had hit him, but it didn’t look like he was injured too badly. Dean’s gaze lifted higher to the head wound, and he winced inwardly, noting that thankfully it didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.

              “Yeah,” Bucky nodded, hands moving to his hips as he took a few controlled breaths, “The hell did he shoot me with?”

              “Rock salt,” Dean answered, “gets rid of spirits hella quick. Doesn’t kill them, but it’ll give you time. That and pure iron.” He patted Bucky’s shoulder before turning his attention to the room they had found themselves in. 

        As Dean stepped away to check out more of the room, Bucky leaned back against one counter and sighed. This was becoming so much more than he had bargained for. He glanced around, half following Dean’s path and half monitoring Sam should he decide to wake up and try to shoot him again. The room itself wasn’t sparking much in his mind, but the gurney on the floor, the heavy leather straps, the pictures he’d seen of the instruments and what he knew of HYDRA techniques; he had definitely been here. It was painful to think that he had spent time here, mindless and lost, at the whims of a fucked up Doctor working out whatever desires he had on his mind. Hearing that the Doctor was still around in some ethereal form made his stomach twist, just like HYDRA to keep coming back from the dead to reign terror.

        Dean’s exploration ended when he noticed a tuft of something poking out of the corner of a closed cupboard. He moved closer and opened the door to reveal a mummified corpse stuffed inside. The smell made him gag and Dean stepped backwards with a groan.

              “Oh, that’s just gross.”

              “Serves him right,” Bucky muttered from across the room and Dean gave a half nod in agreement. He certainly had no sympathy for the monster doctor. Rummaging in his pockets, he located his container of salt and flicked it open, salting the corpse with big dustings of the stuff.

              “Soak it up, you bastard.” Dean poured the salt until it was empty, dropping the container and reaching for a small tin of kerosene to start the fire. As he worked, Bucky noticed a slight drop in temperature and the Dean’s torch flickered in and out.

              “Dean?” Bucky asked uncertain, pushing himself off from the cabinet and taking a few steps closer to the other. As he did so, a figure flickered in front of him. A figure with haggard, sunken eyes, a long white coat torn at the seams, and grey flesh ripped across his features.

              “Barnes…” The figure drawled, and Bucky’s blood ran cold. As Bucky reached for his gun, a gurney came flying across the room and crashed into Dean, knocking him to the ground with a cry. Dr. Ellicott flickered away from Bucky’s sight and reappeared over Dean, grabbing at his face.

                    “Don’t be afraid. I’m going to help you. I’m going to make you all better.”

        Dean yelled out in pain, his back arching off the ground as he did so and, with one hand, he scrambled to reach for his bag and search for his lighter. His fingers scrabbled against the straps, missing as Dr. Ellicott’s grip on him got tighter and tighter, compressing his skull to the point he was sure his head was about to burst. Just as another cry of pain curled out of Dean’s mouth, Dr. Ellicott let him go and stumbled backwards in surprise. His ghost turned black and charred before it collapsed backwards and crumbled on impact with the ground. Dean propped himself up, panting to see Bucky standing over the burning corpse, matches in hand.

              “Salt and burn… right?”

        Dean let out a laugh and sagged back down onto the ground with a groan. To his left, Sam jolted awake with a cry, sitting up and immediately reaching for his aching jaw.

              “You’re not going to try to kill me, are ya?” Dean asked.

              “No,” Sam gingerly pressed his fingers to his jaw and groaned, “no I’m not,”

              “Good, ‘cause that would be awkward,” Dean said with a sigh before he frowned, “and what the heck is a Barnes?”

***

        Outside the Asylum, Bucky was propped up on the bonnet of the car while Dean applied the rest of some medical tape to hold down the gauze placed over his wound.

              “You should really get this checked out,” Dean instructed, glancing over Bucky’s head to watch Sam say goodbye to Kat and Gavin. “Hey!” he yelled to them, “No more haunted asylums, okay?”

              “I’ll be alright,” Bucky replied, fighting the urge to wince away from the contact as Dean’s fingers smoothed down the last of the tape, “besides, the last medical center I went to was haunted and I got shot in the chest by a bunch of salt. I’m not ready to face another one.”

        Dean let out a chuckle as Sam called over a sorry while loading Dean’s bag into the trunk.

              “Alright well, thanks for your help back there. Not many people handle ghost sightings as well as that,” Dean said, his hands dropping from Bucky’s face, but he doesn’t step away, not yet. There wasn’t an actual reason for lingering in Bucky’s personal space for a few extra seconds, but he does it anyway. Bucky didn’t seem to mind either. “You sure you’re not a Hunter?”

              “Nah,” Bucky shook his head and lifted a hand to inspect the gauze and tape with his own fingers, “HYDRA have pulled enough shit over the years that somehow angry spirits and vengeful doctors seem right up their alley. While that isn’t something I’m used to, HYDRA is.”

        Dean made a noise in agreement before stepping away to wrap up the pocket medical kit. Bucky pushed himself off the bonnet and straightened his jacket, making a mournful noise at the holes now decorating the leather.

              “Well,” Dean cleared his throat and gave a half shrug of one shoulder as Bucky moved past him, “Don’t go crashing that bike now, it’s a thing of beauty.” Bucky let out a warm laugh then, and Dean couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth at the sound.

              “Trust me, I’ve been through worse and still made it out on that thing. Take care of yourself Dean, it was, uh… interesting, to meet you,” Bucky grinned and there was a playful flint in his eye. It was his turn to put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeeze before he moved away down the car.

              “Sorry again for the…” Sam waved his hand over Bucky’s chest in apology and Bucky waved him off with a smile.

              “Don’t sweat it. Take care, guys.”

        Dean’s lips parted for a moment, something on the tip of his tongue that doesn’t make it past his lips; an invitation to hang around, an offer to give his number in case he ran into anything else supernatural, anything really, but the words didn’t come and Dean’s mouth closed again. They watched as Bucky jogged across the street and slipped onto his bike and Dean felt a tug of understanding as Bucky gave the bike an affection pat. 

        Starting the engine, Bucky pulled the helmet over his face, shoved the visor down and revved the engine. There was a moment, though, as he sat there feeling the engine hum between his thighs, that he thought about saying one more thing. But the moment passed and Bucky simply gave one more wave before roaring off down the street.

              “Hey, Dean?”

        Dean had moved to the driver’s side door, but he paused at Sam’s request.

              “I’m sorry man, I said some awful things back there.”

              “You remember all that?” Dean asked, surprised.

              “Yeah. It’s like I couldn’t control it. But I didn’t mean it, any of it.” Sam sighed, a sad smile crossing his features.

              “You didn’t, huh?”

              “No, of course not! Do we need to talk about this?”

              “No,” replied Dean as he pulled open the car door, “I’m not really in the sharing and caring kinda mood. I just wanna get some sleep.” As Dean was about to slide into the car, he glanced back down the road they’d just seen Bucky disappear down, and his shoulders dropped a little.

              “You liked that guy, huh?” Sam offered, a small smile creeping up.

              “He was a cool guy,” Dean shrugged before catching the look on Sam’s face, “oh shut up and get in the car.”