Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - Impaled
All around Bucky and Yelena, the field was chaos—flashes of plasma, the metallic shriek of armor, the hiss of laser blades slicing the air. The castle (of all things, a fucking castle) loomed over it all, spires twisting like bones reaching for a red sky.
Above it all, the Architect watched from one of the broken ramparts, chin propped on her hand like a bored queen. Knights of light and metal obeyed her will with eerie precision, moving not as individuals but as extensions of a single mind. Every fallen soldier blinked out of existence the instant their bodies hit the ground—recycled energy, reshaped elsewhere. The battlefield itself was alive, bending to her amusement.
Somewhere in that madness, the Architect watched them.
Bucky didn’t have time to care. He ducked a blast, rolled behind a crumbling statue, and came up firing. His rifle kicked against his shoulder—three shots, clean and measured. The first two dropped a knight. The third went wide. He was slowing down. He knew it.
Across the field, Sam’s wings flared, catching firelight as he dove low to grab Walker, who’d gone down hard. Yelena sprinted past Bucky, firing short bursts from her pistols as she ran. Behind them, glowing sparks formed a circle—Strange’s portal. It was how they’d gotten into this hellhole, and it was their only way out.
To the east, Strange and Hulk were already retreating toward that fading tear in the air—their offense in ruins. Strange clutched his arm, drained and nearly powerless, while Bruce stumbled behind him, fully human. The Architect had easily stripped them both bare of their powers—not to kill, but to watch them flail.
Bucky had a moment to wonder how the portal was still open, then had to blast another stone knight.
“We’re falling back!” Sam shouted over comms. “Move, move!”
“Not gonna argue with that,” Yelena muttered, sliding into cover beside Bucky. She reloaded fast, hands steady, eyes alive. She’d found her purpose again, he realized. Wish I could say the same.
He nodded once, breath ragged. “Go. I’ll cover.”
Yelena rolled her eyes. “No, we move together.”
The ground trembled. There was a sound like the air tearing itself apart. Bucky looked up just in time to see more knights rising from the earth. One took aim, a sleek weapon glowing an unnatural violet. He barely had time to shove Yelena down before the shot hit him.
The impact slammed through his back and out his chest like a sledgehammer. He stumbled forward, dropped to one knee, and stared down at the thing embedded in him: a spear with a hook on it. Shit. What kind of knights had light-up spear guns? Before he could react, it jerked him backward and off his feet.
They were reeling him in like a fish.
He roared in pain, drove his metal arm into the dirt, and held on. The spear yanked again, wrenching his shoulder, tearing through muscle. He was strong—a super soldier—but even still, he could feel it pulling him apart.
“Bucky!” Yelena’s voice was sharp, furious. “Hold still!”
“It’s not like I’ve got anywhere to go!”
She popped up, fired three clean shots. The knight dropped his weapon and the tension on the line slackened, but the spear stayed buried in his chest. She ran to him, already pulling a knife from her belt.
High above, the Architect tilted her head, curious. The man with the metal arm refused to break even as blood soaked the field beneath him. She whispered, and half the remaining knights froze mid-stride. They weren’t there to win; they were there to find a new toy. She’d thought a new Doctor Strange would be a fitting new prize to add to her collection, but he’d proven fairly boring once stripped of his powers. Really not much different from the Strange she’d already broken. Running that experiment could be fun. She’d get to note the differences in Doctor Strange variants. But running experiments on a new subject, that was too enticing to pass up.
She watched the man on the field struggling and failing to stand.
“Don’t,” Bucky rasped, breath coming in gasps. “If you pull it, I’ll bleed out.”
She froze, eyes flicking from his face to the wound. “Then what? We stay here and die slower?”
“No. I stay here. Get to the portal. Now.”
Her jaw tightened. “No.”
Behind them, the portal shimmered and grew smaller. Strange was yelling something, his voice cracking with effort. Sam’s silhouette flashed toward the portal, carrying Walker on one shoulder.
“Yelena! Bucky! Move it!” Sam’s voice brooked no argument.
Who died and left him in charge? Bucky looked down at the metal impaling his chest. Oh yeah. Looked like that’d be him soon.
Yelena’s hand hovered near the spear. She looked at Bucky—really looked at him. Hurt and desperate like this, Bucky felt like she could suddenly see him for who he was: a man who’d run out of wars to survive. It was what he saw every day in the mirror.
He managed a tired grimace. “Told you, I’m bad luck.”
She cursed in Russian, and before he could stop her, she tried to yank the spear free.
The world exploded in pain. His vision went white, then gray, then red. Yelena maneuvered him onto his back, shouting, pressing down around the spear in his chest. It was still there. She’d only pulled it through a little further. Blood slicked her gloves. He wanted to tell her to stop wasting her time.
“What’s happening?” Sam demanded. “Get back to the portal, Bucky!”
“He can’t,” Yelena yelled back, though she didn’t need to yell with the earpiece. “He’s hit.” She looked down. “Stay with me, Bucky. We need your help, Sam!”
“Bucky?” The earpiece let him hear the edge in Sam’s voice. “Get him up, Yelena! The portal’s closing!”
Bucky blinked up at the blood-red clouds, every muscle shaking, struggling to breathe through the pain. Yelena was above him, hands covered in his blood, whispering Russian curses he wished he didn’t understand.
The castle doors groaned open, and light poured out. The Architect stepped into view at last, barefoot in the battlefield’s ash, expression bright with amusement.
“Yelena!” Sam’s voice cut out as the portal’s swirling arc grew smaller. “We can’t come back here! Get through the portal!” Then there was nothing but static.
Yelena kept her eyes on his. “You’re gonna be fine,” she lied. “You hear me? You’re not dying here.”
He gave a rough laugh that gurgled. Blood in his lungs. Not good. “You’ve got… a terrible… bedside manner.”
“Shut up.” She pressed harder on the wound.
He gasped. He wished he could say something sarcastic back, cover the pain. Instead, he settled for, “You… should have… run.”
“And leave you to have all the fun taking down the Architect? Not a chance.”
Above them, the woman on the hill wore the smile of a god pleased with her new toys.