Numb.

That was the only word for it.

You were numb from the very moment Fury walked you out of the Compound.

You weren't sure how things had gone so wrong overnight, but 24 hours ago, you were on the couch watching movies with Bucky's arm draped around you. And now you'd never see him again.

You didn't even have anything to remember him by. You wonder how long he'd remain a clear picture in your memory, would his steel blue eyes fade from your recollection while the memories remained fresh in your mind? Would you remember the feeling that came in all those stolen moments? Or would you always be able to picture it? You didn't know. You didn't know anything anymore.

You remained silent in the car as you drove away from everything and everyone you knew.

Soon you were on a small plane, flying with unfamiliar SHIELD agents and Fury as they carted you off to an unknown location. You shove your hands in your jean jacket, the one Sam bought for you your first week with him. Your first real article of clothing- You stop that thought in its tracks. You couldn't think about that because you knew if you did, you'd start crying and you weren't sure that you'd ever be able to stop.

The moment you shove your hands in your pocket, you feel an unfamiliar metal object. Flat, cool, engraved- you don't even have to look to know what they are, you'd seen them on him enough times to know what they'd feel like.

Bucky's dog tags.

You weren't sure when he'd slid those in your pocket, but the smallest smile tugs at your lips at you at being able to hold onto a piece of him.

You're only half paying attention when a hand forcefully tugs you off the plane seat. In your peripheral you see Fury scowl at the man and bark a warning, but the agent only lets up the slightest bit.

You vaguely hear someone mention that they had to check you for any personal possessions. You nod absently, keeping the metal painfully pressed against you so they wouldn't find it as they patted you down. You hear Fury reminding the agent that you weren't a prisoner and that you shouldn't be treated like one.

The frisk thankfully ended without issue. You sigh in relief, internally smiling as you'd get to keep one thing from Bucky.

Then, Fury murmured his own goodbyes, this one not so permanent, but something told you that you wouldn't be seeing him for quite some time either. Your jaw tightens as you watch him reluctantly walk away from you and you wipe away the silent tears trailing down your face.

Then another agent grabs your arm, tugging you away again.

It goes on like that for a while. A series of trade offs and unfamiliar corridors as the distance between you and anything familiar keeps increasing. No one says anything to you, offers any pleasantry, no one even asks you your name.

Then you're lead into another corridor where a friendlier, very talkative agent greets you. She doesn't grip your arm, just gently guides you down the dimly lit concrete corridors. "You know, I've seen footage of some of your mission and I have to say, I'm a big fan. I think you-"

You offer a small smile, politely nodding along, but not quite paying attention as she recaps missions you'd actually lived. Moments you'd lived with the ones you loved most- people you'd never see again.

"You don't have anything on you, right? I know we checked, but protocol," the agent shrugs.

You say nothing, only slightly shaking your head in worry that she'll be able to sense your lie. You needed to hold onto this, if this was all you could get you'd cling to it.

She nods, content with your answer and continues talking about your moments with the Avengers. It's clear she's well-intentioned, but the walk down memory lane feels a lot more like salt in the wound than nostalgic reminiscence.

Right up until she stops in front of an unremarkable steel door.

She scans her card, ushering you into the small room- you freeze as she walks you inside the room. The parallels make your palms sweaty, your heart race with unease- you can't help but notice: it's almost exactly the size and layout of the room from before.

"Is there any way you can leave the door open? Or can we find a bigger room?" you meekly ask, already feeling suffocated in the small briefing room.

"Sorry," the agent winces apologetically. "Protocol. Well, I guess you would understand that better than anyone with all that bureaucratic crap SHIELD put Wilson through the last two months with your relocation-"

"What?" you shakily exhale, the meek, polite smile on your face slowly dropping as you feel the remains of your broken heart shattering.

The agent's voice sounds distant and you've almost completely tuned out what she's saying as your mind replays her words. "I mean, he tried, but honestly the whole thing was rigged from the start. And maybe I'm not supposed to say this, but they'd really already made up their mind. The whole thing was just for appearance's sake."

You sharply inhale, the agent unaware of the mental turmoil building in your head after she unknowingly revealed the truth. You're not even pretending to listen to the agent's rambling as your mind pieces together the new information.

You weren't blindsided.

Sam wasn't blindsided.

Was Bucky blindsided? He seemed as shocked as you were, but evidently you weren't a good judge of these things.

Apparently, this had been a long ordeal. And you were none the wiser.

"Anyway, someone will come by to brief you on your relocation. It was nice to meet you."

You absently nod, staring at the wall as your mind finally allows you to think the words: he knew.

"He knew," you whisper to yourself, your breaths quickly becoming ragged. One of your hands reaches for the wall to try to steady yourself as the room starts swirling around you, while the other flies to your chest in a futile attempt to ground yourself.

As you continue your tailspin, your masochistic, traitorous mind keeps playing it all back:

-

You wordlessly smile at Sam as he pulls up to the curb. You hesitantly open the car door as Sam ran around to the passenger side of the car. He points at the little brownstone, "At least they've got us in a nice place."

You smile, not fully understanding what he meant. He offers you another smile before nudging his head for you to follow him. You walk up the steps taking in the scenery of the bustling neighborhood. As you walk through the door with him, he says, "Welcome home."

You remember thinking that it did indeed feel like home.

-

"You really like the city, huh?"

"It's pretty."

"What, the snow?" Sam asks.

You nod, continuing to stare out the window.

"The first snowfall is all pretty until it turns into sludge that gets in your shoes," Sam comments watching you watch the first snowfall of the winter in New York. The first snowfall you'd ever seen.

"I've never seen so many people before," you quietly marvel, watching the stone faced pedestrians tightly bundled up in their winter coats.

He smiles at your sweet, positive disposition and wide eyed gaze. "You know, you make me like the city like 100 times more. Sometimes I forget how good it can be."

-

"Ugh, I hate it down here."

"Why?" you question, your voice filled with excitement.

"Because it's nasty down here. And loud as hell."

"You mean to tell me there's a place that can take you anywhere you want in the city, at any time, and sometimes there's even people playing music for free- and you don't like it?"

"Well, when you put it like that it sounds cool as hell," he grumbles.

"It is cool," you insist, watching the train quickly screech to a halt in front the platform.

"There's rats down here."

"Okay, a little less cool," you concede, chuckling as the two of you board the train.

-

All those moments you thought would last forever, all gone.

And he knew the entire time. He knew you were getting sent away. How long had he known- or had this been the plan the entire time?

All your mind can think was that it was never really there, just some elaborate ruse you created because you desperately craved something you never had. That thought breaks you in a way you didn't think you could be broken anymore.

Those cracks in the foundation, no longer seemed like cracks as your final thread of sanity snaps. Those cracks now seemed insurmountable and those moments that built you, the very structure you once proudly stood on turned out to be gilded and paper thin. The moments you believed in- that you believed if you held on tightly enough could strengthen you, were all lies. It's the only thing that adds up. You fell for smoke and mirrors.

You'd walked through hell before, but this, this was an entirely new beast. A new version of hell that you could've never imagined.

You were simply an assignment, and he'd wiped his hands of you, just like Rumlow said he would. You were always just an assignment to him- it's the only conclusion you can come to.

And maybe if they weren't gone, they'd be able to reel you back in, to catch you before you fell headfirst into that familiar dark abyss. To tell you it wasn't true- but they weren't and all you can feel is the sharp sting of betrayal beyond any and all rational thought.

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, because now those cherished memories aren't just gone. They never really existed.

Driving in the passenger seat with Bucky with the music blaring and all the windows rolled down.

That night on the rooftop.

All the laughs on the Quinjet.

The countless missions with Sam and Bucky.

It wasn't real. You were never one of them. It was all a lie.

Your stomach twists painfully as tears begin spilling onto your cheeks. Maybe you'd asked for too much- maybe they were never supposed to be your family. Maybe it wasn't normal to give pieces of your heart to people that never planned on staying. And it hurts, that there might've always been a part of him that was ready to leave you behind.

The pain starts to overwhelm your senses and paralyzes your capacity to think straight.

You clutch the wall, desperately trying to hold yourself up. The small window in the debrief room shatters, your emotional turmoil becoming a physical manifestation of your abilities.

"What the hell?" you hear a guard call from outside the door, obviously having heard the loud shattering. As the handle begins jostling, a large burst of air snaps the door shut before anyone can enter. Without thinking, you crush the small keypad, leaving you without a way out or anyone else a way in.

Locked in a small room, no one left in your life- you were right back where you started. Right back at square 1.

Sam had told you many times in your stay with him that you weren't dumb. That you were smart and capable, but in this moment, you felt so incredibly stupid. You should've seen it. Or at least seen it coming. It was always a losing game for you. You were never meant to come out unscathed.

The masterpiece was simply an illusion.

You clutch at the sides of your head, practically pulling at your hair as your legs give out beneath you. You drag yourself back to the door, silent sobs racking through your entire body as you try to plead for someone to let you out.

And suddenly it's like you're a child again.

You bang on the door, but no words come to mind as you silently beg, plead with your entire being to be let out. But you're so far gone, you can barely hear the thumping on the other side of the door as you continue begging.

One last bang sends large cracks through the cement wall, a large indent in the metal door where you pounded your fist.

When you do find your voice, still no words remain, just screaming wails of desperation and hurt.

The first time, the ceiling begins to concave above you.

The second time, you bring it down, not quite burying yourself with rubble, but enough that you still can't escape. Not that you were in a state of mind to plot much of an escape.

The third time, you can hear people screaming- about the large fire starting amongst the rubble, the building coming down. You can't hear their warnings, still lost in your tailspin. But you can feel the temperature begin to rise around you, wind swirling as you completely lose control of your faculties.

As you lose yourself.