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Character: James "Bucky" Barnes &
Time period: Post-CA: TWS
Warnings: Obsessive Bucky on the loose.
At first, independence had seemed like one of his better ideas, but he had begun to revise his opinion once he had verified certain truths, taken noted of the factions searching for him, and realizing that the world was a wide landscape where a man could get lost. After he had rearmed himself from the bodies of two Hydra agents, a drug dealer, and a gang banger, he had come to realize that slipping away, hiding, being nothing at all was very easy, too easy.
He had been built on the foundation of a command structure for more than seventy years. Even before the blurred vagueness of falling, he knew order and military command. Aside from mashed up images, feelings and impressions, he knew that he had to have some manner of structure in his life. With no more commands down the line, he loitered, slipping through the shadows on Washington for awhile, finding the unsavoury places and people, leaving a few bodies in his wake and not particularly caring that they were found and televised either. A weapon bared he moved through the chaos at first because it was all he knew, listless for anything but the violence he had played a role in for so long. It lost it's purpose without the trigger of structure.
His world stagnated as he avoided those who hunted him, and he cared little for the lives he took when they found him. They came to command him because they thought he would simply bow to old standards, that he would go back to being his code name if they applied even electricity to his brain. They hadn't earned the right to command him. They were weaker than he, hadn't even survived a single encounter when he decided to throw his weight back at them. They were weak men, lost in words and hiding behind guns and dying in the shadows of buildings and trees.
Slowly, resolution began to form from the ashes of his lost command structure. He decided he would allow himself to be commanded again, that he yearned to be commanded by someone with the strength of both character and body to overtake him or at least bow him slightly with respect. Pierce had been like that, he reflected. The man hadn't needed to physically harm him to command his respect, though he remembered well being struck when he required the prompt. A few others had commanded a similar reaction deep in his guts, and his attention snapped over to them. One at a time, he decided. One searched, the other could be found if he looked.
He had been lost for a few months, considering leaving to go to Brooklyn for more pieces of an old puzzle, but he was drawn back into Washington because beating information out of a SHIELD agent had satisfied him that he would get what he wanted. As a ghost story, he knew that the only way to get proper attention was to do something not only obvious but dramatic. His depth of dramatic no doubt would be very different from others that he knew existed, but like a well-trained dog returning to his master, he knew how to get the attention that was needed to invite a recall command.
Hydra agents were not easy to find in large quantities in Washington anymore, most arrested or underground and hiding. It took him two days to find a nest of the vipers, using the old underground tunnels that he knew well. He'd ended them to prove he might not be under command, but it was something worth earning given his skills. Their bodies were left in obvious Hydra uniforms and symbols and piled high in front of the Smithsonian. As if the symbol of his loyalty degradation wasn't enough, none of the corpses had heads, and he had piled them in such a way that he could sit atop the whole mess and lounge there as obvious as the start of a new day.
Media and police were one thing, not that interesting, but he let them think they had command of him for a moment. Let them show his face around for SHIELD and Hydra and them to know he was here. Meaningless orders were ignored, people's reactions only earned a turning of his cheek in dismissal before he knew that the police presence would be a problem to slip away from. Instead he slipped from his lounging perch to ignore warnings and breaking into the Smithsonian because it suited him there. It seemed a fitting place to bow to the command of someone worthy.
Time period: Post-CA: TWS
Warnings: Obsessive Bucky on the loose.
At first, independence had seemed like one of his better ideas, but he had begun to revise his opinion once he had verified certain truths, taken noted of the factions searching for him, and realizing that the world was a wide landscape where a man could get lost. After he had rearmed himself from the bodies of two Hydra agents, a drug dealer, and a gang banger, he had come to realize that slipping away, hiding, being nothing at all was very easy, too easy.
He had been built on the foundation of a command structure for more than seventy years. Even before the blurred vagueness of falling, he knew order and military command. Aside from mashed up images, feelings and impressions, he knew that he had to have some manner of structure in his life. With no more commands down the line, he loitered, slipping through the shadows on Washington for awhile, finding the unsavoury places and people, leaving a few bodies in his wake and not particularly caring that they were found and televised either. A weapon bared he moved through the chaos at first because it was all he knew, listless for anything but the violence he had played a role in for so long. It lost it's purpose without the trigger of structure.
His world stagnated as he avoided those who hunted him, and he cared little for the lives he took when they found him. They came to command him because they thought he would simply bow to old standards, that he would go back to being his code name if they applied even electricity to his brain. They hadn't earned the right to command him. They were weaker than he, hadn't even survived a single encounter when he decided to throw his weight back at them. They were weak men, lost in words and hiding behind guns and dying in the shadows of buildings and trees.
Slowly, resolution began to form from the ashes of his lost command structure. He decided he would allow himself to be commanded again, that he yearned to be commanded by someone with the strength of both character and body to overtake him or at least bow him slightly with respect. Pierce had been like that, he reflected. The man hadn't needed to physically harm him to command his respect, though he remembered well being struck when he required the prompt. A few others had commanded a similar reaction deep in his guts, and his attention snapped over to them. One at a time, he decided. One searched, the other could be found if he looked.
He had been lost for a few months, considering leaving to go to Brooklyn for more pieces of an old puzzle, but he was drawn back into Washington because beating information out of a SHIELD agent had satisfied him that he would get what he wanted. As a ghost story, he knew that the only way to get proper attention was to do something not only obvious but dramatic. His depth of dramatic no doubt would be very different from others that he knew existed, but like a well-trained dog returning to his master, he knew how to get the attention that was needed to invite a recall command.
Hydra agents were not easy to find in large quantities in Washington anymore, most arrested or underground and hiding. It took him two days to find a nest of the vipers, using the old underground tunnels that he knew well. He'd ended them to prove he might not be under command, but it was something worth earning given his skills. Their bodies were left in obvious Hydra uniforms and symbols and piled high in front of the Smithsonian. As if the symbol of his loyalty degradation wasn't enough, none of the corpses had heads, and he had piled them in such a way that he could sit atop the whole mess and lounge there as obvious as the start of a new day.
Media and police were one thing, not that interesting, but he let them think they had command of him for a moment. Let them show his face around for SHIELD and Hydra and them to know he was here. Meaningless orders were ignored, people's reactions only earned a turning of his cheek in dismissal before he knew that the police presence would be a problem to slip away from. Instead he slipped from his lounging perch to ignore warnings and breaking into the Smithsonian because it suited him there. It seemed a fitting place to bow to the command of someone worthy.
no subject
"So why come here?"
no subject
"I was living in a time where I belonged for awhile," he said simply. "And making a statement, not as broad as yours taking out SHIELD and Hydra, but all the same."
no subject
It was too much.
"Yeah because that worked out so well didn't it?
Steve sighed and slid down the wall. "What are you really doing here?"
no subject
He didn't sit but hovered close, his expression one of concern even as his eyes flicked around to assess the level of danger to where they were.
"Does it bother you to know you're free of lies?" He shifted at the question and then slowly moved to a crouch in front of Steve. "Waiting for you."
no subject
Steve looked up at his friend then.
"Although, I wondered why you bothered to save me if you are just going to kill me now?"
Steve glanced up quickly, "I'm sick of being fucking used," He said bitterly. "Everything I thought I knew was based on a lie. How would you feel?"
no subject
"I'm not going to kill you," he said slowly, his eyes half-lidding almost casually. "I drew you here to protect you. Hydra is out there, but I've got your back."
There was a twist of odd euphoria as the opening to insert himself in completely just seemed to present itself. If he wasn't already crouching, he might have sat down next to Steve to be close, but he had committed himself to cool, calmness, and he would stick to that. "You're belief was never a lie. Remember what you believed." A look of confusion flashed across his face at the question relating his opinion, his feelings. "I was empty, a blade laid bare... you are strong. You'll make your way; I'll... help you."
no subject
"That's bullshit and you know it," Steve said, as he looked up at the Winter Soldier. "My belief was in a system that never existed. It was based on a lie. I can't lie. I am Captain Fucking America," He said bitterly.
"Yeah? How are you going to help me?"
no subject
"No, you're a symbol, and those need to live on," he said softly, his voice losing the cold hard edge that it normally had when he spoke. "Hydra doesn't deserve you or your death."
He shifted to rest his arms across his knees, peering at the other man, enjoying this talk more than he would have thought. It was delicious. "Your belief system came before you were Captain America. Don't forget it, and you will prevail as you always have."
He leaned forward intently as if he had been waiting for that very question. His hands shifted out to catch him on Steve's knees and they were almost nose-to-nose. "I will kill for you. I will protect you from shadows and light alike. I will be your rock so that you can be the symbol that you are."
no subject
He was a broken soul.
"Why me? Why go to the end of the line for me?" He asked quietly.
no subject
"Because you went the of the line for me," he said softly. He leaned in further and rested his forehead against Steve's. "We made a promise, and I intend to keep it."
no subject
"Why would you want to help me? I couldn't save you. I failed."
no subject
"We all make our choices, and to belittle the choice I made when I knew the risk is to refuse to acknowledge the sacrifice that I made," he whispered firmly. He knew only that he had fallen to cold and snow, but that he had known the risk going in. The time, the place, the reasons went beyond him. "I made a promise. Let me keep it. Let me kill for you."
no subject
"I never asked you to kill for me. Why would you want to do that for me?" Steve whispered, covering Bucky's hands with his own.
no subject
"You don't have to ask. I would do it for you, to protect you, to make you happy. So you don't have to," he whispered back, leaning in to nudge his nose against Steve's watching the man closely as he flexed his hands under his friend's.
no subject
The only thing he had was the soldier sitting in front of him.
"I need to get out of here for awhile. Do you have a place we can go?"
no subject
He looked around and then nodded. "I know of a few places we can hide out. It will have to be just us though, at least for a little while." He shifted as he rose and offered Steve a hand. "Come, I'll show you the way."
no subject
"Everything is so different now, maybe it's time for a different way, don't you think?"
no subject
He nodded his head and gestured as he turned and walked away from the entrance to head deeper into the Smithsonian. "Perhaps it's time for you to take command back and not listen to anyone else's orders again."
no subject
He sighed as he looked around, nodding slowly. "Fuck SHIELD, I am done taking orders. "Do you know where we are going?"
no subject
He nodding and began to walk away, leading the way to other parts of the Smithsonian. "It will just be us then," he murmured with a smirk. "Of course, I do. For now, an old Hydra house that's been empty for awhile. We can hole up there and then move to strike them as we please."
no subject
"You know that I would follow you to hell and back." Steve said softly. "So how are we getting out of here undetected?"
no subject
"With all our enemies, we might just find ourselves walking that path," he said softly. He was prepared for it, was even looking forward to it a bit. "The sewers."
no subject
"I hate water," He muttered softly, clutching his shield. He would follow this man into hell and back, but really did they have to trudge through water.
"Is there a second option?"
no subject
"It's more dangerous, but we can run," he said simply. "There is a side door, but it's about legging it from there and disappearing. Do you think you can disappear, Steve?"
no subject
"Are we safer in the sewers?"
(no subject)