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james barnes (freezerburn) wrote in entrywaythreads,

On Earth, Bucky had never really spent much time in a bar since being freed from HYDRA, because bars were only good if you could get drunk, and he couldn't. Or, rather, he got buzzy for a few seconds and then it slipped away again. He didn't know if that happened to Steve, too, or if Steve could get drunk all he wanted. What he knew was that bars weren't great places to hang out unless you were tracking somebody, and they went to one first. So he didn't spend time in bars on Earth.

But here in Purgatory, or Gehenna, or whatever the hell they called it, he found himself in bars a lot. Either someone was becoming mayor—and adding himself to Bucky's private and currently very short list of people to never, ever talk to, for fear that he might punch them out—or he was just sitting in a bar, nursing a single glass of the cheap shit that nobody cared about. He needed a job, and he'd found a few places he thought he could make do with. There was a car shop, and Bucky could fix a damn car. He'd done it back in the forties, he'd done it for HYDRA (okay, he'd done it for HYDRA one time, and after they realized he'd sabotage the car, he didn't get to do it anymore), and he could do it here. There was that weapons shop, too; he had a feeling he'd fit in there. But it left a vague feeling of unease under his skin, being in Purgatory and then selling weapons.

Weapons had gotten him to Hell-Adjacent. They sure as fuck weren't gonna get him out.

So he found a quiet little corner of this bar and was thinking over his options when the blonde came in and ordered. She drank it like she wanted to get drunk, and Bucky couldn't blame her. If he could have, he would have.

"You should try some Klingon bloodwine," he said, spinning the half-full glass between his metal hand and the flesh one. "If you're looking to get drunk, that'll knock you out."