the winter soldier (metallic) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2014-06-17 12:28:00 |
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Do it! Do it now! There was no hesitation to be found in Steve’s voice, and no hesitation in Maria’s answer. This had always been a possibility, from the first moment they began forming their plan. Not returning from this fight had been a possibility from the start, when Steve first realized what was really going on. He wasn't afraid. He hadn't been afraid when he’d been talking to Peggy over the radio while Schmidt’s plane plummeted, either. What he - and Natasha, Sam, Nick and Maria - had done that day was a good thing. They couldn't save everyone, but they could assure that more would be able to wake up the next morning and continue living their lives. That was more important; that was what he was here to do. The helicarrier rocked from explosions, and Steve fell against the handrail on the bridge, watching as metal and glass fell away. It was a long way down to the Potomac from where they were. If he could get down, if he could find the strength, maybe… A scream drew his attention from the river below him, and to his old friend, trapped underneath a large beam. Bucky. The helicarrier might have been crumbling around him, but Steve couldn't leave Bucky behind. He’d failed Bucky once before; he wasn't going to do it again. He picked up his shield and jumped down, clutching the wound on his stomach with his other hand. He was a wild animal, caught in a trap, and like all wild animals, he was desperate not to die. Both arms were pinned beneath the metal beams, and even if they weren't, the flesh arm was useless right now. His leg might not have been broken, but it was worthless. He was supposed to stop whatever Captain America had planned, and he'd failed. Being pinned with the glass beneath him, old fears began to resurface. The height itself was nerve-wracking in a way he didn't understand. His target dropped to his level, and all that the Asset could think was that he didn't want to die like a mouse in a trap. He wanted to go down fighting, if he had to, and after all that he had done to Captain America in the last few days, that was surely what was going to happen. He had been led to believe that he had no honor, that he had been in league with Nick Fury who stood in the way of Pierce's plans. Desperate, he began straining to lift the beam off him. The helicarrier jerked, Cap stumbled and clutched his side. The beam was way too heavy. If he had full mobility, maybe he could lift it just enough to inch out from under it. The crippled helicarrier pitched, losing altitude quickly. It was now or never. If Steve wanted to give them both a fighting chance, he had to get to them out of there quickly. The Triskelion couldn’t even stand up to the helicarrier. It had a gaping hole in its side now, its pristine walls crumbled in smoke and ash, and still the helicarrier fell. Ignoring his multiple injuries, Steve gripped the beam and lifted, straining to give Bucky just enough room to slide out from underneath. Once his friend’s legs were clear, Steve released the beam with a loud clang. “Bucky.” Steve was so tired. He was tired of fighting for a world that wasn't what he thought it was, or for one that maybe couldn’t be what Steve wanted it to be. “You know me.” This Captain America wasn't something the Asset could understand. He flipped onto his stomach, even as the beam came off his legs and the pressure was relieved, and used his metal arm, the only good one he had left, to drag himself out from under it. His throat burned, sharp pain cleaved his flesh arm in pieces so much so that he had to keep close to his body lest they set themselves on fire. The floor rocked as he got his bearings. The helicarriers were going down -- had gone down in most cases -- but he could salvage his mission. He could still kill Captain America, at least. He could do that, and get rid of that thorn in HYDRA's side for good. They wouldn't have to worry about him ever again, because he was sure that HYDRA wasn't dead. It would never be dead. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place. You know me. Something in the tone annoyed the fuck out of him. There was a split second in which the Winter Soldier screwed up his energy, and then he threw all of his weight into that metal arm of his. His voice was hoarse from screaming and disuse. "No, I don't!" Steve took the blow -- as he had for most of the ones Bucky had dealt out during their fight on the helicarrier -- and pushed himself back to his feet, not making any moves to fight back. Bucky could come at him all he wanted, but Steve wasn't going to fight anymore. He was here to make Bucky see the truth. If he only had one mission left, that was going to be it: to reach the man he knew was still inside. "Bucky," he said again, "you've known me your whole life." Something had to get through to him. Steve didn't believe in much anymore, but he believed in Bucky. Something had to get through. The back of Bucky's metal hand connected with Steve's face and knocked him down again. "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes." The Winter Soldier watched as Steve rocked around on his feet as the helicarrier began its slow descent. He wobbled on his own, never quite getting his footing because the whole place was spinning and shifting. Watching where you stepped took precedence; plates of glass were missing from the floor. Sparks and fires erupted all over. Memories that had been overwritten a hundred times were below the surface, gurgling and reaching out for him. They begged to be heard, to be saved, but no matter how much he tried to remember, they were out of his grasp. The name provoked him. No one had ever given him a name before, and yet this seemed familiar. Having a name had never seemed important, but now, it was the one thing he desperately wanting. A name, an identity, a story of his own. But his programming fought and fought hard. "SHUT UP! he howled as he undercutted right into Roger's gut. Maybe that would keep that fucking mouth of his shut. God, if he had a penny for every time Steve just wouldn't close his mouth, Bucky would be a rich -- No. That wasn't right. The impact knocked Steve down again, but he could tell he was getting through. There was a rage in Bucky's voice that hadn't been there before. If it didn't matter to Bucky, if his conditioning was so strong that what Sam had said about him was true, that Bucky wasn't the kind of man you could save, then there would have been no anger. There would have only been the mission. He would have been as straightforward as when he’d shot Fury: no hesitation, no room for error. This, though. This was different. Steve knew it. It had to be different. There had to be another way. He wouldn't give up yet. Not on Bucky. He wrenched his helmet off and stumbled as he attempted to regain his footing. Bucky wasn't coming at him again yet, so Steve took the opportunity to face him down. “I’m not going to fight you.” To prove it, he dropped his shield, but he didn't watch it fall. He stared straight at the man he’d grown up with, at the boy he’d shared a room with when they were young, the boy he’d gotten into trouble with, the boy who’d saved him from countless fist fights with boys much bigger and stronger than Steve had been. He looked at the metal arm, and all he could see was the young man who’d been there when his mother died. “You’re my friend,” he stated, “my best friend.” It was a glitch. The Asset -- Bucky -- no, the Asset despised confusion. Confusion made you hesitate. Confusion made your mission seem wrong. Confusion made you sit and stare at your handler until he backhanded you into submission. Confusion made you angry. He launched himself at Rogers, catching the defenseless man around the gut. His metal shoulder dug hard into the gunshot wound as he used every ounce of strength he had left and all of his weight to really make it hurt when Rogers's back slammed against the metal beam. The Asset used all of his weight to keep him where he wanted him as he sneered, "You're my mission." You are nothing to me. You will not get to me. This is a trick. You think that playing on my sympathies (I have none) will get you out of this, but it won't. I will make this hurt for as long as I can. That is what I was made for. That is what I was trained for. He said nothing of this, though, as his bionic arm pulled back again and again to land frantic punches on Rogers' face. The blood blooming was oddly satisfying, even if something in the back of his mind raged against this. "You." You know me. "Are." How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you. "My." You're my friend. "Mission." Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky was exhausted. His broken arm throbbed, his hair dangled in his face. Every time Rogers made to get up, he used the back of his hand to push him down again. For the first time in his very long career, the Winter Soldier hated his job. He was disgusted with himself and everything that he stood for. As he stared into the familiar face, he gave the man the dignity of having the final word. Steve’s face was swollen so much on one side already that he could barely open his eye, let alone speak clearly, but the person who needed to hear what he had to say was only inches away. Bucky could hear him, even over the explosions and the road of the failing engines. “Then finish it.” His words were partly a test, to see how far Bucky would take it. Steve believed that he was starting to get through, and he believed that his friend was still under there somewhere. He wasn't going to give up now, not when he was so close to breaking through, and if Steve were honest with himself, this was not a world he wanted to be in without Bucky. If Bucky took him out now, then Steve would know that he’d done the right thing. Millions of people would go home to their families and friends that evening, and wake up the next morning. That was a legacy he could be proud of. If he was going down, he wanted to be with Bucky. “‘Cause --” Steve’s voice caught in his throat momentarily. A half dozen memories flooded his mind and he almost smiled. “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.” A burst of emotion swelled in Bucky's chest at those words. Something deep in the recesses of his broken mind sparked a remembrance. There were visuals to go along with those words. He remembered a funeral. He remembered a courageous woman who lost her struggle. He remembered a black car driving down a street toward a place he knew like the back of his hand. Had to be the hand that was long gone, lost in a fall some years ago, the memories were hazy and ghost-like. But they were still there. Instead of lashing out, as he had in the bank, Bucky let the memories wash over him until his eyes were stinging with unshed tears. He looked down at Steve in horror, not yet of what he'd done, but of what he was doing. He'd made a promise a long time ago, that nothing would ever happen to his friend, the one who got in trouble so much that Bucky was often prepared with fists behind his back every time they hung out. Bucky didn't know what he was supposed to do. It was all so clear cut before Rogers showed up. He had a mission, he completed it. Now the mission and his phantom memories were clashing. He hesitated long enough to feel properly horrified by what he almost did. What his body was still prepared to do. To finish it, like Rogers said. As he lowered his arm, something -- he couldn't quite make it out, it all happened so fast -- came crashing into the glass and metal that kept them from the Potomac. Bucky could see it happen out of the corner of his eye. His metal arm instantly reached for something to hold onto as he pitched forward and the entire structure gave away beneath them. He dangled for some time, watching the red, white, and blue as it and his stomach dropped into the river below. There was the idle thought in the back of his mind that this was a metaphor for their differing personalities: Steve, the self-sacrificing and Bucky, the one who would do anything to survive. There would be no surviving this if he let Steve Rogers die. If Bucky could stop this thing from happening, then he had to. He had to let go of HYDRA, let go of the empty past that haunted him. Let go of his mission. He hadn't even had a name. Conversation was not something he'd indulged in. The mission had been all he had for so long, decades. Could he let all of that go? A few moments deliberation, and metal fingers unclasped as his subconscious made the decision for him. Bucky dove into the water before the helicarrier could continue on its destruction. Head first, he swam around, looking for the colorful uniform in the dark waters. When Bucky found him, Steve wasn't moving. Was he dead? His metal hand clamped onto his shoulder strap and yanked him toward the surface. Bucky had to risk further pain to his flesh arm as he swam toward the shore away from the SHIELD building. When the shore was close, he dragged Steve's limp, heavy body toward the embankment. It only took a moment of silent watch to make sure that he was breathing. This was all that Bucky could do. Guilt, shame, horror all reminded him that he was not welcomed here. He didn't hesitate when he turned around, taking in the mess that he had helped to cause, and quietly left the scene, holding his injured arm to his chest. The only thing that Bucky knew was that he was not going back to HYDRA, and he was never going to let anyone control him again. He had an entire life to figure out, and when he did, there would be no reckoning big enough for what he had in store for HYDRA. |