Bucky Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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fossilised2016-11-05 03:37 pm
advanced) wrote in fossilised2016-11-05 03:37 pm
For Steve
[It's been just over six months now since Bucky fled the States after seeing his face blown big in the museum, left everything behind and went on the run. He's moved around a lot in that time, careful never to remain in one place for too long in case people find him. HYDRA has been scattered thanks to the files posted on the internet and their failed coup of SHIELD, and SHIELD have been similarly crippled from the same fight.
Lucky for him.
If either agency were running at full capacity and resources then he likely would have been found months back, even with how good at blending in he is. The Soviets had made sure of that, training him on how to be a ghost. He can drive any vehicle, speak nearly every language in a flawless accent, and survive off next to nothing in the wilderness or city. It's those skills he utilises to keep ahead of the ones still looking for him. World governments that want to arrest him for his crimes as the Soldier, and Steve Rogers who naively wants his best friend back.
He thinks about that a lot, but he's not ready to be found. He still doesn't have all the pieces of the puzzle, he doesn't even have most of them, there are so many blanks he can't fill in. He doesn't know if he's the Soldier or Bucky, he just knows he needs time to find out. He studies his notebook, scrappy bits of paper, photographs, and writing, nearly every night. It's his record of what he remembers and his scrapbook of clippings found. He wants to be that good man again, the one he might be starting to remember, but he's not there yet.
He's in France at the moment, Lille, living on the outskirts of the city in an abandoned warehouse. His windows are boarded with cardboard and newspaper, and all the furniture he owns is a small mattress on the floor, and a mini fridge to keep food fresh. Everything else he keeps in his backpack, ready to run at a moment's notice. It's not a real life, he's just a ghost passing through.
Though he doesn't talk to many people, just vendors or store owners for what he needs, Bucky sort of enjoys wandering the streets of each city he finds himself in. Though he's always wary, it's a humanising activity that he never got to enjoy as the Soldier. It doesn't just help him keep a watch for anyone coming for him, it lets him soak in humanity. Just peaceful, everyday life. It centres him, helps keep him grounded.
Not today.
He has no idea the Avengers are in France, come to track down a HYDRA cell that didn't fall when SHIELD did, and he isn't aware of it until it's too late. Not until he turns the corner and finds himself on the fringes of a battle. His hand flies up without thinking, catching the shield that nearly hits him full in the face. A look of horror crosses his face, before he drops the shield as if it were a live snake and takes off running in the opposite direction.]
Lucky for him.
If either agency were running at full capacity and resources then he likely would have been found months back, even with how good at blending in he is. The Soviets had made sure of that, training him on how to be a ghost. He can drive any vehicle, speak nearly every language in a flawless accent, and survive off next to nothing in the wilderness or city. It's those skills he utilises to keep ahead of the ones still looking for him. World governments that want to arrest him for his crimes as the Soldier, and Steve Rogers who naively wants his best friend back.
He thinks about that a lot, but he's not ready to be found. He still doesn't have all the pieces of the puzzle, he doesn't even have most of them, there are so many blanks he can't fill in. He doesn't know if he's the Soldier or Bucky, he just knows he needs time to find out. He studies his notebook, scrappy bits of paper, photographs, and writing, nearly every night. It's his record of what he remembers and his scrapbook of clippings found. He wants to be that good man again, the one he might be starting to remember, but he's not there yet.
He's in France at the moment, Lille, living on the outskirts of the city in an abandoned warehouse. His windows are boarded with cardboard and newspaper, and all the furniture he owns is a small mattress on the floor, and a mini fridge to keep food fresh. Everything else he keeps in his backpack, ready to run at a moment's notice. It's not a real life, he's just a ghost passing through.
Though he doesn't talk to many people, just vendors or store owners for what he needs, Bucky sort of enjoys wandering the streets of each city he finds himself in. Though he's always wary, it's a humanising activity that he never got to enjoy as the Soldier. It doesn't just help him keep a watch for anyone coming for him, it lets him soak in humanity. Just peaceful, everyday life. It centres him, helps keep him grounded.
Not today.
He has no idea the Avengers are in France, come to track down a HYDRA cell that didn't fall when SHIELD did, and he isn't aware of it until it's too late. Not until he turns the corner and finds himself on the fringes of a battle. His hand flies up without thinking, catching the shield that nearly hits him full in the face. A look of horror crosses his face, before he drops the shield as if it were a live snake and takes off running in the opposite direction.]
no subject
Through all that he's done with the Avengers, every cell they've rooted out, every HYDRA operative taken in for questioning, his mind has been elsewhere. Sleep is a rare and precious thing; most nights are spent poring over intel, searching through newspaper clippings for any signs of a familiar face, chasing leads to sources that claim information — and every single time he winds up at a dead end. Every failure wears him down a little bit more, a cliffside weathered by the sea. He doesn't give up, even when he begins to realize that there was no finding a man who spent 70 years as a myth among men. He pushes on. Bucky deserves that.
And then, fate intervenes.
The fight is more public than it should be, spilling out into the market. Civilians are scattering as armed soldiers spill from a building that looked to be nothing more than an old bakery, housing dozens of operatives in tunnels underground. Steve is at the head of the battle, pouring his frustrations into his fists as he hurls a HYDRA soldier into the ground so hard it cracks the stone. Another takes a shot at him from afar and he lashes out, his shield striking the gun from the man's hand and ricocheting — straight into the hand of a man that looks as shocked to be there as Steve is to see him. His breath catches painfully. ]
Bucky?
[ He doesn't remember when he started running. All he knows is Bucky takes off, and he's damned well not going to lose him now. The battle all but forgotten, he's tearing through the emptying streets, pushing through panicked civilians to keep the other man in his sights. His heart is hammering in his chest, throat twisted up in an agony of fear and emotion. He can't lose him again. He can't. As they round a corner Steve skids over the hood of a truck, making a final, desperate lunge that sees him closing his hand around one of Bucky's wrists. ]
Wait!
no subject
Not bad enough that the Avengers are here in France, the battle tells him that so were HYDRA. He's been living in close proximity to a hidden cell for almost three weeks now, and that knowledge makes his skin crawl as if there are insects underneath it. His heart is hammering so fast that it feels out of control in his chest, terror feeding the sudden adrenaline spike flooding him.
He can't get caught. He's not ready to face Steve Rogers yet. The man is still almost an unknown to him, just a face that evokes strange feelings he doesn't understand and words from a museum exhibit that tells him they used to be best friends. He recalls none of it, and so he can't-- he can't be caught.
It's not the right response, but he reacts on instinct as soon as his wrist is grabbed, pivoting on one foot to slam his other fist directly towards Steve's face with all his strength. If that's not enough to get him to let go, he'll follow it up with a vicious headbutt aiming to break his nose.]
no subject
Bucky— Bucky, it's me—
[ He's endured far worse at the hands of his old friend; it'll take more than a broken nose to shake him off. ]
no subject
He snarls as his arm is wrenched to an angle that makes it uncomfortable to struggle and a hand comes around his throat. He goes limp for a second, just to try and loosen that grip, before he's shoving his entire weight backwards viciously to try and knock Steve off balance and, ideally, topple him to the ground with Bucky on top.]
--off, get off!