some saw the sun; (for fossils)
[The Soldier stood statuesque before the prisoner, rifle in hand, loaded and cocked despite orders to not kill. There's something about this man that disturbs the programming buzzing under his skin, something that unsettles the natural order that confines the Soldier to his duties. Even with his full mask and goggles, The Soldier feels bare- exposed- before this one man.
Maybe it's because the Soldier doesn't know why he was sent for an extraction mission instead of an assassination, because he can hear distant voices in his ear, cries for help that end in a bark of gunfire. Why did this man deserve to live when all the others met terrible ends? It's not his place to question, but the Soldier doubts and he's not entirely sure it's the first time either.
He remembers waking up in the chair, screaming until his voice broke. Mission details about capture and extraction to Siberia. Do not, under any circumstances, kill the target. Holding back had been difficult, not pushing for death at every swing of his knife, but then the Soldier was able to land a few shots he'll be reprimanded for later.
But he did it. The prisoner is here and alive, mostly. The Soldier wants to run, to hand off to the next handler, rather than stand in this awfully small room with a man that unsettles him so deeply, but his orders were to not allow the prisoner to die. So here he is, watching for breathing and consciousness.
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They found building plans for facilities never registered, which wouldn't be so strange for a classified para-military organization except for some of the names that signed off on them. That rabbit hole eventually led them into the crossfire of a man with a metal arm, and no past, except for a file Natasha had dug up out of Kyiv, typed and scrawled over in a mix of english and cyrillic.
And two photos.
When he wakes up he doesn't know how long he's been out or where he's been taken. He's restrained, bleeding, and no amount of shouting the name of the man behind the mask and goggles seemed to get through to him.
Steve's face is pale, his gaze fixed on the man standing there like a statue.
He shifts uncomfortably in his binds, air hissing past his lips. ]
You leave me like this and I'm gonna bleed out, Buck.
[ His voice is soft, and he's only half lying. Bucky nicked him good with that knife of his, Steve's white shirt is drenched in dark red at his shoulder where the blade had gone in. Missed anything major, but it's enough to make him legitimately light-headed at this point, however long he's been left like this. ]
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Buck.
There it is again. That name that works underneath his guards, that sticks like a thorn into the soft parts of his mind.
But.
But the prisoner doesn't look good. He's pale, struggling, and the orders echo in his head. Do not, under any circumstances, kill the target. The Soldier clenches his jaw under the mask. He wasn't ordered to serve as a medic, but he also was ordered to keep the prisoner alive.]
You won't.
[Except he's not all that confident in his answer. Given the amount of blood already lost, the prisoner could very well fall back into unconsciousness and never awaken. The turmoil builds under the surface and his posture stiffens further. No. He will wait until a handler takes over.]
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You wanna bet?
[ Like a challenge. Like words that would've passed through his lips while the sun heated up the pavement beneath their feet, a raised eyebrow at a bar, laughed out in the cold winter of some city neither of them knew the name of before the war.
There's no humor in them now.
Did they tell your your target is a bad combination of stubborn an stupid?
He's back to struggling. ]
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However, a part of him doesn't. A distant part of him reaches for the echo, for the hint of something more than the Soldier and the programming. He shakes his head to dismiss the whispers that threaten to distract him.
The two pieces collide, they clash and burn and the Soldier takes a step forward, his grip on his rifle white-knuckled.]
You won't. [He repeats, his tone tighter and laced with anger.]
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He knew what he was getting into. Romanoff-- Natasha helped him translate the parts of the file he couldn't read himself. Told him about her encounter with him in Odessa. She meant it all as a warning that there was a good chance that there wasn't anyone Steve knew left in the soldier.
He understood, but that wasn't going to stop him.
His head lolls forward again, he's not aware of it until his chin's nearly at his chest. He lets out another hard breath, muscles purposely going tense. ]
I need your help, Buck.
[ I need you to let me help you. ]
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The Soldier shakes his head again and crosses the distance to slam the butt of his rifle into the prisoner's jaw, sharp and without restraint.]
Shut up!
[Do not, under any circumstances, kill the prisoner returns just as strong and the Soldier steps back just as quickly as he moved forward.]
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He spits out some blood, swallows the rest.
A rush of air escapes his nose. ]
When you... said we were going to the future... didn't think it'd be like this. [ Hurts to talk now, his jaw screaming in protest with every word. If you wanted him to stop though, you should've made sure to break it. ] Your... name is James Buchanan Barnes. You had four younger siblings. You'd say that's why you... you were always coming to my place. I didn't have any brothers or sisters... just me and my ma. And you... after the funeral-- [ His head starts to droop again and he trails off. ]
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The prisoner doesn't say anything and the Soldier thinks he might have knocked him out or killed him. The goggles come off in an instant, tossed to the side so he can better observe vitals, but then there's a rush of air and more words.
More of the same nonsense-
Except he can dimly pick up fragments of a conversation. Cushions on the floor. Shining shoes.
That's never happened. That's not real. What's real is the prisoner, an enemy, he's meant to keep alive sagging in the saddle. Blood continues to ooze from the shoulder wound and the prisoner trails off. If he dies-
Dragged across a concrete floor. Failure. Failures get locked up. Failures do not see the light of day.
A thrill of terror sneaks into his veins and the Soldier moves forward. Don't die. He doesn't want to go back into storage. He presses his hand over the shoulder wound in an attempt to stem the red tide.
He's not supposed to get this close unless he's killing someone, but he doesn't want to go back to amber glass and frosted skin. It's selfish, he knows, but he can't go back. Not for this.]
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The restraints around his hands and arms creak like he's straining again, then go quiet. ]
... should've gone back for you.
[ I'm sorry. Feels like he's talking for his own benefit at this point. It's like scrambling for purchase on a ice block. He'll keep trying, as many times as it takes,
But there's gotta be something else. ]
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The Soldier furiously shakes his head, breaking eye contact and focusing on the blood rising through his fingers. The prisoner's blood. Don't let him die.
But he doesn't know if he can deal with this, whatever this is.]
Who the hell are you.
[His breath comes in short clips, jaw tense.]
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[ You know me, he'd said.
His gaze lowers a bit, tracking the arm and hand on his wound. ]
... you got a sewing kit?
[ He's gotta say, really doesn't want to die here after finally finding you. ]
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No this is his mission, his target. Who is bleeding out.
He blinks at the suggestion. It's not in the protocol, but his target dying isn't either. Releasing his hold on Steve's- his target's - shoulder to reach for his supplies and fish around for needle and thread.]
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[ In his kitchen. In the bathroom at some club. In the field, when they'd been separated from their unit--
A soft breathy sound like a laugh punctuated with another wince, his gaze trying to focus on what Bucky's digging around for. ]
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-should’ve seen the other guy-
He blinks, turns back toward St- the mission- brows furrowed.]
Shut up.
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[ Is he distracting you? Because talking is about the only thing keeping him awake right now, so he's going to keep doing it. He rolls his jaw. Softly, studying his features: ]
If you want me to shut up, then you've gotta talk.
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He has nothing to say, never has and never will. Do not speak unless spoken to. So he busies his hands instead with the needle and thread, on the mission.
The needle pierces the target’s skin with extreme prejudice, mechanical and methodical in itswork.]
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He grits his teeth, his head tilting to one side-- hard to say if it's entirely intentional. ]
You should go. Leave. Before they get back.
[ His handlers. If he can't convince you to let him go-- ]
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flames lick his feet as he struggles to push them to move along the factory floor. Looking back over the lake of fire, desperate, “Not without you!”
His heart stops in his chest, his jaw clenched. What the hell was that? But the assault doesn’t stop there. He blinks and he can identify the face on the other side of the molten pit and itt’s-
It’s the prisoner, the target. He was there, in the fire, but that’s impossible.
He looks up, confused and uncertain and questioning. Who the hell
A door rattles somewhere distant, a shuffle of footsteps on stairs.]
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Go--
[ The last thing he manages to say as he starts to pass out again. ]
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Steve. Steve. That kid from Brooklyn.
The footsteps drum closer and the Soldier doesn’t have much time. Sucking in a breath, he pierces the needle into the torn fabric around the knife wound and unsheathes his knife.
But what is he doing? His mission is to capture, to not kill. A rescue is very much the opposite. He can’t-
The footsteps arrive at the door.]
Not without you.
[And he slices through the zip ties around the prisoner’s wrists before stepping back.]
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There are voices coming from the stairs now. Steve doesn't look as though he's got much fight in him, though he's struggling to get to his feet. Reaches out to Bucky's shoulder. ]
C'mon...
[ They have to move.
Or, rather, Bucky's going to have to do most of the moving for them.
(it's like seventy years ago, you scraping him off the pavement) ]
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He knows that. How, he's not so sure on, but he knows if he gets caught here and now, he'll never walk free again.
But why is he suddenly so worried about his freedom? Since when did he become so selfish?
Too many thoughts tumble through his head, too many to consider all at once. And the voices are so loud.
He ignores the hand reaching for him to move for the chair, scoop it up, and wedge it beneath the door handle. Wait- no- what is he doing, he can't-
Shaking his head, the Soldier returns to the prisoner, to Steve. He doesn't know where they're going, other than out of here.]
i am forever slow
Exits?
[ Blocking the door keeps the men on the other side out, but they're stuck if that's also they're only way out.
They need a plan.
He needs to stand up straight. ]
it's ok i am too
Is he prepared to go this far for a flash of something in his mind? A glitch? A malfunction?
He taps the concrete next to the prisoner with two metal fingers. He could break through it.]