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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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
-should’ve seen the other guy-
He blinks, turns back toward St- the mission- brows furrowed.]
Shut up.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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-- ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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) ]
no subject
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.]