Bucky Barnes | The Winter Soldier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cryosoldier) wrote2014-05-22 10:35 pm
cryosoldier) wrote2014-05-22 10:35 pm
Entry tags:
for captainsteve
The man who had been the Winter Soldier ran. He went north, for no reason other than it was the direction in which he'd first left Washington DC. There was nowhere else for him to go. Seeing his own face on the displays in the museum had struck him and left him reeling with confused flashes of the past that he couldn't trust. Hydra had fallen, his employers and their technicians were dead or in hiding or gone; their asset had no one to report to anymore, nowhere to go. Maybe he wouldn't have even if they hadn't been brought down. And so, he ran.
Bucky Barnes. The name rang inside his head discordantly, echoing and sparking jumbled memories: dancing with a woman, a muddy trench, playing in the street, explosions and planes overhead, icy wind against his face. And him. Captain America. Always, his face. He tried to shake the thoughts free, ignore them because there was nothing more he could do. He'd saved him, the hero he'd been sent to kill, pulled him out of the water and dragged him to the shore. It disgusted him, horrified him, scared him how strong the feeling that he couldn't let him drown had been. There was no question of finding Steve Rogers now, not yet. The mission had to be over. They had trained him to run, to stay hidden and keep out of sight, they'd trained him to be a ghost.
Like a ghost, he vanished across the border; like a ghost, he disappeared into the snow.
Bucky Barnes. The name rang inside his head discordantly, echoing and sparking jumbled memories: dancing with a woman, a muddy trench, playing in the street, explosions and planes overhead, icy wind against his face. And him. Captain America. Always, his face. He tried to shake the thoughts free, ignore them because there was nothing more he could do. He'd saved him, the hero he'd been sent to kill, pulled him out of the water and dragged him to the shore. It disgusted him, horrified him, scared him how strong the feeling that he couldn't let him drown had been. There was no question of finding Steve Rogers now, not yet. The mission had to be over. They had trained him to run, to stay hidden and keep out of sight, they'd trained him to be a ghost.
Like a ghost, he vanished across the border; like a ghost, he disappeared into the snow.