The Body Slumped Against The Wall, A Smear Of Red Streaking Down Cracked Concrete While The Sound Of

he didn't have to stay. arguably, it would have been smarter if he'd disappeared before the shooter arrived, circled back, and observed from a distance. but the shooter hadn't been targetting him, therefore, they must have been after the gangs. enemy of mine enemy, or something like that. bucky was crouched over one of the survivors, rummaging through his pockets for anything useful.

❝ only loose cash and bullets, ❞ he said, looking up as the shooter approached. there was something off about him, the same way there was something off about bucky. not broken, not exactly, but set wrong. more like a jaw that had been knocked out of place and healed without care. too hard. too tight. and the eyes, he'd seen eyes like that reflected back at him in the mirror too many times.

❝ i didn't call the cops. it's not a hit. and lately . . . i've been doing this a lot. don't really have a name for it. ❞ whatever this was, he was still figuring it out. bucky stood slowly, watching as the shooter dug his foot into one of the goons sides hard enough to make him whimper and twitch. bucky made no move to stop him. ❝ half of them work for la fierra. she's been supplying the coast with guns and explosives. didn't know about the women. ❞ and wasn't that a fucking oversight on his part. bucky's expression hardened, jaw tight, angry. pale gaze swept the area, inspecting the faces of the men that he'd bound and disarmed until he spotted the straw buyer.

❝ if anyone's gonna know where their boss is, it's him. ❞ bucky pointed. ❝ cops'll be here sooner rather than later. i've got a container on highland drive. ❞ the implication was clear: bucky was willing and able to help secure the women intended for utah.

"Got anything on our guest?" Frank radioed Micro again.

[ Nope. Got nothing. Which is really saying something, Frank. I'll keep looking, but so far I'm just getting weird garbage.]

"What do you mean?"

[ Well...the kind of stories people in the community tell each other to even scare us. Undying assassins, spooky disappearances, unknown and forgotten government projects that still run in some zombiefied way. This guy, his training, he should be known, but I'm not finding a damn thing, Frank. Someone's hiding him, or he gets help from someone and they are way up there in a very big chain. ]

"Alright, I get it. We don't know jack shit about him." Frank grunted and lowered the volume on his radio. Didn't want Micro's voice to come out while he's talking to the man. One thing for sure is that he's got some kind of code or strict guidelines because he didn't come rushing towards him after he shot and killed one of those assholes.

"Got anything good?" Frank asks, walking towards the man. He can see now that a few of the bastards are still alive, there's a twitch on his face, his trigger finger tapping, but he doesn't say anything about it. The way this man moved, he wouldn't get a shot off to kill the rest before hitting the sand like these idiots did.

"First: did you call the cops? Second: is this a hit? Third: I don't do this shit often. I don't even know what the fuck the protocol even is at this point. I doubt it involves us sticking around here for long. I'm trimming down the family tree. I just needed one of these assholes," his foot started digging into the side of one of the men who were bound," to tell me where their boss is. They were bringing a shipment of women from down south up to a cult in Utah. This is one of their stops before they make the handover. I need to know where those women are."

capmeme: eight quotes [2/8]

↳ "Is this a test?"

❝ then i'm not saying it right, ❞ bucky mumbled, because what he was asking her to do was the hardest thing he'd ever attempted. coming back from a lifetime of war, blood, pain, and violence was a constant work in progress and most of the time he felt as if he were performing for some invisible judge, jury, and executioner. ❝ it's not easy. it's the hardest thing you'll ever do. you'll fail, you'll try again, you'll fail again. ❞

bucky turned the mug of coffee absently in his hand. watched the steam rise from the surface and tried not to lose himself in the ordinariness of the motion. he didn't look at her when she asked about him, instead, his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. truth be told, he tried not to think about it.

❝ i don't know, ❞ he said finally, ❝ but i believe it matters that we try. ❞ he nursed his jaw for several short seconds before he met her eye again, ❝ i don't have all the answers. i'm making this up as i go, but i do know this: you're not too far gone that you can't come back, kara. ❞

kara let the silence stretch between them,  let it settle around her like a weighted blanket,  unfamiliar but not unwelcome.  no history.  no past.  just now.   she traced the rim of her cup with a fingertip,  watching the way the steam curled  &  disappeared.  ❝you make it sound easy. ❞ the words weren’t an accusation,  just an observation.  she wondered if he really believed it — that the weight of the past could be shrugged off so cleanly,  left outside like a coat too heavy for summer air.   

her fingers flexed against the ceramic.  ❝maybe it is.  for some people. ❞ she glanced around,  watching the other patrons — people who belonged here in a way she never could.  the man at the counter flipping through a newspaper,  the couple sharing a plate of fries,  the waitress moving through it all like she had done this a thousand times before  &  would do it a thousand times again.  ❝i don’t know if i can be one of them. ❞  but she wanted to be.  what she wasn’t sure of was what she wanted from him.  reassurance? permission? maybe just the chance to sit here  &  pretend,  for a moment,  that she belonged.   

the waitress set a menu down in front of her with an absent smile,   &  kara nodded her thanks.  the gesture felt small but significant.  normal.  she wrapped her hands around the warmth of the coffee cup,  inhaling the scent of something burnt  &  bitter  &  real.  she looked up at bucky again.  ❝&  what about you?❞ her voice was quieter now,  but steady.  ❝do you believe that? that we can just …  exist?❞  her gaze shifted from him. ❝ do you think we can ever have … more? ❞

HEADCANON :  war letters .

Prior to his deployment to the Italian Front and subsequent capture by the Wehrmacht troops at Azzano, Bucky wrote letters to his younger sister Rebecca religiously. At the time, she was only sixteen and had been living in a state orphanage in Park Slope, Brooklyn since their fathers death at Camp Lehigh. He also sent letters to Steve while he was training at Camp Lehigh for Project Rebirth, however, Steve wasn’t able to tell him that he had been selected by the USSR or that he had been accepted into the Army due to the secrecy of the project and Bucky was also not able to divulge much information about his duties.

He traded some letters with Connie as well, the pair of them often discussing the state of the war as she was a registered nurse, their letters would switch between casual banter and deep and vulnerable confessions of their struggles and challenges as either nurse or soldier, often attempting to uplift each other’s spirits through written word. One of Bucky’s letters included a pressed puglia that stained the letter purple.

After he and the other United Allies were rescued from the Hydra Prisoner Base, Bucky was reunited with Connie for a short time before he was deployed alongside Steve and the other Howling Commandos and Bucky returned to writing letters to Rebecca whenever he had the chance to sit down.

As before, he wasn’t able to divulge much information about their activities back to Rebecca so most of his letters discussed members non-classified information, usually details about the other Howling Commandos (such as Gabe Jones proficiency at the trumpet and Dugan’s terrible singing), in passing he would mention cities that he had passed through but was no longer residing, and other minor details about the people that he met from the various resistance groups that they worked beside against both Hydra, and Nazi Germany.

He continued to write to Connie as well, though the letters between them were few and far between due to their work.

Following the end of W.WII when the Smithsonian began developing the Captain America exhibit, members of the museum reached out to Rebecca as Bucky’s only living relative. She donated some of Bucky’s war letters to the museum where they picked and chose from those available to them to display for Bucky’s memorial. When Bucky began piecing together his history in 2014, he stole the letters that were on display to help trigger more of his suppressed memories.

I will get up again. And again. And again.

the city skyline loomed like a jagged promise against the night. towers rising in stark defiance to the darkness, splayed in neon and halogen lights. the unlikely pair had a clear line of sight overlooking the flashing red and blue lights and crowd of uniformed officers that poured in and out of the warehouse below. what was left of the trafficking ring—those that could still walk at least—were escorted into armored vans in cuffs.

❝  sometimes, complexity can be exhausting. ❞

she wasn't wrong. he'd been chasing down a missing persons lead, a reasonably mundane operation that had quickly turned into something else when their paths had crossed. but the exhaustion that filled her voice ran deeper than a random night of vigilante justice.

❝  so simplify it. ❞ bucky said, as if life was that easy. ❝ forget the politics, the debts. just focus on the job . . . and maybe a drink after. ❞ he added as an afterthought. // @waruins , altered carbon prompt .

❝ you think i can't walk out of here right now? ❞ the soldier asked, a trace of a challenge woven into his voice. whatever power her bosses or their bosses' bosses thought they had was nothing more than wishful thinking. he'd taken apart more than a single police station with less. the only reason he was sitting in that interrogation room, the only reason he'd even stepped foot into the station was because he wanted to.

❝ oh? and who's they, huh? ❞ bucky asked, a humorless smile that was all teeth tugging at the corners of his mouth. he suspected she was good at her job, perhaps even an expert in her field, a shining star. but he'd come face to face with people like her over and over again. people who spoke beautifully, eloquently, who said all the right things in all the right ways. but there was always an angle. some agenda hidden inside all of the carefully interwoven hints and unspoken promises.

❝ and what's in it for you? you gonna share this information with me for what? need me to kill someone for you? destabilise a country? destroy an embassy? ❞ that humorless smile remained, as sharp as the curve of a knife, ❝ i don't work for anyone anymore. ❞

clea’s gaze remained steady,  neither pressuring nor retreating,  her words carefully measured.  she saw the quiet resolve in him — the winter soldier,  a man who had been honed by pain  &  time into something beyond ordinary human limits.  she wasn’t naive enough to think she could break him,   &  there was no need to try.  he was the one who had to decide if he wanted what she had to offer.   

her voice was soft,  like a gentle invitation,  but it carried weight — an offer he couldn’t ignore.  ❝no one is keeping you, ❞ she said,  her words almost soothing.  ❝but you’re already in a position where you don’t have full control,  even if you think you do.❞ she leaned forward slightly,  her expression unhurried,  as though she were discussing a simple fact of life.  ❝i’m not offering you shelter or protection.  i’m offering you information — things you need to know,  things they don’t want you to hear. ❞ she let that hang in the air for a moment,  watching him,  her eyes reflecting an understanding that was almost too knowing.  ❝you don’t have to trust me,  but you should know this: you can’t outrun what’s already hunting you.  not forever. ❞ she tilted her head slightly,  her voice lowering.  ❝i can help you avoid it.  or,  at the very least,  i can tell you how to fight back. ❞

he didn't flinch, he rarely ever did. not when people raised their voices, not when they started flailing like they might be carrying a contagious form of hunted by mine enemies. he just watched, quiet and measured with a single brow raised in silent question. booster's outburst seemed . . . misplaced and strained. there was more to the random attack than was on the surface, booster had obviously been the target but his attackers had been, strange. trained and well-armed, and yet not only did bucky not recognise their particular brand, he also didn't recognise their weaponry.

bucky folded his arms across his chest, one shoulder leaning against the wood of a floor to ceiling sized dresser. the stench in the motel was familiar. old sweat, burned wiring, fear trying to hide behind sarcasm. bucky knew the smell better than he cared to admit. it was the kind of smell that stuck to ones skin like regret. ❝ they come after someone i'm standing next to, that makes it my fight. ❞ he said carefully.

booster had handled himself in the fight, that wasn't up for debate, but now that the danger had come to a brief pause, bucky could look at him—really look at him this time—and he saw the fray around the edges of a carefully sculpted facade. the patchwork suit, worn and scorched, the dangling earpiece. the exhaustion crawling just beneath the surface. bucky saw it all because he'd worn that same look a thousand different ways.

when booster turned from the window, that false bravado peeling off him in layers, bucky's expression softened. sure, walking away would be the smart play. cleaner. safer even. his gaze lingered on booster's hand, the way it gripped the window frame like it was the only thing tethering him to this moment.

❝ until this is over, you're stuck with me. ❞ bucky said, and it wasn't because he had to, but because he chose to. ❝ so, tell me what we're up against. ❞ // @goldbiz , continued from here .

what are you seeking ?

—  forgiveness  .

“what  should  i  apologize  for;  what  i  am  or  what  i’m  not?”  //  oh,  little  hero,  how  close  are  you  to  crumbling  under  the  weight  on  your  shoulders?  how  heavy  has  that  heart  of  yours  gotten?  how  deeply  has  the  guilt  burrowed  into  your  bones?  how  permanently  has  the  grief  been  seared  into  your  soul?

you  were  so  tender,  and  the  world  so  cruel.  loss  after  loss  after  loss,  each  another  chip  on  your  shoulder.  because  you  deserved  it,  didn’t  you?  if  you  could  be  better . . . faster . . . stronger . . . smarter . . . then  maybe  it  wouldn’t  have  happened.  right?  the  blood  stains  your  hands,  and  it  won’t  wash  out  will  it?

but  darling,  it’s  never  been  your  fault.  you’ve  learned  to  turn  the  rage  and  the  regret,  the  guilt  and  the  grief,  inwards.  if  you’re  hurt,  it’s  your  own  fault  isn’t  it?  because  then  there’s  a  reason  for  it,  because  it  gives  you  some  semblance  of  control,  doesn’t  it?  what  you  seek  is  forgiveness,  for  your  perceived  wrongs.  but  oh,  little  skeleton,  you  do  not  need  it.  stop  blaming  yourself  for  what  was  beyond  your  control.  let  go  of  the  past.  grow.  and  learn  to  breathe  with  both  of  your  lungs.  stop  choking  on  your  own  self  hatred.  the  weight  will  ease,  i  promise.  i  love  you.

tagged by : nada tagging : @staticveil , @sh1elded , @tcbefearless ( amelia ), @deathcrime & you <3

- John Wick: Chapter 2, 2017