make_it_hurt | Recent Entries

He honestly hadn't been expecting the invite back to Wakanda. After everything, he figured there wasn't a place for him anymore. He'd been allowed to be there in the first place because of T'Challa, and then there had been Thanos, and the blip, and then--- Well. He hadn't been waiting for an invitation.

But Shuri had extended one to him anyways. He had finished all his mandated therapy, had made his "amends", had done everything needed to keep him out of a prison cell the rest of his life (and he would have done almost anything to not end up back in a box), and she had turned up at his apartment. His small, underfurnished apartment. And he had just... agreed. He didn't have anywhere else to go. Sam was busy being Captain America, and he was honestly tired of being the sidekick for a while.

Packing took him only minutes, he hadn't yet gotten out of the habit of being ready to pick up and go within seconds, and then they were on their way.

The children in the village were older now, but they still knew him. They showed him the offspring of his goats, gave him back his walking stick, and Shuri had left him there.

It was nice. He could go days without thinking to check his phone, rising and sleeping with the sun, spending long hours sitting on the hillside. Nightmares came, but they also went. There was nothing around him to make them stick, no blaring car horns or flickering street lamps. There was, occasionally, the buzz of jets going overhead, but they were infrequent, this was a calm place of the country with little traffic.

Of course, it couldn't last. It never lasted.

Three months into restful nights and tiring days, he was startled out of his daydreaming by the loud, unfamiliar roar of an engine overhead. It was flying very low, and looked like no plane or jet he had seen before in Wakanda. Was it even Wakandan? It didn't look like it should have been able to fly.

Bucky stood, shading his eyes from the sun. The jet was losing altitude quickly, and the goats were bleating in panic. He whistled to send the village's herding dog after them before they ran into the bush and got lost, then turned to one of the children that had run after the noise. "Get inside," he told her. "Tell everybody to bring the animals in. I'll check it out."

It might be a new jet from another country still wanting to try to claim Wakanda for itself. Or it could be an alien, apparently those were getting more and more common all the time. Either way, he was the only one around equipped to handle it. Any military could arrive quickly, but he was here.

Bucky started off at a jog down the hill in the direction of the sleek metal ship, herding stick in hand.

"Mando!" Greef Karga's voice rang through the bar even before his presence could be noticed. The head of the Bounty Hunter's Guild was sitting in his usual place, the other side of the round booth empty.

Bucky didn't look around as he stepped inside. Voices around him hushed, and suddenly he could hear the clink of his armor pieces touching as he stepped down into the main area. As he strode across the room, the chatter slowly started back up, and it was almost to full volume when he finally slid into the seat across from Karga.

Out came his two tracking fobs - they had been rather hefty bounties, which was a welcome change from the usual trickle - and he slapped them down with his left hand, keeping them caged in with his fingers.

Greef Karga sat back in his seat. "Have more work for you, Mando. If you'll indulge me by staying put for a bit, there's one more party we're waiting for. Then I don't have to explain twice."

Reaching into his jacket, he freed a small handful of credits. Imperial.

Behind his helmet, Bucky's lip curled with disgust. Outwardly, he reached for them. He couldn't afford to be picky. Not with hungry children at the covert. He traded the fobs for the credits, tucking them away.

"What kind of job?"

"One that pays twice what I just paid you."

"I don't work with others." Meaning, they normally got in the way. He was more efficient solo.

"I think you'll want to work with this person. In fact, I'm surprised you haven't met." Karga leaned to look past him and Bucky reluctantly turned as, surprise of all surprises, another Mandalorian stepped into the bar.

He doesn't know where to go. He knows, in the aftermath of DC, that he has to go. He spends a day trying to get his brain working, fights against the drugs still working out of his system, and somehow gets out of the country. He's not sure where he's going, but it's out of the US, and it feels like he's being pulled, stronger and stronger, until he's on a plane.

The trip is both fine and unbearable. 13 hours in a cramped metal tube, it's easiest to retreat into his own mind, to try to start to piece together fragments of memory, to work though what Hydra left, and what's already started to come back.

He knows he's James Barnes, and he died in the war, except he didn't and was picked up by Hydra, made into... this. He clutches at his left arm, feels the hard metal under his fingers, and tries to keep calm.

Being released from the plane and finding himself in Japan is both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. He can still feel that pull, the same kind of instinct that meant he knew how to use any kind of weapon imagineable.

He takes one train, then another, and then a third, until he's surrounded not by city but by a small, rural town. It's small, idyllic, and though he gets a few looks from the locals, he doesn't say anything to them. There's mountains, and forests, and he knows, somehow, that this place is safe. Safe for him. Nobody here's going to question the fact that he's a scruffy, exhausted white man in a rural Japanese village.

For the first time since dragging his target - Steve Rogers - out of the water of the Potomac, Bucky lets out a breath and relaxes, just a little. What he's going to do now, he's not sure, but for now, he could use some time to relax and keep working through his memories.

It hurts. He hurts. Ste-- the target was there. A few feet away. But the Soldier can't even stand. He's curled on his side, gasping for air around the pain in his gut, his shoulder, his entire body.

But one of his handlers would come for him. This was where he was supposed to meet them, if something went wrong. They were supposed to be here, so all he had to do was wait.

But in the mean time, he was dying. The schedule had been burned into his body and mind - after too long out of the ice, he'd start to break down. He was already remembering. He <i>knew</i> the man still unconscious on the floor a ways away. He knew him in a way that made the soldier fear his handler's retribution. He flinched from a phantom slap, then shuddered out a breath into the concrete.

They gave him the shots, and the shots burned, but they made everything else... less. This is too much. His hands curl into fists, then open, then close again in a fistful of hair.

Waking up from stasis was horribly familiar. It'd been so many times, and it was so familiar. He was aware before he could start to move his body, staring through the crack of his barely open eyelids. It took him only a few moments to realize he wasn't under the fog of programming, that the light outside was white and clear, not a dingy yellow or green.

Wakanda. He's in Wakanda.

Bucky sighed a little, then closed his eyes fully. He was safe, here. They must have figured out how to get rid of the programming, then. He opened his eyes again, just a little, as the light against his eyelids got brighter, and the voices of the people outside grew clearer, and louder. "James," was the first word he really understood, that his mind could process. His body was still heavy with the drugs and chill, but the hands on him were warm, steadying him. "James, can you hear me?" He nodded, as much as he could, and one of the hands retreated, only to come back a few seconds later. "Good. Just lay back. You are safe, but you are still under, we will wait for your strength to return before we move you." How considerate, to not just haul him out and drag him to the chair.

He blinked, blearily, trying to move his hands - hand.

But as he laid there, not only did the ability to move come back, but also his senses - not only his vision, but his hearing, and his sense of smell. And though there was the sterile, antiseptic scent that was so prominent, there was also another scent, one equally familiar, but much more welcome. "Steve?" he asked, turning his head and opening his eyes fully for the first time, looking for his best friend, his packmate.

From here.

( Read more... )

From here.

--

James smiled. "You will be able to, I promise you that. We'll get you both out and you'll be safe." He clutched her tightly to his chest, stroking her hair gently. "You and Thomas will be safe from him, I promise." And he couldn't do anything less than promise. He had to. He had to get her and Thomas out, and keep them safe, and make sure he would never be able to hurt them again.

You guys know the drill!

Anon on, comments screening on, IP logging off!

From here.

He woke up slowly. It was an unusual feeling, to wake to nothing more than his body's own sleep cycle, instead of being woken up by harsh hands and pain. He honestly hadn't been expecting to wake up, sure that he was dead, sure that the bullet they had put in his chest should have killed him.

Instead, Bucky Barnes woke up in a hospital bed, oxygen line hooked over his ears, the steady beeping and whirring of machinery all around him. Everything hurt - his broken ankle, the bruises on his legs from beatings, the lash marks over his back. It is nearly torture to breathe, his chest wrapped tightly in bandages. This wasn't the dark, dank cellar he had spent (as close as he could figure ) six or seven months in. He looked around, head tilting from side to side listlessly, looking for family or a nurse or something.

His attention was caught by his left arm - or, rather, what was left of it, which wasn't much.

Days into his capture they'd started cutting off his fingers, one at a time, and sending him to his mother - to the President - in an attempt to get her to give in to their demands.

Then they'd started working their way up his arm, more as punishment than anything, before infection had set in and they had kept cutting back and back and back in an attempt to keep their bargaining chip from dying.

The stump of his left arm was wrapped in neat cotton bandages and Bucky swallowed hard, lifting his other hand to his lips, feeling them quiver against his fingers.

He finally asked, voice trembling, "Mom?"

She had to be here. She had been there for him his entire life growing up, there every time he got sick, even when she was on the election trail. If she couldn't get to him, they would talk over the internet for as long as it took until he fell asleep.

Bucky looked around, digging his ragged nails into his lower lip. "Mom?" He shifted, trying to sit up, and was instantly caught by the mess of wires and tubing around him. He laid back, blinking back tears.

She came almost at a run, heels clacking, the door swinging shut behind her. "Bucky!" She nearly collapsed onto Bucky's bed, grabbing his hand in both of her own. "You're awake, thank god." She reached forward and ran her fingers through his hair and he was suddenly aware that it was long enough to touch his chin.

He smiled up at her, feeling the knot in his chest ease. Bucky sagged back against his pillows and sighed slightly, letting her rub her thumb over the back of his hand. "I missed you, Mom."

"I missed you, too. Here, are you comfortable? Do you need another pillow?" She let go of his hand and started to fuss with his blankets and pillows, adjusting them around him nervously.

"I'm fine. Tired, but fine." He closed his eyes for a long moment then asked, opening them again, "I'm really here, right?"

She nodded. "You're really here, Bucky." She folded her hand over his. "Get some rest, I'll be right here, okay?" She smiled and watched Bucky drift off again, body falling limp. But it wasn't the same sort of boneless as before, the unconsciousness after being brought in, after all the surgeries. It was the unconsciousness of somebody asleep of their own volition.

She looked up once she was sure Bucky was asleep and stood back up, placing his hand on his stomach. President Barnes crossed back over to the door and pulled it open. "I'm sorry, Captain. Maybe you should come in and we can continue our discussion?" She stepped back.

Bucky drifted awake for just a moment, long enough to see his mother across the room talking to somebody that looked vaguely familiar. Before Bucky could place the face, he was asleep again.

[ He steps into the small, closed-off cell. There's a hospital bed, though none of the normal hospital equipment. He kicks shut the door behind him and crosses the room. He sits down on the stool next to the hospital bed, tapping the file folder in his hand against his thigh. He opens it and addresses the woman in the bed. ]

Natalia Romanova. Black Widow.

[ He glances up at her. He'd taken a single shot with a tranquilizer dart to the back at long range. He gets the feeling that if he'd gotten any closer than that, she would have gotten away with Steve. ]

What do you want with Steve?

Profile

James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes

August 2023

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
		1	2	3	4	5
6	7	8	9	10	11	12
13	14	15	16	17	18	19
20	21	22	23	24	25	26
27	28	29	30	31

Syndicate

Style Credit

Style: Neutral Good for Practicality by timeasmymeasure

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags

Page generated Jul. 3rd, 2025 06:56 am