I Know What You Did in the Dark
Bucky
I kept my steps silent, leaving my failed mission at the bank of the Potomac. He had a name, that shield and star… Steve? Why did I save him? Shoving the memory roughly away, I noticed my right arm hurt like burning fire; I clutched it to my chest because it wasn't working. Strangely I felt the urge to scream in fury, but who was I angry at? Hydra? Peirce? Rumlow? Zola? All of them? Instead, I remained soundless and walking because my training wouldn't let me say a word. It was like my body was trying to protect me by pushing me away from this place. But I knew him, echoed faintly on the edge of my mind. Keep walking, my body ordered and so I complied thinking of no other reason not to.
Robotically, I hiked away, as the remaining explosions boomed out over the larger Washington DC area. The last chunks of helicarrier, Triskellion and quinjets surrendered to the force of gravity. Sticking to the overgrown banks of the Potomac, I made my way upstream in a mental haze. Sirens passed by me on the George Washington Memorial Parkway, screeching out warning to anyone close and the noise was shrill to my ears but it concealed my movements. Eventually, a bridge became visible and a sign: Theodore Roosevelt Island National Park. Thickly wooded and far enough from the carnage behind, my body in survival mode directed me to slip quietly in the water and swim to the bank, avoiding the bridge, which was swarming with troops and remnants of S.H.I.E.L.D. At first, the icy water sucked me down like syrup. For a brief moment, I seriously contemplated letting go and succumbing to the dark depths, but another shadow voice echoed in my skull, "Till the end." My boots were like concrete blocks on my feet and my disabled arm hampered me; I had to kick hard and made it to the bank, gasping for air. Stay low, out of sight, Asset, my training told me.
My name is Bucky, I began angrily at myself.
Right now, it's not, my body responded as I reached the bank and hauled myself up, dripping. Staying low, I moved away from the bridge view and onto a low hillside covered in trees. Growling in pain, I pulled off my boots with my metal arm and dumped the water out. The agony of my dislocated shoulder was catching up with me. The adrenaline was wearing off. For the first time in a long while, I was exhausted and feeling… hurt.
Lying back in the leaf litter, breathing in damp woody smells, I stared up through the multitude of green leaves and farther to the blue sky. I could hear birds in the trees singing as if nothing in the world bothered them. Lucky bastards, I cursed them. The thought struck me that I was finally free. Confusion was becoming less of a novel feeling rose up in my mind. Waves of pain were tearing at my awareness. Finally, under bird song, smell of leaf rot and dappled sunlight, unconsciousness came to me.
Something was tickling my nose. I opened my eyes gradually. A large black beetle was looking at me waving its antennae. Sitting up instinctively, I yelled, "What the- !" and reached with my dislocated right arm to knock it off but a vise of agony seized me and I hissed in pain. The beetle fell harmlessly to the ground when I shifted my position leaving me to ponder that an insect frightened the world's greatest assassin.
My shoulder shrieked at me as I felt bone grating on bone. I inhaled breath between clenched teeth. To try and distract myself from the pain, I noticed it was morning, the day after the fall of Hydra/S.H.I.E.L.D. I realized I was still free. A chill went down my spine and I crouched automatically, looking around warily. No handlers jumped out from behind trees. No chair and electrodes were in the forest. No Peirce or Rumlow or Zola to tie me up and torture me. There was no freezer. The thought dawned that I was on my own and would have to take care of myself, although not sure I remembered how to. And there was that man I should have killed but didn't. Was he ok? Shaking my head to clear it, I scolded myself, "Why the hell do I care. He was my mission. And I failed."
I could feel my training trying to throw its dark tentacles around my mind, Yes. You failed HYDRA. You should die. Death to traitors!
Squeezing my eyes closed and breathless with mental exertion, I began to fight that wave of guilt and the training with every psychological ounce, "No! I am free! I am … I am… James..Buchanan BARNES!" Intentionally I hit my injured shoulder with a silver fist. A blinding flash of pain seared me and I passed out, again.
No bugs woke me the second time and I could tell by the sun angle that I was not passed out for very long. My shoulder was still broken. I was going to have to fix that. Hauling myself upright, I looked for a sturdy, mature tree. I found a large basswood, and eyed the rough bark judging it carefully. "Ok, on three. One, two…", With a sharp twist, I threw my drooping right shoulder into the wood.
A resounding pop and a howl of pain rung in my ears as I leaned against the tree like it was my only friend in the world, panting. Slowly, I checked my fingers, wrist and finally I pushed back from the tree and carefully raised my arm. The bones were loose, but glided together like a normal shoulder. I could feel myself smirking but I really wanted to cry, I turned my back to the tree and slid down the bark to sit.
For the first time in a long time I felt the ability to close my eyes and not worry about someone shoving me back into the freezer. Breathing quietly, I listened to the birds again and began to formulate his next move. I needed a change of clothes.
My inventory of supplies was woefully short, compared to how I typically traveled. I had a few of my smaller knives, a small pistol that didn't appear to be too wet to function, and odds and ends. I felt my stomach rumble. How long ago did I eat? Do I eat? The vision of Peirce's kitchen comes unbidden before he shot that woman. Carefully, I probed that memory afraid my training would reassert itself. He had a glass of what was it? Milk. That white liquid. He had offered me some. Another memory jumped out of nowhere of two boys sitting a white wood table, legs dangling from dented wood chairs. A single light bulb hung over them and a woman served them the white liquid in small glasses. She had dark hair and looked like… me? The boy was blonde and tiny. He had a lopsided grin and raised the glass in a toast. The other boy had dark hair and did the same. They seemed genuinely happy.
Suddenly the snap of a branch broke me from the recollection. I scrambled behind the tree I had been leaning on and watched. A man came fumbling along in the under growth. He was older than I, with a scruffy beard. It looked like he had not bathed in a long while and his dark baseball cap was hiding his eyes. By his uncoordinated movements, I could tell he was drunk then the down wind breeze confirmed it with the rank odor of beer and cigarettes.
This may be the opportunity I needed.
I left him naked except for his underwear with a bruise on his temple, lying under the tree I had been concealed by. My training told me to kill him but I just barely fought off that impulse. No need to shed more blood. Trying on the faded jeans, t-shirt and dark colored hoodie, I felt strange and out of place. My silver arm was concealed though and the hat hid my long hair. Gotta get that cut, I thought, then realized when was the last time someone cut my hair? And who did it? More mental fog threatened to swirl in but I had to move on and figure out what to do next. The jeans didn't have as many pockets as my tactical pants, but I crammed what I could into them. I curled the ten-dollar bill I found in his pants into my front hoodie pocket. The rest of my supplies and clothes, I cached up in the crotch of a tree branch. Perhaps I'd need that later.
Moving off toward the road that wound its way through the park, I emerged onto the sidewalk. The sun was bright from the shade of the trees and I began to walk back to the entrance of the park. I was grateful for the baseball cap. My stomach asserted itself again. I needed to find some food. A few cars passed me but Washington looked deserted for the most part. I looked up river where the Triskellion building used to be and saw wisps of smoke and jagged wreckage. Hulls of helicariers stuck awkwardly out from the bottom of the river as fire boats hosed them down. The city was fairly quiet and it felt strange to walk about in the open during the day. Crossing the bridge, I made a direct line for the Lincoln Memorial, a landmark that I recalled before all this happened to me. Without a mission, my thoughts wandered, which is not a good thing.
"Bucky?" into my head came the shocked voice of that man, Steve, when was assigned to kill him.
Who am I, I wondered to myself as the sun warmed my back. Why didn't I kill him?
You are a coward, Asset, my training returned with a vengeance. Gripping my head in both hands, I tried to block out the accusatory voice. A few people passed me on the sidewalk looking at me strangely.
Stop it, I yelled in my head and found a bus stop bench. Throwing myself down on it, I put my head between my knees, squeezing with my hands as if I could crush the voice out of my brain.
Asset…. The voice taunted. You are not a man, you are a weapon.
"NO! I am NOT. I am Bucky Barnes!", I hissed out of my clenched jaw.
"Hey. You ok buddy?" an unknown but cautiously friendly voice said to me.
Jerking upright, shoving my metal hand into the hoodie pocket, I was ready to fight and kill. The woman before me, dressed in a U.S. Marines uniform, recoiled slightly. My quick eyes saw she was armed, although concealed.
I haven't spoken much to anyone so I am sure my crackly voice startled her. It certainly did me as did the lie I told, "Yeah. I… was just having a flashback."
"Are you a vet?" she asked, her expression softening some but her hand still hovering near her hidden weapon.
"Uh, yeah." I replied dropping my eyes.
"What conflict?" she probed gently.
"WW —I mean Afghanistan." I covered quickly recalling somewhere in my programming that country name that would make sense. Inside me, something twisted with my lie.
"Hmmm. That was a tough one. I had two tours. You need some help?" she commented relaxing her stance and the gazing above me at the Potomac River, "I mean, this place is kinda torn up with what happened yesterday, but I can show you where you can get some help. The President has ordered all government business shall continue today, despite the … wreckage."
"That'd be nice." I responded quietly looking up at her.
"If you walk that way," she gestured towards the Washington Monument, "And hang a left, past the White House you will see the Veterans Administration Building. They can get you into a program. It will help. Did me." Her warm brown eyes crinkled a bit with a small smile as if she had her own memories and shadows to deal with.
"Thanks." I mustered.
"Oh, and take this." She pressed a bill into my hand. I glanced at it and saw it was twenty dollars, "We fight it, every day. Good luck to you, soldier."
She gave me a curt salute, which I instinctively returned, amazing myself how nice if felt to be recognized as a soldier, not a tool.
I watched her walk off, convinced she was not a HYDRA spy or S.H.I.E.L.D. remnant. The voice in my head was quiet now and I rose from the bench. I still had to find something to eat.
My walk was brisk towards the Monument because where things are open, there would be tourists and that meant food. I was not disappointed. Several food trucks were parked on 15th street. Stepping up to one, I found my mouth watering with the odors of real food. How long had it been?
I grabbed a hot dog and a Coke, something I recognized, with a bag of chips. I was very careful to keep my metal hand concealed. My change jangled in my pocket as I sat down nearby with only pigeons to keep me company. Biting into the crisp skin of the dog, another memory tumbled forth. Two boys, older now, the dark haired boy who's face I never saw and the skinny blonde boy sitting next to each other on a boardwalk rail. In front of them was a huge Ferris wheel lit up with bright white light bulbs, their filaments glowing white hot in the night. A warm breeze blew as carnival music played from an old organ and voices mixed with laughter. The dark haired boy had bought them two hot dogs and it seemed to be inhaled by the smaller boy like food was air. The dark haired boy nudged the blonde one with his elbow, "Steve you wingnut. Stop eating so fast! Momma said you'll get a stomach ache if you eat like that."
Steve.
The name hit me in the chest like a hammer. I stopped chewing thinking I was going to vomit.
Steve was the blonde boy. I was the dark haired boy. I was James Buchanan Barnes. Steve was Steve Rogers, my … best friend.
I was supposed to kill my best friend.
My mission was him.
Sitting on the bench, I put my hot dog down, suddenly not hungry. My stomach protested wanting more, but my mind was overwhelmed.
I closed my eyes to reduce the stimulation I was receiving and calm myself with just breathing. In. Out. In. Out. A child's voice reached out to me, "Dad! I want to see the Captain America exhibit."
Captain America. Steve Rogers. The shield, the star, the uniform; it all began to meld together in a giant red, white and blue mess in my brain. I tried to kill him. I shot him. Digging down, I found my well of guilt and began to wallow in it.
"Ok Baby. The museum is open today, crazy as that is." The fathers' voice tinged with a hint of fear reached my ears.
"Dad, don't be silly. The Avengers are here to protect us. I bet Iron Man was flying around here and Black Widow could be anywhere! Yesterday was nothin' compared to New York." the child's voice responded with the gusto of youth.
"True. Times are strange these days." The father agreed, "Lets go to the Smithsonian."
I opened my eyes and watched what direction they walked. Just above their head on a light pole I saw a banner advertising the "new" permanent exhibit of Captain America. That's where I needed to go to get some information.
