A/N: This is going to be a sort of frame by frame look at Bucky's and Steve's thoughts during the events of CATWS, with a few flashbacks to before the war. If you've been reading my other story, this is not the sequel (it's coming), but I hope you will enjoy it anyway :)
1. You are one of God's mistakes, you crying, tragic waste of skin
The night is black. The large windows of the house illuminate much of the yard. There is a woman inside, cleaning; five foot five, one hundred thirty pounds, mid-thirties. The soldier waits. When she has finished in the kitchen, he approaches the window. It is not locked. He slips inside and sits down at the table, setting his weapon down quietly on its wooden surface.
He does not have long to wait. The man appears, though not dressed in the suit he usually wears. Still, it is undeniably him. He does not immediately notice the soldier sitting in the corner, and opens the refrigerator, removing a carton of milk. The man does not startle when he sees the soldier, but he could see the unease that flickered quickly in his eyes.
"Mr. Pierce, I'm going home. Do you need anything else?" the woman calls. The man freezes, looking sharply at the soldier.
"No, I'm fine, Renata. Have a good night," the man replies calmly. He waits, listening as the woman walks away. "Milk?" he offers casually, barely pausing for a reaction, which doesn't come, before retrieving a glass from the cupboard.
He tightens his jaw, but waits patiently. The man pours a small amount of the liquid into the glass, then comes over to the table. He sits across from the soldier, ignoring the weapon between them. "The time table has changed. I have two level six targets. I need confirmed kill in ten hours. They already cost me Zola," he began. His gaze flickers away from the man, toward the living room. The man stops talking and looks in that direction.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Pierce, I forgot my phone," the woman says, haltingly, standing in the living room a couple of yards away. Fear is plainly evident on her face as she tries not to look into the shadows, not to look at the soldier.
"I'm very sorry you didn't knock, Renata," the man replies, lifting the soldier's gun from its convenient location on the table. He gets to his feet and shoots the woman several times. When it is finished, he sits back down. "Where was I? Oh, yes, two targets. They will take some tracking down, but I am sure you are our best hope at finishing the job."
He jumps out of the SUV and onto the roof of the little silver car, plunging his hand through the glass window on the rear passenger side. His fingers wrap around the lapels and tie of the man inside, and he throws his weight back to pull him out. As soon as he has cleared the broken window, he releases his grip and the man is flung into the opposite traffic. A horn blares as a vehicle collides with him, killing him instantly.
The other passenger, one of the targets, jumps into the front seat, out of his immediate reach when he fires through the roof. The driver pulls the brake, and he is flung forward. He twists in midair and, rolling as he lands, digging his metal fingers into the concrete to slow his progress. He stands slowly. The female target aims at him, but the SUV rams into the back of the car and she drops her weapon. He leaps back onto the roof of the car, using his left arm as a lever. The force of his body on the roof causes most of the glass to shatter. He crouches and thrusts his left arm through the windshield, wrenching the steering wheel off of its moorings and out of the vehicle. He jumps onto the hood of the SUV when shots are fired from the targets, and they continue to force the car into the median barrier. It loses control and rolls, the passengers flinging themselves out of the wreckage via the front passenger door.
The targets, with another man, have landed on a round object of some kind. It seems to have minimized the damage caused by the fall. The SUV pulls to a stop and he dismounts as his men poured out. They fire their rifles as they advanced on the targets, who immediately seek cover. The shield that saved them from the crash is continuing to be an asset. He decides to test how useful it is, and takes a grenade launcher from one of his men. The other targets flee as he aims it at the man with the shield, and he ducks behind it for cover. The force of the weapon colliding with the metal surface flings him off of the overpass.
Two more shots force the female target off the overpass as well, in the opposite direction of the man. He goes to the edge of the road to fire into the bus with which the man has collided. Suddenly, shots are fired below him and a bullet ricochets off of his mask and cracks his right lens. He immediately ducks behind the barrier, leaning against it as he pulls off the damaged glasses. Enraged, he gets to his feet in a swift fluid motion and fires directly downward. The target has moved, and fires at him from some yards ahead. She turns and runs when her clips are empty.
"I have her. Find him," he tells his men in Russian. He steps onto the concrete barrier, then pushes himself off. When he lands on a car below, it contorts and the glass shatters. He strides forward, easily climbing down the wreckage, weapon still in hand. A police car appears, sirens blaring. He fires. People flee, abandoning their vehicles, as he approaches. A sound pricks his ears and he slows, listening intently. The female target's voice is barely audible to his right, taking cover behind a parked car. He silently crouches down, pulling a grenade from his belt as he does so. He rolls it gently and watches as it disappears under the car. He lifts his weapon and prepares to fire as the car explodes. His eyes narrow as he surveys the wreckage, looking for the target. He needs to confirm the kill.
Suddenly, she jumps onto his back, coming from the other direction. She has some kind of cord in her hands, which she is trying to wrap around his throat. He catches it in his right hand and pulls it against her strength as she dodges his attempts to displace her. Finally, he is able to grab ahold and fling her off of him, into a nearby vehicle. She gets to her feet, tossing a silver disk at him as he aims at her. It attaches to his arm and delivers a jolt, which shorts out the cybernetics. His shot strikes the ground as she runs away. He wrenches the disk from the appendage with his flesh hand, clenches his metal fingers, and swings his left arm in an arc over his head. It seems to be working. She is shouting for people to stay clear. He follows the sound until she comes back into sight. He fires, hitting her shoulder, and she goes down, ducking behind a van. Not dead.
As he approaches her hiding place, ready to fire one last grenade to finish the job, he sees the other target running to stop him out of the corner of his eye. He curses mentally at the ineptitude of his men, and turns to meet him. The shield he carries blocks all the shots he fires. He is carrying two handguns in addition to his rifle and spends the clips of all of them without drawing blood. Then he pulls out his knife and tries that. The target is very fast, and is getting some blows through his defense. His arm is malfunctioning. The man repeatedly strikes the metal with his shield, on top of the electric shock earlier, and it is difficult to maintain control. He has never failed to complete a mission on the first try before, and does not intend to start now. His movements become increasingly intense as he fights, his metal arm the only thing that can counteract the man's surprising strength.
His adversary uses his shield to strike his head, and, in the momentary disorientation this causes, gains the ability to throw him over his shoulder, dislodging his mask. He rolls to dampen the impact and quickly got to his feet a few yards away, turning to greet the next attack. None come. The man is staring at him, dumbfounded. He pauses, uncertain at the reaction.
"Bucky?" the target asks, incredulously. Conflicting emotions cross his face, but none suggest an imminent attack.
"Who the hell is Bucky?" he says, confused and annoyed. The other man does not respond, which sparks an unfamiliar feeling in his chest. He glares, and draws his remaining pistol. The man does not move, just stares. He turns his body to present a minimal target anyway, and aims his weapon.
Out of nowhere, something heavy strikes his arm and upsets his shot, knocking him forward. The other man from the car, wearing some sort of wings. He recovers quickly, rolling and getting to his feet. He looks at the other man and pauses, something pressing on the back of his mind. Frowning, he glances away and saw men approaching. He quickly aims his weapon. The man put up his shield at the last moment, ducking as an RPG flies over his shoulder, right toward the soldier. His men are nowhere to be found. Others are approaching rapidly. He ducks and disappears into the wreckage around him.