Hello! I think I'm making it a tradition to write an angsty antagonist-centric one-shot after every Marvel movie (I wrote one about Loki after the release of The Dark World, if you wanna check it out). I saw the Winter Soldier on Saturday so... Yeah. Here it is. With Bucky- er, The Winter Soldier- as the narator, this ficlet takes place during the fight on the platform of the hellicarrier (if you've seen the movie, you'll know what I'm talking about). Warning: Spoilers galore! If you haven't yet seen the movie... Well, I don't know what to tell you because you probably shouldn't be on the CA archive. Here goes:
Disclaimer: Although I wish I did, I do not own Marvel. Nor the cover.
"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes—"
"Shut up!"
Metal clanged against metal as his arm collided with the shield. The Captain evaded his next blow and once again held up his shield as defense.
"— I'm not gonna fight you—"
He landed a blow across his face which caused the Captain to stumble. Blood seeped from a cut on his lip; his chest heaved as he took a ragged breath. Extending his gloved hand, he let his shield fall to the ground and into the Potomac. His fingers fumbled as he removed his blue helmet.
"—you're my friend."
"You're my mission."
Roaring in anger, he charged at the Captain. He knocked him down onto the cold mesh ground where they skid towards the edge of the platform. Metal knuckles dug into soft flesh; blood tarnished the shiny silver. The star-spangled shield could be seen sinking through the clear waters of the river below. An explosion boomed in the distance. Smoke billowed from above; the hellicarrier shuddered. With one hand still on the Captain's neck, he looked up and frowned. He was running out of time to complete his mission.
It was time to get this over with.
Over and over again his fist came down. Groans of pain sounded out against the roaring wind. More blood and bruises. Another explosion. The Captain wasn't fighting back; he didn't even turn his head to evade the blows. He just took them straight on. It made him even angrier. A normal target would have been long dead by now. But Captain America was no normal target—he was the target. A soldier could only be taken down by another soldier. If Captain America was the righteous soldier willing to die a martyr for an unworthy cause then the Winter Soldier was the soldier to stain his hands with blood in order to get the job done. Just one more blow would do it. He would finish his job and do his duty and—
"Do it," Blood and saliva trailed down the Captain's jaw as he spoke. His voice shook. "'Cause I'm with you till the end of the line."
The Winter Soldier hesitated before delivering the final strike. He was breathing hard; his breath came out in short burst. The Captain was as good as dead; no super soldier serum would save him. One punch would do it. One more blow would finish his mission. But it baffled him: this man truly was a self-righteous martyr—laying himself out on the line for… For what? Why was the good Captain so willing to die at the hands of his enemy? He was a lamb trapped in between a lion's jaws. The lamb could very well try to wriggle his way out—to no avail—but was all the lion had heard a lie? Was he really going to give up without a fight? Why wasn't he fighting back? Is this why he was to be eliminated? Was he too weak to keep around? Could he not take a life in order to save his own? Why had he said he'd been he'd been his friend? Why-?
The Captain plummeted down towards the river with a final kick to the side. He couldn't afford to hesitate. No mercy, no mercy, no mercy. Mercy gets in the way of getting a job done. In a world of blacks and grays there could be no color; no red or white or blue. The Winter Soldier stood as he watched his target hit the water three hundred feet below with a splash. With the injuries he sustained there would be no resurfacing. He would sink to the bottom of the river never to rally his troops again.
He had done his job.
He had completed his mission.
Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.
He was the Winter Soldier. Most of the intelligence community didn't even believe he existed. He was a ghost; no one would ever find him.
I'm not gonna fight you.
He was fast and strong. He had a metal arm. He did the missions everyone else was too weak to do; wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty.
You're my friend.
Nothing was left in winter's wake. The storm knew no force- friend or foe- that could stop it.
Do it.
No remorse, no regret. No mercy. No fear.
'Cause I'm with you till the end of the line.
"Till the end of the line."
His voice sounded small and muffled. The wind howled around him as it had on that snowy mountaintop years ago. If he closed his eyes he could almost feel the brutal cold. A hazy memory started to form in his mind. A gloved hand closed over his with an unrelenting grip. A familiar red and blue silhouette reached out for him as he fell. Distorted shouts echoed off the valley walls. The sensation of plummeting hundreds of feet down overtook him once more as he dove into the Potomac. An imaginary train—a reminiscent fragment—whistled above him. Despite the warm temperature the water felt icy; as if he'd landed yet again in a deep snow bank. With his arm outstretched, he propelled himself further into the water. Just a little bit closer… He couldn't let him fall like he did before.
Closer…
Closer…
There.
I'm with you…
The last thing Steve saw before the world went black was a silver hand reaching out for him through the water.
… Till the end of the line.
Review, please! It'll make me real happy.
Lily