Old Friends Chapter 1
By: Cadet Deming
I don't own the rights to Captain America or the Avengers. Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Takes place after Captain America: Winter Soldier. Rated T for violence, language and adult situations. Please read and review, it's encouraging to continue
Washington D.C.
"So Steve, you and Natasha, is there anything going on between you two?" Sam Wilson asked.
Steve Rogers tried not to blush at his friend's question. He'd adjusted from being a 98 pound weakling to becoming a Super Soldier. He'd adapted to being frozen for decades and waking up in a different century. But try as he might, anything having to do with the opposite sex flustered him.
"Natasha and I are just really good, old friends. That's all."
"Old friends? Trust me, men and women can never stay long-term friends. You can try, but unless the woman is repulsive or the man ain't interested in women period. Someone always gets attracted to someone and it ruins it."
Dishonesty was never one of Steve's strong points.
"It's not that I'm not attracted to her. I just don't think she's interested in me."
"Why not? You're Captain America. What woman wouldn't be into you?"
Arrogance was never one of Steve's traits either.
"I'm not one of those guys that can have any woman he wants, trust me. Natasha is always trying to fix me up with other women. And she supposedly has a boyfriend."
Sam said, "Supposedly, as in you've never met him. Is he Canadian?"
"What does being Canadian have to do with anything? I've met him, but he's been on assignment for the past few years and I haven't seen him in awhile. He's one of the Avengers."
Sam looked surprised. "Really, which one?"
"Hawkeye."
Sam looked relieved. "The one with the arrows and no real superpowers? If you'd have said Thor or Iron Man I'd be worried. And if you'd said the Hulk I'd really start wondering about Natasha."
"It doesn't matter who. I'm not the type of guy that goes after other guy's gals."
"But if he's never around, is she really his gal?"
Steve pondered that for a moment.
His cell phone rang. The ringtone was "The Star-Spangled Banner."
Sam said, "You gotta get a Marvin Gaye ringtone man."
Steve smiled. He saw it was Natasha calling.
He said, "Speak of the red-headed Devil. Hello Natasha."
Sam gave him two thumbs up in the background and winked.
Her throaty voice purred, "Hey Steve."
He had to admit he loved her voice. She sounded a bit like the onscreen movie star sirens from his youth, but with a modern edge.
He tried to sound casual. "What's going on?"
"I have bad news. Our old friend Brock Rumlow was in intensive care at Mercy Regional Hospital. He escaped last night, left casualties."
Sam chimed in, "Didn't we drop a Helicarrier on him?"
Natasha said, "Unfortunately that wasn't enough."
Steve ruminated about Rumlow. For two years he fought side-by-side with him on Shield's strike team. For two years he'd trusted him completely with his life, and he turned out to be a Hydra mole who tried to murder him multiple times. The betrayal had hurt more than the physical attacks.
Steve said, "If you're asking for my help tracking him down, you know I'm always there for you."
She said, "I'm worried as much about you as I am about me."
Sam mouthed the words, "True Love" in the background. Steve tried to keep a straight face.
Steve said, "I'll help, but I'm not giving up my search for Bucky either."
Bucky was his other "old friend" who turned out to be working for Hydra. Except Steve believed it wasn't by choice. He had to be brainwashed. Steve had to hold on to the hope he could save him.
Natasha said, "I know once you set your mind to something no one can stop you. But Bucky is a ghost. We have no idea where to find him. Rumlow's trail is hotter."
Steve said, "I'm in, but I won't forget about Bucky."
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Bucky Barnes needed to get someplace safe, someplace cold. The cold was familiar, like Winter. For so long he thought "Winter Soldier" was his only name.
Things were starting to come back to him in bits and pieces. Flashes of memory haunted him of the violence and heat of when he was ripped from his slumber to follow orders. The longest history he had was of sleeping in the cold, wet ice where they'd kept him for so long.
They…Hydra.
We are Hydra! Cut off one head and two more will take its place!
Was he still Hydra? Was he anything now?
His throat parched with thirst. It was an unfamiliar feeling. When Hydra kept him in the Cryo-Freeze he didn't eat or drink anything for years.
A sign blinked ahead of him advertising for a bar. It looked like a dive, not that he was picky in his condition. He was somewhere in the Southwest corner of Washington, one of the not so safe parts.
Bucky didn't feel fear. He just did what he was programmed to do, to follow the mission like a robot. His mind was as robotic as his mechanical right arm. If a robot's mind could dream, that is.
He kept the metallic arm covered to try to stay incognito. When Hydra let him out he usually had a mask and goggles, but now he was exposed. He avoided eye contact, hiding under his long, dark hair.
Bucky entered the bar. It was dark, which he liked. Music with chanting but no singing played in the background. Was it what they called rap music? Every time they woke him up the music, cars and clothes changed. Each time the world felt less and less familiar.
He rested on a stiff barstool and ordered a beer, picking Budweiser because it was first on the drink list.
The bartender said, "That'll be four bucks."
Bucky realized he had no money on him. He had no reason to carry cash before.
He said, "I'm sorry. I forgot my wallet."
The bartender frowned and pulled the drink back. "Then get the F #k out. This is a business, not a charity."
A man called out from behind Bucky, "I'll cover him, if that's OK. And bring me a Corona, please."
Bucky turned around. The man's eyes were covered with a black hoodie. His right arm bulged under the pouch of the hoodie.
The bartender squinted suspiciously, but turned to get the Corona.
Bucky said, "Uh, gee thanks. Mister…"
His lips curled into a tight smile. "I'm Eric. Eric Williams. I'm always willing to help out a fellow soldier."
"How can you tell?"
"It's in how people carry themselves. And in the eyes."
Bucky wondered how Eric could even see his eyes. The bartender brought the other drink and Eric paid for both of them with his left hand.
Eric gestured, "Do you want to sit someplace less hostile?"
Bucky nodded. They settled into a booth in the corner.
Bucky felt off-kilter. In strange spaces he instinctively didn't allow himself to be boxed in. He was trained to always be on the offensive and never turn his back on potential danger. He was so desperate for a drink, but he needed to figure out what the hell he needed to do he went along with things.
Bucky asked, "So where did you serve?"
Eric sipped from his bottle. "Afghanistan. Iraq. The usual. What about you?"
Bucky remembered bits and pieces: Europe, Vietnam, the Middle East, a grassy knoll in Texas in 1963.
He said tersely, "The same."
Eric said, "Really. What unit did you serve in?"
Bucky thought back to the exhibit he saw at the Smithsonian Museum. It was all about the Howling Commandos during World War 2. He'd seen an entry about himself: James Buchanan Barnes, killed in action in the 1940's.
He hesitated to respond, "It was…it was…the 107th. I think."
Eric cocked his head. "You think? You don't really remember?"
Bucky saw he still only used his left hand. The right was tucked under the table out of sight. The fog in Bucky's brain started to register danger.
"I remember."
"Do you remember…Hydra? Do you remember who you really are?"
Of course they were coming after him. Bucky's programming kicked in, all of the brainwashing and training.
He said, "Hail Hydra. Cut off one head and two more will take its place. I'm Buck…I'm the Winter Soldier. Who are you really?"
"Some people call me the Grim Reaper. I'm one of the fail-safe replacement heads. I'm here to bring you home."
His hood did resemble the robes worn by the Grim Reaper of folklore.
Bucky felt the programming and wanted to break it, smash it into a million pieces, destroy it completely. The fog in his brain lifted.
"What if I don't want to come?"
The Grim Reaper smiled under his hood. "I have orders to bring you back or take you down. It's your choice which."
Bucky swung his bionic arm and snarled, "None of the above!"
His reflexes had been altered by corrupted Super-Soldier experiments so he usually moved faster than everyone else, but to his surprise Eric blocked his move with a metallic right arm of his own. Instead of a regular hand at the end, the arm curved into the blade of a scythe.
Eric said, "You're not the only guy with an upgrade. Except mine are more impressive."
Bucky kicked him in the chest. He fell backwards, slicing through the air with his weapon. Bucky pushed the table on to his opponent. Eric sliced through it like a laser through butter.
The bartender screamed, "No fighting in my bar. You're gonna pay for that, both of you!"
Eric leapt back onto his feet and stared at the bartender, brandishing the scythe.
The bartender looked scared. "On second thought, do whatever you want. I don't even own this place."
He turned tail and ran. Bucky grabbed one of the halves of the table and smashed it over Eric's head. He went down.
Bucky jumped over him and tried to follow the bartender. His instincts made him leap to the left, seconds before a knife ricocheted past him, missing his head by a fraction.
Eric screamed, "You can't leave Hydra! Nobody does! Wherever you hide I will find you and reap you!"
Bucky ran out into the night, not knowing where to turn.
To Be Continued