The Soldier- or was he the Asset? Bucky, maybe?- walks down what he believes is the French Quarter in New Orleans. He's never been here before- not that he can recall, anyway- but the place seems to put him at ease. For being a city in modern times, a lot of the architecture seems to appear outdated yet beautiful all at the same time and he actually finds himself wanting to spend time in this city before moving on. So hair hanging down to his chin and scruff covering the bottom half of his face, Bucky? immerses himself into the crowd of rambunctious human beings while making sure not to touch any of them or they touch him.
For months now, the black baseball cap shoved atop his head and black cotton jacket has been the Asset's- Bucky's!- only disguise. He kept the 'Winter Soldier' suit packed up with more than enough money to burn through and weapons to protect himself with- not counting the knives he had hidden in his boots and pockets- and looked for HYDRA bolt holes to finish off the people dedicated to the agency who made him what he is today before burning said bolt holes to the ground. Normally, the Soldier wouldn't care about such things but ever since the man on the bridge- Steve, was it?- unintentionally broke the Soldier's programming, he's been burning with uncontrolled rage to extract revenge. So that's what he did.
That, plus, he's been dodging every attempt at being recaptured by both HYDRA and the man from the bridge along with his dark skinned friend. Even as a small voice in the back of his mind tells him that the man from the bridge- Steve, dammit!- can be trusted, the Soldier- Bucky!- is not ready. Not yet.
Shouts and joyous laughter startle the Soldier, his metal hand flying to the pocket of his jacket where he grips the hilt of a dagger in hand. Dull gray-blue eyes narrow at the group of young people to his right, and his metal arm whirs as plates shift beneath the sleeve of his jacket in preparation for a fight.
Kids. Just kids, his mind supplies. Threat level less than three percent.
Nearly everyone on the streets in staggering and stumbling about- music pumping through the air from various establishments and multi-colored lights flashing. People are dancing around with brightly colored boas, feathered masks, and just having a grand 'ol time laughing and drinking. So after a moment of scanning the streets and the people surrounding him, the Soldier- Bucky!- loosens up and lets his hand fall limp back at his side. Metal fingers clench into a fist as strangers brush up against him, but they pass him up without even a second glance.
When the fight drains from the Soldier, Bucky's then quick to find a joint- Rousseau's- that's dimly lit and not as crowded as everywhere else to grab a bite to eat. Small two-seater tables litter the main floor, and tall wooden chairs line up at the bar. There's a small stage tucked away in the back right corner where a jukebox sits lit up and playing- was that jazz?- music for the patrons. He quickly finds the emergency exit and kitchen doors- cataloging those in case of a hasty exit- and seeing as the bar isn't as crowded as the main floor, Bucky decides to take a seat there. His forearms rest atop the bar top and hands clasp together in front of him but when light reflects off the metal of his hand that isn't covered by the sleeve of his jacket, Bucky's quick to place his left hand down in his lap and out of view.
A friendly blonde approaches him from the other side of the bar and introduces herself as Camille, she smiling politely as she asks what it is he'll have. Bucky takes a moment to assess her, he carefully cataloging her reaction to him. But when her smile stays in tact and she waits patiently, he rasps out, "Whatever's on special s'fine."
"Usually, it's gumbo," she grins. "-but you look like either a steak or a good burger type of guy. Unfortunately, we ran out of steaks but we do have the ingredients for burgers."
"S'fine." Bucky coughs lightly, just enough to clear his throat. "And I'll take whatever beer's on tap."
"Alright. Just sit and relax, and your food will be out shortly."
Tersely nodding, Bucky tries to relax as much as he can. There's a mirror behind the bar where all the liquor is shelved, he using the reflection to scan everyone at his back to make sure there's no one suspicious lingering about and watching him. His ice cold mug of beer comes a minute later, Camille dropping it off with another friendly smile before she tends to everyone else. And then after a little over five minutes later, his burger and onion rings are plated in front of him.
Waiting until Camille refills his beer and then leaves him to his own devices, Bucky then wastes no time to grab up his burger with both hands and takes an enormous bite out of it. As the flavors and juices of the burger coat his tongue, Bucky can't help but groan because he can't remember when the last time was that he took the time to actually eat a whole meal.
After scarfing down his burger and onion rings, and draining his second beer, Bucky waves down the blonde bartender. He gruffly asks for a second order of the same thing, grabbing a napkin from a nearby dispenser and wiping the grease from his fingers when her back is turned. And as he waits for his second helping, his gaze turns back to the mirror behind the bar so he can scan the reflection of what's behind him once again. There's a few new faces and even though people are coming and going, the place never seems to get overcrowded.
The second burger is even greasier than the first but just as delicious, as are the crunchier onion rings and ice cold beer. And as Bucky sits there once he's finished his food, he loses himself in thought as his flesh hand wipes some of the condensation off his mug. His memory skips into the past to where he's sitting in a somewhat familiar joint, many men crowded around small tables in various states of undress from their war uniforms. War posters cover the walls and music plays in the background but Bucky's more focused on the man sitting next to him. It's Steve- the man from the bridge- but he can't recall what they're talking about. And then suddenly, there's a woman in a red dress that former Bucky tries charming but she's more interested in Stevie.
"Hey there, handsome," Camille snaps him out of the memory. "Finished already? How was it?"
Startled, the Soldier is immediately on alert even as Bucky remains in control so instead of going for a weapon, his metal hand grips the side of his chair to keep from lashing out. Camille's sporting an easy going grin and the Soldier finds himself mentally annoyed that he can feel a smirk forming. "It was perfect, doll." Bucky gulps as the pet name rolls off his tongue, the Soldier slowly retreating even as his metal arm whirs and plates shift.
The blonde chuckles at the pet name, shaking her head in fond amusement before reaching under the bar for a rag to wipe down the counter top. "Would you like another?"
Smirk slowly falling, Bucky gives his head a quick shake and finishes off the remainder of his beer. "I'm good but I can do with another beer."
"Sure. Coming right up."
Bucky receives his third beer for the night, taking a slow pull of the cold liquid when a group of rambunctious men startle him yet again. He takes a moment to calm himself, getting his mind and breathing under control before standing and turning his chair around so he could people watch. Though turning around to watch those around him would prove to be his first mistake of the night.
One of the newcomers is laughing with his friends at a table not far away, and for a split second he looks up only to make eye contact with Bucky. The stranger's amusement doesn't fade and he nearly looks away but his gaze falls to Bucky's thigh where his metal hand is resting. The smile then falters and his eyes slightly widen as if recognition set in, and he tries his best to immediately look away and be inconspicuous. But one by one, his surrounding friends slowly tense after a few muttered words and a few brave souls attempt to look in Bucky's direction.
Cursing softly, Bucky stands and rights his chair. He sets down his mostly filled mug of beer before reaching into his jean's front pocket and pulls out a wad of crumpled cash, tossing it next to his empty plate. There was more than enough money to cover his order and the bartender could do what she pleases with the rest.
Tucking his metal hand into the pocket of his jacket and gripping a dagger tight, the Soldier takes over and keeps his head down as he exits the establishment. The noise from outside makes him even more tense since he had grew accustomed to the lower sounds from inside the joint, his shoulders hunching as he quickens his pace through the crowd.
With the noise lowering and crowd thinning the further he gets away, the Soldier remains on edge with the amount of eyes he can feel on him. He keeps his gaze straight ahead now, watching the shadows for anything out of the ordinary. And the strange thing about this all is that the Soldier doesn't even hear the enemy until it's too close and he's being shoved down an alley between two buildings that's surprisingly well lit but with no other living soul nearby.
The Soldier stumbles before he can find his footing, hearing a pebble scattering across the ground behind him a second later. Not wasting a second, the Soldier frees his dagger and sends it flying as he whirls around in the direction of the sound. The silver blade finds it's target in the chest of a dark haired individual, the man gasping and staring down at the weapon embedded in his chest in disbelief.
The Soldier moves to stand tall and at ease but the man hisses before slowly lifting his head to glare at him with black veins beneath his blood shot eyes and sharp teeth showing between parted lips. And this- the Soldier remembers seeing this before. He remembers fighting a blonde female back in DC a while back- a female who had unimaginable strength and speed. So as the strange man moves to grip the hilt of the blade and yank the weapon free without so much as a grunt, the Soldier starts stripping out of his jacket so his arms are able to move more freely in the fight he knows is about to happen.
But allowing his arms to be caught in the material of the jacket for a brief moment would prove to be his second mistake of the night. Because as most of the material is caught around his wrists right before he lets the material fall, another person comes up behind him to twist his own jacket around his wrists- binding them together- and is then shoving him chest first up against the brick wall.
What the hell are they?! The Soldier mentally rages. No one is that quiet.
The Soldier struggles against the captor at his back, his cap falling to the ground and hair falling loose as his metal arm whirs to be set free of his constraints. "Get. Off."
"Now, now, mate. Tone down the aggression. We just want to help," a distinctive English accent muses.
The Soldier struggles even more at how cheerful the man seems, snarling in rage and snapping his head back without warning. The crunch! of bone sounding and the sudden lax of grip on his wrists has the Soldier yanking his wrists apart and tearing the jacket in order to be free. However, as he whirls around in preparation for a fight, the sandy-brown haired man who's dripping blood from his nose is growling with dull yellow glowing eyes- black veins slithering to the surface beneath said eyes.
"What are you people?" the Soldier snarls.
The dark haired individual- not the one that the Soldier wounded- but another one in a suit looks faintly amused as he answers, "Friends of a friend. We're here to help you, Sergeant Barnes."
Instead of calming, the Soldier tenses yet again and reaches for dagger in a hidden pocket at his thigh. Only before he can retrieve it, his hand's being knocked away by a blur of the sandy-blonde haired man's arm. And then in another blur, the Soldier suddenly finds himself pinned to the brick wall once more only this time, his back is to the wall and a hand is gripped tight around his throat- pinning him there.
The sandy blonde haired man is using his free hand to hold the Soldier's flesh wrist at his side and the man in the suit is using both hands to pin his metal arm. And luckily for them, they're crowded too close to the Soldier for him to kick out.
"What do you want with me?" he spits in anger, struggling against their hold. These men were too strong to be human. "'m not going back. That's not an option."
"Well if you would calm down," the sandy-blonde one speaks, rolling his eyes. "-and act civilly, you'd know we're actually trying to help."
"'m not going back. Not to Hydra. You're gonna hafta to kill me." The Soldier pulls on his metal arm, plates shifting but the suited man keeps a firm grip on him.
"Hydra?" the blonde snorts. "You think we're Hydra, mate?" The Soldier stops struggling for a few seconds, gaze assessing at this new piece of information. And with a smirk, the monstrous features of the sandy-blonde haired man disappear as he continues talking. "We were asked to capture Hydra agents and turn them in or kill them if they became too much trouble. But sadly," he sighs now, feigning sadness. "-they tend to kill themselves when they see just the faintest flash of fang."
Struggling ensues. The arms whirs and the metal plates shift. "Then who are you?"
"Like my brother said," the man gives a dimpled smirk. "-we're friends of a friend. Allies, really. Does a bloke in skin tight red, white, and blue ring any bells?"
Eyes widening just a fraction, the Soldier snarls. "No."
"Oh, bloody hell," the blonde then groans. "If you won't behave, I'll make you." The Soldier bares teeth as the sandy-blonde haired man places his face just inches away from the Soldier's, pupils dilating and oddly putting him in a bit of a sudden trance. "Stop struggling and calm down. We're not the enemy."
XxX
Klaus watches as Sergeant Barnes- well, the shadow of the man he once was, really- goes lax in his grasp. But only for a brief moment. His pupils had dilated with the compulsion but now- now the man's pupils are widening and narrowing repeatedly as his breathing turns erratic.
Brows pulling together in confusion, Klaus leans back just as Barnes starts struggling once more though not as hard as before. "Interesting," he mutters. "'lijah, get Caroline and Mr. Rogers on the phone. Compulsion isn't working on this one."
Elijah merely hums in acknowledgement, then peering over his shoulder and gives a brief whistle. Three vampires- two men and one woman- drop from rooftop of the building behind them, striding over and each pinning the metal arm to the wall while Elijah takes his strength away to make the phone call.
XxX
Caroline's curled up with Steve on their couch, the couple lounging about in their own private living space. She's tucked under his right arm, peering up and running her fingers along the dark scruff covering the bottom half of his face.
"I think you should keep this," she grins, dragging a nail under his jaw. "I actually kind of like it."
"Mhm," Steve hums. "You're just lucky you heal really fast or else you wouldn't be saying that. Beard burn is no joke."
Caroline giggles, then cupping Steve's jaw in hand before leaning up so she can kiss him. But just as their lips are literally centimeters apart, Caroline's phone blares.
"It's always your phone," Steve chuckles. "And I'm the Avenger in this relationship."
"Shutup." Caroline grunts, pushing off of Steve and off the couch so she can stand. She picks her phone from the coffee table and frowns when she sees Elijah's name on the caller ID. Accepting the call, she puts it on speaker. "Elijah? You're on speaker."
"Ah, Miss Forbes. I'm going to take a wild guess and say Mr. Rogers is with you?"
"Duh."
"Hello, Mr. Mikaelson," Steve then greets.
"Mr. Rogers." There's a brief pause before the Original is speaking again, he starting off with a soft sigh. "I know the orders were to not apprehend the Winter Soldier but-"
"You have him?!" Steve jumps to his feet.
"We have him. A vampire in the Quarter recognized him at a bar and I'm afraid he didn't do a very good job at being inconspicuous. Sergeant Barnes realized this and fled but my brother and I caught up with him. Caroline. Mr. Rogers, Sergeant Barnes is fighting the compulsion. We need you here immediately."
"O-of course," both Caroline and Steve stammer simultaneously and had this been under different circumstances, the couple would have laughed. But it's not and Steve's already fiddling with his own phone to prep a team and quinjet that agent May and Skye managed to steal back.
Seeing that Steve's busy, Caroline takes charge of her own phone once more. "Thank you, Elijah. They'll be there as soon as possible."
So I know Bucky's OOC and I apologize. It's my first time writing for the Soldier and I must admit, it's not easy.