The suit they give him is a tactical uniform of sorts; a dark navy blue jacket not unlike his one from the war, and a bulletproof vest over it. The left arm cut off to allow the prosthetic to move freely. Cargo pants, holsters to hold knives, guns…
Well, he doesn't look half bad in it, anyway. And, weirdly enough, it's the first time in a while that he's actually felt secure, despite the fact that they haven't given him weapons yet.
…he can't help but like it.
He's shaken from his musings when the door to the dark room hisses open, and he turns to see an agent standing stiffly just outside.
"Sergeant Barnes. Director Fury sent me to come collect you."
Though he does bristle slightly at the word collect, Bucky nods and follows the man without comment. Down the polished, unreal-looking halls – startling when what he'd assumed was just another part of the wall suddenly slides open to admit a small group of agents into the hall, past the duo, and around the corner.
Yeah, he likes to think that he's getting the hang of this place.
Finally, the agent takes a sharp turn into another not-wall door, which slides shut behind Bucky with a click as it locks.
"Good, you're here," Fury says, distractedly, only sparing him half a glance up from the screen he's staring at. "Your team's gonna be ready to go in two minutes. In the meantime…"
Fury presses the screen before him before finally stepping back, regarding Bucky for a moment. "I have a small favour to ask you."
Bucky inclines his head in affirmation, and Fury actually hesitates before going to a section of the wall and pressing more buttons. Out slides a compartment, and the director takes two cases – one big, one smaller – from it. Then, he returns to Bucky and places both cases on the table in the middle of the room. "First, your weapons."
The director pushes the smaller case towards him. Bucky glances questioningly at him, and the man nods. So, he opens the case.
In it is an assortment of weapons; two handguns, knives and boot-knives – and a rifle. He allows an impressed whistle to escape through his teeth. "I hope it's nothing too fancy," he says.
"You'll be glad to know it's relatively foolproof. Our tech team modelled it off the weapons Howard Stark designed for you back in the day."
He nods his thanks, giving the gun a once-over. There are separate compartments in the case with the sight for the rifle, and other gadgets, some of which he does recognise, like what can't be anything but a silencer, or the ammo for all three guns.
"And what's that?" He gestures to the bigger case. "Some secret weapon that'll take down Loki?"
There's actually a sparkle in Fury's eye as he says, "I'd say so."
Now, Bucky is intrigued. Fury opens the second case and turns it around, and—
All the curiosity drains from him the second he sees it. "No," he says flatly. The red, white and blue of the shield gleams in the case, and Bucky has to take a step back so that when he meets Fury's gaze, he's steady. He can't look at it. "That shield doesn't belong to me. You got no right to give it to me."
"Maybe we don't," Fury responds. "But this is the best weapon we got. People will know what it means. They need it now more than ever."
"So get someone else to carry it."
"There's no one else, Barnes. Work with me, here. You were the man's best friend –" Bucky flinches, but Fury remains unwavering. "—and you've carried it before."
"Yeah. When I thought I was gonna die either way," Bucky snaps. "It was a last-ditch effort, sir, I can't do that again. Agent Romanoff would've been a better choice than me."
"That's cute, but no thanks," Romanoff's voice startles him, and he turns to see her standing at the door, arms crossed. "Crew's ready. It's time to go."
"Barnes," Fury calls his attention back before he can reply. "Look. This shield… I'm asking you to take it. You got more right to it than any of us, anyway."
Bucky clenches his jaw. 'We need you to carry it now. I know it's a lot to ask, but it'll go far.' He'd taken it then. But now… now what? Steve's already been avenged. Schmidt's dead, hell, Zola's dead.
Is this what you would have wanted?
"I…" He's not sure what to say. A conversation he'd pushed out of his mind weasels its way back in –
'God. Can you imagine Dugan with this thing?'
Bucky had laughed. 'America would be in trouble. Better pick Monty.'
Steve had looked him dead in the eyes, stifling laughter. 'Buck, don't let that shield go to any of these knuckleheads. Please. Just suck it up and take it yourself.'
'Nah. You ain't going down without me, so I guess neither of us will have it then. Better make a will, old man, and decide now.'
So much for that.
He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. No."
"I'm going to have to steal Barnes, now," Romanoff says sweetly to Fury, and Bucky is grateful for her intervening. "We'll be back with Loki."
Fury doesn't protest, and he closes the case. "Just… think about it."
He doesn't meet the director's eyes as he takes the case with his weapons, and follows Romanoff out of the room.
He's meticulous in slotting each weapon into its holster. He finds a pouch of sorts to hold extra clips for the guns, and a strap tucked in the case for the rifle so he can sling it over his shoulders. Since they're still not in Stuttgart yet, he sets the rifle aside and moves up to the cockpit, settling down quietly into the seat beside Romanoff.
"You know, Fury's just trying to look out for you," Romanoff comments, casting a sideways glance at him.
He sighs. "I can take care of myself, Agent Romanoff."
"Yeah. But you are a bit out of your depth. It's not wrong to accept help, Barnes."
He looks down. "That shield would just make things worse. It wouldn't help me, it wouldn't help anyone."
"Maybe. But I think it's about more than just the shield, Barnes."
"…Bucky."
She inclines her head in acknowledgement. "Bucky. You just need to be your own person. You need things you can call yours."
"Yeah. I guess."
"But do you really want Fury to give that shield to someone else? Someone who could carry it, but never knew your friend?"
No. That answer comes readily, but he can't get it out. He stays silent, gaze locked on his prosthetic arm. Romanoff nods, anyway, but there's nothing taunting about it.
"Heads up," she says, after a long moment. "We're approaching the city."
"Stay on your toes," Romanoff's voice crackles into his ear. "Strike team's coming around the other side of the building – you're gonna be able to corner our guy between you, and it'll all be in the bag."
He winces. "Don't jinx it, Romanoff."
"Was that a thing? Soldiers' superstition? God, sorry, grandpa."
He rolls his eyes and presses forward through the hall, lit by the cheery light shining through the occasional window from the main part of the building, where the party is. "I'm on the upper level, approaching the balcony. If I can get a clean shot at our guy, I can take him down."
"Don't hit anything too important. We need him alive."
"Got it." He's at the archway to the balcony, now. It's deserted up here, but the chatter below is no longer muffled. "You sure he's coming out here?"
Romanoff replies, but he doesn't hear her, because screams suddenly bounce around the vast chamber, making him flinch. He straightens, rushing to the balcony and swearing under his breath. "Nevermind. Get that strike team here right now!"
"They're coming. What's happening?"
Bucky braces his rifle against the railing, peering down through the scope, locking on the figure below, hunched over a man screaming and writhing.
"Bucky?"
He flicks the safety off, takes a breath, allows the cacophony in the room to fade out, leaving only his target…
BAM.
Something happens when the bullet should hit Loki, a flash of blue light. But whatever it is, the man staggers backwards, releasing his captive who now clutches at his face.
Loki looks directly at Bucky.
Bucky freezes.
And then the other man raises his cane – Bucky's eyes widen as it suddenly turns into a curved sceptre with a blue light glowing – right at him. He swears, and snatches his rifle up, heart pounding as he scrambles out of the way.
BOOM.
The entire building shakes as the impact collides with the space he was only moments before, the blast catching him off-balance. He quickly slings the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and sprints forward, heading straight for the door. Cover. He needs cover.
Well. That thought is only half-formed when a second blast nearly deafens him, and the floor crumbles beneath his feet. No, no, no—
He throws himself forward, the air whooshing out of his lungs as he slams into the side of the marble floor. He hangs there, scrambling for a hold on the smooth surface, heart in his mouth as his grip begins to slip.
In the end, it's not his grip that fails – it's the chunk of floor he's hanging onto. It's not a long fall, but he's keenly aware that the sheer instinct that has him throwing his arms up around his head saves him from a worse hit. Broken stone jabs into his back. He groans, coughing, rolls onto his side, getting one arm under his body to push himself up.
Boots swim into his vision, and a weight on the back of his head stops him from rising.
"You will all kneel, one way or another," a voice hisses. Loki.
"No thanks," he grinds out, fingers closing in on the hidden knife at his hip. He yanks it out and slashes it at Loki, feeling the weight of the blade hit the other's leg. Loki yelps, but Bucky's victory is short-lived as the butt of the sceptre slams into the side of his face, sending him straight back to the ground.
Though the world is now spinning, Bucky pushes himself away and scrambles to his feet, knife clutched tightly in one hand, grabbing for one of his guns with his right. He crosses his wrists, flesh hand over the prosthetic, for stability, glaring at the man before him, who has now started pacing, a grin that makes Bucky very uneasy spreading across his face. Why won't Loki make an attack?
Bucky fires – and Loki does something, because the light from the sceptre gets brighter and each of his shots bounces right off him. Way to toss me right into the deep end, Fury, he groans to himself, cautiously stepping backwards, putting distance between them.
"I have heard of you, you know," Loki says silkily.
"Likewise," Bucky responds.
"The soldier in the ice. Quite the sensation, yes?"
"Bucky, talk to me!" He ignores Romanoff in his ear, his focus lasered on his opponent. But behind Loki, movement.
The strike team. Bucky manages a smile. "Put the sceptre down. You got nowhere to go."
Loki chuckles. "Oh, haven't I?"
Green lights begin to spit their way to life in the room, and to Bucky's horror, a second Loki appears, and a third, and – he stops counting, his eyes darting back to the real one. The duplicates flicker for a moment, and something like pain crosses over Loki's face before he seems to refocus, and the duplicates return without a thing out of place.
The real Loki steps backwards, smirk fixed on his face again. The other Lokis start moving, slowly, and then faster. Bucky clenches his jaw and tries to keep his eyes on the real target – but then one of the fakes passes in front of him, and suddenly he loses track of where Loki is.
"Romanoff, we got a problem," he says shakily, turning in a slow circle. The Loki duplicates walk through the room, most staring at him, circling him. Then one surges forward at an inhuman speed, snarl on its face, and Bucky trips backwards, firing his gun but the bullets go straight through it and it suddenly disappears, leaving him to stagger back to his feet.
"Tell me what's going on," Romanoff urges.
"It's kinda hard to explain, ma'am," he says breathlessly, searching the crowd for anything. He can see the strike team across the room, and –
There. One Loki is moving away from the crowd, towards the massive doors.
Bucky sprints forward, bracing himself every time he goes through one of the duplicates. The real Loki is outside now, and finally, Bucky breaks away from the crowd and slams the glass door open.
Loki turns, slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, as if he's taunting him, and then with a sudden burst of speed raises the sceptre right at him. Bucky dives to the side, firing off another shot – and then the gun clicks. Empty.
Loki has turned again to face him, the sceptre raised at him still. Another burst of blue light forces Bucky to throw himself backwards, his back hitting the wall of the building. Loki raises the sceptre again, but before he can fire off another shot that Bucky isn't sure he can dodge, the Quinjet descends from the night sky.
"Loki, drop the weapon and stand down."
Bucky almost drops with relief to hear Romanoff's voice. But Loki merely whips around and unleashes a burst of light towards the Quinjet. While he's distracted, Bucky kicks off the wall and slams into him, knocking him off his feet.
Loki grunts as they both hit the ground, but he's the first to recover and swings the sceptre at him. Bucky narrowly scrambles back to avoid the razor-sharp blade, but Loki swings it back around and now Bucky's entirely on defensive.
Loki pauses, for just half a second.
It's all Bucky needs. He kicks out, catching his opponent in the stomach. But before either of them can make another move, a piercing whine assaults his ears, followed by—music?
"It's about time," Romanoff grumbles into his ear.
He sees what she means a moment later, when a streak of light arcs through the sky, straight towards Loki so fast that the man has no time to react.
A burst of light, not blue this time, slams into Loki, knocking him off his feet and straight into the glass of the door. With a clank, the source of the blast lands beside Bucky. It's a man – or rather, a man-shaped suit. He knows what this is; who this is.
"Make your move, reindeer games," the suit says.
Immediately, a distinct shine outlines Loki, and his helmet fades away. He raises his hand in surrender.
"Good move."
Bucky presses a hand to his side with a wince and turns to the suit. "Mr. Stark?" He says, cautiously.
"Barnes."
The helmet disengages, and Howard Stark's son reaches up to take it off. Bucky's seen the pictures in the file, but it strikes him then that Tony looks very much like his father.
"So, is Romanoff gonna help us get our god over here onto the jet, or are we carrying him home?"
"Coming in for landing," she sighs, and the Quinjet lowers to the ground.
"You seem to have taken quite the walloping," Tony comments idly, tossing a glance between Bucky and Loki. "I'm impressed, actually. Is that the benefits of age or…?"
"Funny," Bucky replies. "But thanks. For the save."
"Great. When do I get my 'assisting the elderly' boy scout badge?" The other man grins, turning his attention to Loki before Bucky can even roll his eyes. "Alright. Up."
Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter!