capkink | Prompt Post 1

Prompt Post 1

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At least one of the characters in your prompt must have been in Captain America: The First Avenger or Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

As of May 3, 2014, the spoiler policy is no longer in effect.

Update, April 22, 2014:
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The windows of the car are rolled down as Barton navigates the interstate, and a gust of wind blows through, whipping the Soldier's hair into his face. He blinks, eyes stinging. The right hand brushes the hair back, left hand taking a cigarette from between his lips. He exhales smoke. The cigarette is the reason the windows are open.

"It might not hurt your lungs," Romanoff had said when she saw the pack, "but not everyone's a super soldier."

Romanoff, sitting beside him in the backseat of the car, is moving now, taking something from her pocket. "Here," she says, and her hands are on his hair, gently pulling it back. She wraps some sort of soft elastic band around his hair, and it stays in place when her hands move back to her lap. Her own hair is pulled back as well.

Sometimes, the Soldier thinks, HYDRA would do that with his hair during especially windy missions.

He wonders if they'll do that for future missions as well, or if they'll cut at it to avoid the problem altogether. He doesn't remember if they ever cut his hair. If they do cut it, he likely won't remember; he will come to in rooms without mirrors and if he catches a glimpse in some reflective surface, he won't know how it was before to the difference.

"Halfway there," Barton announces just as the Soldier is murmuring a quiet "thank you" to Romanoff.

Steve had not wanted the Soldier to return to DC.

He had not, as the Soldier learned shortly after making the request, come in simply to see how the Soldier was getting along with Barton's dog. Steve was also there to announce that he had to leave for work again, which means that now some HYDRA base or splinter faction is being eliminated. It makes his stomach clench if he thinks on it—Steve was his mission once and what if he becomes so again?—but the odds of being reassigned to eliminate Captain America are exceedingly low. Steve had proven himself as an extremely difficult target when HYDRA was at full force and currently it is in pieces and exposed. Besides, the asset had malfunctioned when he was tasked with assassinating Steve. Usually malfunctions are simply punished, but on rare occasions he thinks they were dealt with by restricting his access to the source of the error.

If HYDRA wants him back, the chances are favorable that he will be kept away from Steve to lessen the risk of losing their weapon a second time.

"What do you want to see in DC, Buck?" Steve had asked.

"The Smithsonian." The Soldier was not sure whether or not he was a skilled liar. Barnes had appeared to be, but that was seventy years ago. He kept his face as impassive as possible, but Steve's expression had still been scrutinizing. "I can—I'm starting to remember things. I want to see the exhibit again."

"I can take you when I get back," Steve had said. "I can show you my apartment."

Lucky had pushed his head into the Soldier's lap; his hand had stopped petting while he was focused on the lie. He resumed the action and the dog managed to look even happier than he had previously, which the Soldier would not have thought possible. "Good boy," he said. They used to say that to him. He doubted he responded in the same manner as Lucky because he doubted he was capable of such intense joy, but whatever approximation of happiness he used to feel at the praise had been sufficient. The world had been so much simpler then.

He'd raised his eyes back to Steve. "It's urgent."

Steve had not seemed happy about the idea, and neither had Sam, who the Soldier thought had regarded him with something like suspicion ever since breakfast. The Soldier was capable of stubbornness, but so were they. He was nearly ready to give up on the idea, scheming other ways to leave the tower without JARVIS reporting it, when Barton had intervened.

Everyone save for the Soldier and Lucky had left the room. He could hear their muttered voices but could not make out the words. He remained seated, petting the dog's fur. How strange that a creature as horrible as himself was still capable of providing so much happiness to Lucky. There was innocence in that ignorance that he may have once possessed before he became human and terrible again.

When the others had returned, it was announced that Barton and Romanoff would take him to DC for one afternoon.

The cigarette tastes like nothing. The smoke is an irritant to his throat and sinuses, though it is not debilitating. He flicks the ash out the window. The pack rests on the seat between himself and Romanoff, next to the lighter. It is white. He remembers packs from the 1940s that were green. He also remembers that Steve was asthmatic and Barnes was even more of a monster for smoking anywhere near him.

The cigarettes are from a gas station they stopped at earlier in the morning. Barton and Romanoff had gone inside and the Soldier was not permitted to be out of their sight, so he had entered as well. He had been staring at the locked case of tobacco products, hovering on the edge of a memory, when Barton walked up beside him with a small brown bag labeled M&M's.

"Do you remember these?" Barton had asked. "You might have had them in the war."

"I remember these." He'd tilted his head toward the cigarettes.

"Not a great habit to get into," Barton said. "But you're probably not gonna like them anyway—stuff like that was stronger in your day."

He has smoked the cigarette nearly down to the filter. There is a small knife in the pocket of his jeans; he offered to help Pepper with the dishes the night prior and slipped it away while she was rinsing a plate. He does not know why she was washing dishes manually when the tower has a machine for that. He does not want to stab Barton or Romanoff or anyone, really. Not while he is aware of doing so. He does not want to be aware of anything ever again.

He has nowhere to extinguish the cigarette. The Soldier is not sure if he is meant to throw the end out the window, or if he risks setting a fire by doing so. He presses the lit end against his palm to extinguish it before disposal. The skin itches and stings under the heat, and over the scent of smoke he is again reminded of barbeque. It is not an unpleasant sensation.

Romanoff grabs the cigarette from his hand before he can register that her eyes are on him. She moves like someone he remembers shooting, but that woman was redheaded. Romanoff is blonde. Why does he think of red when he sees her?

The Soldier knows without asking that he will not be permitted the rest of the pack. There is no disappointment in the knowledge; whatever solace others find in smoking, he did not experience it.

"How did you get through the metal detectors last time?" Romanoff asks once they are outside the Smithsonian.

The metal detectors were on the exterior entrances only, and they did not sit directly flush against the doors. They were slightly inside, with a gap between the door frame and the detectors. He had waited for the guards to be distracted by something and slipped through that gap. It was not difficult for a призрак.

It is even less difficult this time, with Barton and Romanoff aiding in creating a diversion.

They wander through the exhibit and the Soldier tries not to let his hands shake. He cannot bear to look at images of Steve without feeling the compulsion to race back to the tower, confess his lies, and beg for forgiveness or punishment. He cannot look at images of Barnes without the desire to destroy every picture and mention of that undermining liar. So he stares at the text throughout, trying not to comprehend any of the words he scans.

He does not have to lie when Barton asks if he remembers Barnes's rifle, because he does not. He could fire it flawlessly, he is sure, but he has no memory of using the gun.

They are midway through the exhibit when Barton and Romanoff exchange glances and once again seem to converse without words. "I'll be back in a few minutes," Romanoff says, more to the Soldier than to Barton. "There's something I need to get."

She does not head off in the direction of the gift shop. Had she meant something from the car, or is this a test?

It doesn't matter. His window of opportunity is limited and striking now, when he only has one minder, improves his chances of success. He can knock the man unconscious. He knows where to cut tendons to make the body collapse as if paralyzed. The damage from either method can be healed and in the meantime, the fall will draw attention, create a distraction while the Soldier exits.

"M&M?" Barton offers, taking the bag from his pocket.

The Soldier does not speak. His fingers clench around the handle of the knife in his jeans.

"You don't have to stab me," Barton says. "I'm not going to stop you."

It feels as if the floor has given out below the Soldier. He blinks. "How—"

"JARVIS saw you take the knife. He reported it as soon as you were out of earshot."

The Soldier swallows. Steve had left before that point yesterday, but if he has been informed, he may have abandoned his mission and come to DC. If the Soldier sees him now, he does not know that he will have the strength to run. "Does Steve—"

"He doesn't know. Sam wanted to tell him, but Nat and I convinced him not to."

Convinced him not to? And Barton said he would not stop the Soldier. It makes no sense. Barton is an Avenger. Romanoff was a target of HYDRA, and he is close to her. Why would he help to facilitate the Soldier's return? "You are letting me leave?"

"I'm letting you have a head start." Barton sighs. His eyes look far off, injured, dragged down. "See, I know what it's like to try and pull a life back together. And to want to just run away from it all. I know that point when everything's hopeless and you think you have to go do something stupid because every other option hurts too much. That's where you're at. We can all see it something's up, and Sam and Steve only agreed to let us take you here because they thought we'd prevent whatever you were planning."

"But you aren't preventing it?" The Soldier had thought he was becoming better at understanding humanity. Now he feels as lost as he did on his first day away from HYDRA.

"I trust you." The bruises on Barton's features are more faded now than they were when the Soldier first met him, and that makes his face all the more open and honest.

"You shouldn't."

"Someone has to, if you can't trust yourself." His hand comes to rest on the Soldier's shoulder. The Soldier flinches, wants to shove him away, but he does not.

Steve had hugged the Soldier yesterday, before he left. He had pulled the Soldier very close and stroked his hair. "You're my best friend, Bucky. You know that?" he'd asked, and it had felt like being stabbed. This contact does not hurt that much, but it is still painful.

"I know how it feels, Bucky. To hate yourself so much for the things you've done that you can't sleep, can't look at yourself. When there's so much pain you think the only way to survive it is to stop feeling. But you'll surprise yourself with what you're capable of."

It was learning what he was capable of that convinced him to return to HYDRA. The Soldier does not speak.

"I'm letting you go because you're stronger than you think you are," Barton says. "When you have to make a choice, you'll make the right one."

"Goodbye," the Soldier says. "Take care of Steve."

"Here." Barton is still holding the bag of chocolate. "These were for you. Save me the red ones, would you?"

"I am not coming back," the Soldier says.

Barton takes his hand and places the bag within it. "All the more reason for you to hold onto it, then."

When the Soldier leaves, glancing over his shoulder is inevitable. He must do so to effectively avoid pursuit, but it aches in his chest even after Barton is well out of his line of sight.

Aw god, someone give Clint a medal.
Also, someone hug these dorks.

Thanks for updating!

Clint Barton is the greatest.

BUCKY NO

BUCKY NO could really be the tagline for the story at this point.

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Prompt Post 1

Fill: And I Am Always with You, Part 48 Self-Harm

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Re: Fill: And I Am Always with You, Part 48 Self-Harm