This scene was for my Bluebird fic I wrote last year, but it somehow, for one reason or another, never ended up in the fic. The rough draft of this scene was still written out in my notebook. I have been meaning to add some "timestamps" to that fic, missing scenes, so here is one.^_^ The title is a little silly, but I got stuck on it. I mean to change it later, maybe.
So the setting is the Bluebird fic (though it can be understood without reading that fic). World War 2. CATFA. Characters: Bucky Barnes, Gabe Jones and Steve Rogers. POV Bucky. Warnings of Graphic Depictions Of Violence and Angst. PTSD. Swearing. Oh and a tiny touch of humor.
'Baker Needs Sugar'
The story started with a gunshot...
Mouth grim, eyes narrowing to slits, Bucky squeezed the trigger. The heavy .45 kicked in his left hand, but he steady it, aiming and firing again and again. The sharp bark of the pistol echoed in the semi-abandoned factory. Each bullet finding its target. The impact knocking the Hydra soldiers clean off their feet. One just folded down, a puppet cut off his strings, face half gone.
Bucky fired until his gun was empty and swiftly reloaded as he walked further down the hallway past the dead and nearly dead twitching bodies. He didn’t look down at the pools of blood or retch at the acid smell of piss. He didn’t notice the decaying walls, rusting machines, a dead factory with more unmourned death to lie in this place forgotten for all time. He didn’t notice, didn’t want to notice, yet it all leaked in his brain anyhow to settle in like a festering boil.
He neared a set of heavy double doors with yards of chain looping the sliding bar to close and lock it. Fuck… Bucky took a deep breath and let out the building tension in his muscles, his lungs breathing in the dust, oil and metal of the factory. He got out his radio to call it in.
“Sugar, this is Baker, over.” Bucky said in a low voice. He kept searching for any movement around him as he spoke. He didn’t know how sneaky the bastards were. They haven’t been so far, but he didn’t want a bullet in the back from dropping his guard.
“Baker, what’s the status, over,” Steve’s voice came after a burst of static that jangled Bucky’s nerves.
“Need assistance with a heavy hatch, send Sugar, over.”
Bucky allowed himself a quiet chuckle at their phonetic call names. Oh, yes Baker would like some Sugar. Steve wasn’t fond of his code name Bucky christened him with, but fuck it if he’d use Roger. Too confusing. So he was Baker and Steve was Sugar. It made perfect sense to him. Also he liked to rib Steve. Their wasn’t much fun in the war zone, so of course he was going to be an ass sometimes.
“Roger. Sugar and two. Wilco, over,” Steve said.
“Roger. Baker, out.” He put the radio away, before standing guard. Bucky’s finger ghosting his gun’s trigger, a phantom stroke, a hair from touching, as he paced back and forth, body a live wire, as he waited for Steve and two others to break the door down.
Because, yes, maybe—maybe, he could bend that thick heavy chain himself. Not in the past, but now? After escaping Zola? What was terrifying him was the implications of ‘what if he could’. And he didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to think. So he pushed it down in a little dark place in his mind where he kept all his fears and secrets. And hoped it would just stay there.
Bucky heard Gabe Jones’ Thompson firing in the near distance, clearing out another corridor. The bullets spat out in a blaring rattle that rang in his head. The Thompson signature sound a welcome and recognizing mark of Gabe. Like a fingerprint.
“Sarge…” The name pushed out of Gabe’s breath as he jogged up to Bucky’s side. “Well, shit!” His eyes bugged out at the thick chains on the door.
“Exactly, what I thought,” Bucky said, giving a small smirk.
“Wonder what’s so important to have it locked up like that?” Jones gestured with his gun to the heavy door.
Bucky shrugged. “Fuck if I know, but we’ll find out as soon as Rogers’ hauls his ass up here.”
Bucky licked his dry lips. Dammit, a cigarette would taste so good right now. He had a whole pack of Wings begging to be opened in his pocket. Not his favorite brand, but he wanted at add another card to his collection. And the nicotine would smooth his nerves. Each hidden Hydra facility or location they found lead to more mystery and more questions. And another facility. The harder they squeezed and stomped on them, the more they found. Like ants, they were everywhere. But he was determined to eliminate each one; he just hoped that he would live long enough to step on that one last ant and be done with it and go home.