LEAVING TONIGHT. . . BUCKY BARNES

[ 010. ] nobody wants you

december 1993
the camp, somewhere in russia

He dreamt of her. A dream so vivid, so real, that when he woke from his slumber he wasn't entirely sure it hadn't happened.

The hard cold wind that blows through his coat, and nips at his exposed flesh is a contrast to how warm his skin feels. When he closes his eyes he can almost feel her soft touch on him.

Every time he thinks of her his heart flutters, he's not sure why. God, what is he feeling?

He's strayed from his course, but he knows the snow justifies his deviation. His two men have fallen behind. They're dead, no doubt, the blizzard they're currently trudging through would surely kill any man who did not know where he was going.

He knew where he was going, he had a mission, not the one they had woken him up for (he had completed that one), but his mission to find her.

He can see the bunker from his position over the snowy hills. A dark grey concrete building, it should contrast with the white snow, but through the current of snow its almost invisible. He can see a vague shadow if he squints hard enough.

What he's doing is a shot in the dark, though he doesn't expect anything less coming from him. It's fitting that his first act of free will in almost 50 years is to crawl thought a blizzard on the off chance that he finds her alive.

When he had been awoken his first thought was that she wasn't occupying the stasis tube next to him.

He had asked, in a quiet timid tone, about her whereabouts. His voice seemed foreign in his own throat.

"The girl?" He had asked. "Where is she?"

He watched as The Doctor's lips tug upwards before forcing a frown onto his face. The Doctor examines the emotion on his face as he says, "She's dead, Soldat."

He went months without her, training the others. Months silently mourning her. That's how he picks on the whispering between the guards. At first a rumor, a legend that they spoke of between each other.

The camp was that rumor, a place they sent disobedient soldiers for correction. He had never heard of it before, but according to the whispers it was an abandoned storm shelter that had been converted.

And as he gets closer to the building that's exactly what it looks like. A concrete building, wire fence in the acres surrounding it, and a watch tower. There doesn't seem to be any security aside from the two guards he had already clocked in the watch tower. He knows there will be more security on the inside.

Lucky for him the snow makes it almost impossible for them to see as he sneaks up the tower so he can take them out. Two shots, they don't even hear him sneaking up behind them.

Getting inside seemed to be trickier, but he finds his opportunity when the door swings open. A heavily clothed guard steps out, cigarette stuck between frosted lips. He manages to get a good glimpse inside, the guard by the door is fast asleep.

The fur lining the collar of the smoker limits his peripheral vision, allowing him to sneak up behind him, his metal arm slips around his neck. He holds him in that position until the smoker slumps forward in his arms. He drops him onto the snow.

The rest is easy, one shot into the sleeping guard, from his estimates there should only be one other guard inside. He keeps his silencer on, as to not alert anyone else that he's there. The lack of guards outside tells him that they mustn't be guarding more than two person, or one very strong woman. The final guard must be the one sitting outside her cell.

He stands at the corner, taking a deep breath, before rounding it. Like he guessed the guard was there, and he catches him off guard. Another easy shot. His body silently slumped against the wall, sliding down.