Seventh Soldier
So this is a fanfic I’ve been writing, slowly chipping at over several months. It is an OC x Bucky Barnes, that OC being a self-insert of me. If you hate it, let me know and I’ll stop if it’s cringe. On with the Show!
Seventh Soldier
warnings: uhhhh, depressing?, torture, biting, murder, blood, sadness?, (idk I’ve never done this), hot woman
Blood caked the side of her head. She had been so foolish as to allow the clever Venezuelan an opportunity, and he had taken it, smashing the handle of the pistol into the side of her cranium. Before he could continue the barrage, a slug nailed him in the chest and he fell.
The Winter Soldier lowered the gun slowly. To say the pair of them had left a mess was an understatement. 12 men sprawled haphazardly, knives sticking out of them, blood coating the hotel floor. But it was quiet. She slowly got to her feet, putting her hand to her head, feeling the hot, sticky blood.
“We should go,” She said softly in Russian. The Winter Soldier turned to go, but then she collapsed with a groan. He picked her up easily and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. They had places to be.
Bucky woke with a start. Nightmares chased him constantly, so much so that sleeping was dreaded. He ran his hands through his hair, still long. He didn’t have the heart to cut it.
Bucky kept seeing the same thing, every night. He had hoped to forget her, and those sad hazel eyes watching him. She hadn’t pitied him, she had loved him, and that was so much worse.
James Buchanan Barnes watched the news that night, the flashing blue light being the only illumination in his Brooklyn apartment. There was a group of terrorists who had robbed a Swiss bank, calling themselves the Flag Smashers. Bucky could tell by their movements that they were super soldiers. Not welled trained ones, but nevertheless, still juiced up on the blue drug.
Bucky clicked the television off, deep in thought. Somebody needed to do something, and he hated to be the leader. But he also hated to be the bystander. If these terrorists weren’t stopped, people would die.
These extremist groups were always quick to get to the worst.
Far across the pond called the Atlantic, high in a London penthouse, sat a girl. She was bent over her laptop, working on a plan. This plan could not be interrupted or paused for any reason. It would be so satisfying to see the looks on their faces when they saw that she was alive.
One more appointment, Bucky thought to himself. Of course, that’s what he said every week as he trudged to therapy. He couldn’t see how repeating every horrible thing he had done would help bring “closure”, it seemed pointless.
But here Bucky was, sitting on a plush couch, wishing he was back in Wakanda or doing something.
“Look, James, I can’t help you if you can’t help yourself.” His therapist broke through his thoughts.
“What if I don’t want help?” Was his snarky reply. She shook her head and pulled out her notebook. He glanced at the clock. 45 more minutes.
“Fine. I crossed off a name.”
“Very good, and did you remember the rules?”
“What are the rules again?”
“Nobody gets hurt, kind of a big one.”
“Yeah,” replied Bucky, lying through his teeth. If the idiot in the passenger seat hadn’t pulled a gun, he probably wouldn’t be in the hospital.
“What else?”
“It was a senator who used me to get her power, and she’d been abusing it for some time. She was turned over to the authorities.”
“Very good. Not seeking revenge is good.”
Bucky disagreed.
The 45 minutes passed excruciatingly slow, but when they did, Bucky bolted out. He despised the room, with its birch tree wallpaper and tasteless decor. He wanted right now, more than anything, someone who could listen. Steve would have listened, but Steve was currently enjoying a life of ease.
Bucky didn’t go to the apartment, rather he took the subway down to the CIA office. He had slowly become friends with the people who worked there, helping him search through records, determining to bring to justice the rest of HYDRA.
“Hey Bucky!” The receptionist was Jade, the happy-go-lucky intern, that had a habit of being really friendly. She clacked away at a computer, tossing her braids over her shoulder.
“Hello Jade. I was wondering if you had anything on the flag smashers?” Bucky asked. Jade sucked in a breath between her teeth.
“Sorry, that’s pretty confidential stuff, but I did hear they might be looking for volunteers to go spy, or inform, as they say. Seems like everyone who goes against these guys gets beat pretty badly.”
“Wait, we’ve already tried to stop them?”
“We’ve had a couple run-ins with them, and it hasn’t ended well. Couple of our guys are still in ICU.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Bucky! Just the man we’re looking for.” It was Darrell Freedly, the head of the office in Brooklyn. “Can I speak to you for a second?”
Darrell sat down and shuffled some of the papers on his desk before handing a file to Bucky.
“That’s everything we have on the flag smashers. The rumor is that a former HYDRA scientist manufactured the serum for them,” Darrell said, stroking his bearded chin.
“This Nagel guy? I don’t know him, but then again I spent 30 years in a Russian bunker. He’s in Madripoor?” Bucky asked, his stormy eyes roving over the file.
“Yep. We’ve sent in men, but Jade told you it didn’t go well. It would be nice if it was a fair fight.”
“How many have the serum?”
Darrell exhaled and shook his head.
“Hard to say. Anywhere between 2 and 20.”
“Well, I’m not getting any younger sitting here. I’ll go to Madripoor and scope it out.”
“My informants have told me of two names you should be aware of. Apparently there was a power trip a couple months back and the balance shifted. The Countess of Monte Cristo and The Power Broker are the two you should be on the look out for.”
“The Countess of Monte Cristo?”
“I don’t know, must be a nerd.”
“Must be.”
