I Just Think Bucky Deserves The John Wick Treatment

the docks reeked of salt and rust, the brine curling in off the water and tangling with the sharp scent of oil slicks and cigarette smoke. bucky was midway through unloading a shipment when he saw him. limping slightly, a welt blooming ugly and purple along his cheekbone, just shy of his eye. a split lip, dried blood crusted at the corner. jacket dusted with grit and knuckles raw. bucky swore under his breath, setting the crate he'd been carrying down and ignoring the curious looks his coworkers shot him as he met him on the quay.

[ 05 ] sender comes to receiver with an injury they got while doing something the receiver warned them not to attempt alone.

❝ for chrissake, steve! ❞ bucky all but growled once he was close enough he wouldn't have to yell, ❝ i told you to wait for me. ❞ his fingers twitched—tempted to grab him, shake him, maybe slug him once for good measure. they'd heard about the harrisons through the usual gossip on their block. moved in a few weeks ago, two floors below his and steves. mrs. harrison was as sweet a girl as anyone could ask for and pretty as a doll, but mr. harrison was a stone cold drunk with a tendency to talk with his fists.

❝ how bad? ❞ bucky asked, lips pressing into a grim line because he knew. knew that if steve confronted the man half-cocked and alone then something had to have gone very, very wrong. // @sh1elded , injuries + aid prompts .

listened to boots on repeat for too long and now my brain is

CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLIDER (2014) dir. Anthony & Joe Russo

he leaned back in the booth, the vinyl creaking under his weight and his gaze steady on her as she studied their surroundings. he let her words settle, let the silence stretch between them, thick as the late-night air. i see a place that doesn't need me. he knew that feeling well. places like this didn't wait, didn't give a damn who walked through the door or who never came back.

she searched his face, looking for something, but bucky had spent years making sure people found nothing. still, she pressed, peeling at the edges, pulling at the threads to get to the center of it all. ❝ it's part of the idea, ❞ he acknowledged, ❝ you sit down, you exist for a while, and none of it hinges on who you used to be. ❞ he tapped a finger against the table absently. ❝ no history, no past weighing you down, just now. ❞

there was more to it, other bits and pieces he was able and willing to share, but not yet. for now, he wanted her to sit with it. the concept of existing in a space that so many others did as well. the waitress, a woman pushing late fifties with greying hair around her temples and a friendly smile despite the shadows of exhaustion around her eyes, poured them both cups of burned coffee and encouraged them to view the specials menu. he thanked her. mundane. ordinary. human.

her gaze swept the room,  taking in the flickering neon sign reflected in the window,  the linoleum scuffed from years of tired footsteps,  the old man nursing a cup of coffee like it was the only thing tethering him to the world.  it smelled like burnt grease  &  something sweet,  like pie left too long under a heat lamp.   

❝i see a place that doesn’t need me.❞  the words felt like they weren’t meant to be spoken aloud,  but they slipped past her lips anyway,  quieter than she intended.  her fingers curled,  then relaxed against the edge of the table.  ❝but you brought me here anyway.❞ a beat.  a breath.  ❝why?❞

she searched his face,  looking for something — an answer,  maybe,  or proof that he had one.  there was something careful in the way he watched her,  something patient,  like he knew she’d get there on her own if he just gave her time.  but she didn’t want time.  she wanted to understand.   

her gaze dropped to her hands,  the way they rested against the tabletop,  steady but foreign.  ❝places like this…❞ she started,  then exhaled,  shaking her head.  ❝they exist with or without us.  people come in,  sit down,  drink their coffee,  complain about the weather.  it doesn’t matter what we’ve done,  or where we’ve been.  we could disappear,   &  this place would go on like we were never here at all.❞

her voice was even,  but there was something frayed at the edges of it.  she wasn’t sure if she wanted to believe it or if the thought of it terrified her.  her eyes found his again.  ❝is that the idea?❞

❝ you think i can't walk out of here right now? ❞ the soldier asked, a trace of a challenge woven into his voice. whatever power her bosses or their bosses' bosses thought they had was nothing more than wishful thinking. he'd taken apart more than a single police station with less. the only reason he was sitting in that interrogation room, the only reason he'd even stepped foot into the station was because he wanted to.

❝ oh? and who's they, huh? ❞ bucky asked, a humorless smile that was all teeth tugging at the corners of his mouth. he suspected she was good at her job, perhaps even an expert in her field, a shining star. but he'd come face to face with people like her over and over again. people who spoke beautifully, eloquently, who said all the right things in all the right ways. but there was always an angle. some agenda hidden inside all of the carefully interwoven hints and unspoken promises.

❝ and what's in it for you? you gonna share this information with me for what? need me to kill someone for you? destabilise a country? destroy an embassy? ❞ that humorless smile remained, as sharp as the curve of a knife, ❝ i don't work for anyone anymore. ❞

clea’s gaze remained steady,  neither pressuring nor retreating,  her words carefully measured.  she saw the quiet resolve in him — the winter soldier,  a man who had been honed by pain  &  time into something beyond ordinary human limits.  she wasn’t naive enough to think she could break him,   &  there was no need to try.  he was the one who had to decide if he wanted what she had to offer.   

her voice was soft,  like a gentle invitation,  but it carried weight — an offer he couldn’t ignore.  ❝no one is keeping you, ❞ she said,  her words almost soothing.  ❝but you’re already in a position where you don’t have full control,  even if you think you do.❞ she leaned forward slightly,  her expression unhurried,  as though she were discussing a simple fact of life.  ❝i’m not offering you shelter or protection.  i’m offering you information — things you need to know,  things they don’t want you to hear. ❞ she let that hang in the air for a moment,  watching him,  her eyes reflecting an understanding that was almost too knowing.  ❝you don’t have to trust me,  but you should know this: you can’t outrun what’s already hunting you.  not forever. ❞ she tilted her head slightly,  her voice lowering.  ❝i can help you avoid it.  or,  at the very least,  i can tell you how to fight back. ❞

HEADCANON : the howling commandos .

The Howling Commandos were an elite combat unit formed by the Western Allies during World War II, consisting of eight registered members. Led by Steve Rogers, the team was overseen by Colonel Chester Phillips and the USSR. Their primary mission was to dismantle Hydra, the rogue Nazi organization, through covert operations.

SERGEANT JAMES "BUCKY" BARNES : Romanian-American, 107th Infantry Regiment. Sergeant Barnes was the designated marksman for the Howling Commandos, as the US military had no snipers at the time. He trained with British and French snipers before being deployed and joining the Commandos. An expert mathematician and an exceptional marksman, Barnes quickly earned a reputation among both the Allied Forces and their enemies. His skills made him notorious, especially after his capture by Hydra during the Battle of Azzano. After being rescued, Barnes joined the Commandos, where his reputation as a deadly marksman only grew.

Barnes often operated as a “lone wolf,” excelling when working independently. He used his skills in camouflage, fieldcraft, map reading, and signaling to serve as the Commando team’s "hunter" when direct assault wasn’t an option. In larger operations, Barnes would cover the team’s retreat or work on the periphery of the battle, operating quietly in the shadows rather than in the thick of combat like Captain Rogers.

SERGEANT TIMOTHY "DUM DUM" DUGAN : American, Non-commissioned Officer, 107th Infantry Regiment. Dugan and Barnes had worked closely together prior to joining the Commandos. With more experience than Barnes, Dugan was a brilliant tactician, an expert marksman, and possessed Olympian-level strength. Known as the most stubborn of the Commandos, he was fiercely loyal and persistent in the face of adversity. Dugan could lift the morale of the team with his unwavering determination.

He later worked alongside Colonel Phillips, Agent Carter, and Captain Rogers to strategize for future operations. After Captain Rogers' death, Dugan assumed the role of field leader.

PRIVATE GABRIEL "GABE" JONES : African-American, 92nd Infantry Division. Private Jones, like all members of the Commandos, was an expert marksman. When Agent Carter wasn’t available, Jones also served as the team’s translator, fluent in English, German, and French. His skill in interrogation and negotiation, coupled with his reputation for a silver tongue, made him invaluable to the team. He often handled heavy artillery and played a central role in keeping the Commandos united, maintaining high spirits even in dire situations.

Jones was also one of the only Commandos with musical talent, and his songs were a source of comfort and camaraderie. Barnes and Jones met while both were held prisoner by Hydra, and Jones’ optimism helped keep the other prisoners from losing hope.

PRIVATE JAMES "JIM" MORITA : Japanese-American, US Army Nisei Squadron. Morita’s experience in the military was turbulent, given the government’s distrust of Japanese-Americans after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Though his family had been interned, Morita volunteered for service, torn between fighting for a country that didn’t seem to fight for him or his family.

He served as a scout, an expert marksman, and had extensive experience in anti-guerrilla jungle warfare, raids, ambushes, sabotage, and close-quarters combat. Morita’s intense focus and willingness to face battle head-on made him a reliable and formidable member of the Commandos. Though somewhat blunt, he was always the first to volunteer for a mission and remained steadfast regardless of the odds.

MAJOR JAMES "MONTY" FALSWORTH : British, 3rd Independent Parachute Brigade. Major Falsworth was one of the most experienced members of the Commandos, having served for nine years in the British Armed Forces. Despite his rank, he was known for his hands-on approach, earning the respect of those he led. His combat expertise, combined with his reputation as a brilliant tactician, made him a key member of raiding parties and operations.

Falsworth would later adopt the identity of the masked hero Union Jack, using his skills to fight against Hydra and the Nazis.

JAQUES "LIGHT" DERNIER : French Resistance. Before joining the Commandos, Dernier was a baker who became an explosives expert in the French Resistance, fighting against Nazi occupation. He wasn’t enlisted in the military prior to his recruitment by Steve Rogers. Dernier led a small band of resistance fighters and had been tasked with coordinating sabotage operations on transport and communication networks. He was captured by Hydra after attempting to warn the 107th about their approach.

Known for his animated and expressive communication style, Dernier often used wild hand gestures, loud exclamations, and honest expressions to make his points known, even though many of the Commandos didn’t understand French. Barnes eventually picked up some French while they were imprisoned together, but mostly learned insults and profanities until they were freed by Captain Rogers.

MARGARET "PEGGY" CARTER : British, MI5 Spy, French Resistance, and Agent of the USSR. Agent Carter was one of the most valuable assets of the Commandos, serving as their codebreaker, translator, communications specialist, investigator, and tactician. A true jack-of-all-trades, she had unparalleled skills in infiltrating and gathering intelligence, and her role as a field member was classified for much of her life.

Carter's contributions to the team were so significant that her active membership with the Commandos remained secret even after the unit was disbanded, and much of her involvement stayed classified, even after her death.

HOWARD "HOWIE" STARK : American, Adviser and Master Engineer. Like Jaques Dernier, Stark was one of the few civilian members of the Commandos. A genius inventor and engineer, Stark’s skills were invaluable throughout the war. Though he rarely saw front-line combat, his contributions included retrofitting weapons, uniforms, and supplies for the team. Stark’s piloting skills were also called upon on several occasions, and despite not serving in a military capacity, he was considered an integral member of the team by all the Commandos.

he took in the sight of her, all sharp lines and lethal elegance, a predator carved from shadow and scarlet. the gleam of her sai caught in moonlight and neon, but she wasn't aiming to kill. not yet. he let the distance between them close, let her blade kiss his throat—just enough to break skin.

she's good, but he's been in the game too long to be caught unprepared. his own knife presses against her stomach, sharpened point cutting through fabric just enough to touch skin. ❝ don't start something you can't finish. ❞ he said, voice like gravel, words edged with something sharp and unrelenting.

he tipped his chin back, daring the scarlet assassin to make a move. to step in or out, to attack or defend, it mattered little to him. either she was a nuisance, or an obstacle, but he was prepared to go through her if he had to.

Something hadn't felt right from her peering through the shadows out the window of her hideout. A light reflecting onto the window in a way unexplainable based on what could easily be perceived by the surrounding sources.

Her target asleep. The assassin vanished from the safehouse to the mysterious glimmer reflecting on the window. Feet silent on the way up to the adjacent rooftop. Her sai spin silently in her hands in preparation for the threat she finds herself about to face.

The door opens in silence and Elektra's movements are swift. Eyeing her new target down, assessing his features and their surroundings. She knows of this man if a man is what he could be called. Could she even be called a woman in this state?

After her analysis, the assassin slips behind the soldier. Her sai points into his throat, lightly puncturing the skin near his windpipe. "I'd be careful of your next moves, Winter Soldier."

he'd seen cold before, brooklyn in january, the hudson iced over, boots soaked through with slush, hands stuffed into too-thin coat pockets. but this wasn't just cold. it was something meaner. it gnawed at the edges of a man, not content to freeze him but intent on hollowing him out from the inside. his nose was already raw, bright and angry form the constant drag of his sleeve across it, and his fingers had gone stiff hours ago, turning a ruddy pink that throbbed beneath layers of blood and dirt. even the gloves he'd scrounged up from a dead german didn't do much more than hold the cold in place.

bucky's mouth twisted into something caught between a grin and a grimace. eugene looked about as good as bucky felt. eyes sunken, lashes rimmed with frost, lips cracked. red nose, red hands. dirt and blood both clinging to him like a second skin, and still, he managed to toss that dry wit like it was nothing heavier than a smirk. ❝ can't blame a guy for trying, ❞ he said, stepping in closer. the pews were gone. cots now lined the nave filled with the wounded, the sick, the dying. it stank of blood, sweat, and desperation.

❝ no morphine, just a bullet with a nazi's name on it . . . and this, ❞ he dug into his pocket, came up with a half-eaten bar of chocolate, and slapped it gently into the good doctor's palm. his fingers lingered a second longer than they needed to—maybe for warmth, maybe because he hadn't touched another human being that wasn't screaming in what felt like years. then bucky stepped back, squinting when eugene spoke around his cigarette and chattering teeth. in war, morphine made you the wealthiest man on the battlefield.

❝ i'll ask around and keep an eye out, ❞ bucky said, ❝ word is we'll be heading out before sunrise. maybe i'll get lucky. what else you need? ❞

nose is poised in the center of face, a bright shade of red, skin angry from the continual rub of sleeve to combat the persistent sniffling that lingers in a climate only growing colder. his hands are the same way, dusted with a shade of pink that cannot be avoided, darkened only by dirt and blood encrusted beneath nails and in cuticles. fingers are stiff as they work to roll scrapped sheets collected from the village nearby that had turned their church into a place for the wounded ... and while their supplies weren't much more generous than the dwindling stock of the other men, he wasn't one to complain.

besides, anything was better than nothing at this point; torn sheets, scrapped linens, medical supplies picked off surrendered germans - long as it did the job.

x ❚❙❘ how about a kiss before i go ?

❛ ah, sergeant barnes, 'fraid i'm all outta those. ❜ he shifts stare out toward @wintrb0rn from beneath the wide-mouthed brim of well-worn helmet. tired eyes & doe-lashes set idle on the other man as if he isn't damn near freezing and plenty in need of a good night's rest ( a good year's rest at this point ). the humor isn't lost on him, he welcomes it's chattering nature with a sort of fondness. when men were laughing, they sure as hell weren't screaming - a trade-off he'd give up damn near anything for all things considered. stained sleeve rises, it wraps tight in his fingers, hot breath blooms around the corners of mouth as he wipes at flesh before fingers move on to seeking the comfort of lucky strike poised behind ear.

❛ outta an awful lot of things, actually. ❜ cigarette roles between frigid figures; he hangs it betwixt lips, paper clamped lose between teeth. sure doesn't make him easier to understand, not that such seems to impede most of the men he works beside in making out what he's saying. ❛ you bring me some morphine, and maybe i'll find a spare. ❜

you pick books like you pick your words, sharp. a little raw, she said. maybe he did. maybe that was how he picked all things, but kara didn't seem to mind it. be let the weight of the book settle, milk and honey wasn't the kind of poetry that soothed—it cut, left its mark, words that bled if you held them too long. he figured it was why it had felt right. some things weren't meant to be easy.

but then she pulled out a tree grows in brooklyn, and for half a second, his breath caught. she placed it in his hands and his fingers closed around it slow, deliberate, as if he was concerned that if he moved too fast it'd vanish. books had a nasty habit of disappearing, being left behind, taken, or like the library, forgotten. it had been a long time since he'd seen this particular book and while it wasn't his old copy, it mattered. a link back to an different time. a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, boyish and charming as he turned the book over in his hands and met her eye.

❝ i guess you do, ❞ bucky agreed tucking the paperback into his breast pocket for later, ❝ which means, you get to pick the next adventure. so what'll it be? ❞

kara turned the book over in her hands,  considering it.  poetry.  it wasn’t what she expected,  but it fit in a way she couldn’t quite put into words.  ❝you pick books like you pick your words,❞ she remarked,  flipping through the pages.  ❝sharp.  a little raw. ❞ there was no teasing in it,  just quiet observation,  the kind that sat between them without needing to be acknowledged.  she thumbed through a passage,  letting the weight of his choice settle before she finally looked up.  ❝i’ll take it. ❞

she let the silence stretch,  long enough for the weight of his pick to settle between them,  before she reached behind her,  pulling her own real find from where she’d tucked it away.  the thin volume of poetry shifted in her grasp as she held up the worn copy of a tree grows in brooklyn.  ❝but i did take you for this type, ❞ she said,  softer now,  a quiet triumph in her voice.  the book was old,  its spine softened with use,  the pages yellowed at the edges,  but it was whole.  whole in the way that mattered.  ❝thought you might like to have it again.❞

❝found it buried in the back,  tucked away like someone meant to come back for it.❞ she didn’t say what she was really thinking — that maybe it had been waiting for him.  she placed it in his hands without flourish,  without expectation.  just a quiet offering.  his fingers closed around it,  lingering,  and that was enough.  kara nudged him lightly as she turned back toward the stacks,  a ghost of a smirk playing at her lips.  ❝guess i win this round. ❞

snowfall slicked the rooftops and turned the streets below into a dull smear of neon reflections and black ice. his target—allison daws, a former operative now in bed with the enemy—had hunkered down in hells kitchen, hoping to disappear. a standard job. he'd done it a hundred times, but something felt . . . wrong.

it was too quiet. no patrols, no sentries. just the low hum of a faulty streetlight and the distant wail of a siren that never got closer. the soldier stared down his scope, watching the safehouse window where the blinds had been pulled for movement. all it would take is for his target to pass by. one quick, clean shot and it would all be over.

a whisper of movement behind him, too smooth for a mercenary and too measured for a common killer. the soldier turned quickly, primed to defend. // @kenosky , a semi - plotted starter .