CRUEL INTENTIONS, bucky barnes

ten

September 25, 2015

Geneva, Switzerland

Bucky took a sharp left and nearly lost his balance as he propelled himself down another darkened, narrow alley. Usually he had more stamina, but he had been running in a full sprint for over an hour; it was starting to wear him down. 

The most important thing was staying out from under the street lights. Even with long sleeves on, the yellow bulbs tended to glint off his metal hand like a flashing neon sign for anyone pursuing him. He'd dropped his gloves at some point during his travels through Eastern Austria, and there hadn't been time to find another pair. 

It was a small thing, yes, but he had found in recent months that the mere existence of his bionic appendage had made it that much easier for him to be found out. 

Bucky cursed as he tripped over his own feet. He almost fell and had to brace himself with his left arm before he collided with the wet pavement. He never stopped moving. 

Grease, sweat, and grime coated his entire body, slicked his hair back beneath the hood of his sweatshirt. He'd lost track of the last time he'd been able to bathe. With a shake of his head, he tried to put that thought out of his mind. There were more important things. Currently, his life, for example.

It was impossible to know where exactly they had picked up his trail. He'd known they would eventually. He hadn't been certain about being followed when he was back in New York, but since coming to Europe, things had changed. Shadowy figures on street corners and rooftops had become more than just a point of Bucky's paranoia.

It was in Germany that he started noticing the gleam of a handgun beneath a long coat as he passed someone on the street, or someone with a pair of binoculars on a rooftop that disappeared before he could investigate. People who were supposed to be passing strangers were faces he suddenly recognized. It had taken him longer to realize than he was willing to admit to himself.

The realization came while he was quickly combing through a Munich street market and brushed shoulders with a man he had nearly collided with on the street in Berlin just two days before. After that, he realized there were more. Two women and at least one more man. Probably more.

But no sign of her. 

It didn't matter. Bucky didn't have time to waste. He had to think on his feet, and all he could hope was that he could keep enough distance between them to throw them off.

He wanted his path toward Italy to be as obvious as he could manage without actually having to go there. If he could get them hung up on the idea that he'd cornered himself on the peninsula, he could buy himself some time.

They were too close. A half mile behind him. He was running out of dark alleys to turn down.

He didn't know how many there were, if they would surround him and cut him off at his next turn.

All he could do was keep running.

Maybe it was a mistake, drawing them out like this. Maybe—

Bucky turned down another alley and skidded to a halt. Dead end. He tried to get a deep breath in between the labored, broken ones puffing out of his mouth. He didn't quite get there, but he had no choice but to turn back and find another way.

Minutes later, his heart skipped a beat and immediately started to pound harder. There were footfalls behind him, heavy shoes hitting the cement at a steady pace. He could hear them gaining on him.

No.

"King, I've got him! Northwest corner!"

A wave of nausea washed over him, so intense that he almost had to stop.