Sebastian Stan & Bucky Barnes Imagines

Familiar Faces: Part Four - J.B.B./W.S.

My legs carry me at a sprint through the building, level after level, coming up with nothing more than the bodies and wreckage Soldat has left in his wake. My thoughts are almost entirely occupied by my fear for Soldat. I fear how this will effect him emotionally. I have to find and stop him as soon as possible, and not just for the innocents' sakes. I feel as if the less people he kills, the less guilty he will feel. Although, in saying it outright, it seems illogical.

Eventually, I make it to the ground level. After snaking through some hallways, my ears detect action. I follow the sound until I come to a sunlit dining area where the Soldier is fighting off some guards. Off to the side, I see Tony Stark hiding behind a pillar, hoping to ambush the Soldier, I assume.

I have to engage. Saving the Soldier from doing more harm is higher on my list of priorities than keeping my cover. And even though my heart is pumping faster at the prospect of fighting Soldat after so long, I know I'm the best qualified to take him down.

Just as Soldat knocks a man brutally to the ground, seizing his gun, I rush out from my hiding spot, sprinting to stop him from pulling the trigger.

"Soldat!" I yell to get his attention without slowing my pace. He hesitates and looks to me, probably wondering if I am a superior. I can see it in his eyes that he doesn't recognize me. He sees me approaching threateningly and turns from the man on the ground to stalk toward me, his large muscular presence looming.

When I'm a few feet from him, he raises his gun and shoots. I dodge easily and get close enough to kick the gun out of his hands with a force that sends it flying into the wall. Soldat doesn't hesitate to resort to his limbs which, for him, are just as deadly as a gun--particularly the left one. As he jabs left and right, attempting even to grab my throat and crush it under his metal fingers, I'm handling all of it. But I feel shaky, like he could catch me at any second and it would be game over.

As soon as I dodge a punch, he uses his foot to hook mine and pull it out from under me. I fall to the floor and he brings his foot down to smash my face in, but I roll away just in time, feeling, instead of his sole, the rumble of his foot meeting the ground. As I quickly pick myself up from the floor, the Soldier grabs me by the hair and pulls my head back so I can see his unrecognizable face. He brings his metal fist up and sends it charging towards my face. Before it can hit me, my hands come up to block it. I manage to catch his fist, but it's slick with the sweat of the others who have tried and failed to subdue him. As my arms begin to fail me, my hands slide off the metal knuckles and his fist meets it's mark with the g-force of a missile. It stuns me and blurs my thoughts, but doesn't knock me out. Another missile comes in, forcing me deeper into the ocean my mind and vision are swimming in. I can barely make out the fist raising for a third time when an indescribable wall of energy and ringing hits my ears, sinking my brain into the lowest depths of subconsciousness. The grip on my hair releases and I drop to the floor, unable to catch myself.

As I lie there motionless, my brain stays conscious for a short moment, as if deciding whether or not to stay awake. But with a bright flash of light, it shuts off.

||☆☆☆||

When I come to, all is silent except the alarm echoing off every wall in the building. I slowly open my eyes to the same sunlit room then squint at the intense exposure. My head aches. The pain intensifies as I push myself up from the floor then search the area. There are tables and chairs in disarray all around me, and not a soul aside from some knocked out guards. Unfortunantely, most of them are probably a little worse than knocked out. Stark is no where to be seen, and neither is Soldat.

As I come to stand fully, I can already feel my headache waning. I look for any sign of where he might have headed, hoping I can follow the damage, but all that's ruined is localized to the dining area.

Okay, where would he be going? HYDRA. How would he get there?

The helicopter. I saw it on the roof as I was nearing the building. That's more than likely where he's gone. I only hope I'm not too late to catch him.

I make it back to the stairwell and snake the stairs rapidly, arriving at the top level in just a minute or two. I burst through the doorway and rush up the stairs to find Soldat stopped near the helicopter, turning to face me. I approach him slowly at first, gradually speeding up, and he does the same. When we pick up into runs, then sprints, it doesn't take long for us to meet in the middle, fists flying in a blur and bruises being made on each of our bodies. Again, I'm holding my own with the Soldier, but to ensure this ends how we need it to end, I have to floor him. Even while in Siberia I couldn't do that in every spar.

I continue to fight with my all while thinking up ways to end this quick and in my favor. Then something I had forgotten about suddenly dawns on me, giving me the same feeling of hope as a brief reprieve from the harsh winter wind of the Siberian mountains.

My unlocked memory throws me off the fight for a moment, allowing the Soldier to clip my jaw. Before he can make another move, I say, loud enough for him to hear, "Sputnik."

I look into his eyes as they roll back into his head. His body begins to collapse but I catch him before he can hit the concrete. After laying him down gently, I take a step back, my eyebrows pulled together in sadness and regret.

"I'm sorry, Soldat," I say before swinging my leg back and kicking him in the head. I have to be sure he will wake up as Soldat--my Soldat--and the only way I can guarantee that is through cogitive recalibration.

I stoop down and turn his face toward me, caressing his dark hair out of his face with a comforting hand, appreciating the prickly-soft stubble of his jaw, the peace in his closed eyelids, his dark lashes resting on his slightly-abused cheeks. I know I don't have time for this, but it's hard to make myself care.

With that thought in mind, I lift the hood of my blue zip-up over my head. Then I lift the Soldier up and, with a little difficulty, lay him across my shoulders. After standing slowly from my knelt position, I take us toward the entrance to the stairwell. I'm hopeful that the building will still be empty enough that we can pass through without being seen. Then I can take him to a hideout and we can figure out what exactly happened back there.

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