Recollection ★ Bucky Barnes

Guns Aren't My Style

For the most part, their journey was in silence, only the low hum of the quinjet's engine filling their ears. The air was heavy, and their minds were all working like gears in a clock. It had been hours since anyone had last spoken, and no one made a move to say anything more in fear that they would only further upset Bucky.

"Svoboda," Bucky finally broke the silence, his blue eyes focused on the equally blue sky on the other side of the quinjet's windshield. "It means 'freedom' in Russian."

"What?" Sam asked, his eyebrows pulled down in confusion.

"The inscription on the wall in the picture," Natasha kept her eyes on the sky as she piloted the jet, "you carved them, didn't you?"

"Yes," Bucky nodded, his eyes refocusing on Natasha's reflection in the windshield.

"Why 'freedom', Buck? You weren't free; Hydra was holding you as their prisoner." Steve swallowed, looking at Bucky's profile as he spoke.

"At the time, I didn't know that. Hydra taught me one thing; the world deserved freedom and I had to kill whoever stood in the way of that in order to give the world that freedom." Bucky sighed, his eyes trailing down to his metal arm—the one Hydra had given him—the arm that had once held Marlena flush against his body, but had also inflicted pain upon her.

"You were brainwashed, Bucky. It wasn't you that killed those people," Natasha replied, her red lips forming a frown.

"You're right; that wasn't me." Bucky stood up, walking over to the arsenal where a dozen guns sat on display, all for his taking. "But it is me that is going to kill all of Hydra's soldiers." He picked up a gun, his flesh hand feeling the cool metal on his skin.

Steve and Sam exchanged cautious glances before both of them looked back at Bucky.

"And whoever 'B. R.' is, is going to wish he was dead after I get through with the sick son of a bitch," Bucky growled, turning and walking over to the cockpit.

He could not control his emotions; the anger was blinding him and he wasn't aware that he was speaking like Winter. Marlena would have been concerned to hear Bucky like this—but she couldn't; she was dead. B. R. had killed her, and now Bucky was going to make him suffer for his actions.

"B. R.," Steve repeated under his breath, catching Bucky's attention.

"Brock Rumlow." Natasha had done it; she had put together the missing piece of the puzzle.

"Not possible," Sam stood up, his eyes narrowing, "I killed Rumlow."

"Technically, you didn't," Natasha pointed out, her eyes focusing on snowy mountains below. "The helicarrier crashed into the building while he was still inside. There's a chance he could have survived."

"Damn it!" Sam clenched his fists together; now he was feeling somewhat responsible for Marlena's death.

"Well, if Rumlow did survive, then he's going to have to go through a lot worse when I get my hands on him. We're close," Bucky said loudly, exiting the cockpit area and walking to the back where the door was sealed shut.

"There's no way I can land this thing so close to the base and go unnoticed; you guys are jumping. Now," Natasha said, pressing a button that caused the door to slowly fold out.

"Oh, hell yes!" Sam's frown lightened up as he joined Bucky at the back of the quinjet.

"Not you, Wilson. You're sticking with me; we'll meet up with you guys after we land," Natasha replied as Steve stood up, grabbing a parachute for himself and one for Bucky.

The frigid air flooded throughout the jet as the door fell completely open. A few stray hairs had escaped Bucky's bun and were now whipping in the wind, his nose turning red from the cold.