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He's a Demon, He's a Devil, He's a Doll
~ = ★ = ~
You sure about this?
I can't trust my own mind. So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head I think going back under is the best thing… for everybody.
~ =☆= ~
Disoriented. The chill was deep set in his bone, in the metal. The rush of warm air as the cryotube opened broke through the marrow-deep hypothermia, warmed him beyond the point of lack of sensation to where his teeth began to chatter, and his body began to shake. There were hands, grasping his arms, one banding around his waist, to keep him supported, upright. Fear lanced through him. The Chair. Electricity sparking through his brain, setting every nerve on fire. And the words.
Furnace, benign, rusted, one, daybreak…
But the words didn’t come. No chair. He was laid out on his back and several warm blankets were laid over his body. There was a pinch in the back of his hand, and warmth flooded his veins. The aches and pains didn’t… they didn’t come either, as his senses came back online. The bedding was soft under his back. And warm. So warm. So very warm. There was a faint smell of antiseptic in the air, but it was shrouded beneath the smell of blankets and some sort of essential oil. The humming in his ears began to abate… but it was replaced by a distant howl of a klaxon alarm. His left shoulder tensed briefly, and he could make out the whir of articulating metal, followed by the snap and crackle of something powering up.
“Sergeant Barnes…! James! You must get up,” there was a voice hissing in his ear, and he recoiled from the spittle that spattered against his cheek. He barely recognized the voice. Female. Young. There was a dim flash in his right eye as the lid was pried open, but he couldn’t see, not yet. His sight was always the last to come back. The anxiety in the female’s voice made his stomach twist slightly, and he shifted on the soft mattress.
“Wha…?” Bucky croaked, feeling like he was speaking through mud. With no electricity to jar his senses, everything was slow to come back online. There was mercy in that, but with how panicked the other woman sounded, he felt his chest twist with discomfort. He blinked through his blurred vision, swallowed against the cotton balls in his throat. He pushed his body up from the right side, wobbling unsteadily. The klaxons blared louder and his vision began to clear some. There was a dark blur in front of him, oddly shaped.
“Highness?” He said, shakily, reaching with both hands. Black glinting with gold jolted his vision again, but he couldn’t make it out. Arm. Left arm. He had one. Focus. Couldn’t think about that. He reached for the female, who immediately curled an arm around his waist and started hobbling him again towards a door. He held on tight to her and the IV pole to keep himself upright. The klaxons got louder as they pushed into the hallway and he hissed at the bright, flashing lights that made his eyes close again. He felt ungainly, hobbling along though his feet and ankles didn’t bend properly.
“S’goin’ on?” He slurred, trying to keep up but Shuri was going so damned quick.
“The borders have been breached. Monsters have already overtaken the city and are breaching the palace walls,” Shuri explained, voice urgent and strained.
“Monsters?” Bucky asked bewildered. He’d seen a lot of fucked up shit in his unnaturally long life. Monsters were up there. But monsters that could enter Wakanda? And break through the palace walls? No. Short of the Hulk, he didn’t know what could do that.
“Come on, white boy, move your ass!” Another door and all of senses were assaulted at once. It was so fucking bright. Screams and war cries filled his ears. The air smelled like fire and something he knew so well that was unmistakable. Death. He gagged on it as his bare feet skidded over tarmac and up a ramp. There was shouting nearby and he could barely make out figures close by fighting… god. There were so many. Figures draped in red and blue were twisting and spinning, taking down the monsters that were scrabbling forth endlessly.
“Jesus fuck,” he rasped, the IV pole scraping across the pavement and then he was dragging it up a metal ramp. The chill from the metal on his feet ricocheted up the metal parts of his skeleton, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from what he was… was that fella eating one of the Dora Milaje? He felt bile rise in his throat and that was saying something considering the aforementioned fucked up shit.
The ramp closed behind them as the monsters broke the Dora Milaje line and started beating on the exterior walls of the quinjet. Shuri was at the controls and they were in the air with the barest wobble. Well, for most people. Bucky felt like he might topple over, and he shuffled to one of the bulkheads, his fingers grabbing hold of a railing above his head, even as Nakia shoved herself under the arm clutching the IV pole to keep him upright. He was met with a face pressed against the window, mouth agape… no. No not agape. There was no fucking jaw . A loose tongue wiggled and dragged dry across the window, smearing it in bloody, black bile.
“Jesus fuck!” He said, nearly stumbling back a step only to have a hand flat between his shoulder blades, as his right hand reached to his side to . He felt the prickle of claws, and knew the King was behind him, holding him upright with Nakia. The jet wobbled as it became airborne, and there was a sickening, squelching sound as some of the monsters were sucked up into the engines.
Bucky was too old for this shit.
~ =☆= ~
The jet, as Bucky found out, had been the conveyance that Natalia Romanova had used to gain entry to Wakanda, in spectacular fashion so Okoye explained with an eye roll but a small smirk. Appreciation for the bravado and sheer brass balls it took to fly into the Wakandan nation through the shield that disguised it, and land a plane with the Avengers logo scrawled all over it in the middle of the palace courtyard.
Thankfully, the jet hadn’t been stripped for supplies and intel after she’d flown off again with Wilson, Barton, Lang, Maximoff, and Steve. There was a good stockpile of weapons and rations, Starktech gadgets, and clothes. Survival gear was in short supply, but he supposed that made sense. He doubted the Avengers would have ever thought they’d end up in a survival scenario with all their technology and abilities.
Bucky had cobbled together what was passable for clothes, and armour using whatever he could find. Steve’s shoes and pants, he was sure. A t-shirt with Black Sabbath written across his chest that was a bit on the tight side but he didn’t have many options. A red henley, probably Steve’s, or maybe Thor’s. He’d pilfered other bits of hardened armour from Barton’s and Natalia’s gear, and was fashioning a face mask from an Iron Man faceplate and strips of leather. The heads up display was still working, though it was blinking [OFFLINE] in the bottom right corner.
Yeah… yeah, he felt a little fucked up as he turned the mask over and brushed a thumb over the mouthpiece he’d cut out so he could breathe, and then tested the eye slit on the left side to make sure nothing was going to scrape his cornea and blind him. Sure, the serum he’d been pumped with would heal it eventually, but his wasn’t as infallible as Steve’s. He’d scar. Maybe even go blind.
“The horde is following the jets,” Shuri commented quietly from the pilot’s chair. She looked weary, older than her age. Bucky turned in his jumpseat to peek out one of the windows. He could see a couple of Wakandan jets flying alongside them, but as he tipped his head and pressed his forehead to the window so he could look down, his stomach sank.
He wasn’t sure if the shambling horde was following the jets, or if it was just another throng of… Christ, he couldn’t believe he was gonna say it. It was something out of a science fiction novel or comic that he’d read as a kid. Fucking zombies . The walking dead. But it wasn’t like the comics or the novel. These weren’t slow moving, decaying, rotting things that they could outrun. Decaying and rotting, yes, but they moved fast, swarming over a town like ants on a carcass, and destroying everything, eating everything with a heartbeat that didn’t move faster.
“How did this even start?” Bucky asked, bewildered, as he sank down into his seat again and peeled open a protein bar. T’Challa, mask peeling away into the clawed necklace he wore, was pacing, his expression guarded but Bucky could see all that he needed to see in the knit between his eyebrows. He’d let his country down. They’d abandoned the vibranium mine. But… against an enemy like that? What could you do?
“The first report of en masse cannibalistic psychosis was reported three months ago in Atlanta, Georgia. But then reports started cropping up all over the world only a few days later. Not just isolated cases either, but full blown swarms of monsters,” Okoye explained. She looked as exhausted as the rest of them, leaning against a spear that she’d been clutching so tight her knuckles were pale.
“We began to lose contact beyond Wakandan borders a month ago,” T’Challa added, pausing so he could frown out the window beside Bucky’s head. “I had no idea it could get beyond our defenses, and by the time they did, it was too late to truly defend the city…” he added, soft. It reminded Bucky, yet again, that this was a young man thrust into the mantle of King and defender of Wakanda because… because the Avengers had pissed off the wrong fucker and his father had been blown up.
Bucky twisted again in his seat so he could look down at the ground below. The path of the horde was obvious - like locust through a field, even from this high in the air. Bucky didn’t want to think about what the darkness left behind in their wake was, but his mind was quick, supplying all sorts of graphic, gruesome imagery of body parts, blood, and gore.
“Where are we goin’ now?” The soldier inquired, as the black mass below roamed eastward towards what looked to be an untouched village. There was nothing they could do from up here, and even if they had boots on the ground, he wasn’t sure they’d be able to do anything, either, short of mercy-killing anyone alive and unable to keep ahead of the horde. Bucky shuddered. He’d been a mindless killing machine before. He would never be one again.
“The last known location of Captain Rogers,” Nakia explained. Bucky’s heart did a flip and everything went cold. Steve. Oh… oh , he hadn’t even had a moment to think about it, even when he’d been ransaking his locker for clothes. He supposed that somewhere in his mind, he’d simply assumed that Steve would survive this event, and they’d be reunited. They’d find each other again, just like they always did. The thought had never crossed his mind that Steve might be gone .
Dread settled deep in the marrow of his bones and the steel of his left side. Back in their day, Bucky had been sure that he’d lose Steve. He’d had an expiry date of 35 years old, max. After the serum, that expiry date went away, and Bucky ended up being the one to die first instead. Everything that followed had felt like the universe conspiring to keep them apart. Now? Hell, this was the universe's modus operandi . Bucky out of cryo, and Steve possibly dead… or turned into one of those things .
Once again, Bucky peered out the window and down to the ground below, where the horde swept forth to claim all its path.
~ =☆= ~
The distress and anxiety of his present situation, coupled with coming out of cryo without being stimulated by electrocution and drugs, had allowed Bucky to doze off somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea. Nothing really changed outside of the jets. There was no land that they flew over that as untouched, but there were people, standing on their roofs with makeshift weapons and armour, trying to flagdown the jets for help.
If Steve had been there, he would have insisted they take everybody they could find, even the people that might be infected. Bucky… Bucky wasn’t the same man as Steve. He never had been. He understood what survival meant, and sometimes that meant leaving behind those that you couldn’t afford to take with you. Even now, the limited supplies, expired super-soldier grade protein bars and bottled water were running low on their jet. He could only imagine the others in their tiny squadron were going through the same issue.
As Bucky was jarred awake, he knew immediately that their food and water situation was not the worst of their problems. There was shouting from the cockpit in a language he didn’t know, and a glance out the porthole by his head told the tale of their rapid incline towards terrafirma, as if his weight settling all on one hip against the jumpseat armrest wasn’t indication enough. Alarms started to blare, warning of rapid decompression and hull breach, and emergency lights bathed the entire interior of the jet in yellow.
“There is no time!” T’Challa finally snarled as the felinesque helmet appeared, and he hauled his younger sister out of the pilot’s chair. Shuri shouted something, probably obscene, at him, before yanking back on the controls and locking them in place to attempt to control their descent. The Dora Milaje were already hauling out parachutes. A cursory count of the packs told him they didn’t have enough for everyone on board, which made sense. There had been only so many Avengers that couldn’t fly under their own power. Setting his jaw, Bucky pushed beyond the female warriors, the King and the Princess.
“James!” Shuri shouted, incredulous as T’Challa all but shoved her into a parachute.
“S’Bucky. An’ relax, Princess. I’ve fallen off a train and crashed a helicopter. I got this. Get goin’,” he replied with false bravado and a wink, before yanking the helmet down over his face. Sinking down in the pilot’s seat sent his stomach sinking into his knees. He was in big trouble. A quick scan of the control console told him all he needed to know. The photovoltaic cells were drained, and there was no reserve fuel. Not like they’d had a chance to stop by a gas station that offered jet-grade fuel or whatever modified nonsense this thing used as a backup fuel source.
He wasn’t near as maudlin as Rogers was when he put the Valkyrie down a thousand miles off of Greenland’s beaches. There were no thoughts of loved ones as the back of the jet opened and the Wakandans bailed out. He didn’t think about Steve being dead or undead. Really… really, he was just tired, and if he didn’t survive the crash, maybe that would be okay.
The back hatch closed for what little good it would do. Someone was shouting through over the comms in Wakandan, but he had no clue what was being said. Didn’t matter. The ground was shiny, white with snow that reflected the moonlight. Every muscle on his right side and the metal on his right gripped the manual controls. Bearing down on his feet against the firewall, he pulled hard. The jet rattled and groaned ominously in protest. The screaming of air outside made his ears ring over his pounding heartbeat.
“kschk-- Didn’t anybody teach --bzztksh-- how t’fly?” The voice that came over the comms was broken and garbled, but he’d know it anywhere. He doubted Steve knew it was him. Unless radio contact had been made before? God, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Reaching up, he tapped the comm button.
“Special delivery of stupid for Captain Rogers,” he replied, voice hoarse. There was a gasp from the other side, or maybe it was just the distortion. He had no idea. It didn’t matter. He felt like he could reach through the radio signal and touch that stupid punk.
“Buck? God I -- kshht -- were dead. Try to survive puttin’ her down, we’ve got a -- hsss -- on you!” Steve said, and he… it would be easier to not survive, but Steve was there , talking to him, encouraging him to land it as safe as possible and not go down like a burning sack of shit.
“Quit yakkin’ about it an’ get your hide out here then,” he groused. Another noise, could have been a one-note laugh or more distortion. It didn’t matter. He could picture Steve smirking; that pained wince he got when he wanted to laugh and cry all at once.
“Roger that, Sarge. Start headin’ due north-east when you land,” the comms went dead, and he almost wished Steve would stay and talk to him, like how Pegs talked him down when he crashed the Valkyrie.
Okay, so he was a little maudlin.
He could hear the trees starting to crack and break under the belly of his craft. Or maybe that was the panels of metal being torn off. Both. Probably both. The wind was screaming loudly outside, making his ears ring and his teeth grind so hard that he could taste blood. Between one moment and the next, the ground came up at him. The jet’s bottom hit the snow and dirt, jumped up and then slammed down again, crashing through trees at high velocity until hitting a particularly large one that brought the jet to a dead stop.
Bucky, however, did not stop. The velocity sent him careening forward, crashing through the reinforced glass and into the tree itself. Glass split his right arm open through the henley, and he managed to lead with the left before hitting the tree. WIth his bell rung, he lay prone for several minutes. Or maybe he was unconscious. His brain helpfully supplied the checklist for a concussion, of which he had at least eight symptoms at least.
Thanks Brain, you’re a real pal .
“Fuck,” he groaned softly where he lay on the nose of the aircraft, bending him at a funny angle. Everything twinged and hummed inside of him, and as he rolled onto his side and crawled back towards the Bucky-sized hole he’d made in the windscreen, joints creaking ominously as he dragged himself through and dropped heavily across the console and back into the chair. The yellow warning lights were flickering, as was the console. No chance to contact Steve to let him know his coordinates then. Hopefully the punk had a lock on him like he said he did.
Bucky shoved the faceplate up so it sat on the top of his head and pulled deep lungfuls of air into his system. No broken ribs, thankfully. Legs and arms seemed to be in good shape. Just some cuts and bruises. He looked down at the elbow of the metal arm, eyebrow popping curiously. Not even a scratch. Vibranium, he reminded himself, but more than that, the gold markings between the black plates were glowing softly. Guess he should have asked for a crash course in the new arm before he parted ways with Shuri and friends.
There was movement in the frozen forest around him. A sidearm was into his hand like it was summoned there by thought alone, and he dropped silently off the chair into the space between the chair and wall.
“James?” A voice hissed through the darkness. Well. Not a zombie, so he had that going for him at least. All his muscles unwound some and he sagged down further.
“Present an’ accounted for,” he hissed back dryly, banging the butt of the glock against the wall just in case he couldn’t be heard from inside the jet. Moments later, the ramp was pried open with the tips of Dora Milaje spears, and it dropped gracelessly to the snowy floor. The women came aboard first, followed by Shuri and T’Challa. He waved with the glock before hauling his sorry ass to his feet and holstering it.
A quick glance over the assembled told him nobody was worse for wear. At least, not worse off than him. With the exception of T’Challa since he was in full-panther mode, they all looked to be freezing, however. Dark skin was puckered tightly with goosebumps Ignoring his own aches, he started going through every nook and cranny of the jet. Clothes were tossed at the Dora Milaje, Shuri and Nakia. There was some clicks and grunts of disgust but he just shot them a glare.
“Less bitchin’; more coverin’ up. Ain’t gonna do us any good if y’all die from exposure ‘fore we meet up with Cap,” he replied, grumpy. “You should all take guns, too,” he added, as he pulled open the sideways drawer with ROMANOFF written down the side. A few of the smaller sidearms had rattled free of their compartments from his excellent landing. When nobody moved to take the remaining weapons, he looked back at them all, brow arched.
“No, thank you,” Okoye replied, her sentiment echoed by her trio of Dora Milaje, even though they’d relented to putting on the sweatpants, tac gear, and whatever else he’d tossed their way to keep the cold at bay.
“I don’t understand,” Bucky replied, flatly. The last thing he’d want was to be close to the zombies. The Dora Milaje all banged the ends of their spears against the floor in unison. Sighing, he held up his hands in surrender and cursed beneath his breath.
“Fine… fine. Stupid decision, but fine, what do I know? Followed some punk asshole around with a glorified frisbee for years. Might as well join up with the pointy sticks an’ claws,” he muttered to himself as he shoved rations and medical supplies into a second and third go bag, and then pilfered a quiver and bow from the sideways drawer marked BARTON. Thankfully, he didn’t have to delegate who was carrying the other go bags. Shuri and Nakia both shouldered one and did up the straps, leaving their hands free for the weapons they were wearing. At least, he assumed the hollow discs and gloves were weapons. God, he hoped they were weapons.
Ignoring the dripping of blood down his right arm, where it soaked into the padding of his elbow. Hopefully… hopefully zombies were not like sharks.
Pushing out of the back of the van ahead of everyone, he kept a rifle up and at the ready, though his gaze ended up tracking the soft, blue glow of Wakandan aircraft overhead. He turned to the others, brow arched as he jerked his head towards the skies.
“Guess they ain’t pickin’ us up…?” He prompted, annoyance settling in his bones. It was a damned critical situation, and sure, Wakanda was destabilized and overrun, but he was still standing with the royal line. On the ground. Where there were fucking zombies .
“The carriers are full,” T’Challa replied, calmly, his expression shrouded by that emotionless mask. But Bucky was adept enough to read between the lines. His jaw set.
“They’re full,” he echoed, flatly. “Too full to pick up the King of Wakanda and his baby sister,” he continued, not doing the least amount to cover his scepticism. Too full to pick up two people. He and the others could make their way eventually. The women were all warriors and he was the Winter Soldier. Realization settled inside of him and he had to huff a short laugh. “Vibranium,” he commented slowly, before just shaking his head and starting to march, rifle at the ready. He closed his eyes and sighed into the air, ignoring the way Shuri shifted uncomfortably. Maybe at being found out without saying a thing.
~ =☆= ~
The march was quiet and exhausting. As they ventured towards the coordinates Rogers had given him, the snow grew as deep as his knees, and the cold became the type of cold that froze your nostrils and your lungs with each breath. T’Challa took point; bounding through the trees above their heads to ensure their path was clear, and probably to keep from listening to Shuri moaning about how exhausted she was.
For his part, Bucky kept his trap shut, because there were perfectly good aircrafts that were now long gone, but too full to remove even one crate of vibranium to stuff a princess into the spot. The cold was no place for snark; especially not when T’Challa landed soundlessly in front of him in a perfect crouch, and gestured due east of their location. Taking the hint, Bucky dropped to a knee in the snow, which sank him down to the waist, and brought the rifle up to his shoulder. The others took their cues and spread out to take defensive stances as well, weapons at the ready. Bucky strained his ears and slowed his breathing until it was nearly stopped.
A small groan flit through the trees, sounding hollow and far away but still too close for comfort. The groaning continued and the sounds of snow being moved around them, quick and messy with no method at all. It was dark, hard to see even for his eyes, but slowly between the trees, shadows began to move, shuffling forward slowly through the snow. The putrid smell of gangrenous flesh and blood hit his nostrils like a wall, making him almost, almost wish that he had the awful rebreather from his days with HYDRA. He’d put up with the rampant claustrophobia if it meant not having to smell necrotic rot up close and personal.
“The cold… it’s slowing them down,” Shuri advised, and that much was obvious in the way their decrepit flesh sacks were hauled through the snow. More than that, every movement looked stiff and mechanical, like what fluid remained in their bodies was starting to freeze up.
Okoye bounded forward with her warriors, movement only slightly hindered by the height of the snow. The first wave of walkers were dispatched, but they were not alone. To their left, another swell, which Bucky took aim upon and mowed down with a flurry of bullets. The creatures continued to swarm, coming at them from all sides save for the path they’d taken to get where they were now.
He felt the haze settle on his shoulders like a shroud; the killing haze that shut off fear and disgust, and allowed him to keep from panicking . Because… because this was a panic-inducing scenario. They were overwhelmed, even if the monsters were slower moving than they were.
One of the Dora Milaje howled as four of the monsters closed in. She was vulnerable; spear stuck between the ribs of one of her targets while another behind her had grabbed onto the blunted end. Bucky turned just as one of the zombies dug his teeth into her throat, silver rings of armour be damned, and tore . He wasted no time in shooting her in the head - a mercy killing just as the monster reared back, bringing her carotid artery with it, and another dug its hideously snarled fingers around her armour to dig into the center of her chest. He was sure Okoye would understand. He hoped.
Bucky’s group of survivors were being boxed in. T’Challa was bounding through the trees, using his fine-tuned body like a blunt instrument and all but throwing himself like a bowling ball into the horde. He clawed his way through those that stayed down long enough for him to do so, but even he was starting to show signs of fatigue. The monsters wouldn’t be able to get through the vibranium suit that was starting to glow purple. If anyone survived, it’d be T’Challa.
The horde just kept fucking coming .
Barnes bolted out of his small, snowy pit to cover Nakia and Shuri, as they started to clear a spot in the midst of it all. He ducked under Okoye’s spear, skidding through the snow and coming up just in time to unload the rest of his clip into the face of a zombie.
“Get down!” Shuri shouted, grabbing Bucky by the shoulder before dragging him and Nakia down. His skin hummed as an energy shield appeared around them. Okoye and the two remaining Dora Milaje dropped and covered in similar shields. The zombies were on them, trying to tear through the projections, and making progress.. T’Challa, suit now blazing purple, landed in the spot that they’d cleared and unleashed… something . It was like the shockwave of a bomb that made the earth rumble, the snow clear out from the impact zone under the King’s feet, and bent the trees in the immediate area back. It also blasted every monster beck into the trees with sickening cracks and wet slaps as they hit the trees and then fell to the ground.
For what felt like a small eternity, the forest was deathly still and silent, only filled with the ragged breathing of the survivors, and the soft hum of the shields around them. Whatever the blast was had been damn effective, and he nudged Shuri to bring the shield down. Once she obliged, he got to his feet, ignoring the cold that lanced through every joint. As the survivors rose, so too did the monsters, groaning and twisting, sounding slick and messy from the blast that had dislodged joints and limbs. The sickening panic twisted up his stomach as he changed out his clip and got ready.
The horde were closing in again, but overhead, the familiar whir of a quinjet distracted everyone. A spotlight bathed T’Challa’s ground zero as the jet dropped dangerously low to the ground and the attached machine guns sprayed everything in front of it. The gangplank dropped and Bucky would know that silhouette anywhere. Narrow waist, broad shoulders -- only difference was the rifle that pop-popped from his shoulder as he offered cover-fire. Bucky swung his own rifle out of the way and shoved Nakia and Shuri ahead of him to the jet. Okoye had pushed the two remaining Dora Milaje onto the plank and climbed on herself, but stayed near the end to haul Nakia and Shuri up.
“Buck,” Steve’s voice broke across all the noise as he hauled himself up and turned to make sure they didn’t leave anyone behind. The remains of the fallen warrior woman was nothing more than a bloody smear of gristle and red armour scraps. T’Challa was last aboard, and the quinjet was in the air, the ramp barely closed before the pilot jostled the stick to knock off the monsters that had managed to climb onto the sides. Bucky knocked right into Steve, and was relieved when an arm banded around his waist to hold him upright. The camouflaged tac gear pressed against the parts of Bucky that weren’t covered in padding.
Bucky had never felt relief the way he did now. No… no, that was a lie. He’d felt it before, in another life; standing at Steve’s bedside when the fevers broke, lying flat on his back on a metal table after getting pumped full of who the fuck knew . The grip on his hip tightened and the Iron Man mask was pulled off his face. Bucky blearily blinked up at Steve, forcing away the tunnel vision that came with adrenaline and fear. Steve’s smile was small, almost shy, like he was waiting for something.
Bucky reached his hand up to touch the thick thatch of whiskers on Steve’s face, brushing through them lightly. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut and he inhaled deeply, his head tipping into Bucky’s palm, lips brushing over the heel of Bucky’s palm. Something electric zapped down Bucky’s arm as those cool lips kissed their way a little further to his wrist. Steve’s nostrils flared again as he touched his mouth flat to the skin, his gaze tracking the trail of crusted blood that had soaked through his elbow pad and continued its path down.
“Rogers,” Natasha spoke, tone somewhat clipped from where she’d emerged from the cockpit. Steve’s spine straightened and his hand tucked Bucky even tighter against his body. A growl rattled from Steve’s chest as he purposefully shifted their bodies so he was in between Bucky and Romanoff. For her part, Natasha just looked amused in her usual way - a quirked brow, an arched, blonde eyebrow and the smallest quirk of the left corner of her mouth. Still, her hands were up and her body was ready to defend herself if it became necessary.
Everything went still as the air became charged, and no one moved. Bucky couldn’t see what they were all looking at, but his group of survivors were all staring at Steve, some with utter shock and others with passive wariness. Whatever spell had been cast was broken as Natasha seemingly spoke wordlessly to Steve, and the tension in his shoulders unwound. Everyone else relaxed minutely as well, but there were still a few wary eyes cast towards his Stevie. He knew Rogers could be… intense … but they’d looked as though they were gazing upon a circus freakshow. Steve shook off whatever had possessed him and turned back to Bucky, giving him a thin smile.
“Thought I’d lost you…” he finally mumbled, voice deeper like that growl that had eked out a moment ago. “Ain’t nobody told you to stay put when you’re lost?” Steve added, jostling Bucky’s whole body with a wiggle on his hip. A fond, exasperated smile fought its way onto Bucky’s face.
“Wasn’t lost. You found me,” he returned, soft enough for only Steve’s ears. It was sappy but the way Steve gave that stupid, watery smile of his made up for it. The punk.
~ =☆= ~
The quinjet landed a few hours later within the walls of a very chilly looking airport base. The trip had been quiet. Steve sat with Bucky, constantly keeping a hand on his, or in his hair. Bucky didn’t mind it. He’d been out of cryo barely a whole day, but it felt like he’d been away from Steve for months. Hell, maybe it had been months. He had no idea how long he’d been under, or if Shuri had even fixed his brain. Bucky stayed put as the others disembarked… mainly because Steve had a hand on his thigh pressing down, and Bucky could take a hint.
Once they were alone, Steve unwound the rest of the way and proceeded to manhandle Bucky into his lap despite their combat gear and Bucky’s stash of weapons on his person. Sighing with the same affectionate annoyance he always had for Steve, he rested his forehead to Steve, fingertips touching at Steve’s beard again.
“You gonna tell me what the hell’s goin’ on…?” Bucky prompted, which made Steve grunt in response.
“Come on… I’ll show ya,” Steve gave in, nudging Bucky to his feet and following after. Bucky scooped up his bag of supplies and Steve tangled their hands together. Heading down the gangplank revealed a veritable shanty town that was set up halfway along the runway. The Wakandan aircrafts were parked alongside the quinjet they disembarked, with Wakandans unloading supplies and crates of vibranium. The entire base was surrounded by a 14-foot tall wall, cobbled together from military planes, vehicles, stone blocks, and trees. Portable barracks made out most of the shanties, but there were some that were constructed from whatever was lying around.
Bucky did his best not to stare as Steve guided him passed the shanties towards the main hangar that was serving as the central hub for the base. Inside was a throng of activity. The main hangar was serving as a mess hall and some sort of strange administration. Before lining up for rations, every person was shuffled behind a row of curtains except for children, who were either left with a guardian, or would wait outside the curtain.
Steve stood quietly amidst the hubbub, head down. He had Bucky’s flesh hand in his, and was idly tracing along his knuckles as Bucky absorbed all the information he could. When the adults emerged from behind the curtain, they were rolling down their sleeves and carrying a poker chip that was painted red, but tarnished from wear. The poker chips were then exchanged for a food tray in the mess. He turned his gaze back to the curtained area, waiting for the next person to emerge. When they did, the flutter of the curtain revealed a medical cot set beside a low table that bobbled back and forth and a refrigerator.
“It was an airborne chemical that made the initial wave of zombies spread, and the UN decided it would be best to fight fire with fire,” Steve began, his voice soft, and he didn’t lift his gaze from where he was tracing Bucky’s knuckles. “They released their own chemical in the infected major cities in hopes it would revert the virus, but it had already adapted and mutated by then. I don’t know that their chemical would have worked, anyhow, ‘cause all it did was take folks with already mutated genetics an’ make them…” he sighed and shook his head.
“Come on,” Steve prompted instead and started to move. He led Bucky from the main hangar to one of the portable barracks. Inside was clearly Steve’s space - a strange thing to realize when shelter seemed to be in short supply, and the place was big enough to house six cots and roll out gear. There was a big bed on one end, definitely not regulation, and cobbled together furniture filled out the rest of the space. A minifridge was tucked into one corner but there wasn’t really a dining area. Not that he’d expected there to be one. Steve shucked off the majority of his gear, and Bucky followed, until he was in the pilfered clothes from the quinjet and Steve was in nothing but his cargo camo pants and an olive green shirt that was too tight and probably illegal.
“The mutated genetics?” Bucky prompted as leaned against the cubicle wall that lended some privacy between the entrance and Steve’s bed. Steve rubbed the back of his neck as he turned, looking to Bucky through his long eyelashes.
“It latched on to already mutated genetics an’ mutated them more. Made mutants… inhumans, or people like Romanoff and me into more,” Steve explained, hesitant, unsure. Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek, sweeping his gaze over Steve curiously, like he was looking for a tail or horns. He gave Steve a confused look when no obvious changes had been made. Finally, he huffed and snorted.
“Can’t be any weirder than a 90-pound punk showin’ up bigger than me,” Bucky drawled, brow arching some. Steve seemed relieved at the comment but the pinch between his eyebrows was still present. Setting his jaw as only Steve could, he straightened up and looked Bucky in the eye, like a challenge had been laid and he wasn’t stepping back from the plate. He marched over to his minifridge and pulled it open. Bucky couldn’t see what was inside, but Steve turned and tossed a bag of dark fluid at him. The smell of sterile blood hit his nose as he caught it, and he looked down to the bag to see information written in Sharpie.
Keep cold
Page, Karen - O neg - 3 rations
Exp: 9/12/18.
“Vampires, Buck. They turned us into goddamn feeders! S’why everybody here has to donate blood before they eat. Keep us freaks fed so we can protect them and have the strength to go out huntin’ for food for them, and round an’ round we go,” Steve unloaded, and Bucky could tell he’d been holding that rage in for a long time. As usual, Steve smothered his own discomfort and fears in the face of being Captain America for his troops, even if he didn’t have the shield anymore. Bucky gave the bag a thoughtful squeeze. It was cold and the liquid inside had separated between plasma and blood.
“Can’t taste very good cold,” Bucky offered, as he tossed the bag back to Steve, who looked gobsmacked as he caught the blood bag against his chest. Rolling his eyes, Bucky closed the distance between him and Steve, so he could cup his face in both hands and jostle his head.
“C’mon, doll. This is no weirder than a fella with a red skull, a metal arm, or fuckin’ zombies . What did you think I was gonna do when you told me, huh? Run away screamin’? Thought you'd know me better than that,” he gently chastised, while offering Steve a weak albeit hopeful smile. Something rumbled from Steve’s chest, and Bucky found the sound zipped pleasantly right down his spine and into his boots. Steve bowed his head to rest his brow on Bucky’s, as he tossed the blood bag blindly onto the minifridge. Both of Steve’s arms banded around Bucky’s waist to haul him close.
Rather than speaking, Steve bowed his head down to brush his mouth against Bucky’s, sweet and chaste, almost like a question. And really, there was only one answer to that. Bucky kissed harder, going so far as to nip Steve’s lip reproachfully before sweeping his tongue across it. The remaining tension in Steve fell away as he practically dipped Bucky backwards in order to kiss him deep, tongue slipping round expertly. Without breaking the kiss, Steve all but muscled Bucky behind the cubicle wall towards his bed. With little prelude, he got Bucky on his back and clambered on top, pinning the other man down with his body. Bucky mewled softly at the pressure, as his hands scrambled to get Steve’s shirt untucked and his belt undone all at once.
“S’been too long,” he rasped impatiently as he yanked Steve’s belt free and pulled open his pants. A quickie before meeting up at the German airport, passing the time on the quinjet to Siberia, and before he went back into cryo… it wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been enough to make up for 70 years apart. Steve tugged at Bucky’s borrowed clothes.
“Off,” Steve growled, and the order made Bucky’s whole body shiver. Releasing his vain attempts to get Steve undressed, he yanked off the ill fitted clothing and immediately gripped the base of his cock, squeezing it for some fucking relief. Steve bat his hand away almost immediately, and leaned down to swallow the whine of protest with a kiss.
“Mine,” he whispered, a promise or a threat, Bucky didn’t know and he didn’t care. Another moan was swallowed by Steve’s mouth as he ground down in between Bucky’s legs firmly. The kiss broke with a gasp, as Steve fumbled over the side of the bed for his duffel. Bucky squirmed, impatient for more, as his hands swept down the length of Steve’s back. Something cool landed beside Bucky’s elbow, but it was hardly of consequence, because Steve was at his neck, mouthing along the side of it with a low growl.
“Do it…” Bucky rasped, without thinking. His chin turned to the side, straining the cordage in his throat. Steve was rumbling above him, and Bucky was sure he felt the faintest pinpricks against the side of his neck. His toes curled as a flutter of anticipation and lust snaked down to heat his belly. He felt Steve’s lips pull into a smile and he pressed a firm kiss over the fluttering pulse beneath his skin.
“Not yet… god, baby, not yet. S’gonna be so good, I promise,” he rasped. The cold container against Bucky’s elbow was moved and opened, and seconds later, Bucky felt broad, slick, cool fingers pressing against his hole. His knees drew up, thick thighs spreading to make it easier as he scrambled to kiss Steve once more. Steve was a damned tease as he circled his middle finger around his hole, waiting for the rim to relax before pushing in.
Bucky whined softly, though it escalated to a keening moan as the finger pushed the rest of the way in and hooked at just the right angle to press against his prostate. Instinctively, he bit down on his flesh knuckles to muffle his noises especially as a second finger began to dance around the first, slippery and teasing. The burn of the second finger pushing in cause him to tense for only a moment, before he exhaled a low curse. The pressure was wonderful and he slowly started to squirm again, working himself open on Steve’s fingers.
“Mm, that’s it, babydoll. God, fuckin’ missed you,” Steve praised as he mouthed down the seam of scars that attached his new arm to his body. The old scars tingled at the delicate touch, and he nearly jackknifed off of the bed when Steve grazed his fangs over the scar tissue. “Always knew they’d be sensitive, Buck, but damn… wonder if all your scars are like that…” Steve trailed off as he bit over the scar firmly, pulling back just before his canines punctured the skin. One hand kept Bucky pinned to the bed as he writhed, and his stunted movements only made him rock harder on Steve’s fingers. Steve’s thumb pressed over Bucky’s adam’s apple,
“More… more ,” Bucky pleaded, fingertips digging hard into Steve’s back. The blond simply chuckled, deep and throaty, as his fingers withdrew just enough to leave room for the third fingertip to start working in. Steve’s mouth kept working over the scar tissue, until the skin was further reddened by the scrape of whiskers and the barely-there biting. Christ, Bucky already felt wrung out while Steve’s fingers opened him up further. The three fingers wiggled and stretched even further until Bucky was living up to his name and started bucking off the bed.
“Fuck,” Steve hissed as his fingers withdrew. Bucky shuddered and tried to draw his thighs together, trying so hard to hold onto that full feeling, but Steve’s body was in the way. Thank fuck Steve moved quick. Seconds passed, seconds that felt like hours to Bucky, before Steve pressed the slicked tip of his cock against Bucky’s hole. Steve wasted no time sliding into Bucky, the burn making him ache in the sweetest ways possible. Sunk deep into Bucky, Steve paused, fingertips pushing along Bucky’s jaw and cupping the back of his neck. He stayed still, kissing sweetly against the cleft of Bucky’s chin and down his throat slowly. The tension in Bucky’s body uncoiled, for only a moment, but it was enough for Steve. Thrusting slow at first, just a few times, and then Steve lost himself, bringing Bucky right along with him.
“Goddamn, Buck… god damn ,” Steve rasped against his throat. Bucky’s skin prickled with excitement, along with what he was sure was a bit of a danger kink. Steve was strong - stronger than Bucky was. With the vampire mutation…? Bucky could only guess that he was going to be completely outmatched. The threat of fangs against his throat had him seeing stars, the pleasure mounting faster than he could have anticipated.
“Please… Stevie, c’mon, please,” Bucky whispered. Desperate for more, Bucky turned his head to the side again, straining his throat further. He dug his fingernails into Steve’s back as his bliss mounted. Steve growled again, right under Bucky’s ear. The threat within was obvious, and Bucky needed it like he needed air.
Pain lanced from his throat, the skin pulling tight before breaking. The pain only lasted a second. Pleasure, unlike anything he’d ever felt before, spread from his throat and down his body, enveloping him. His jaw went slack as he howled with pleasure and his brain short-circuited. Floating, high as a kite on sensation. Steve hadn’t slowed down. The pain at his neck counteracted the oversensitivity inside of his body. The sucking and swallowing sensation against his throat was an anchor, grounding him in the present while he had one foot in the heavens.
Steve’s fingers sank hard into his hair, and he pulled, dragging Bucky’s head further to the side. His hips were relentless, slapping hard between Bucky’s legs. When he broke away from Bucky’s neck, Bucky mewled weakly, relenting to Steve’s pace and how his hot, sticky tongue bathed the side of his neck. Was it pleasure or blood loss? Fuck, who cared? Not Bucky.
The second orgasm caught Bucky off guard. Steve hissed above him, and gathered Bucky closer, slick mouth pressed against his jaw. When Steve came, it was on a snarl as his arms held Bucky tighter.
“Steve… fuck, Steve,” he whispered from where he was floating outside of his skin. He could hear Steve cooing softly, and feel the gentle petting in his hair. Steve was talking, saying such sweet nonsense that sounded romantic but probably wouldn’t be to an outsider. Sweetest blood, how strong he felt from Bucky’s gift. God.
“You back with me, honey?” Steve’s words eventually sank in through the fuzz in Bucky’s brain. He huffed quietly, smiling some as he bumped his nose against Steve’s cheek. He could smell the coppery odour of his blood, but it wasn’t so bad. Blood was just part of their relationship. Bloody noses, skinned knees, bullet wounds, and split lips. Seemed fitting that after all the blood they’d shed that now blood would be the thing to sustain his sweetheart.
“M’here, Steve…” he murmured, fingertips shifting to stroke Steve’s cheek. “Hey… I got an idea,” Bucky added, which brought Steve’s head up. His lips were tinged pink, teeth in the same state. He’d seen Steve’s mouth in worse shape.
“How ‘bout we stop separatin’, huh? Seems like the whole world goes to shit when we do,” Bucky teased as he swiped his thumb over Steve’s lip. Steve huffed out his laugh and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s thumb.
“You got a deal, pal…”
~ = ★ = ~