[Bucky isn’t dumb enough to call Kira’s bluff, and most--most--of the time he doesn’t want to die just yet, either, so he lets go of the tenuous grip on the handle, gritting his teeth harder with the deeper press of the other knife at his throat. But something in the other man’s expression shifts into something deadlier than even Bucky can imagine and before he can react he’s flat on his back.
They they they they-- the words rushing through his brain accompanied by the taste of blood, shady shards of memories slicing through his mind and it’s all he can do to keep from killing Kira without a second thought.
So he’s right. It was a trap this whole time. A choked laugh forces its way up through his throat and with it a spray of blood reminding him of his ever-increasing need for first aid. Failure was never an option, not for someone so specially trained as the Winter Soldier (the thought only worsening his nausea) so it’s not like he’s worried or anything. Just annoyed that he came all this way to deal with this shit.
He grabs Kira’s knee with his metal hand, fingers closing around the ridges, tightening into the flesh; he could shatter it to pieces with the tiniest bit more pressure and he would have if he were the man--no, machine--he’d been for the last seventy years. Lucky for both of them he’s a little bit more man these days. Plus, something the other man had said… he wouldn’t be talking about--he couldn’t be talking about--]
You want your kneecap turned to dust, fine, but I’m only giving you one warning and consider this it. [He barely tightens his grip, just enough to be concerning, cause some (not so) mild discomfort, y’know, the usual.] If you don’t shut up they’ll be here any second for you and him and me. Nobody sent me. Not anymore. It was a mutual thing.
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don't fucky wit bucky
14/5/14 21:15 (UTC)They they they they-- the words rushing through his brain accompanied by the taste of blood, shady shards of memories slicing through his mind and it’s all he can do to keep from killing Kira without a second thought.
So he’s right. It was a trap this whole time. A choked laugh forces its way up through his throat and with it a spray of blood reminding him of his ever-increasing need for first aid. Failure was never an option, not for someone so specially trained as the Winter Soldier (the thought only worsening his nausea) so it’s not like he’s worried or anything. Just annoyed that he came all this way to deal with this shit.
He grabs Kira’s knee with his metal hand, fingers closing around the ridges, tightening into the flesh; he could shatter it to pieces with the tiniest bit more pressure and he would have if he were the man--no, machine--he’d been for the last seventy years. Lucky for both of them he’s a little bit more man these days. Plus, something the other man had said… he wouldn’t be talking about--he couldn’t be talking about--]
You want your kneecap turned to dust, fine, but I’m only giving you one warning and consider this it. [He barely tightens his grip, just enough to be concerning, cause some (not so) mild discomfort, y’know, the usual.] If you don’t shut up they’ll be here any second for you and him and me. Nobody sent me. Not anymore. It was a mutual thing.