[All Bucky can do when Kira’s foot grinds into him is concentrate on not passing out from the pain, though the words falling from the other man’s mouth also keep him tied to consciousness. From the pain he defaults back to Russian, spitting it out, choked in more blood--]
Nu vse, tebe pizda!*
[Though he briefly wonders if Kira might actually be helping him out with that whole pressure on the wound thing, it’s a gut instinct (literally and figuratively) for him to clench the same metal fingers around the offending foot - so what if the sound of bones cracking might be a giveaway to any approaching agents or a broken foot, it hurts too fucking much to do otherwise and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna pass out in some Hydra or KGB agent’s hideout when he was close, so close if what was being said was the correct information.
He uses the force of the arm to push back against the force in Kira’s leg and scrambles to sit up onto his other elbow with the reprieve, panting with the effort but still feeling plenty energized in case the asshole wants to go for round three.
Die...again? His whereabouts? All of this sounds familiar - sickeningly so, but maybe the nausea is from the physical pain and not the pain rendering his heart into a thousand ripped pieces--]
Unfortunately for us both, you won’t be dying for anyone right now, yebanat**. You, a legend? [Here comes another choked half-laugh, half-groan] You sound as crazy as they did. You really think if I’d known some delusional sic sukam sim*** was in here I’d have come in? Like I got time to worry about someone who thinks I’m an angel.
[Like the good-mannered boy he is, Bucky spits a mouthful of blood on the floor by Kira’s unoccupied foot. He squeezes the other one harder, feeling the bones shift and splinter easily under the neural connections of his enhanced arm, gritting his teeth as he speaks again.]
If you know something about where he is, I won’t leave until I find out. If you’re lying, you won’t be leaving ever.
(* - that's it, you're fucking dead ** - motherfucker *** - son of a bitch)
no subject
Nu vse, tebe pizda!*
[Though he briefly wonders if Kira might actually be helping him out with that whole pressure on the wound thing, it’s a gut instinct (literally and figuratively) for him to clench the same metal fingers around the offending foot - so what if the sound of bones cracking might be a giveaway to any approaching agents or a broken foot, it hurts too fucking much to do otherwise and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna pass out in some Hydra or KGB agent’s hideout when he was close, so close if what was being said was the correct information.
He uses the force of the arm to push back against the force in Kira’s leg and scrambles to sit up onto his other elbow with the reprieve, panting with the effort but still feeling plenty energized in case the asshole wants to go for round three.
Die...again? His whereabouts? All of this sounds familiar - sickeningly so, but maybe the nausea is from the physical pain and not the pain rendering his heart into a thousand ripped pieces--]
Unfortunately for us both, you won’t be dying for anyone right now, yebanat**. You, a legend? [Here comes another choked half-laugh, half-groan] You sound as crazy as they did. You really think if I’d known some delusional sic sukam sim*** was in here I’d have come in? Like I got time to worry about someone who thinks I’m an angel.
[Like the good-mannered boy he is, Bucky spits a mouthful of blood on the floor by Kira’s unoccupied foot. He squeezes the other one harder, feeling the bones shift and splinter easily under the neural connections of his enhanced arm, gritting his teeth as he speaks again.]
If you know something about where he is, I won’t leave until I find out. If you’re lying, you won’t be leaving ever.
(* - that's it, you're fucking dead
** - motherfucker
*** - son of a bitch)