“No,” I reply honestly, one hand going to his arm, ostensibly to help him up, the other folding into a careful fist. I clip him across the jaw, just hard enough to turn his head just far enough to knock him out.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, catching his dead weight and hauling him up onto my shoulder. Half crouched, I run for the dark mouth of the garage we took the bike from. I drop us both into the corner to the right of the door and slide Bucky against the wall, behind a crate that’s half covered with a large canvas drop cloth. I make sure he’s invisible from view before I start into the compound, wishing I didn’t know it half so well as I do.
Nazis. When was the last time I fought Nazis, men in uniforms and arm bands? There’s something disturbingly simple about it. When the first three come across me I mow them down- deflect the bullets with the shield and run straight for them, knocking one headfirst into a wall and the other two headfirst into each other. I leave them where they fall.
There’s got to be a long-range weapon on this rock, and I know just the person to tell me where it is.
If I hadn’t gone back with the Avengers, all those years ago, to see for my own eyes if Bucky had survived- Which he had, and I hadn’t seen it. Why hadn’t I seen it then? Or maybe I did, which is why I never accepted...- I wouldn’t know where to find Zemo now. But I do.
I know exactly where he is.
“ZEMO,” I shout at the purple hooded figure. He’s about two stories up from where I am, on an iron catwalk embedded into the ancient stone walls. I got pretty good at reading the expression under that mask, over the years, and he looks... surprised.
no subject
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, catching his dead weight and hauling him up onto my shoulder. Half crouched, I run for the dark mouth of the garage we took the bike from. I drop us both into the corner to the right of the door and slide Bucky against the wall, behind a crate that’s half covered with a large canvas drop cloth. I make sure he’s invisible from view before I start into the compound, wishing I didn’t know it half so well as I do.
Nazis. When was the last time I fought Nazis, men in uniforms and arm bands? There’s something disturbingly simple about it. When the first three come across me I mow them down- deflect the bullets with the shield and run straight for them, knocking one headfirst into a wall and the other two headfirst into each other. I leave them where they fall.
There’s got to be a long-range weapon on this rock, and I know just the person to tell me where it is.
If I hadn’t gone back with the Avengers, all those years ago, to see for my own eyes if Bucky had survived- Which he had, and I hadn’t seen it. Why hadn’t I seen it then? Or maybe I did, which is why I never accepted...- I wouldn’t know where to find Zemo now. But I do.
I know exactly where he is.
“ZEMO,” I shout at the purple hooded figure. He’s about two stories up from where I am, on an iron catwalk embedded into the ancient stone walls. I got pretty good at reading the expression under that mask, over the years, and he looks... surprised.
Well, he has no idea.