Work Text:
The Soldier-James-Bucky-you'remyfriend doesn't know a lot, after he's sent to kill Steve Rogers and winds up saving him instead.
He doesn't know who he is, where he comes from, what happened to him. He doesn't know why he saved his target, why he failed. He doesn't know why his head's such a mess, why he feels so...so terrible, why he wants to scream or cry or break shit. Doesn't know why he has the childish urge to seek out Steve Rogers so someone will fix everything.
That's not what he is, what he does. He is the Winter Soldier, the Fist of Russia, HYDRA's weapon. He doesn't have emotions like fear and doubt and—and anxiety. He doesn't hide away, doesn't cry like a weakling. He takes out his enemies and listens to his handlers and does whatever he's told whenever he's told. He's not a person with thoughts and ideas and feelings of his own. He's a weapon to be wielded.
But he knows Steve Rogers.
How does he know Steve Rogers? How is he Bucky Barnes? How is that possible?
He just...he doesn't know. None of it makes sense. Visiting the museum and seeing the exhibit on a man with his face who apparently died doesn't actually answer any questions, just makes him feel even more lost. He has no answers, only questions.
So he doesn't know jackshit about himself or his mind or what happens next with Steve Rogers, but he knows quite a lot about going to ground. All those people hunting him? Yeah, he can avoid them no problem.
If only there wasn't another super soldier trying to get in his way.
He doesn't know what the guy is, at first. Doesn't know he's more than human, doesn't know he's anything other than a guy in a costume like so many others. He doesn't even know that the guy is going to get in his way—the only reason he's meeting with 'Deathstroke' is because there are materials you need to disappear, and the Soldier...does not remember if he has any go bags stashed anywhere. So, he needs to go to a contact.
Deathstroke comes highly recommended. The Soldier isn't expecting any trouble; they're both professionals, and the Soldier is the Winter Soldier. There hasn't been a single soul who could beat him in the seventy years he was active, not even Captain Freaking America (Steve, Steve who wouldn't fight back, who said he was with him 'til the end of the line, who used to wear newspapers in his shoes—) so what threat was this mercenary going to be, really? A problem for sure—the Soldier isn't dumb, he can see that clear as day—but not a true threat.
And then, halfway through the meeting, Deathstroke says, "You're Bucky Barnes."
The Soldier pauses, watching the man warily. He hates that there's a mask in the way; it's depriving him of the ability to read the mercenary's expression, and distorts his voice enough that his tone is not quite clear. He doesn't know what Deathstroke's opinion on this matter is. Is it simple observation? Is he working for HYDRA? Is he working for Steve?
The Soldier doesn't think Captain America is the type to hire a mercenary to achieve his goals, but he does work with the Black Widow so would Deathstroke really be much of a stretch?
Not having anything to say to that, the Soldier reiterates, "I need a passport."
They've already discussed the specifics. There are probably more eloquent or clever things the Soldier could say. He thinks...he thinks Bucky Barnes would say something clever. But the Soldier is not that, and not used to speaking more than a few words at all. This conversation has already been taxing. His head hurts. He wants to leave.
Deathstroke makes a sound through his nose that the Soldier can't quite understand, it might be a snort or a sigh, he doesn't know.
"Yeah, I got that," Deathstroke says. "But what the hell are you doing here, kid?" The Soldier blinks in confusion, and then opens his mouth to repeat his previous phrase again. Before he can say it though, Deathstroke says, "Passport, right, but what is Bucky Barnes doing trying to vanish?"
The Soldier's jaw works. In the pockets of his coat, both of his hands flex. He can hear each tiny whir of the panels in his metal arm, and, in time with them, he sees Deathstroke cock his head.
"Ah," Deathstroke says, something in his voice that the Soldier thinks is something close to amusement. "Not just Bucky Barnes, are you."
"Why does this matter?" the Soldier grits out, and lets his metal hand fall from his pocket, moving it into sight. This man might as well know it's a bad idea to pick a fight with him. The Soldier will win. It doesn't matter if Deathstroke has some sort of...hearing enhancement. It won't help him defeat the Winter Soldier.
"It doesn't," Deathstroke says, shrugging a shoulder lazily. He folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the wall, like the revelation of a metal arm—whose metal arm it clearly is—doesn't worry him whatsoever. "Consider it curiosity—your boyfriend played a role in making me what I am; always had something of an interest in the methods that made me. Not every day you see the dead Bucky Barnes apparently alive as the Winter Soldier."
The Soldier stares at him. Confusion rises inside of him, and for the first time, it's confusion over something that he's pretty sure he's not already supposed to know. There's a certain amount of comfort in that, in something new he doesn't know instead of...well, everything about himself.
"What are you talking about?" he asks, and surprises himself with how bewildered he sounds.
Deathstroke snorts, the sound obvious this time. "You think the army just said 'oh well' after all of Erskine's serum was gone?" His tone is derisive. The Soldier doesn't like it. "After they lost their one super soldier to self-sacrifice?" He tilts his head like he's looking down his nose at the Soldier. The Soldier isn't used to being shorter than people. "No, kid."
"Are you going to get me a passport or not?" the Soldier snaps. He's starting to feel agitated. He doesn't care about any of this, none of it matters. He has to leave. He has to hide. It doesn't matter what the army did, what they made in Steve's image. It doesn't matter if they corrupted everything good that Steve made of that program. It...it doesn't matter.
"You know, I would," Deathstroke says, and gives a sigh so put-upon that the Soldier's bewilderment reaches new heights. "But you see, I know this other kid, and he's kind of a fan of yours. Both versions of you, actually. And I think he'd lose his shit on me if I just shuffled you on your way. He gets testy like that."
"And that's my problem how?" the Soldier asks, voice dipping into a dangerous register. Clearly this is all a waste of his time.
"Look," Deathstroke says, pushing himself upright and taking a step closer. The Soldier goes tense, prepared for a fight. "Here's the deal—you come with me, give me forty-eight hours of your time, and then you're free to go. I'll give you whatever you need after that, if you still want to run. But you have to stay the entire time."
The Soldier narrows his eyes. "Why?" he asks suspiciously.
For a long moment, Deathstroke doesn't reply, head tilting slightly to the side. The silence feels weighted.
"You remind me of him," Deathstroke murmurs eventually, and lifts his chin. "What can I say, I have a soft spot for broken little birds."
"I'm not a bird," the Soldier snaps.
Somehow, the Soldier gets the impression that Deathstroke is smirking underneath his mask. "No? My mistake. So what'll it be, kid?"
The Soldier chews at the inside of his cheek, mulling it over. It's a very strange deal, one that could end very poorly for him. This could be a trick, could be an entire disaster and ruin everything, maybe even get him killed or brought back to HYDRA.
But this man, he knows things about Soldier-James-Bucky and about Steve, knows things about the serum that the Soldier is curious about, although against his will. And Deathstroke doesn't come with any of the conflicted, hurt feelings that being around the other people who know Bucky bring. This man has distance. That could be...good. No emotional weight. Just information.
"Alright," Soldier-James-Bucky agrees, hoping he doesn't regret it. Feeling, quite oddly, like he won't.