Work Text:
What am I doing?
I should be back in the States attending some party that I'm just famous enough to get into for the food. I should be home with the boys in my uniform going door to door with them so they feel awesome. I should be in bed asleep.
I should not be halfway across the globe following some lead to find the guy who almost killed me on multiple occasions.
Every time I think that I get an unfair mental image of Mr. Captain America having that kicked puppy face telling me all sorts of overly personal information about the assassin I am currently tracking across the globe. Yeah, nope. I really don't need to know how the ghost story used to view Halloween.
I was set up in a nice little restaurant on the wrong night to be in Transylvania just watching the costumes and enthusiasts run around.
Hulk number 26. Woah, a Hawkeye; that's a first. That Nat is a man. That's just wrong.
So, I might be keeping track of the superhero costumes. You can't blame me until I see a little man rocking a Falcon costume from whatever passes for a Target in whatever country I'm in.
My count was temporarily delayed as I took a swig of the light beer I ordered a while back. I might not know where i am, but, armed with a bullet-proof vest and a Stark sponsored credit card, I felt invincible and ready for whatever amazing food this country has a lot of.
What was that?
I grabbed the mug and got up before realizing that it was probably at least rude to wander off with one's mug.
I settled, chugged the last fourth as a tiny Captain America tried to tell me off in some other language, and was around the corner into the alley I saw the figure turn down.
Nothing.
Good. For a second there, I thought some crazy guy actually dressed up as the Winter Soilder for Halloween. Declassified documents and, bam, people are dressing up as Loki and the Winter freaking Soilder I swear. Like, at least you get points for creepy levels.
Great, I'm twinning with cereal killer's victims now. It's perfectly acceptable to dress up as cerial killers and slasher film stars until it was me they almost blew up into a thousand pieces. I am a fantastic councilor, I swear.
I turned around, feeling quite dumbif I'm to admit that to myself.
I then froze. There, blocking the way out of the alley, was the Winter Soilder.
It stole my breath and had my heart rate skyrocketing for all of two seconds before I caught a better look at his face.
I cracked up laughing. He didn't move a muscle.
"Dude, dude. My main man, you can't be serious. You have it down to the BDSM dungeon master top and the twelve hundred weapons, but that eyeshadow is so over the top. Like, did it blow up in your face? That stuff belongs somewhere else than the streets my friend."
When one insults custom costumes they obviously put quite a bit of effort in to, one usually reacts. I would with anger. Someone who would actually make this, honestly, spot on replica would probably try and defend themselves or walk away from the crazy slightly tipsy guy who just made sex jokes. Not this guy, though. No, he just stared at me with those bright blue eyes made even brighter by the darkness smudged all over the part of his face not covered by that mask.
I was starting to think maybe I was encountering some gay lady of the night figure when he gave the tinyest little qurirk of a smile and stepped back into the crowd.
Not even a word, but he was gone gone.
It was odd, to say the least.
Well, shoot. Do I really have to add him to the tally? The MIA fist of Hydra gets a fan costume and not me?
I'm talking to Tony tomorrow. You don't talk to drunks after three, ex-drunks after bed, and Tony only at ten in the morning after four cups of coffee.
I need a costume for next year.