Looper
He swore up to high heaven, if there was one, he'd incinerate all remaining wetlands.
Bugs tangled in Bucky's hair, his boots down to the the crevices of his toes were caked in swamp mush, and he was pretty sure there was a frog in his vest somewhere. During his long, boring and arduous journey, crocodiles and alligators flocked together at one point to corner him, thinking he'd be easy prey. He thought they'd make an easy snack. While they both underestimated each other, he still got to chew on some raw alligator tail.
His victory didn't mean much, as Bucky's pants were torn up the seams, and he was pretty sure he lost a gun amidst the splashing. At least the bites were sewing back together nicely, considering.
It took an hour extra than he wanted to reach the main road in Alligator Alley, around 4pm if he had to guess. Despite being closer to the West coast of Florida, he also knew there could be smaller Hydra cells since the Florida facility was recommissioned. It’d be safer if he went the opposite direction, with more population density to hide in. Bucky bided his time in the foliage, waiting for one single, slow car on the road to ambush. It took longer than expected, until a distasteful, mustard yellow 1975 Cadillac Eldorado took the bait, going 40 on the 60 mph highway.
“Of course my fucking luck.” If Sam saw him stealing the exact opposite of a covert vehicle he'd have a riot.
Bucky sprinted in front of the car as it skidded to a stop. The driver, an older, middle aged man started cursing him out in Spanish.
“Hijo de puta cuidado con-”
“Dejaré el coche, y te dejaré vivir.” Bucky spared no time pulling out his gun and pointing it at the man, not that he was going to shoot.
“...Ay…okay cono…, y mi telefono tambien?”
“No. Solo tu agua.”
Before Bucky drove off, he gave the man his combat knife. There were alligators and crocodiles around after all.
An hour and a half later, Bucky exited Alligator Alley and onto the main Florida Turnpike. He drove northbound, taking the nearest exit to hotwire another vehicle at a close park. This time, he switched the plates, and stuck to local roads. After another 45 minutes, he pulled into a gas station in the outskirts of Pompano Beach, inspecting the car for anything useable. He found a backpack, with condoms, lotion, a mask, and hat, along with a spare gym outfit and hoodie. Bucky wasted no time changing, stuffing his weapons and tactics into the backpack, briskly making his way to the nearest building. In this area, it’s mostly deserted, abandoned by the city and sectioned off for minorities. He had a safe house he stayed in near the cemetery when he was planning to destroy the facility the first time, located behind the wall of houses by the main road. Walking a few blocks more, looping around and through a few abandoned buildings, he finally reached the safehouse. Still empty, thankfully.
However, none of his bags were stashed where he left them. The first time Bucky searched his hiding spots: the kitchen sink, hallway closet, bedroom closet and laundry room. The fifth time Bucky sweeped the house, he ripped out everything, the cabinet doors, mirrors, closet hinges.
“Fucking shit. I can’t-”
Bucky choked, as he slammed the last closet he inspected, leaning against the wall as his world churned.
“Fuck, fuck man I-”
Sliding down the wall into a fetal position, Bucky tried to count again.
“O-one, three shit-”
“O-one, t-t-two, f-fiv-fucking-”
The tears wouldn’t stop, and he couldn’t catch his breath. Nothing was where he put it last time, nothing was there at all. The safehouse looked exactly like it did the first time he found it, the same exact dusty clothes in the bedroom closet, the same exact stale stench, the same exact barebones.
Florida facility was the exact same as his memory, Kavlov never died, it was the exact same mission.
What did this mean?
If he could battle with aliens, if Steve could time travel back to Peggy, why was it so impossible to think he somehow woke up a decade in the past?
Even though none of his things were in the house, he still let himself relax enough to be hysterical. Ranging from sobbing, laughing, crying again to complete silence, it wasn’t until dusk he decided it probably wasn’t a good idea to lay face first in probably decades old carpet. Bucky slowly inched his way off the floor, grabbing his backpack and clumsily finding his way into the hallway bathroom. Luckily, there was still somehow running hot water, and Bucky opted himself for one of the longest showers he ever had, next to the one he took after being freed from the command words in Wakanda. He couldn’t bother to think, too tired and too focused on cleaning his hair, and not breaking down for the millionth time that day.
Shutting off the water, he stepped out of the shower. He reached into his backpack, locating a smaller knife to get the job done.
At first, Bucky didn’t look in the mirror, too afraid of seeing the ghost that haunted him for so long. He got to a stopping point, after sawing off the lengthier pieces, he needed to shape his haircut better. Couldn't afford to look homeless or drunk and get flagged by TSA. Bucky took a deep breath in, then exhaled sharply, ripping off the band aid and fixing his eyes to the reflection.
Instead of seeing his ghost, he saw the first time he cut his hair right before Stark’s funeral.
Manic, feeling like the long hair was too hot, improper to attend the funeral of a man he barely knew, Bucky had done the same thing even then, preferring to risk nicks and scrapes on his ears and forehead than to look at himself in the mirror. His suit had already wrinkled from stress, hair somehow found itself in his pockets, and he really needed to hurry up with his impromptu hair makeover or he would make Sam and Steve late.
Sam knocked twice before letting himself in the closet sized bathroom, a haunted look on his face that quickly turned to tired bemusement at the choppy mess Bucky created.
“Now isn’t the best time to learn how to be a barber, James, let me help.”
Sam gracefully took the razor from Bucky's hands, tenderly positioned his head forward, and made eye contact through the mirror before getting to work.
“Don’t be scared. It’s over now.”
Sam’s soft whisper echoed in his ears as he stared at the empty spot he swore Sam was just standing in.
Bucky smiled wetly, as he turned to himself, and began mimicking his partner's methodical trimming.
Damn if it is over. He was going to fix this. He was going to return home, and find Sam, if it’s the last thing he does.