Imprint

It’s child’s play to disappear into the gathering of curious spectators gathering to witness the commotion. Bucky slips his left hand into his jean pocket, hiding the sleek dark metal. He glances back one last time. The corners of his mouth turn down in a frown as he catches sight of Walker seizing Sam by the arm.  Whatever Walker’s saying, Sam’s spitting mad. Shame he can't stick around to see the man get chewed out. Bucky hunches his shoulders and walks away, the milling crowd closing around the scene like a curtain. Sam can handle Walker. Gotta stick to the plan.

Breaking through the throng of people, he lopes casually down the sidewalk. He snags an unattended red zip-up jacket hanging on the back of a chair. It’s too small by far, bunching up tightly above his elbows, but it serves its purpose well enough when he pulls the hood up. A narrow twisting alley makes for a good shortcut. The high noon sun beating down on Bucky’s back is broken by a passing shadow. He lifts a hand to shade his eyes, scanning the skies, but whatever caused it went as fast as it came. Mach-whatever guy must be keeping an eye on the transport from the sky.

Bucky loops around back up the street on the other side of the alley and leans nonchalantly up against the brick facing of a little shop. The corner window allows him to keep an on the transport while without having to loiter obviously at the intersection. A cellphone in his hands sells the appearance of a man idly passing time while waiting, even if his eyes are glued to the scene across the street. It would be stranger if he weren’t looking. The crowd has grown in number as more pedestrians get caught in the whirlwind of interest and the streets clog with cars as drivers slow down to see what’s unfolding.

A ripple travels through the mob; people cry out and the inner ring of spectators push back against the outer ring that pushes forward to see what caused such shock. Bucky shoves off against the wall, holding position patiently, gaze locked on the transport penned in by the ring of bodies. The van lurches into motion, backing off the curb and cutting right to get back on the street, honking at the frightened crowd until they scatter out of the way. It peels off drunkenly, half on the sidewalk, skirting around the backed up traffic. Christ almighty, they’re going to hit somebody like that!

By some miracle the van makes it back into traffic without running anyone down. Bucky breaks into a brisk jog after the van. Maintaining distance, he tries to keep a veil of traffic between him and it, weaving in and out of the warren of side streets and alleyways as needed to prevent the transport from getting too far ahead. One of these detours leads him to a dead end and he’s forced to scale a building, loitering under an old water tower on a rooftop as the van idles at an intersection.

Attacking the GRC is out of the question. Bucky’s made more than enough questionable decisions on this mission, but that’s a line he isn’t willing to cross. It means going back to jail, and jail time means no amends for Bucky or going home for Sam. He’s perfectly willing to help spirit the man away, but the actual escape is up to Zemo alone.

All he can do is wait, watch, and continue to tail the transport.

Exhaust spits out the tailpipe as the van rumbles on. Come on Zemo. Make your move.

“Come on Abner. Make your move.”

Bucky curiously peeks out from under the rusted water tower, a troubled crease between his brows. A woman squats on the roof of the tower above him. The top half of her head is covered in a cowl attached to large oval goggles. The bottom of her face is exposed, and a few stray locks of long dark hair spill out of the cowl and curl near her neck. A form fitting reinforced fabric covers her body with armored boots, gloves, and vest fixed over top. Four thin insect like wings fold behind her hunched form as she remains crouched, focused on the transport below.

Bucky may not be willing to tangle with the GRC, but he has no compunction about wailing on Madripoor Mooks. He hooks an arm around one of the support struts and yanks it out. The tower tips and the woman slides off with an alarmed shout, flailing. The wings buzz to life, beating so rapidly they become invisible aside from a minor distortion in the air behind her, arresting her fall a foot from the graveled rooftop. Bucky’s on her before she can right herself, tackling into her side and sending them free falling off the side of the building. The woman yelps out a terrified “Oh fuck!” before they become reacquainted with gravity by crashing into the roof of the van. The force of the landing flings him away from her, sending him rolling away. The van hits the gas, peeling forward with a screech of tires and the sudden acceleration continues Bucky’s tumble right off the back.

Bucky bounces on the hard pavement and rolls to a stop. A long groan rumbles from his throat as he climbs up on hands and knees, bleeding freely from a dozen road rash scrapes. He’s going to be feeling that when the adrenalin wears off. He’s already feeling it pretty bad right now.

A blue sedan slams on the brakes inches from hitting him. A wide eyed man behind the wheel stares at him in shock. “gaat het goed met je?!“

Bucky doesn’t need to speak Dutch to understand what the guy is getting at.“ ‘m good. Just fine. Nothing to worry about.” He assures, grabbing the hood of the Sedan and pulling himself back on his feet, blood running around his arms in small rivulets and looking very much like something to worry about. “Please don’t call the police.” The horrified look he receives in return isn’t a confirmation or denial. Guy probably doesn’t speak English. Bucky staggers away, gritting his teeth through the pain to chase after the van weaving erratically through traffic in an effort to shake the woman tailing it from the air. She points her armored palms at the van and what looks and sounds suspiciously like Iron Man’s repulsors blasts a dent in the side of the vehicle.

He abandons any pretense of stealth, sprinting after the runaway van at a ground-eating pace, hips and shoulders aching. The transport is almost a block ahead of him and gaining distance. The flier is easily able to keep up with the vehicle, but every time she flits around to blow out a tire or shoot the driver the van brakes hard or swerves, forcing her off target.

He manages to close some of the gap when the driver’s forced to slow down and take a corner at a slightly-less-than-break-neck speed. The van tilts dangerously on the turn, both left tires leaving the pavement. The back doors swing open and an armored GRC trooper tumbles out onto the road.  Bucky gets a brief glimpse of Zemo sliding across the van floor with his arms tangled in his hoodie, thighs wrapped around one guard’s neck in a choke hold while Abner and another guard crash into the opposite wall, handcuffed together. The van rocks back onto all four wheels and the doors slam shut.

That familiar pounding pulse is back, throbbing in the back of his head, an impossible to ignore drive telling him to retrieve, protect. Yeah, yeah, on it! Fucking programming. Bucky grits his teeth and puts on another burst of speed, arms pumping and legs propelling him forward as he runs like he hasn’t run since Bucharest.

The van takes another tight turn. This time the flier gives it a little helpful push, blasting it from the other side. The distressing tilt turns into a full on tip. The vehicle smashes on its side, sliding down the road another fifty feet in a cascade of sparks. Civilian cars honk and swerve, braking or accelerating to escape to crash.

Half a block to go.

 It grinds to a halt at an angle, utterly still, silent aside from the hiss of the overheated engine cooling. The back doors creak and fall of the hinges, spilling a writhing tangle of bodies out into the road. Zemo wriggles out from under the pile, savagely kicking Abner in the face, pushing himself away. Blood drips down his chin from a split lip and the hoodie he wore is absent. He wobbles to his feet, stumbling as the Tin Can Man claws at his ankles. “Hey, wait! Stop! Uh- don’t go!”

The whine of repulsors powering up cuts through the noise of panicking fleeing residents. The flier hovers above the van, palms pointed at Zemo’s back. “The word you’re looking for is ‘freeze’.”

Fifteen feet. That’s nothing for Bucky. He can make it. There’s no time to gentleness or finesse. A tremor runs through his legs and he can’t tell if it’s exertion or the programming rebelling against what he’s about to do. He plows into Zemo at full speed. The thick arm crashing into his sternum forces the air out of Zemo’s lungs in a pained ‘oof’. The road erupts in a blast where he stood a second before, showering them in pebbles of asphalt.

Momentum carries them forward. Bucky pulls Zemo tight to his body, curling his left arm up around their heads and letting the vibranium takes the brunt of the impact when they hit the road.  It’s still painfully jarring when they slam into the ground. Bucky scrambles across the ground, dragging Zemo into cover behind the underbelly of the tipped van. He leans Zemo up against the wreck and the baron curls in, clutching his stomach. His mouth is open in a silent gasp, but it takes a solid four seconds before a ragged inhale drags air into his empty lungs.

“Janice, stop! You- you said no one would get hurt!” The Tin Can Man calls.

“Uhg, why’d I even bother with you!” the woman spits vehemently “This is my chance, Abner, don’t ruin it. Grow a spine and get out there!”

The spat buys him a second to think. One knife in his boot, second hidden at the small of his back, but he wants to save that for emergencies. No ranged weapons, which will make fighting two fliers a pain in the ass. Panicked screams of residents fill the air as they flee the scene. Sirens in the distance. The imminent arrival of law enforcement creates a deadline: the fliers needs to complete the mission before they arrive. Sam is also on the way. Stalling is a viable tactic. He surveys the store fronts. Getting into one of the buildings would force them onto the ground and put them on more even footing and give Bucky and Zemo the opportunity to settle things without the need to dodge law enforcement after.

“We should-“He glances over at Zemo and finds nothing but an empty space.

Every god damn time. 

Getting indoors is still the best bet. He makes a break for it, sliding over the hood of an abandoned car in his way. The crack of Bucky leaping through a window into the dark interior of a bar snaps the squabbling pair of fliers out of their fight. “Don’t let them get away!”

“Yes mam! On it!”

They chase him into the bar, the woman flitting lightly with agile movements and Abner’s suit roaring to life and boosting him forward. Bucky hurls anything he can reach at them: chairs, tables, a jutebox. Dust and splinters clog the air as the woman blasts each one, clearing a path for Jenkins to grab onto Bucky. A vast collection of alcohol rattles on the wall behind them as they slam into the bar, Bucky being forced to bend backwards. His flesh hand is slowly but inevitably pushed down towards the smooth wooden surface. A litany of apologies spill from Abner’s lips “I’m sorry, sorry sir. Sorry. It’s just... it’s a lot of money.”

“You’re gunna need it when I put you in the hospital.” Bucky grunts between clenched teeth and Abner squeaks in terror.

“Just hold him still!” There’s the woman on his right, fastening a metal clamp around his wrist. Shit. Magnetic cuffs

Pistol fire cracks sharply through the air and several of the liquors on the shelf burst, drenching all three of them in strong smelling spirits. It slides down the sleek curves of Aber’s suit, seeping into air intakes of the jet nestled between the wings. The steady thrum of the jet sputters, and then fire’s shooting out of every port. The fire spread across every soaked surface and chaos erupts.

Bucky gets off the easiest, mostly shielded by the wide span of Abner’s wings. Alcohol had leached into the back of his jacket from where it spilled across the bartop and escaping the blaze is as easy as shedding his shirt and jacket. Janice was in a similar situation, cursing up a storm and unclasping the winged vest with shaking fingers.

Abner’s suit must have some kind of emergency quick release because the chest piece split in two down the sides, dropping to the floor with a heavy thunk. A high pitched whistling emits from the jet as the metal casing begins to turn a deep red.

That’s not good.

Janice looks from Bucky, to Abner and the unstable jet, to her wings on the floor. “Bail.” She grabs the wings and turns on her heel, running away.

Yeah that sounds like a plan.

“Wait!” Abner calls desperately when Bucky turns to follow suit. He struggles forward, the suit of armor a lead weight reducing his movement to a slow shuffle. He couldn’t even lift his arm to reach out. “Help! I can’t- the power source is gone, the suit’s too heavy.”

He really shouldn’t. That thing’s going to blow any second. It’s what he deserves. He’s a pathetic backstabbing leech.

Bucky yells in frustration and grabs the guy by his arms, heaving his heavy ass up over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. He bolts for the broken window, sluggish from all the accumulated injuries and the weight of the suit bogging him down. The whistling is increasing in pitch, reaching dog whistle levels. Bucky looks back at the jet. It’s turned white hot and rattles ominously. He leaps out into the street and hunkers down beneath the stone façade, curled up tight and bracing for impact. A shadow falls over them. A warm body folds over his. The Jet explodes.

In the aftermath dust lays thick the air and debris rains down, pinging sharply against metal with an almost musical ring. Bucky opens his eyes to the most wonderful thing he’s seen in the past six months.

Sam Wilson smirks down at him, holding Captain America’s shield up high, protecting them. “You’re welcome.”