End Of The Line

Blonde American Lager

James Buchanan Barnes slipped amongst the crowd unnoticed. He was blending in or so he liked to believe.
Wearing a black, worn-out hoodie, baseball cap, and sunglasses didn't exactly scream invisible. But he didn't have much of a choice.

When he had been freed from the cryo chamber prematurely, it wasn't in his best interests to stick around. With the luck he had, the person who had freed him would be one trying to bring out his darker persona.

It would be an easy thing to do. All anyone needed was to recite the phrase used in his entrapment by Hydra. The words echoed like a constant reminder in his head; reminding him of the mistakes he made, the lives he destroyed, and the friends he had ripped apart. These words were his undoing.

James Buchanan or "Bucky" as his best friend and childhood sidekick, Steve Rogers, would call him, walked briskly through the ever-increasing crowd around him. He slouched underneath the hood of his jacket as he tried to keep his distance from the people bumping into him from either side.

There was too many people walking the streets and winding through the kiosks. It left him claustrophobic and paranoid. He would give anything to get as far away from the city as possible. How he craved the feeling of silence.

In his many years, he had never been the one to live in silence and isolation. James Buchanan Barnes was a social type. He would rather make friends with the ladies, protect Steve, and head off to war. He used to be easygoing, confident. He stood out in a crowd, refusing to blend in with normalcy.

Living like this, as a criminal and villain, wasn't something he had ever planned. More than anything, he would like to turn back time and to erase what he had done as the Winter Soldier. Bucky remembered going off to war, leaving Steve behind to fight for the people and be the hero he always was.

Now, Steve was the hero and Bucky was the one unsure and weary of every noise and movement. He was on edge and there was nothing that could be done.

As he wandered the streets of New York City, Bucky contemplated how to get himself out of this mess. He had asked to be put into the cryo chamber to keep the world safe. The string of words still held power over him.

With Bucky back in the land of the living, and a metal arm reattached to his body, Hydra still had control of his mind. He had been doing the world a favor when he'd agreed to the encasement.

Now that he was free, and still not safe from enemy control, he needed to find Steve and sort out the chaos raging in his head.

A shoulder rammed into his ribcage as the crowd moved closer together, becoming more packed than before. He grunted against the contact, but said nothing. No reason in alarming anyone that Good Guy Winter Soldier was back in town.

Deciding he would rather wait out the crowd instead of dealing with the closed-in feeling, Bucky shifted and moved to the left. Having no other options other than an Irish pub-like business and Americana Spa, he rushed for the door leading to the bar.

His hand shot out, gripping the handle with his metallic fingers. He had learned to live with the artificial limb, but after being cut from his body it felt strange to have the Hydra-designed arm back in place. Though it certainly did make his movements easier.

Bucky pulled on the handle a little too hard and heard the satisfying screech of the metal plating of the knob giving way from the door. After spending some time in his sleep-like manner, he had forgotten about the strength he still possessed.

He slipped inside the warm room, leaving the cool, autumn air behind him. His eyes scanned the premises. He took in the orange and green décor and shamrock decals placed sporadically about the medium-sized bar.

The pub lights were dim, allowing just enough light for him to see that only a handful of people were inside the bar on a Thursday night.

Under the guise of blending in, Bucky trudged up to the bar. His gaze locked with the bartender as he moved closer and he nodded in as friendly a manner as he could produce. Though, he could still feel himself scowling. There seemed to be a perpetual frown gracing his face. He couldn't remember the last time he felt at ease enough to warrant a smile. Even around Steve, he felt guilty for everything he had done as his Soldier counterpart. One day he would like to breathe easy again.

"What'll it be, kid?" The gruff, older bartender asked. His hair was speckled with white patches amidst his ginger hair and the man was a good head shorter than Bucky. He whipped a towel out from his back pocket and began wiping down the counter as he waited for a reply.

Bucky scanned the beverages on the shelf. He felt his eyes scrunch up in amusement when his gaze landed on a particular brand of alcohol. "Blonde American Lager, largest size you've got."

The old man grinned and the gesture made age lines appear in the crinkles of his eyes. "Largest size, huh, kid? Rough night?"

Bucky shrugged. "Rough nights. I lost track after 1945."

The ginger bartender let out a chortle as he eyed Bucky with amusement. "You and me both, lad." He shook his head and let out another laugh as he rang up the order and reached for a bottle of the strong lager.

His hands did quick work as he pried off the air-tight cap and handed the bottle over the pub countertop. "Good luck, lad. Enjoy your night."

Bucky grabbed the bottle of alcohol from the countertop and took a seat at the furthest and most dark edge of the bar. The light barely reached him over here and if anyone took notice of him, it'd be too dim to and far away to recognize him. Not that anyone had done that so far.

He gripped the cold bottle in his hand, relishing in the icy bite at his fingertips. The sensation eased his nerves. Leaning his head back, Bucky took a large gulp of the cold liquid. The alcohol burned a path down his throat as it passed through his lips. The strong taste of the beer was enough to leave Bucky feeling completely wide awake for one in the morning. The intensity of the Blonde American Lager kept him on the edge of his seat.

"This seat taken?"

Bucky kept his eyes cast forward as he saw movement in the seat beside him. A leather-clad leg scooted onto the stool beside him and a bottle of another brand of ale sloshed down onto the counter. Black fingertips curled around the stem as brown curls filled Bucky's peripheral vision.

Before he could stop himself, Bucky was turning around to face the stranger beside him. He lifted a brow in a look of intrigue as he took in the sight of the young woman beside him.

She was dressed up in head-to-toe leather. Her jacket, marked with an array of golden studs, stretched tight against her curvy frame and hugged her torso in all the right places. Her hair had a wildness to it as the brown locks of curls flowed effortlessly to the small of her back.

Bucky's eyes grazed over her face, taking in her kohl-lined eyes, ruby red lips, and wicked gray eyes full of mischief. Bucky saw a smile curling against the edges of the woman's lips.

Her eyes pierced his with matching intensity. And when she spoke, the sound was like a storm, beautiful and chaotic.

"I've been looking for you, Soldier."