Run (A Bucky Barnes Recovery Story)

19 Names

When Bucky returned to his hotel room, there was a stack of manilla files sitting on his bed. He disliked Fury’s sneakiness and wished he didn’t have to worry now about who knew where his room was and who had been there, but regardless, he had information now and he couldn’t complain. Bucky sifted through them and found pictures and names and information. Fury had made notes in the corners of some and labeled each file with numbers. Bucky was alarmed to discover that most of his targets were suspiciously close. It was as though they had all been moving in on him. Bucky shuddered and put aside his fear, beginning to make plans for the first file, a one Artyom Kablukov. Russian, of course. He was 47, he was currently in DC and he was the closest to Bucky. He was apparently staying in a hotel four blocks away.

Bucky found a hat and pushed the brim down so it mostly covered his face and walked four blocks down to the hotel his target was staying. He looked up at the rows of windows, his hands in his pockets, and counted them until he found the room he was looking for. His gut reaction was to find a good place in the building across the road to sit and watch for a good shot, but he made himself stop. He wanted more than that. He wanted answers.

So Bucky waited. He tracked Artyom Kablukov for a few days or so until he was sure of his schedule and then he devised a plan.

Kablukov went out for most of the day. He ate at restaurants, spent a suspicious amount of time walking past Bucky’s hotel, and bought souvenirs. On the whole, he spoke to no one and Bucky didn’t see him take any calls.

An important thing Bucky wanted to take notice of was how much of a coward Kablukov was and how much he valued his own life over Hydra’s well-being. The cowards were easier to pressure. Bucky could point a gun and they would tell him everything. But heros never talked and if Kablukov was of a stronger will, Bucky would have to get creative in his threats or else he wasn’t worth interrogating at all.

That night, Kablukov got home late. He shut the door behind him and as he turned to flick on the lights, a metal fist came out of darkness and socked him in the face. Kablukov gasped and fell backwards. There was a gleam of metal in the darkness and Bucky stepped forward, wanting his target to see his arm and not have any doubts about who was there in his hotel room with him.

“We can do this the easy way,” Bucky said in Russian. “Or the hard way. Your choice.”

“You,” Kablukov gasped.

“I have a name,” said Bucky. “Not that you would care.” Kablukov started to pull himself up and Bucky pressed a foot on his chest, shoving him back down to the floor. “I want to know about Hydra. Now.”

“And if I refuse?” Kablukov asked. Bucky glared down at him.

“Don’t refuse,” he said, pressing on his target’s chest harder. “You’ll regret it.” The man laughed.

“This is a building full of people, a city just full of them and you think you can come in here and threaten me and not be discovered?” He scoffed.

“I don’t know, can I?” Bucky said. “You tell me.” He stared steady into Kablukov’s face as if to remind him exactly to whom he was speaking. “I want to know where Hydra’s headquarters is. Where are you regrouping?”

“You are alone,” Kablukov said with a grin. “Even if you think you have help, you are so alone, yeah? We are growing and you will never be able to take us all.” Bucky sighed and frowned. He kneeled down now, pressing his weight into his knee on the man’s chest and held his throat with his left hand. Kablukov’s eyes bugged. Bucky put his face close to Kablukov’s.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Bucky said quietly. “This is your last chance. Where is your headquarters?” Kablukov grinned as he gasped to breath. Why is it that you always smile before you die, Bucky thought, sickened. They always smile.