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JANUARY TEST DRIVE MEME
You awaken to godawful static overlaying a female voice that's too monotone to be anything but a recording. The static makes it difficult to understand the warning, but it's clearly a warning if your surroundings tell you anything...
You're buckled into a sturdy seat bolted to the wall behind you. Around you, there are dozens of others like you, some awake and others still unconscious, but it seems most of the seats lining the walls are occupied. The lights are dim, likely auxiliary lighting, leaving you mostly in the dark. You smell smoke and hear the sizzling crackle of electrical systems popping and shorting out. Some of the seats were jarred off the wall, leaving the occupants either wounded or dead. Count yourself lucky all you have is a headache and various aches accounted to whiplash.
You appear to be in a drop ship or an escape vessel of some form but the pilot is dead and the hull bears a massive gash where it buckled under the impact and sheered off. Through the door-sized opening, you can see vegetation. The air that wafts in is heavy with a humid heat, but it's obviously breathable.
Once you make your way outside, you'll see greenery: Trees, grass, and shrubs tangled with vines that grow wildly and suffocate the trees they climb. In the distance, behind the ship, you can make out a sandy desert that seems to stretch on endlessly. Forward through the trees, however, you may see a crumbling wall, but more importantly, you'll see signs of civilisation. Buildings and other structures seem contained within those decrepit walls. Maybe the natives can fill you in on what's going on, because the last thing you remember isn't being in an escape shuttle. As a matter of fact, you don't remember much about your arrival or where you are. But it's going to be a bit of a hike, better get moving. Though you might want to grab the backpack of supplies under your seat before you go.
With that, the power dies, leaving the drop ship in the dark, crackling and groaning as the hull cools from its catastrophic re-entry.
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Daryl stopped in the middle of his own work to stare at the hand offered to him. The guy didn't even know what his name was and admitted to having no contact with the living for a while. Hell, that sounded almost as fucked up as what they group had been through.
He wiped his fingers on his jeans and reached out to take the hand, give it a single firm shake before he let go. Was about to move on again when he squinted over at 'James', considering a moment, then said, "Got some questions for you. Three of 'em."
(Oh Daryl, this isn't going to go well...)
When Daryl stated he had three questions for him, Bucky pulled away from his work and turned to face Dixon fully, to give him his undivided attention. "Okay. I'll try to answer if I can remember the answers."
(Things never really do)
He held up his other hand, one finger up, "How many walkers you kill?"
Daryl already knew the answer, if the guy didn't even know what they were, but he still needed to ask. To see how James answered it.
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"That's the dead getting back up? None." Something about the direction this was going, the way Daryl was looking at him, analysing him, it didn't make him squirm, but it made him uneasy. In the short time he'd been talking with Daryl, he'd fallen more in touch with who he used to be. Now he was falling back on the support of what HYDRA made him for stability.
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He lifted a second finger, "How many people you kill?"
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"I don't know." The answer was honest. "I was a sniper in the war. But..." Barnes shifted, subconsciously moving a bit further away from Daryl, as if he wanted to run. He'd become very good at running from his problems lately. First HYDRA, then Steve, now... "I was captured by the enemy." He flexed the metal hand, pulling the arm close to his chest. "I was erased and turned into a weapon. Since then, I couldn't tell you how many people I've killed for them. Periodically, I was erased over and over again to keep me blank. Controllable."
He edged backwards, foot hitting one of the dislodged panels. The scraping sound made him flinch, sharp to his enhanced hearing. "I'm not--they don't control me anymore. I'm not their assassin. I'm James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant of the 107th Infantry. I was born March 10th in Brooklyn. 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8. 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8. 3-2-..." He breathed in sharply, closed his eyes, and focused on calming down.
"S-sorry... I'm sorry..." There might be a bit of PTSD there, Daryl.
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"Easy, kid," Daryl murmured, tone soft like he was talking to a spooked animal. He hadn't let go of the knife, but he had it held loosely, where it could easily be seen. Both hands were up and he was crouching a little as he approached. He knew closing in on him was dangerous, but he didn't need someone like him running and making things worse for himself.
He attempted to put his empty hand on the shoulder that wasn't metal, "You should sit down. Get your head between your knees. Deep breaths."
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His back hit the bulkhead behind him when Daryl approached, but it seemed to steady him and draw him out of his panic to a degree. Grounding him and pulling him out of the overwhelming flood of memories he'd accidentally opened up upon himself. Fragmented and all terrible. Daryl's touch melted the tension out of his shoulders and he nodded. Buck slid down the bulkhead and pulled his knees close, bending forward and closing his eyes. Several deep breaths later, his head was clearing, the tremble of adrenaline rushing through him was calming down.
He wasn't sure how long it took him to pull out of it, but it made him feel pathetic that he'd dissolved into this to begin with.
"You've dealt with this before?" He asked slowly, almost warily.
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And hell, if what he and his people had been through the last couple years couldn't count as trauma enough to drive a person crazy, he didn't know what did.
Daryl gave a single shoulder shrug and leaned back on his heels, thumb coming up to his mouth again. Stayed quiet. It wasn't an outright yes, but it wasn't a no. And James could draw his own conclusions from there. Kid was smart.
Instead, he said, "Guess that answers my third question well enough."
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"What's the third question? Did they deserve it?" He shook his head. "If this is a personality quiz, I'm probably not the best candidate. If they're here--HYDRA--if they find me and wipe me again, I'm dangerous." Too dangerous. The only person that had ever stopped him, was he even here? Probably not. "If we're stuck here for a while, and something happens... If I start killing, don't fight me. Run. Take everyone you can and get as far away from me as possible. Don't try reasoning with me. It won't matter who you are or what you say. I'm a weapon." He let out a breath and rested his hand on the metal plate. "I wish I could give you more than that. A kill switch or a trump card..." He shrugged.
"We all have our demons." His were different than Daryl's, but he had a feeling they were just as potent as Daryl's.
"So, snares? You're an experienced hunter?" Yep, subject shift. Assuming Daryl still wants anything to do with the assassin.
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He cocked his head to the side after James tried changing the subject. Stayed real quiet for several long moments. Kept eye contact.
When he spoke, it was a single, simple word, "Why." That was his third question. Didn't need a long explanation. Just wanted to know why. And James had answered that just fine.
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"Good set of questions." He added after a moment, leaning back against the bulkhead.
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"I've been hunting since I could walk," he said in answer to the topic change. "You know anything about it?"
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"But I can boil whatever you catch to beat hell until it tastes like mama's finest." They didn't seem to have any herbs or spices to make it presentable, but he could make it edible.
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And there might have been something akin to a smile on his lips at that.
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"Then consider me the appointed cook, unless we run into someone else who wants the job."
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He could still be proven wrong about the guy. He did only just meet him. But he had a good feeling about James. About the same kind of feeling he'd had about Aaron. If he had put a measure to it. And since he didn't have anyone else there to consult with, comparing to those he'd met recently and trusted was probably his best bet.
"You should uh... scout the area for now," Daryl continued, moving back the chair he'd been planning on ripping up when he'd decided to ask the three questions. "Place hasn't blown yet, so gotta figure it's not likely to. I got things in here. Come back in a few once you've done. We can take our supplies up to the ruins I saw some of the others heading for."
He wasn't good at being the one to tell someone to 'walk it off' or take the time they needed to get themselves together. So offering an out that wouldn't make it sound like he thought were being 'weak' was sort of a default. Scouting could substitute for getting some air. Give him something useful to do while he was out.
(Giving you a sneak peek at what to expect. ;D )
Buck dipped his head in a nod of understanding and shifted back to his feet. He slipped outside, moving exceptionally quietly for a walking tank.
The drop ship seemed to have landed in a clearing close to the edge of the wooded area. It seemed tropical in nature. Out here, alone, it was easier to clear his head. He could fall into the task and dedicate everything to surveying and assessing their situation. The closer he crept to the ruins of the city, the eerier his surroundings became. The smell of decay hit him hard and turned his stomach, but he soldiered on with practised ease.
By the time he returned, the Soldier's entire demeanour had shifted back to the mindset of the assassin, but Buck was still behind the wheel so to speak. He'd been gone twenty minutes at most. He moved like a predator, but seemed to still completely when he laid eyes on Daryl again. He, again, cleared his throat to announce his presence before speaking,
"I didn't spot any wildlife in the immediate area. The deeper into the forest you go, you can smell death. It's strong around the outskirts of the ruins. The city looks to be heavily fortified, if a bit weathered. It looks like they were trying to keep someone out, but I didn't detect any signs of current occupation." The report was delivered with cool detachment, but if Daryl noticed, there was any hardness to James' eyes that spoke volumes about his discomfort with what he'd seen. Even the brief glimpses of the Soldier's acts he could recall, none of them were filled with so much decay and morbidity.
"...there were also bodies outside the city. Decomposing. Dozens of them. I was too far off to get a complete headcount." Still spoken clinically. It had cleared his head and refocused his calm, even if that meant leaning more on the Soldier for support.
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Daryl nodded slowly, moving in close to James. He stood like he was talking casually, but was close enough that their voices couldn't carry far if anyone decided to watch. The amount of supplies Daryl was piling onto the make-shift sled could easily have drawn unwanted attention. Though with as many of the people moving off as there were, it wasn't as likely as it would have been not even a half-hour before.
"At ease," Daryl murmurer, voice low and slow. He was definitely taking James' report at face value. He gestured to where he'd seen a few people head off, "There's some ruins a little closer off that way. Heading there for the evening. We can investigate the ones you were looking at in the morning when we got more daylight ahead of us. Gonna need to pay attention to the corpses. Make sure they ain't getting back up, specially if there're as many as you say."
He turned and scanned the area, spotting the back of the the guy he'd seen James hug after pinning to a tree. Daryl brought his hand up to James' chest, fingers pressing lightly before sliding to the side to indicate the direction of the person he was talking about, "That guy. He a friend of yours?"
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When Daryl moved close, Bucky straightened until given the ease command. He did relax some. "Understood." He nodded once. "You believe they're..." He paused, the term odd on his tongue. "walkers?" He thought back and mentally berated himself for not moving in to make sure they were actually dead. If they were a threat, he should have taken them out before they could hurt anyone. "They looked dead..." But that matched what Daryl had said about the dead getting back up.
Daryl touched his chest and his body stiffened reflexively, but he didn't move. He only followed the direction of the finger and his eyes landed on Cap. Daryl had seen them? He let out a slow, steady breath.
"Yeah." He paused, the memories were fuzzy, but they'd all been coming back lately. "We grew up together. We fought in the war together. He's the man who rescued me from the enemy." And then I tried to kill him. Probably not the best line to add, so he kept it to himself for now. "I guess... he rescued me twice, now."
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That one question held a lot of other questions and statements within the short span of words. It wasn't just asking if Steve was part of the group. It was saying Daryl had decided James was one of his people. Someone he would defend as his own. It was saying Daryl was trusting James with his life. He was trusting James with the lives of anyone else that became a part of his 'us'.
He was also asking if Steve could be trusted to protect the group. To choose the needs of the group first. If he was someone Daryl could trust his life to. The group's lives to. If he was theirs in a world where Us and Them was the deciding factor on who was a threat and who wasn't. It was how the world was for Daryl anymore. He knew he needed people to survive, but he wasn't at a point where he couldn't pick and choose anymore.
He'd chosen James. He was trusting James to make the call for Steve.
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"Yes." There was no hesitation there. "That man is the purest, most trustworthy man I've ever met." He was a little baffled that Daryl didn't recognise him. He thought everyone knew Captain America. "He protects his people with his life and he's powerful enough to keep that promise. You'll never meet a better man." It had been a while since he'd worked with Steve, but that was just something that hadn't changed with the Serum, so it wouldn't change with time.
"You mean to tell me you don't recognise him? I thought everyone knew Captain America."
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"No," Daryl snorted like it was the most obvious thing in the world, dropping his hand away and stepping back. "What kind of name is Captain America? His momma sweet on Uncle Sam?"
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"You wanna meet him? I told him you were someone I trust. Someone capable."
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"We got ourselves a third," Daryl said, not really to change the topic, but to give a heads up. "Well, fourth. Counting your friend. She's about twelve or thirteen. Dark hair, blue dress like she's ready for a Sunday picnic. All smiles and eager to help out. Goes by Athena."
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