A children’s game where the players must stay quiet for as long as possible. The last child or team to make noise wins the game. It is usually acceptable for players to make sounds they cannot control.
In retrospect, Bucky should have known something was off before he stepped out of his hut in nothing but a red Shuka and a pair of worn-out leather sandals.
Steve had told him he wasn't coming for another day at least but when he'd heard (what he foolishly assumed) was the soft whirring of the quinjet’s motor and the children's happy cries at the prospect of being reunited with Captain America, he'd thrown all caution in the wind.
He should have known better - but he didn't.
Bucky stepped outside with an easy smile on his face, his body relaxed and sluggish from a few hours of midday nap. He blinked once, holding up his remaining flesh hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun, and froze.
Four men were standing in the middle of his front yard. Their thick ballistic vests and combat boots in jet-black a stark contrast against the earthly colors of the Wakandan countryside. They replaced the ever-present vivacity of the land, the warmth of wood, and soil, and sun-burned grass, with a feeling of all-encompassing dread. Ugly and inappropriate in the burning heat.
The children, a group of local youngsters between the age of 6 and 11, all known to Bucky by their name, age, and a variety of personal characteristics which he had given them silly nicknames for in his head, stood around them curiously, laughing and pointing at the men’s hair, their clothes, and their heavy gear.
Bucky stomach dropped. Maybe he should have grabbed a weapon to fight, to attack them immediately but he was frozen, looking at the seemingly peaceful scene before him with despair.
The kids didn’t seem concerned by the firearms and strange outfits the intruders carried. Bucky reckoned that they had never seen armed men before in their lives, no tactical gear besides Captain America's shield and the king’s cat suit if they were lucky. Not all of them had been to the Golden City yet. They certainly had no way to identify the ugly red Hydra insignia on their vests for something dangerous neither.
No, Bucky's little Wakandan friends didn’t know any better than to welcome every stranger they met with open hearts. They were farmers’ kids from the Mining tribe, well protected and sheltered from the effects of war and tragedy. They knew neither borders nor rules of privacy, carefree and loved by all. The Wakandans cherished their young the same way they charished their vibranium - as a gift from the gods.
Bucky had come to embrace their natural curiosity, even when they occasionally bothered him and Steve at the wrong time. He secretly enjoyed it when they treated his house like a public playground without a lock on the door. Their laughter chased away his dreams of darkness and filled his heart with joy.
'If he fought,’ Bucky thought in a desperate rush of panic, ‘the little kids would die first.’
This can’t be happening.
“Well, well...” one of the intruders said, adressing Bucky directly. He stretched out his arms as if to embrace an old friend. “If it isn’t the famous Winter Soldier.”
Bucky stood stock-still and said nothing, discreetly eyeing their weaponry. He analyzed their positions and team dynamics, counted every second that passed and weighed his options. To formulate a game plan he needed to gather intel, and fast.
“Cat got your tongue?” The strange man asked again, clicking his teeth, and Bucky realized with a sickening lurch that he knew exactly who this was.
“Agent Ward,” Bucky acknowledged with a tight clench of his jaw.
They had history to say the least. Ward was a former handler and famous S.H.I.E.L.D. infiltrator. Brock Rumlow’s best buddy from the academy. They'd been inseparable in training until a week or two before Project Inside was launched. No one knew why he’d left. Some said it was rivalry between him and Rollins, some said he’d simply been undercover too long to be reintegrated into Hydra’s great plan for the future of mass genocide. Everyone, including the Soldier, knew that Agent Ward was unpredictable and also, last Bucky had heard of him...
“I thought you were dead.”
“Well, I was, buddy.” Ward announced cheerfully. “You see, Coulsen, dear Agent Coulsen, choked the life out of me and then I became a Hydra god and... You know how it is. I don’t wanna bore you with the details.”
Bucky gave him a court nod in lieu of a safe way to clock him one. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
As if on cue, Ward gave the others a quick four-finger-sign, ordering them stand on guard. Then he took a lazy step out of their tactical formation.
“You should have realized by now, when your boyfriend and his gang brought you back from the dead... All kinds of things followed. All kinds of people. A lot of them are still loyal to Hydra and itching to make you pay.”
It was almost funny but not quite. Bucky had feared for repercussions when he woke up an entire year and a half after the snap, resurrected like some kind of nightmare version of the Lord Jesus Christ. He'd been ready to take on the consequences head-on but when the gates of hell didn't break open and alien invasions remained a thing of the past, he'd let himself be lulled into false security by Steve's happy tears and open thighs and put his concerns to rest like an amateur. He could have done better than that. If only.
Ward becomed him forward with a waving gesture. “Come here. Give me a hug, like an old friend.”
Bucky just glared across the distance and stood his ground. He didn't move a muscle.
“I said give me a hug,” Ward ordered sharply, pronouncing every syllable. “Don’t be shy now. We don’t wanna upset the children, do we?”
Right. The children.
Bucky's eyes landed on Amwoni. The young boy's little face glowed, his eyes lifted to the men in wonder. They all knew a few words of English, enough to communicate with Steve, to get their meaning across, but it wasn’t enough to understand the intention behind the words. The underlying threat. In that moment, Bucky made a decision.
He looked to Agent Ward again.
“Alright,” Bucky said tightly, his voice wavering with a strange mix of emotions. “Whatever you want.”
Fill: The Quiet Game (1/?)
In retrospect, Bucky should have known something was off before he stepped out of his hut in nothing but a red Shuka and a pair of worn-out leather sandals.
Steve had told him he wasn't coming for another day at least but when he'd heard (what he foolishly assumed) was the soft whirring of the quinjet’s motor and the children's happy cries at the prospect of being reunited with Captain America, he'd thrown all caution in the wind.
He should have known better - but he didn't.
Bucky stepped outside with an easy smile on his face, his body relaxed and sluggish from a few hours of midday nap. He blinked once, holding up his remaining flesh hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun, and froze.
Four men were standing in the middle of his front yard. Their thick ballistic vests and combat boots in jet-black a stark contrast against the earthly colors of the Wakandan countryside. They replaced the ever-present vivacity of the land, the warmth of wood, and soil, and sun-burned grass, with a feeling of all-encompassing dread. Ugly and inappropriate in the burning heat.
The children, a group of local youngsters between the age of 6 and 11, all known to Bucky by their name, age, and a variety of personal characteristics which he had given them silly nicknames for in his head, stood around them curiously, laughing and pointing at the men’s hair, their clothes, and their heavy gear.
Bucky stomach dropped. Maybe he should have grabbed a weapon to fight, to attack them immediately but he was frozen, looking at the seemingly peaceful scene before him with despair.
The kids didn’t seem concerned by the firearms and strange outfits the intruders carried. Bucky reckoned that they had never seen armed men before in their lives, no tactical gear besides Captain America's shield and the king’s cat suit if they were lucky. Not all of them had been to the Golden City yet. They certainly had no way to identify the ugly red Hydra insignia on their vests for something dangerous neither.
No, Bucky's little Wakandan friends didn’t know any better than to welcome every stranger they met with open hearts. They were farmers’ kids from the Mining tribe, well protected and sheltered from the effects of war and tragedy. They knew neither borders nor rules of privacy, carefree and loved by all. The Wakandans cherished their young the same way they charished their vibranium - as a gift from the gods.
Bucky had come to embrace their natural curiosity, even when they occasionally bothered him and Steve at the wrong time. He secretly enjoyed it when they treated his house like a public playground without a lock on the door. Their laughter chased away his dreams of darkness and filled his heart with joy.
'If he fought,’ Bucky thought in a desperate rush of panic, ‘the little kids would die first.’
This can’t be happening.
“Well, well...” one of the intruders said, adressing Bucky directly. He stretched out his arms as if to embrace an old friend. “If it isn’t the famous Winter Soldier.”
Bucky stood stock-still and said nothing, discreetly eyeing their weaponry. He analyzed their positions and team dynamics, counted every second that passed and weighed his options. To formulate a game plan he needed to gather intel, and fast.
“Cat got your tongue?” The strange man asked again, clicking his teeth, and Bucky realized with a sickening lurch that he knew exactly who this was.
“Agent Ward,” Bucky acknowledged with a tight clench of his jaw.
They had history to say the least. Ward was a former handler and famous S.H.I.E.L.D. infiltrator. Brock Rumlow’s best buddy from the academy. They'd been inseparable in training until a week or two before Project Inside was launched. No one knew why he’d left. Some said it was rivalry between him and Rollins, some said he’d simply been undercover too long to be reintegrated into Hydra’s great plan for the future of mass genocide. Everyone, including the Soldier, knew that Agent Ward was unpredictable and also, last Bucky had heard of him...
“I thought you were dead.”
“Well, I was, buddy.” Ward announced cheerfully. “You see, Coulsen, dear Agent Coulsen, choked the life out of me and then I became a Hydra god and... You know how it is. I don’t wanna bore you with the details.”
Bucky gave him a court nod in lieu of a safe way to clock him one. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
As if on cue, Ward gave the others a quick four-finger-sign, ordering them stand on guard. Then he took a lazy step out of their tactical formation.
“You should have realized by now, when your boyfriend and his gang brought you back from the dead... All kinds of things followed. All kinds of people. A lot of them are still loyal to Hydra and itching to make you pay.”
It was almost funny but not quite. Bucky had feared for repercussions when he woke up an entire year and a half after the snap, resurrected like some kind of nightmare version of the Lord Jesus Christ. He'd been ready to take on the consequences head-on but when the gates of hell didn't break open and alien invasions remained a thing of the past, he'd let himself be lulled into false security by Steve's happy tears and open thighs and put his concerns to rest like an amateur. He could have done better than that. If only.
Ward becomed him forward with a waving gesture. “Come here. Give me a hug, like an old friend.”
Bucky just glared across the distance and stood his ground. He didn't move a muscle.
“I said give me a hug,” Ward ordered sharply, pronouncing every syllable. “Don’t be shy now. We don’t wanna upset the children, do we?”
Right. The children.
Bucky's eyes landed on Amwoni. The young boy's little face glowed, his eyes lifted to the men in wonder. They all knew a few words of English, enough to communicate with Steve, to get their meaning across, but it wasn’t enough to understand the intention behind the words. The underlying threat. In that moment, Bucky made a decision.
He looked to Agent Ward again.
“Alright,” Bucky said tightly, his voice wavering with a strange mix of emotions.
“Whatever you want.”