Strays

All characters belong to Marvel Comics

He had craved for a sense of humanity to return, years of being enslaved to HYDRA's will isolated him from experiencing the simple things of life. He was a ghost in the reflections of men, nameless and drifting in crowded streets, garbed in ratty drab clothing with only a backpack to contain written memories. Everything felt unreachable. Nightmares became a constant torture to accept.

Today, Bucky had roamed absentmindedly throughout the city he knew, using his aching heartbeat to guide him back to familiar places that held mementos of home. The myriad scents of coffee brewing in local shops, greasy hot dogs, and diesel. It was calming. He was sitting on a park bench, cautiously observing families gather on the street corners as parade floats evoked childhood imagination soar to new heights.

Feeling a smile tug at his full lips, he fondly remembered balancing a young and frail boy on his broad shoulders, watching a mop of blond hair flow against the biting November wind as snow dusted the streets...Those were cherishing and brotherly memories that he wanted to relive again. He didn't deserve a chance for redemption, not when each trigger word of that red leather book was drilled into his scarred mind, waiting to resurrect the ruthless and destructive entity of the Winter Soldier.

Rubbing his gloved and metallic hands together, Bucky waited for the parade to end with Santa Claus waving to the children in his elegant red plastic sleigh with reindeer, and then, Bucky tucked his gloved hands fiercely into the pockets of his threadbare black jacket vanished further into the foliage of park; ignoring the cyclical stares of people avoiding his unkempt and lost presence.

They didn't care if he froze to death, they didn't have the time to even glance at him or offer him a warm smile. His stomach growled with hunger pains, it had been almost three days since he ate a protein bar, he needed to salvage his rations.

'Hell, if I starve with an empty gut, then I starve...'

As he trudged closer to the arched stone bridge, his glacial blue eyes intently trained on imprints in the snow. He crouched low to his haunches and resolved to investigate when his unwavering gaze settled on smears of blood. The paw prints were definitely canine. A wave of unease whacked against his chest in seconds he listened to a whimpering and painful resonance echoing under the bridge.

Reacting to the despairing noise, tensely Bucky shot up to his rigid and predatory stance and removed his combat switchblade from the hilt of his tattered boot. A murderous impulse possessed his core, and he couldn't dismiss the unhinged urge to pierce flesh if there was someone abusing the dog.

"No killing, Barnes..." he whispered feverishly under his calm breath, and approached the shadowed area of the bridge, clutching his knife with his taut metallic grip. He remained utterly still, assessing the pitiful whines that were growing potent. The scent of spilled blood tainted the crisp breeze, he wasn't sure if the animal was dying.

Calculating his range of immediate attack, he advanced with slow and methodical stalks, holding no resistance in his strut; cords of thick muscles pulsed under his clothing. Breath caught in his throat and his chiseled and roguish features morphed into the semblance of an engaging and brutal hunter.

Suddenly, he caught the attacker in his sights, a blue haired teenager holding a knife to a stunning German Shepherd mix who had metal wire poking from its left foreleg. It was clearly in agony. "Hey," he stormed, his Brooklyn drawl edging with menace. The kid exchanging a baleful look at him. "Pick on somebody your own size."

"Well look you wants to be a damn hero," the kid spat irritably, his thin and pale features twisting, evident to his debased mind. "Can you see that I'm carving my own turkey, get lost, freak."

Bucky gritted his teeth, brazenly stepping forward with installed balance. The intense depth of his steel-blue eyes darkened into knife-edged slits under his dark wolfish tresses. He twiddled his knife swiftly between his chrome fingers, before flipping the blade in the air with automatic precision. It was his tactic of intimation. "Y'know I've done a lot of bad things that I'm not proud to admit, kid, but seeing a jerk pick on a wounded dog...well, I think 'M gonna enjoy this one."

Recklessly the kid aimed his boot at the whimpering dog, Bucky lunged for his effective attack, snatching an exposed wrist and twisting the arm in wrangling force, holding the young and stunned opponent into submission as his blade grazed along his subdued victim's gulping throat. He rasped hauntingly in the teenager's ear, delivering a fair warning. His scruffy features became ice, cold and searing, and his gained a deadened glint, inducing fear on the teenager. "If you ever come near this dog again, I will kill you. Got it?"

Listening to a faint whimper, Bucky released his hostage to the ground, huffing out pants of fuming breath as the solid planes of his chest heaved. He discarded all murderous intent to drive the knife into the boy's chest with merciless force as he watched the coward flee and in a heartbeat, he squatted down to the canine hybrid that was unmistakenly female.

"It's okay girl," he soothed, his timbre gentle and trusting. The dog recoiled back on the defensive, lowering her muzzle and tensing her coco-tawny fur. He pulled off his glove, revealing to her striking icy blue eyes that he meant no harm. He didn't blame her for distancing from his touch, she looked neglected and left to bleed out, without a name to from someone one to call out. "'M not gonna hurt you, darlin' I just wanna see your busted leg."

Sniffing his flesh hand, she eased down with a yelp, quivering as blood poured out of the large gash embedded into her leg. "You're gonna be okay, girl," he promised, caressing her muzzle with a tentative glide of his knuckles. He kept her stable, wrapping his arm securely around her back while he carefully extracted the wire out. She jolted and unleashed an aggressive snarl, but didn't last.

"There it's out..." Bucky confirmed in a soft rasp, stroking her fur disarmingly with connective glides of his fingers, easing down her distress. He stole a fleeting glance at the blood matted on her tawny undercoat.

She was a fighter.

Standing back up, he flinched against the sirens echoing in the busy streets. He needed to head back to his safe house and jot down memories in his notebooks. Giving her one final look with his stormy blue eyes, he started to walk away, but not alone. He froze in his tracks, staring at the limping dog following his fervent paces. "Hey, you gotta go home, girl, a good family is probably searchin' for ya?"

She didn't leave his side, for some unexplained reason she felt safe, nuzzling her head against his leg and wagging her bushy tail. Trust was mounting between them. Bucky drew out a low seethe as he felt her cold nose penetrate the denim of his jeans. He cursed in Russian when the realization struck him that she was indeed a stray."chert poberi ..."

How could he show love to such a beautiful animal, he was conditioned to remain cold-hearted; dead inside, but the dog saw past all his reflections of unbidden pain and remorse; she sensed good still existing in him. Maybe she would listen to him read out his memories?

Biting hard on his lip, Bucky went down to her level and embraced her like a scared little boy who needed his dog to comfort him against the storms. He accepted her company with an opened and grateful heart. He needed to rediscover humanity again. She would be his signal light when the darkness of his past threatened to ensnare him.

"C'mon girl," he whispered into her fur, holding back a few tears as she licked his metal hand, showing no display of fear and mirrored his deep gaze of steeled blue. Right there, Bucky saw her pure and abused heart, she couldn't judge him by appearance or condemn him, she just kept looked at him with imploring eyes until he finally said the words she had waited to hear. "Okay, darlin' let's go home."