It wasn't his fault that he had a gun pointed to his face, really. The house did look like it had been abandoned long before the outbreak, with a garden that had spiraled so out of control it had prevented the dwelling behind it from being noticed.
Until now, anyway.
He was the first person they'd seen in a good while. And she would've left him to his fate if not for the pleading of the boy she'd taken in. "He's hurt, Mom," the boy had whispered, peering through the cracks in the planks of wood they'd used to barricade the windows. "We have to help him."
They didn't have to, and since the boy had latched on to her and decided to call her Mother, she could've enforced that authority and refused. But the boy's eyes bored through her, reminding her that she was living a borrowed life, and making her realize that the little one had more heart left in him than she did, for he was willing to risk his own life to help others. Damn it.
She knew her gun was no match for the newcomer, but she held it to his face with both hands when she opened the door and stepped out into the porch. She recognized him, of course. Who didn't? He'd been all over the news in the months leading up to the outbreak, running around with the new Captain America.
"You're not infected?" She had to ask. Because that was where the outbreak had started: among the super soldiers.
HAHAHA NOT ME COMING TO THIS LIKE FIVE??? MONTHS LATER
When Bucky came limping up to the modest house that had a garden so overgrown it looked like it had been left abandoned and untouched for longer than a few months, he thought he was approaching...salvation. A place to rest, at least. Somewhere off the beaten path, away from others and unlikely to be found in the immediate future by the infected. If there was another name for 'em than that, he didn't know it and didn't care. They were people like him once, they were poor schmucks who got themselves injected with a serum be it willingly or forced on them - becoming weapons or test subjects, sometimes both - and had their humanity stripped away as they slowly became something more, something different. Something more than just a super soldier.
There's a gash across his forehead and a split along his lip, a deep wound along his leg - that explains the limp - and he can feel the heaviness within his bones, the deep seated need to stop because if he doesn't he'll push himself too far and his feet will come out from under him.
Even with that air of unending tired radiating through him, he doesn't flinch when she's pointing the gun at him, even if those piercing blue eyes of his are briefly flicking from the blonde holding the gun, to the young boy at her side. From what he can tell - and from her question - they're not infected either although he knows the infection isn't instant. And the outbreak ain't just solely within super soldiers ( even if it started there ), because people without any type of serum running through their veins had begun to change too.
"Do I look like I'm infected to you? I've seen some better days, but we wouldn't be talking here, if I were," he replies in that sardonic tone of his, before bringing his hand out to move the gun away - with half a mind to disarm her, to take it for himself - because while the gun doesn't unnerve him, not knowing if she's a hairpin trigger and he's moments away from having to dodge a bullet in the middle of his skull does. "If you were gonna shoot me, you'd done it already."
He lets that lie there for a few long moments and then he's trying his luck with taking a step forward because he doesn't have time for this. He needs to find a first aid kit and something quick to eat. Once he stitches himself up and grabs a few provisions, he can be on his way and find somewhere else along this path to stay. This might be the first place he's seen in a long while, but he's made it this long in his life - he might be able to wait it out to find somewhere else to hole up for a while.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
did somebody order a zombie apocalypse with a slice of hurt/comfort and only one bed?
Until now, anyway.
He was the first person they'd seen in a good while. And she would've left him to his fate if not for the pleading of the boy she'd taken in. "He's hurt, Mom," the boy had whispered, peering through the cracks in the planks of wood they'd used to barricade the windows. "We have to help him."
They didn't have to, and since the boy had latched on to her and decided to call her Mother, she could've enforced that authority and refused. But the boy's eyes bored through her, reminding her that she was living a borrowed life, and making her realize that the little one had more heart left in him than she did, for he was willing to risk his own life to help others. Damn it.
She knew her gun was no match for the newcomer, but she held it to his face with both hands when she opened the door and stepped out into the porch. She recognized him, of course. Who didn't? He'd been all over the news in the months leading up to the outbreak, running around with the new Captain America.
"You're not infected?" She had to ask. Because that was where the outbreak had started: among the super soldiers.
HAHAHA NOT ME COMING TO THIS LIKE FIVE??? MONTHS LATER
There's a gash across his forehead and a split along his lip, a deep wound along his leg - that explains the limp - and he can feel the heaviness within his bones, the deep seated need to stop because if he doesn't he'll push himself too far and his feet will come out from under him.
Even with that air of unending tired radiating through him, he doesn't flinch when she's pointing the gun at him, even if those piercing blue eyes of his are briefly flicking from the blonde holding the gun, to the young boy at her side. From what he can tell - and from her question - they're not infected either although he knows the infection isn't instant. And the outbreak ain't just solely within super soldiers ( even if it started there ), because people without any type of serum running through their veins had begun to change too.
"Do I look like I'm infected to you? I've seen some better days, but we wouldn't be talking here, if I were," he replies in that sardonic tone of his, before bringing his hand out to move the gun away - with half a mind to disarm her, to take it for himself - because while the gun doesn't unnerve him, not knowing if she's a hairpin trigger and he's moments away from having to dodge a bullet in the middle of his skull does. "If you were gonna shoot me, you'd done it already."
He lets that lie there for a few long moments and then he's trying his luck with taking a step forward because he doesn't have time for this. He needs to find a first aid kit and something quick to eat. Once he stitches himself up and grabs a few provisions, he can be on his way and find somewhere else along this path to stay. This might be the first place he's seen in a long while, but he's made it this long in his life - he might be able to wait it out to find somewhere else to hole up for a while.