1471/Moose Hunting

Moose Hunting
Date of Scene:	14 July 2017
Location:	A lonely highway between NYC and Bludhaven.
Synopsis:	The Winter Soldier takes Sam Winchester hostage for Hydra's own inscrutable purposes.
Cast of Characters:	Sam Winchester, Winter Soldier
Tinyplot:	Tayaniye

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Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam Winchester has been making the drive between New York City and Bludhaven on a regular basis. He actually has been slowly integrating into SHIELD a great deal more, using his skill at identifying cases from scant details in news stories to help WAND locate things they can be taking care of all over the country. And getting paid for it. Which is still novel. Occasionally he still grabs a case on his own, though he's rapidly concluding he ought to just get a SHIELD badge and start flashing that instead of his FBI Agent Flavor of the Week.

His girlfriend is in Bludhaven. As are dozens of cases.

And with little else to do until the strange Team that has come up with a plan to recapture and help the Winter Soldier finds the right place and time to execute said plan, he has been working.

Dean Winchester, meanwhile, is four states away, working a case on his own in Virginia. He'd waved off Sam's help, saying it was an old friend of his who had never met Sam and wouldn't talk if Dean were with him. This, of course, means the young Hunter is left unprotected in ways he might otherwise not have been. Any observation of the brothers, any at all, during any case, would show how much stronger they are as a unit, versus operating individually. Individually, they both have glaring weak points.

The younger Winchester typically drives the same routes, choosing lonely state highways over Interstates out of both long habit and preference. He hasn't yet developed the paranoid habits of living in the same place that would have him choosing /different/ routes every time.

Tonight, a lonely wind shrieks through the trees, heralding a hard summer rain on the approach. The sun is already down, and Sam is arrested on his route about 10 miles from any civilization or rest area in either direction. He's not alone. He has parked behind a young woman in a little green Kia. The hood of the Kia is up, and Sam is under it, a lantern balanced on the edge of the car as he works under it with a spare tool kit he always carries. "Don't worry," he's telling her. "It's just a snapped belt. I have a replacement right here, we'll get you up and running in no time, okay?"

She smiles shyly, an academic, geeky sort in a t-shirt with a chemistry joke on it, not confident enough to flirt, but happy for the assist. "Thanks, Sam, I really appreciate the help."

The young man is utterly focused on his task at the moment. Though he always has weapons on his person, most of them are in the trunk of the Dodge Charger parked behind the both of them.

Winter Soldier has posed:
In the distance, far down the road, movement heralds someone else driving down the highway in the direction of Sam Winchester and the young woman he's assisting.

As it draws closer, it resolves slowly into a motorcycle with a lone rider. Long before this newcomer gets within shouting distance, however, he pulls over to the side of the road, leaving his bike in a copse of trees and proceeding on foot.

He does not attempt to disguise his approach, does not sneak or stalk. His pace is weary, in fact, his head hanging and his shoulders slumped. Periodically he looks behind him, as if wary of pursuit.

It is recognizably the Winter Soldier, but unmasked and in civilian clothes. He has obviously followed Sam, but is making no attempt to hide.

Sam Winchester has posed:
At first, Sam doesn't even notice the approaching motorcycle. He slips the belt into place. "There! Let me just check the others. Sometimes when one goes bad they all go bad. You gotta get these serviced every now and then. Regular check-ups, just like a kid."

It's only when the sound of motorcycle stops that he looks out from under the hood at all. His eyes widen in shock. He takes in the man's approach, his face taking on a look of total empathy and relief. It's only a bit of wariness-- and perhaps the desire to keep the girl uninvolved-- that has him removing his lantern and tools and closing the hood of the Kia rather firmly.

"Actually, Annie, you should be okay...but I would get these checked as soon as you get home, okay? Listen, that's a friend of mine and he looks like he needs a moment."

He steps aside, and Annie says, "Thanks Sam!" She gets in the vehicle, pausing to buckle up.

Sam, meanwhile, moves closer to Bucky.

"Yasha," he says softly. "Hey." He decides to presume no more than that. It's not inconcievable, of course, that the formidable soldier got himself free, snapped himself out of whatever reality his torturers imposed on him, and came seeking him out, but even during their last encounter the man was distressed, confused. He looks distressed now. And Sam doesn't want to bombard him with too much information, really.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Yasha stops in the road once addressed. His gaze flicks obviously towards the woman as she gets into the car, though it soon enough drops back down as he lowers his head. His long hair frames and obscures his features.

Hey, Sam starts out with. Yasha sways a little where he stands, a bird dragging a broken wing.

"You helped me before," he starts. His voice is rough, like it was recently strained. Screaming from the pain of the machine, maybe. "I found the bodies, after."

He is silent. There is another wary glance towards the girl and her car. He balks and backs away from it, clearly wanting to get some space away. His path takes him towards the treeline, to the stump of a tree long since fallen and rotted away, and there he sits, his hands lacing nervously.

"You found me several times before... in fact," he says. "Somehow without leaving any sign, any... tell. You're not normal."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam follows; the girl pulls out into the road and leaves, her own business done for the evening. She's back on the road and she's happy. Sam abandons his tool box, though he brings the lantern. He grimaces at Yasha's conclusions, looking away, frowning. In point of fact, he's really not sure what to make of his own abilities, and he isn't sure if it's something he should be worried by, ashamed by. The hunger that always appears in tandem with their use keeps him up nights. The sense that he's unclean, the sense that's been with him since he was a child, plagues him more and more of late.

"Man, they really did a number on you this time," he concludes gently, without addressing his strange powers. "Look, there are lots of people who want to help you, keep you safe. We can help you, Yasha. It's going to be okay." Talking to him to get him to where they can help him is immenently better and safer than shooting at him and kidnapping him. He keeps his other hand out, open, showing the lack of any weapon, as if he's trying to calm a skittish wolfhound who is clearly injured. His hazel eyes are brimming with twice as much empathy now, even as the lingering hints of shame and unease continue to dance about the edges of his gaze.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Sam doesn't talk about his powers, despite the prompt. Yasha's blue eyes flicker up at him briefly, but just as quickly cut away again.

"Yeah," he says. "Lot of people do want to help me. More than I realized. I knew about you... Claire... Mercy... but there are others now." His shoulders tense up, a defensive gesture, like a turtle trying to retreat into its shell. "Why are /you/ so invested in me? You never said. This is too dangerous for something... casual."

The extended hand is regarded briefly, but still Yasha keeps his own physical counsel. "You don't get what is happening to you," he says abruptly. His eyes are fixed up on Sam's again, clearly reading the shame and unease there that began at first mention of Sam's abilities, and which has not left. "Makes two of us."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam nods his agreement to what Yasha says, about not getting it. "No," he agrees. "I don't."

He draws commonality between them.

"You-- " He hesitates. He doesn't want to break this man's mind. Doesn't want to give him information he's not ready for. He longs to tell this man who he is. That he's Sam Winchester's childhood hero. That the thought of him telling him to be brave got him through a tough night on a rural Louisiana highway when he was five, and through quite a few other tough nights besides. That 'be brave, like Bucky', was in fact a mantra until he was 11 and finally felt too old to have it. When he crouched in the dark at the age of 8 with a salt-filled gun too big for his hands, eyes wide as he waited for a literal boogeyman to pop out of a closet, left with the weapon 'just in case' while his father and brother went where they thought the real problem was...only for the creature to walk through the wall, to be put down by his first inexpert shot.

Something of that old hero worship must shine through to a spy's eyes, but what he finally says is, "Because you're a good man who doesn't deserve to be tortured. Nobody deserves that. I think we'd try to help anyone in your position." True enough, though the whole historical hero bit certainly helped /confirm/ that the man didn't ask for his fate. "You deserve to get your mind back, your memories back, your /life/ back. That's worth danger."

Winter Soldier has posed:
Sam doesn't get it either -- or doesn't want to say anything about it, if he does get it. Yasha's eyes turn away, losing interest in pursuing that thread.

Instead, he draws a little bit of commonality before them, and waits.

Sam starts to say something-- but stops. The uncomprehending way Yasha looks at him, as he waits for the rest of the sentence after 'You--', makes it all the worse. There's something awful about meeting a man you idolized as a child, finally getting to speak to him, and finding him in such a shockingly ruinous state -- so completely unaware of how deeply he is being used and abused.

Eventually, Sam settles on an answer. Yasha looks at him like he knows Sam isn't telling the whole truth, but he lets it slide. "Yes," he says. "My mind back. My memories back. I was missing them, for a little while."

He rises back to a stand, but his voice is softer when he speaks again, more conspiratorial despite the fact there's nobody around, prompting Sam to lean closer if he wants to hear. "I could maybe help you, too. Help you figure out what's happening to you--"

His expression changes. His gaze jerks away to a point over Sam's shoulder, behind him, startled.

The first instant Sam is distracted, that metal left arm will move like a serpent, shaking a syringe out of its sleeve, the needle deftly aimed to inject straight into the younger Winchester's carotid. Sedative.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam does lean closer, his face shifting into confusion. How could James help him? But...he's James. Of course he can, and for a moment there is a pathetic burst of hope on the young man's face. At 21, he is still not wholly an adult in some ways. He's grown up fast, of course. He is more canny and more experienced than anyone else his age would be. But he hasn't gotten jaded, and in some ways teenage impulses still rage through his brain. Like the need to believe everything's going to be okay, even when it is anything but.

So when the soldier's gaze jerks away, he doesn't just get distracted. He whirls around, drawing his ICER, absolutely ready to protect Bucky Barnes at all costs, sure it's Hydra, sure it's something come to take this man away again. It's ridiculous, because of the two, were both inclined to such things, James is without a doubt the more skilled and deadly-- though Sam is, in many ways, a paragon of both for what he is. A young man in his 20s, with a few strange enhancements, but nothing quite like the ones the man who is now standing behind him sports.

The syringe hits home, and he gasps as the burn of it floods his veins. He jerks, tearing flesh, recognizing his mistake almost immediately. Tries to whirl around and get a shot off at James with the ICER, even as the world spins and blurs a bit, though it's a shot so badly performed that Yasha won't even have to do anything about it.

Something in his hazel eyes says he knows he's screwed, but it isn't in him to be anything other than deeply determined, to keep striving. "You don't wanna do this," he mumbles, his voice already slurring. He stumbles back, a big man, trying to fight it off even as he struggles to raise the ICER again. It feels like it weighs 100 pounds.

And then, with that compassion that both marks him and drives many of the people in his life absolutely batshit: "Won't give up on you." A promise that realizes that maybe right this second, this is absolutely nothing more than exactly the thing that The Winter Soldier wants to do.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Yasha's weakness, his frailty, his confusion and weariness... the overall entreating quality he bore, of a wounded bird limping with a broken wing...

All those things evaporate instantly, with the bite of that syringe.

The youthful, guileless hope Sam showed, the gentle compassion and raw understanding... all of those things are lost in the deep frost of the Soldier's endless winter. Like small snowflakes fading invisibly away into the vastness of a barren snowfield, they touch the Winter Soldier and are gone.

Not even the fact Sam is so selfless that he turns his back to more assiduously protect him can touch the cold predatory lock that is the Winter Soldier's mind.

Sam whirls and tries to get off a shot. The Winter Soldier snatches his left hand down on the ICER, aiming to block the shot into his steel palm, and relieve Sam of the weapon immediately afterwards.

He doesn't want to do this, Sam says. "People keep saying that," the Winter Soldier muses, "but I'm pretty certain that I do."

With brutal simplicity, he tries to catch Sam by the back of the neck, to force him quellingly down to the road. Sam's taller than him, broader -- it doesn't matter. The Winter Soldier's strength is beyond human. Sam insists he won't give up on James, and the Winter Soldier cocks his head.

"Oh," he murmurs. "We didn't intend to give up on you, either. It's why I am here. We did a bit of looking into you. Your potential is wasted on meaningless things like this."

His eyes lid. "We can teach you exactly how to be what you are meant to be."

Sam Winchester has posed:
His weapon is simply gone, and for a moment Sam even looks confused. Where did it go? He reaches towards another, but slowly, sluggishly, and by the time he does the Soldier's hand is on the back of his neck. The sedative has rendered him weak as a kitten, and he struggles, but very much in vain, grunting a little but ultimately going down.

His face is pressed to the road, and he's hearing things he doesn't like. Strength is evaporating from his limbs, and mostly what he wants to do is sleep.

'We can teach you', the Soldier says, and Sam, suddenly frightened, tries to figure out who he's even hearing. It's another voice, another hard hand on the back of his neck, only Dad never forced him to the road. Maybe he's really pissed off this time.

"I just wanna do my homework, Dad," he mutters in complaint. "Like a normal..."

Sometimes it's better to be quiet through Dad's rages, but sometimes he can't help but argue anyway.

No, wait, this isn't Dad. This is something much worse than Dad. He struggles a little, flailing, before he just stops. The road is gritty under his cheek, and his eyes are heavy. When did he close them? He needs to...get something. Weapon? Phone? He gasps, eyes flaring wide, suddenly imagining he sees monsters all around, closing in, coming for him...

Only there's only one of them, speaking to him, behind him, holding him down as a light rain begins to fall. It's his last bit of fight, that last attempt to push himself back to wakefulness, indicative of a spirit with a lot of grit, even as the body proves itself utterly unwilling or unable to indulge it. Consciousness slides greasily away from him, and he goes limp beneath that harsh metallic grip.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Patient as falling snow, the Winter Soldier waits for the fight to leave Sam's body, mantled in a crouch over his downed and pinned catch. The dose of sedative was very precisely mixed for a man of Sam's height and build, and then adjusted slightly upwards; it will work quickly.

So quickly that soon enough, Sam is addled enough to confuse the violent, harsh hand pinning him down for that of his father. Dad, he mutters...

The Winter Soldier's shrouded face is impassive, but for a moment... the metal fingers on the back of his neck twitch with a spasmodic movement, and his blue eyes flicker. A brief struggle comes and goes across his irises. There's something important... about...

Then they frost back over. His grip tightens as if to compensate for that tiny lapse with brute force. He remains still even as rain starts to fall, misting in the air. He remains still up until Sam goes limp.

Only then does he rise. He hefts Sam easily over a shoulder, stowing the boy in the backseat of his own car, before moving down the road to secure his own bike. Nothing left behind. No loose ends.

It will be a long drive to the place he has been told to take Sam Winchester.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam Winchester has spent a lifetime sleeping in the back of cars. Even with his extreme height he folds comfortably into the back seat, almost like a dozing puppy. His body shifts instinctively with the twists and turns of the road, and he looks almost peaceful back there. This is the only home he's ever known.

The Charger is well maintained. It's no Impala, but it purrs like a kitten, as one might expect from a man who just got himself snagged while trying to help someone out with car problems on the side of the road. The gas tank is utterly full. Sam tends to fill up at the 3/4 mark, not wanting to ever risk being without when he needs to go someplace. There is nothing about the car that would mark it, and of course, even if the Soldier got pulled over he'd just look like a dude with another dude sound asleep in the back of the vehicle. Soft classic rock will be on the radio. It's not always his first choice, but he plays it when he's missing his brother. Which is still rather often, with all the times they've been separated.

Dean would never have fallen for the wounded bird act.

Stronger as a unit. Always.

The sedative was mixed to perfection, though it didn't account entirely for the strange effects of the demontouched blood. He is peaceful throughout that long long drive, dreaming whatever dreams give him solace or whatever nightmares chill him. It's impossible to tell. But the little bit of Extra in Sam finally allows him to swim to some sort of consciousness right around the time they get to wherever 'here' is. He groans, muttering, "Wha? Dean?" He even struggles to sit up, though he doesn't make it, flopping back down to the grey cloth seats.

It's not really exactly a dangerous challenge, but it is one of those little hints that says Hydra is absolutely right about him.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The Soldier is a surprisingly-- or perhaps not surprisingly-- peaceful driver. Wears his seatbelt, goes under the limit, stops at stop signs. He doesn't do anything to get pulled over. Killing cops is not the best way to fly under the radar.

He does instantly turn off the radio.

Wherever they're going, they get there before the sedative wears off, though it does wear off earlier than the Winter Soldier expects. He glances over his shoulder at the first stirring of the young man in the back seat.

Sam's awakening is rude. There's the slamming and opening of car doors, and then a rough steel hand on his ankle, dragging him out of the back seat like a shot deer. Sam is handled like so much meat, blindfolded and then slung again over a shoulder, carried easily off to God knows where.

He's put down, eventually, on what feels like a cot. Even with the blindfold, it can be /felt/ how dark the surroundings are. He won't be stopped if he tries to remove the blindfold, but there isn't really much to see. It's almost pitch dark in the room, though the lack of light does not seem to bother the vague shape of the Soldier none. He finds his way unerringly as he turns his back and walks for the door.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam Winchester lets out a few cries of fear and anger as he's grabbed and manhandled. He kicks. He punches. He headbutts.

Sort of. The sedative mostly just makes this a confused and very strange exercise, where his limbs sometimes twitch in the right ways but mostly nothing happens. As he's slung over a shoulder with his long hair draping he has a moment where he really sort of feels like Dean would laugh his ass off. Dean's always accusing him of being a girl, and now, too exhausted to keep right on fighting, he is being carried off exactly like one. He pants, trying to move his head, to dislodge the blindfold even a little, but he can't manage it, and the sheer /frustration/ he feels burns adrenaline through his veins and tightens his muscles even worse than the fear does.

Then he's put down. He shivers a little, then tenses. This is a man who has been captured by an enemy before. He tenses, strengthening muscles against pain he expects. He does rip off the blindfold, if only because he needs something useful to do.

The Soldier is walking away, and Sam stretches out a hand. Trying to call on his gifts? Or trying to implore ice?

"Wait," he says, his voice still low, garbled. "Where am I?"

He's not sure why he's asking, not sure what he expects. Maybe it's just a human urge to get his bearings. Certainly it's the question nearly anyone else would ask, were they not too afraid by this point to speak. He is, but Sam is practiced at managing his fear, and so he's not undone by it. Maybe it's even a last ditch attempt to reach James Barnes.

Or maybe he's just grasping for whatever moment he can have before he's left by himself in the dark to wonder just exactly what these people intend to do to him, and how much damage they'll end up doing before anyone even notices he's gone.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The indifference of his captor is possibly the most frustrating and insulting thing about this all. Sam's struggles and protests amount to very little at all, in the end, especially with the sedative still weighing down in his blood. The Winter Soldier certainly does not seem inconvenienced by any of it. He doesn't even miss a step.

Sam's reactions speak of a man who has been captured before. The Soldier takes note of this, but does nothing with the information for the moment.

Instead, he simply deposits his catch, and turns to leave.

Sam addresses his turned back. The Winter Soldier could keep walking. Instead he hesitates, head turning slightly. One indifferent blue eye regards Sam over the rise of his right shoulder.

Where am I, Sam wants to know.

"If he wants to tell you," he eventually says, "he will." His mouth coils in something that might be a smile, but which lacks too much in warmth or humor to truly qualify. "Now... I have another of you to check on. She isn't acclimating well."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Another of them?

Oh shit. Who do they have? Fred? Claire? Mercy? Natasha...no, Natasha would not have any problems /acclimating./

He swallows, worry and fear for the other member of their party flooding his features. Does he let the Winter Soldier go to her, to help her /acclimate/, because that would hurt her less? Or does he try to plead to be able to see her? Whoever it is might need comfort, a friend...but he somehow doubts he's going to be allowed to see her.

His face clouds, and he slumps on the cot in apparent defeat. There's a 'he' in this, who sounds incredibly sinister to Sam, and one of his friends is here.

He hates himself when he prays, /Please, God, don't let it be Fred./

He swallows, and pleads softly, "Don't hurt her."

What an inane statement. Anyone who is here is going to be /hurt/. He's very sure of it. But James Barnes is /still in there/. He's sure of that, too. And maybe the old world ideals of chivalry Sam himself absorbed, from his own soldier father, from his brother, and from those comics are in there too.

"Please. She's a lady. And she just wanted to help." True for whichever 'she' it might be.

The thing is, he believes those ideals. Himself, his body, his mind, his dignity, his very soul, all exist to be thrown on the fires if they can spare a woman pain. So he plays the only card he has, the only bargaining chip he has. Even though he knows he's also handing over the last weapon he has. "Tell him-- tell him I'll cooperate with whatever he wants from me, if she isn't harmed."

It's not like he really has any sort of reliable or traitorous intel to give them. He doesn't know anything about SHIELD they surely don't already know. He's a consultant, for crying out loud.

Winter Soldier has posed:
From the half smile that plays briefly over the Winter Soldier's face, he dropped this information on purpose and with zero intent to actually clarify which of the many ladies involved he /has/. It's a very classic starting tactic when you have two captives. Let them know the other exists.

You can go a whole lot of other inventive places, after that.

Don't hurt her, Sam pleads. She's a lady and just wanted to help. The Winter Soldier cants his head slightly at the tack Sam is taking, vaguely amused. He does not look prone to be kind just because she is a woman, old world chivalry be damned. "In my experience," he says, and his voice is wry, "few good things ever come of a lady just wanting to help." ...Well, so much for that.

His brows lift in vague interest, however, when Sam plays his last card. He thinks it over a moment, his blue eyes pensive. He presently turns and steps back towards Sam, stooping slightly so he can catch the younger man's eyes.

"Son," he says, and in Sam's younger years he might have imagined being addressed as such by this man, but not this way-- not under these nightmare circumstances-- and certainly not with how he finishes the sentence: "I don't need to bargain with you to get your cooperation."

He straightens back up, and walks for the door. "It will come."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam actually flinches when the Soldier comes storming back towards him. He doesn't mean to. But there is something inherently intimidating about it. Maybe it's the 'Son'. Maybe it's just the sudden stoop, or the look in his eye. It's not a big flinch, it's not a cower exactly; it's just he almost thinks he's about to be hit, and then he's not being hit. At least. Not physically. Psychologically, it's a whole other matter.

His mouth goes dry. Because in that one moment, the man coldly informs him that he has no cards to play. No cards at all. He has nothing, not even his ability to talk his way out of a situation, to talk people down, to empathize and get them on his side. He pulls his jacket a little closer, as if he feels the chill of an icy Siberian wind racing through his cell. It's bulletproof, a gift from SHIELD, but it's scant protection, and he knows it.

This time, when the Soldier walks to the door he doesn't try to stop him.

Instead, he curls up on the cot and nurses his aching, swimming head, steeling himself for the moment when he'll truly be alone in the dark...

And steeling himself for the far more awful moment that he knows is coming.

The one where he won't be alone at all.