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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/2gwCYla:
Just found this Google doc I last opened December 31st of 2015. (I saw The Force Awakens on Jan 1.) Here’s one of the pieces out of it, which I don’t know if I ever posted. It’s MCU, post-Winter Soldier, clearly a modern AU where Bucky’s in today’s Army instead.
2.
Bucky was the last one in the crowded helicopter and the only way he was really securely in was that the guy behind him looped his arm through the strap of Bucky’s pack, and the guy behind him held on. Bucky’s legs dangled out the edge, and as the bird rose higher and higher the ground went astonishingly miniature.
It was right around then that Bucky got his first clue of how fucked-up he’d gotten this whole time, because he knew damn well these things cruised around 170mph and could go up well over 15,000 feet, and he knew a fall from this height would be utterly fatal, and he just wasn’t scared at all. The wind was brutal and whipped at him, but he stared unconcerned out at the distant, tiny ground so far from the toes of his dangling boots.
“Aren’t you freakin’ the fuck out, Barnes?” Jones yelled in his ear, leaning over where Dugan was hanging onto his pack.
Barnes turned his head. “Nah,” he yelled back.
“How the fuck not?” Jones yelped.
Bucky turned to stare at the distant earth again. It was too far down even to clearly see whether there were cars on the road. He shrugged. “What do you figure,” he yelled back, “fifteen thousand feet?”
“Hell no,” Jones answered, “we’re like seven thousand tops.”
“Seven thousand,” Bucky said. “What’s terminal velocity again?”
“Don’t even,” Jones said.
“It’s like 120 miles an hour?” Bucky tried to remember. “How many feet per second is that?”
“Like 175,” Dugan said.
Bucky did the math. “So if you let go I’d hit the ground in about 40 seconds,” Bucky yelled.
“That’s a fucked-up thing to say,” Jones yelled.
“Why, you want me to?” Dugan asked.
“Fuck,” Bucky said, “why the fuck not?” He’d seen the ground from farther than this. He’d parachuted from higher than this.
“Well, I ain’t,” Dugan said. “Fuck knows what kind of asshole they’d replace you with. Fuck you, Barnes, I ain’t throwin’ you outta no helicopter.”
“Cut it with that sappy shit,” Bucky said, but he couldn’t stop staring at the ground past his boots. When you parachuted, it got bigger like it was coming up to meet you. He couldn’t help but imagine it now, coming up to meet him, but without the shock of the chute opening to interrupt. Just the ground.
Fuck, if you were gonna do that, jump headfirst, he thought. And his body imagined it too, imagined the tuck and roll and keeping limbs pressed flat to reduce air resistance.
Forty seconds, he thought. Forty seconds. He counted it out.
“Splat,” he whispered. But Dugan was holding his pack straps, so he didn’t move.
Just found this Google doc I last opened December 31st of 2015. (I saw The Force Awakens on Jan 1.) Here’s one of the pieces out of it, which I don’t know if I ever posted. It’s MCU, post-Winter Soldier, clearly a modern AU where Bucky’s in today’s Army instead.
2.
Bucky was the last one in the crowded helicopter and the only way he was really securely in was that the guy behind him looped his arm through the strap of Bucky’s pack, and the guy behind him held on. Bucky’s legs dangled out the edge, and as the bird rose higher and higher the ground went astonishingly miniature.
It was right around then that Bucky got his first clue of how fucked-up he’d gotten this whole time, because he knew damn well these things cruised around 170mph and could go up well over 15,000 feet, and he knew a fall from this height would be utterly fatal, and he just wasn’t scared at all. The wind was brutal and whipped at him, but he stared unconcerned out at the distant, tiny ground so far from the toes of his dangling boots.
“Aren’t you freakin’ the fuck out, Barnes?” Jones yelled in his ear, leaning over where Dugan was hanging onto his pack.
Barnes turned his head. “Nah,” he yelled back.
“How the fuck not?” Jones yelped.
Bucky turned to stare at the distant earth again. It was too far down even to clearly see whether there were cars on the road. He shrugged. “What do you figure,” he yelled back, “fifteen thousand feet?”
“Hell no,” Jones answered, “we’re like seven thousand tops.”
“Seven thousand,” Bucky said. “What’s terminal velocity again?”
“Don’t even,” Jones said.
“It’s like 120 miles an hour?” Bucky tried to remember. “How many feet per second is that?”
“Like 175,” Dugan said.
Bucky did the math. “So if you let go I’d hit the ground in about 40 seconds,” Bucky yelled.
“That’s a fucked-up thing to say,” Jones yelled.
“Why, you want me to?” Dugan asked.
“Fuck,” Bucky said, “why the fuck not?” He’d seen the ground from farther than this. He’d parachuted from higher than this.
“Well, I ain’t,” Dugan said. “Fuck knows what kind of asshole they’d replace you with. Fuck you, Barnes, I ain’t throwin’ you outta no helicopter.”
“Cut it with that sappy shit,” Bucky said, but he couldn’t stop staring at the ground past his boots. When you parachuted, it got bigger like it was coming up to meet you. He couldn’t help but imagine it now, coming up to meet him, but without the shock of the chute opening to interrupt. Just the ground.
Fuck, if you were gonna do that, jump headfirst, he thought. And his body imagined it too, imagined the tuck and roll and keeping limbs pressed flat to reduce air resistance.
Forty seconds, he thought. Forty seconds. He counted it out.
“Splat,” he whispered. But Dugan was holding his pack straps, so he didn’t move.
