thearena | Fear's a powerful thing.

Who| Bucky Barnes (616) and Joel
What| After being badly injured in his fight with his counterpart, Bucky meets an end.
Where| The amusement park
When| Week five, the morning after the start of the Hell-rena.
Warnings/Notes| Violence, gore, and death.

In retrospect, trying to take on a man with his own power and skills while already weakened by fatigue and hunger was probably a bad idea, Bucky reflects.

"Too late for regrets," is all he mutters to himself about the matter, though, as he hunts through the sweltering fog for his scattered supplies. In the end, he manages to find the pack with his food and water in it, but no weapons. Fortunately, he's lethal enough without them--or he would be, if he weren't standing on a twisted ankle and dealing with various lacerations, multiple broken ribs, and a possible concussion.

Somehow, he manages to retreat to shelter, or a poor approximation of it, anyway. The amusement park, at least, hasn't been too badly affected by the new opening of hell beneath it. He stumbles his way to the ticket-taker's booth at the front of the amusement park and hides inside it for the rest of the night, trying to tend to his wounds. His vision keeps blurring, which might be a bad sign about that head injury, or it might just be exhaustion. He figures he'll know in a few hours: either he'll pass out and get some rest, or he'll pass out and die from a brain hemorrhage under his skull. Either one sounds kind of relaxing. He's not that picky at this point.

He tears up his jacket and uses it to patch up the worst of his obvious injuries, although the gash on his side keeps bleeding. Not a good sign. After that, he dozes fitfully until morning, when he's awakened by suspicious sounds from outside--and a walker, unnaturally fast in the heat, rips open the rotted wood of the little hut and lunges at him. He only escapes a mangling by the fact that the creature winds up chomping down with its hideous mouth on his metal arm. He stuns it with an electric shock, hurls it through the other side of the already-collapsing booth, and emerges from the rubble in time to stagger over and repeatedly kick the walker in the head. Of course, since his other foot is shaky from the injured ankle, he winds up collapsing as a result--and the walker still isn't dead yet. No matter. Bucky reaches out with the now-slightly-dinged metal arm, grabs it by the jaw, and rips its head off.

He gets splashed in the chest and face with gore for his efforts. It's not even slightly inconspicuous. Behind him, just to draw a little more attention in what's already one of the closest things the Arena currently has to a safe haven, the ticket booth finishes collapsing in on itself with a loud crash. He just sits there next to the monstrous corpse, on his knees, knowing he needs to get up and move, not sure if he has the strength to do so.

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Joel knows by now that when the heat starts going up, it's time to move. And keep moving, no matter how bad it gets. He keeps close to Ellie - it's just the two of them now, which in some ways is a relief. Having more people to worry about - it just makes everything harder.

After Sarah - the thing that was Sarah, or whatever - he just wants to keep Ellie close and survive as best they can. He shuts everything else out.

It's the crash that alerts him, and he tells Ellie to stay put - for five minutes, anyway. He'll check things out, and come right back, and if he doesn't, well, then - she'll come after him. He knows she will. But for a few moments, at least, it's just him.

There's a mess - but otherwise, this place seems - as good as any, for the moment. One of those goddamn - things - it's dead. Well, it figures. He knows from the last one that people's powers come back. The people who have powers, of course. He's just a man. An old, injured, sweaty, hungry, thirsty guy. An empty shell of a man just trying to keep his kid alive.

That's when he spots the person - the person he recognizes, faintly. Him. The one who'd tried to attack Sarah. The one who'd -

"You."

The last time Bucky saw Joel, neither one of them was in good shape mentally. Joel was desperate to protect what he sincerely thought was his daughter. Bucky was increasingly haunted by the Arena itself and the old bad memories it brought out in him. But at least they were physically sound.

Now, Bucky looks up with a tired face covered in fresh blood. He doesn't want to fight anymore. But he knows the moment he recognizes Joel that he's going to have to.

Wearily, he gets to his feet, doing his best to hide his injuries. It's hard, when his jacket is gone, shredded to make bandages, and blood is seeping through the strips of cloth around his side. It's hard when there's dizzy pain in his eyes.

"You better leave, man. I don't feel like fighting right now."

"That so?" The trusty wrench is out, in his hand, and he gives the other man a look full of icy hatred. Whatever happened afterwards, whatever Joel had to do hours or days later, what this man tried to do is something he can never, ever forgive.

"You sure as hell felt like fighting when there was a helpless little girl around. You like hurtin' little girls but don't want to stand up to a grown man, is that it?"

In the face of that hatred, Bucky does about all he can do: he just grins bitterly. Looks like he's not going to be able to avoid a fight after all. In that case, he might as well embrace it.

He lifts both arms, the metal one gleaming dully in the ugly hellish light. "You got it all wrong, pal. Give me a choice and I'll fight the guy who's bigger than me every time."

"And yet, the second I put up a fight, you ran," Joel says, his voice calm and steady despite the ice. He's not agitated, he's not in a rage. He knows exactly what he's doing.

And just as calmly, he swings the wrench, hard, at Bucky's head.

"I didn't want to--"

Whatever it is Bucky didn't want to do, that thought is lost as he realizes he's being attacked. He reaches up to snatch the wrench out of Joel's hand in mid-swing, but injuries and pain make his right hand too slow, and all he manages to do is soften the blow as it slams into the side of his head.

He sees stars; they aren't pretty.

"Well, shit."

He swings himself, then, even as he staggers from the blow: a hard punch with the metal hand at Joel's chin. It's faster than any human movement should be.

Joel is ducking away quickly even as the wrench makes it's glancing blow - a direct hit would've at least rendered the guy unconscious, but even in his current state he's clearly too good for that.

The punch still connects with his jaw, though, and now Joel is the one seeing stars, nearly dropping him to the ground, so his next swing with the wrench is at Bucky's knee - he knows all too well how painful a dislocated knee can be.

That should be easy to block. True to form, Bucky reacts immediately, starting to kick out with the leg in question--

--but that puts all his weight, temporarily, on the foot with the twisted ankle, and instead, he staggers. There's a solid crunch as the wrench hits its target anyway.

"Fuck." He's not interested in being clean about this fight any longer, either in his language or his tactics. He starts to collapse, but instead of grabbing at his injured knee, both his hands suddenly go for Joel's throat.

Joel wouldn't even know the meaning of a "clean" fight. He does what he has to do to win, to stay alive and put the other guy down as fast as he can. There aren't any rules in a fight like that. Taking the first swing may not be sporting, but it's saved his ass more times than he can count.

With two hands coming at his throat, that means they're not pinning him down, or protecting anything. So instead of trying to roll away from it, Joel just swings the wrench again at the guy's head, as hard as he can. There's no holding back, no intention of just knocking him unconscious. His blows are meant to kill, to smash the guy's skull in.

At the sight of the wrench coming at his head, Bucky should be able to react with his usual deadly speed and precision, moving himself out of the way of the blow. He should, but he can't, as injured and wearied as he is right now. He manages to duck his head a little forward--enough that when the makeshift weapon connects, it doesn't kill him instantly.

But that's not saying much. He feels more than hears the crack of broken bone reverberate in his skull, and the pain dazzles him. It sinks in then: he isn't getting out of this fight alive.

A few minutes ago he was almost resigned to death, but here and now, instinct kicks in, an instinct made of pure stubborn rage. Barely able to see, he can't find Joel's throat, so he simply lashes out a hard, vicious blow at his ribs with the metal hand.

Joel understands that instinct - the instinct to fight to the last breath, to do whatever is necessary to save one's own skin, even if the fight is a losing one. He's seen it - and experienced it - many times over the years.

So even though he seems to have the upper hand, he does't let that make him sloppy. He sees the blow coming - his opponent is getting weak, and slowing down, and he avoids the worst of it, though the metal fist does graze his side and send a lance of pain through him with his still-healing ribs.

But he doesn't let up. He sees the advantage he has, and he takes it, without a second thought - smashing the wrench down again. And again. And again.

Somehow, even injured to the point of death, Bucky dodges the next blow, and almost dodges the one after it, lunging forward again--and that's when the third attack hits him squarely in the temples with a crunch.

He staggers and drops to his knees.

He doesn't remember where he is anymore, only that he's fighting, and when he's fighting, he needs to win and survive. Why is he losing? He never loses. He reaches out once more--

--and then the wrench hits again, and he slumps to the ground.

Joel leaves nothing to chance. Even as his opponent slumps to the ground, he gives another few good whacks with the wrench - it's messy, there's blood and bone and brain, but he needs to make sure the guy is dead.

The last thing he and Ellie need is someone with a vendetta coming after them in here. Not with everything else.

He's out of breath, and the only reason he's not sweating more is because he's so dehydrated, and he's covered in gore, but he won, and he's alive. He needs to track down Ellie again. Find a safe place to hole up and clean up.

He leaves the body to whoever wants it.

Fear's a powerful thing.

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