Case (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
case) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomsecrets2008-10-05 05:02 pm
case) wrote in fandomsecrets2008-10-05 05:02 pm
[ SECRET POST #639 ]
⌈ Secret Post #639 ⌋
Warning: Some secrets are NOT worksafe and may contain SPOILERS.
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Notes:
CITY STUFF → here! (RANK 16)
Secrets Left to Post: 15 pages, 368 secrets from Secret Submission Post #092.
Secrets Not Posted: [ 0 - broken links ], [ 1 2 3 4 - not!secrets ], [ 0 - not!fandom ], [ 1 - too big ], [ 1 2 - repeat ], [ 1 - personal attack ].
Current Secret Submissions Post: here.
Suggestions, comments, and concerns should go here.
"Any Way You Hit 'Em" PG-ish Bucky/Dick I
So when Bruce sends him off for the weekend in a dull green airplane, Dick's whole skin is buzzing. Hopefully no one'll notice that he's too young to be there.
***
Bucky doesn't much like the new kid Steve's got him paired with, not from the yellow of his cape to the green of his boots. Oh, he's good with flips and twisting, but he wasn't sent out here to be Bucky's date at the next G.I. ball. Robin's got a pocket full of smoke pellets and a bunch of funny winger-things that he can throw in pretty circles, but outside the rockets are whistling finer colors of deadly.
"Lookit, kid," Bucky says. "You're gonna have to learn how to shoot."
Back in Gotham, Dick's never needed to point a gun. Bruce showed him how they worked, of course, and how to trace a bullet back to the place it came from. He can take them apart and put them back together again; that always seemed like enough.
"This isn't Gotham, okay? Now switch your blinkers over here and I'll show you how it's done."
Robin's a natural. He's used to striking at precise points—the jars of Ovaltine Bucky set up shiver and fold with the impact of the bullets, one by one by one.
"Don't worry," says Bucky. "Out on the field it's more about not hitting our guys than stuffing the Krauts right. I mean, any way you hit 'em, they go down."
After their practice Bucky deals a couple hands of cards. He likes people better once he's beaten them at poker.
***
It isn't like he thought it would be, not at all. The full-on stretch of the countryside, all the greens turned up with dirt and rain, and the sweetness of gunpowder caught deep in his throat. They had just given him a rifle and told him get to it, but the trigger was heavier this time, and he only pulled at it slowly. It's not like Dick's never seen guns before, or death—there's the image of his parents again, scattered on the circus floor like beads of a broken necklace. Beside him Bucky lobs a grenade, watches the clumps of mud and stand fly up into the starlit afternoon.
Dick breathes in, ‘cause he's not a coward, and pulls the trigger. He hits one of them in the knees, like he meant to, but the smoke and the fire don't seem to care.
"Look out!" Bucky is crying, and then he's on top of Dick, holding him down while a hunk of shrapnel whizzes overhead. Now they are both pressed deep to the dirt, close enough for sweat. Dick can't feel any kind of skin through his gloves.