( a fight is definitely something he knows. and, he hates to admit it, but fighting against things that are supposed to be dead is becoming more and more common.

he hates that.

but, this is what he is, isn't he? a weapon made to fight, made to kill. and even if these things are already dead, he's going to kill them again, fit himself into the mold that his memories say he belongs in.

he doesn't have a gun but he has a knife and he uses it effectively, driving it into the soft, squishy belly of a corpse. the corpse screams in his face, black liquid pouring onto his shirt. bucky shoves the corpse away and steps back, making a face.

gross.

he can't stop to change so he just let's it go, ignores it and moves onto another throng of dead people, now running at him when they spot him, intent on tearing him to pieces. )