A/N: The previous version of this chapter has been deleted, as I found many inconsistencies with given Marvel information and the character of brainwashed Bucky. I have rewritten it to the best of my ability. I used characterizations given by Sebastian Stan himself to help with this, so I hope it's better than my first try.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Marvel. Or Bucky. Sadly.
»»WINTERSOLDIER««
CHAPTER ONE:
I stumbled ashore, dragging his weight beside me. As I stepped through the mud, he choked slightly, and I let go of his harness. He dropped to the ground and lay still.
I stepped back, the realization of what I'd done hitting me in the face.
I had saved my mission. I didn't know why. I felt this was something different, something important to me in some way, and that feeling overpowered the orders that my handler had given me.
At my feet, my mission sputtered, coughing up river water. I could see him take a breath, and I felt a strange sense of relief. My mission was alive. He was important to me in some way and he was alive. Good.
Then I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time: guilt. It wasn't like I felt crazy guilty, but as I looked down at my mission, this man that I had saved, and saw the bullet wound in his stomach; saw knife wound in his shoulder, and the mangled state of his face, I was stunned by the fact that I felt responsible for these wounds, and couldn't understand why.
Yes, this man called me a friend, and he called me James Buchanan Barnes, but I wasn't either of those. I couldn't be. Pierce had told me I wasn't, and that I didn't know this man. I was the Asset. I had no friends. Only missions.
But I had still saved him.
I turned away, holding my injured right arm, and limped away. I didn't look back, but I knew he was still there.
He was the first mission that I left alive and breathing.
I found myself making my way to Alexander Pierce's house. It was the last place I wanted to be – I had failed my mission, and I wouldn't exactly be commended for that – but I went out of habit. This was where he gave me most of my missions. Sometimes he gave them to me in another place, a secret HYDRA base that was. With HYDRA destroyed, this was the place to meet him. So I snuck inside his house, still limping and keeping my arm close, and went to the dining room. I put one of my many pistols on the table, in case my handler needed it, and then sat down in the chair furthest from the fridge.
And then I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I sat there, waiting for Pierce till the night had passed and the sun came up. At around ten o'clock, I left, taking my pistol with me, and being as quiet as before. Obviously Pierce had gone somewhere else, and I I thought of the second most likely place to find him. I journeyed to the headquarters, under the bank. I went in through the secret entrance for HYDRA, and stood in silence at the sight before me.
It was completely empty.
The lights were on, but not a soul could be seen. I pulled out my pistol and explored, keeping an extra eye and ear out. I searched all the rooms: where I slept and stayed, the security room, the weapons vault; everything. No one. I checked everywhere. Except the my medical room.
I hated the medical room. It was supposed to heal me, but I didn't see it that way. They hooked me up to that machine, and it cleared my mind. Or so they said. All I ever felt was pain. It was excruciating. And it made me angry.
I finally worked up the guts to go into the medical room myself. I found what I had found before: nothing. Just the lights on and a room devoid of life, aside from myself.
I wasn't sure what to do. It seemed like I was alone. I couldn't find Pierce, and the headquarters was empty. If I was alone, what then? What was my mission now? What was supposed to do? I had no one to take orders from. I hadn't even given my latest mission report, though I would surely be wiped again if told him.
So I went to my room and sat down on my metal bunk. I stared at the wall, waiting for someone to come and tell me to exterminate yet another threat. No one came.
As I waited, my thoughts drifted back to my mission. I was once again confronted by my failure and my feeling of duty to the man I was commanded to kill. I didn't even try to understand why I felt the need to ensure his safety, even after I had beat him near to the point of death. I must've been malfunctioning again. I must've still been malfunctioning while I was waiting, too, because I didn't get up and go back and try to find him and kill him.
Oh boy. My handler will kill me.
Mission report.
Mission failed.
»»WINTERSOLDIER««
To be continued...