This is the result of a writing prompt and not just my twisted mind at work. Warning: Character death
Steve noticed the uneasy feeling rolling in his gut; he knew who would be standing in front of the console when he got to it and as he climbed the last step, he wasn't disappointed. The man everyone called the Winter Soldier stood before him, boots planted and broad shoulders squared. It was obvious he wasn't going to allow Captain America to put a stop to HYDRA's plans.
"People are gonna die, Buck. I can't let that happen." Steve tried to read the man's near blank expression as he spoke but nothing changed.
Bucky always did have a good poker face.
"Please don't make me do this."
The Winter Soldier didn't move and Steve would have assumed Bucky hadn't heard him had his mouth not twitched ever so slightly. He didn't have time for this. He had to disable the helicarrier as soon as possible and he couldn't let the Winter Soldier stop him. When it was clear the Winter Soldier wasn't going to move, Steve's expression hardened and he hurled his shield at the man standing between him and millions of lives.
They fell into hand-to-hand combat and with an angry and frustrated yell the Winter Soldier came at Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist and knocking them both over the railing. Steve's shield fell uselessly over the edge to the lower level and when he hit the floor, the chip he'd been protecting slid out of reach. The Winter Soldier rushed at him and they continued fighting. Steve grunted after a solid backhand from a metal arm and when he hit the floor, he grabbed the chip before sliding to the edge of the second level.
Their previous encounters were infuriating for Steve in a number of ways, but most notably due to the lack of expression and complete silence from the Winter Soldier. Apart from asking who the hell Bucky was, he'd never uttered a word or made a sound as they fought. This time however, Steve noticed he wasn't as composed and wearing his usual stoic, almost disinterested expression. This time he was expressive- yelling and grunting as they fought. The emotion on his face was clear for anyone to see, the rage startling in its intensity. Steve wondered if he was fighting so hard just to finish his mission, or if there was more to it than that.
As he dropped down to the lowest level and hurried toward where the chip landed, Steve considered the possibility Bucky was still in there somewhere and was starting to break through whatever conditioning HYDRA had performed when he was knocked to the floor by his own shield. He heard the hammer of a gun being cocked and stood, turned and stomped his boot down on the edge of the shield, narrowly blocking the shots being fired at him. When the clip was empty, Steve stood and threw the shield again, knocking the gun from the Winter Soldier's hand.
Pulling another knife from somewhere, the Winter Soldier rushed him and, gripping the knife in his left hand, he brought the blade down. This time Steve couldn't stop the momentum and the blade hit its mark, entering his chest below his shoulder, coming dangerously close to puncturing a lung. Steve snapped his forehead into the Winter Soldier's face twice before being shoved back into the wall, falling to the floor. He sat up and ripped the knife from his shoulder, pounding his fist into the floor in anger. If he didn't do something soon he would run out of time.
The Winter Soldier crawled toward the chip and picked it up as Steve scrambled to his feet and lunged at him. Wrapping a hand around his throat Steve lifted him several feet off the floor, the sudden movement bringing forth a surprised yell from the Winter Soldier. Steve spun around and slammed him to the floor, pinning his left arm beneath him, maneuvering him into a submission hold. He twisted the Winter Soldier's right arm behind him, holding his head down while he applied pressure to his elbow to keep the arm straight.
Most people at that point would submit or wind up with a dislocated or broken elbow. As expected, the Winter Soldier refused to give up the chip and repeatedly swung his left fist up toward Steve. But because of the angle at which Steve was twisting his right arm back, it was impossible for his fist to connect- his arm simply wasn't long enough.
Knowing he was running very short on time and that he wouldn't let go, Steve was forced to improvise. When the Winter Soldier kept struggling he applied more torque to the right arm until he heard bones snap. Steve bit his tongue to keep from apologizing when the man beneath him screamed, the sound of that voice so painfully familiar. He couldn't ignore how wrong it felt to be able to beat Bucky in a fight, but he had no choice. When even the multiple arm fractures didn't make him let go, Steve rolled them both onto their backs and wrapped his right arm around the Winter Soldier's neck. In an attempt to free himself, he brought his mechanized left arm up to pry Steve's arm away, but Steve wrenched it down and wrapped his leg around it, effectively ending the struggle.
Steve watched the fight leaving him and held on a few moments longer to make sure he was passed out completely. Watching the Winter Soldier's legs stop kicking and his fingers go slack, the chip finally fell to the floor and he released the unconscious man, retrieved the chip and began climbing back up toward the console. As he climbed, he thought about how easily he could have killed the Winter Soldier just now. Had he been fighting anyone else it wouldn't have been a tough decision to make- a necessary sacrifice in a battle to save lives. But when it came down to it, Steve wasn't sure he'd ever be able to kill him. Somewhere inside that stranger's head was his best friend.
As he climbed back up toward the main console, he heard the Winter Soldier fire his weapon and felt the round bite into the flesh in the back of his leg. He paused before getting up, turning around to see the Winter Soldier still aiming his gun at him, cradling his broken right arm against his torso. Steve grit his teeth and began to climb again when another shot rang out and it hit its mark, piercing straight through the uniform over his right shoulder. He dangled for a moment by one arm before steeling himself and climbing up toward the edge. As he climbed up and over onto the top level, he heard Maria's voice in his earpiece.
Another shot echoed through the chamber and this one entered the middle of his back and exited his abdomen. Steve stumbled forward, slamming into the console before collapsing to the floor. He'd been shot before, but this felt so much worse than he'd remembered. He stifled a groan and focused on standing up and completing the task at hand. Forcing his legs to work, he pressed one arm against the red stain spreading across his abdomen and used the other to climb up. An insanely furious Winter Soldier was pacing down below, he knew, and he likely still had a round in the chamber. He managed to stand long enough to insert the chip.
Maria worked her magic and moments later explosions erupted as the helicarriers began firing on each other. Broken glass and chunks of metal rained down and as the helicarrier tilted to one side, Steve heard a pained and frustrated scream. Steve instantly reacted, climbing down over broken platforms and falling debris, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
As he approached he watched the Winter Soldier struggle to try and get out from beneath the beam, his behavior like that of a trapped, wounded animal. Steve figured the Winter Soldier knew he wouldn't kill him, but he was also conscious of the fact that if the situation were reversed, the Winter Soldier would kill him like a hunter putting wounded prey out of its misery. Nevertheless, he knew he couldn't leave him stuck there.
Steve crouched next to the exposed end of the beam and lifted, every nerve in his body screaming in agony. With the little strength he had left, he lifted the beam enough for the Winter Soldier to slide free. Steve wasn't expecting gratitude. He wasn't expecting much, really, as he had no idea what was going on in the man's head at the moment. But he knew the helicarrier was going down soon and now was his only chance to find out what of Bucky remained inside the Winter Soldier's head. They stood facing each other, panting and bleeding.
"You know me," Steve said, trying to put conviction and strength behind his voice.
"No, I DON'T!" The Winter Soldier unleashed a brutal left hook to Steve's jaw, sending him reeling. Steve continued talking, trying to stall long enough to figure out something better to do.
"Bucky. You've known me your whole life."
He looked away from Steve for a moment, seeming to mull that idea around in his head. A few seconds passed before his metal arm rose and backhanded Steve across the face. It didn't faze Steve and he continued talking.
"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes…"
"SHUT UP!" His fist struck Steve's face again, each swing causing him to stumble. Steve tripped backward at the impact, his eye already beginning to swell shut. He stared at the Winter Soldier, searching for any sign of recognition. Steve didn't find any but what he did see gave him some hope. He saw a glimpse of something, what it was he didn't know, but he did know it was something other than rage and cold, calculated murder.
"I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend."
The Winter Soldier watched as Steve dropped his shield through a hole in the floor, his eyes tracking the iconic weapon as it fell into the river below. Something within him snapped again and lunged at Steve, knocking him down and holding him there.
"You're my mission! YOU ARE MY MISSION!"
Fury, anger and the fear of remembering anything other than being the Winter Solider fueled his fist, driving it into Steve's face over and over again, metal knuckles tearing flesh and breaking bone. Steve drew a shaky breath to speak and he stopped swinging, his fist curled and his arm drawn back, ready to deliver the final blow.
"Then finish it. Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line."
Steve watched as the Winter Soldier's eyes widened in confusion before a look of horror spread across his face. There was a moment of recognition, however small, and he felt his heart stutter for a beat at the thought Bucky might still be in there.
The Winter Soldier felt something stir within him as he stared at the broken man beneath him, something about the phrase feeling familiar. But just as quickly as he noticed the feeling like he really did know this man, it disappeared. He frowned at the sensation of being out of control of his emotions and hated what he'd felt- something in the back of his mind reminded him he'd said those same words once. But apart from that he remembered nothing.
The Winter Soldier shook his head and again clenched his fist, intending to take Captain America's advice and finish this. He continued his assault, pummeling Steve over and over again. And though he didn't realize it, the Winter Soldier witnessed something that had never happened in the 95 years since Steve Rogers was born.
He gave up.
Sensing he was near victory and the completion of what he intended to be his final mission, the Winter Soldier brought his left arm back one more time, metal fingers curling into a fist. He put everything he had left behind the blow and followed through, the force violently snapping Steve's head backward.
He pulled his arm back, waiting for Steve to open his eye or call out to the man named Bucky again, but there was nothing. No gasp for breath, no heartbeat thudding erratically in his chest. The Winter Soldier stood and glanced around, assessing his surroundings. The helicarrier was in ruins and falling quickly and he had a very limited window to make his escape.
He looked down at the broken and lifeless body of Captain America at his feet, a strange sense of failure sitting heavy in his gut. Yes, he'd failed his mission to keep HYDRA going and had he intended on reporting back to Pierce, he would have faced a severe punishment. But as he had no plans to do that and therefore wouldn't be on the receiving end of a hellish beating and reprogramming, he had nothing to be worried about.
But if that were the case, why did he feel so uneasy?
In the days after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA, the main headline in the news wasn't the fact S.H.I.E.L.D. had been infiltrated decades ago, nor was it the billions of dollars in damage done to the city of Washington, DC. The main headlines both domestically and internationally were those about the death of Captain America. Everywhere a person looked there were tributes to the man and what he'd done for his country, and how he'd made the ultimate sacrifice to save it.
The Winter Soldier thought it was bullshit.
People seemed to have forgotten about the man behind the shield and were merely grieving for an image, a public persona. Granted, the man was a good soldier and served his country well- he'd give him that much. But very few seemed genuinely bothered by the fact a man named Steve Rogers was dead and how his services to his country went back some seventy years. He wasn't sure why that annoyed him as much as it did, but he also didn't spend too much time digging into it, either.
After Project Insight failed, he'd retreated into the shadows and disappeared for a few days while his arm began to heal. During that time he read anything and everything he could on the man named James Buchanan Barnes and why he was so important to Steve Rogers. It didn't take him long to learn the basics and after that, he decided to go out and track down any other information on his own. This Sergeant Barnes, the man many called 'Bucky', was important enough for Captain America to give his life for. He was curious about him so he made it his mission to find out everything he could.
He wandered around Washington, DC for a while, visiting several museums devoted to American history. It was incredibly easy to blend in, as there were thousands of people who wanted to pay their respects to Captain America.
He'd started at the Smithsonian. Standing in front of the exhibit, he read the displays about Bucky being a childhood friend and Rogers rescuing Bucky from the clutches of HYDRA. None of the information was new to him and he couldn't deny his resemblance to Barnes, but if he and Barnes were actually the same man, wouldn't he feel something standing here, reading all of this?
As he moved to the next display, the Smithsonian narrator continued his exposition.
"Battle-tested, Captain America and his Howling Commandos quickly earned their stripes. Their mission: taking down HYDRA, the Nazi rogue science division."
The Winter Soldier nodded ever so slightly in appreciation at Captain America's resolve and offensive tactics- he and these Howling Commandos had seemingly destroyed HYDRA. He knew all too well how large of a task that had to have been and what it would have taken to accomplish that. He found himself a bit disappointed on their behalf that they hadn't been completely successful. As he moved on to the next display, he came face to face with a life-sized photograph of Barnes staring right at him.
"Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both school yard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling commando to give his life in service of his country."
He felt sorry for the poor bastard for the way he went out, but he could honestly say he respected him nonetheless. Barnes seemed like a decent guy and was one hell of a sniper to boot. He turned away from the exhibit and made his way toward the exit, having a better understanding of why Steve had been so attached to the guy. But he still couldn't shake the dark, uneasy feeling he'd had since he'd taken the life of the Captain.
Unsuccessful in learning anything new in Washington, DC the next leg of his journey took him north along the Eastern seaboard to Brooklyn.
The tenement where Steve Rogers lived was long gone, not surprisingly, having been redeveloped decades ago so he didn't bother to visit that part of the borough. Instead he went straight to an expansive old cemetery not far from where Rogers had lived. Traveling on foot, it didn't take him long to get there and he found himself standing in front of a small, faded headstone- the location of which he'd found on a website dedicated to posting such information. The names weren't too difficult to read, but time had taken its toll on the stone and eroded some of the other text.
Joseph Rogers and Sarah Rogers.
He stared at the headstone, his gaze focusing intently on Sarah's name for a moment before he looked up in the direction of where the tenement used to be. He nearly dropped to his knees when a blinding pain erupted behind his eyes and he heard a voice in his head.
"We looked for you after. My folks wanted to give you a ride from the cemetery."
"I know, I'm sorry. I just…kind of wanted to be alone."
As quickly as the pain came on it subsided. The Winter Soldier sucked in a breath, staring down at the headstone again as he tried to calm himself down. What the hell was that?
He turned and walked in the opposite direction, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the cemetery. He had no idea what had happened just then, but he was sure he never wanted whatever it was to happen again. On his way out he noticed another headstone not far from the Rogers one with names he'd come across several times in his intel-gathering process. He slowed his pace for a moment, studying the headstone to see if it elicited a similar reaction to what he'd just experienced. When nothing happened, he continued walking.
The names on the headstone read George M. Barnes and Winifred C. Barnes.
Two days later he took a bus to the seaside, to Coney Island, and parked himself on a bench facing the ocean. He had a strange feeling he'd been here before but he knew that couldn't be true; he hadn't completed any work for HYDRA in this part of the country. With a sigh he shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat and stared out over the water. He wasn't sure if this place felt familiar simply because he'd read about it so extensively or if it was because he had actually been here. And being unable to trust his instincts was something he'd rather not have to deal with as it made him vulnerable to whatever strike teams the remnants of HYDRA had looking for him.
He pulled his right arm from his coat pocket and leaned over to pick up the rapidly cooling cup of coffee sitting on the ground at his feet. Taking a sip, he cringed at how cold it was and turned around to look for a place to get another. Unlike what happened at the cemetery, this time the pain was intense enough it made him cry out, the coffee falling to the ground and spilling over his boots. His hands flew to cover his eyes as he bent forward, his head between his knees.
"Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island?"
"Yeah, and I threw up?"
"This isn't payback, is it?"
"Now why would I do that?"
The pain didn't subside as quickly as it did before and his fingers tangled themselves into his hair, tugging it in an attempt to distract himself from the pain in his head.
"Sometimes I think you like getting punched."
"I had him on the ropes."
"How many times is this? Ah, you're from Paramus now. You know it's illegal to lie on your enlistment form. Seriously. Jersey?"
What little he had in his stomach forced its way up and he stumbled to the closest trash can to be sick. The pain was finally easing up, but the nausea and vertigo weren't. He leaned on the trash can, sucking in deep breaths to calm himself down.
He couldn't call what he was going through remembering, as he couldn't really remember anything. All he heard were voices, one of which sounded much like Steve Rogers. The other he couldn't identify as it didn't seem familiar. But whatever it was that was happening, he had to find a safer place to settle in before it got worse.
Several weeks passed without another incident like the one at Coney Island, allowing him to focus on getting out of the United States and into Europe. A small contingent of HYDRA soldiers tried to ambush him after he crossed the Canadian border, but even in his current state it was still nearly impossible to ambush the Winter Soldier. He disposed of all of them about fifteen minutes after their assault began, not even having to use the only gun he carried with him. Eventually HYDRA would find their soldiers but they'd need scuba gear to reach them, as they'd all be at the bottom of the St. Lawrence River.
He broke into an empty warehouse and took stock of the gear he took off the HYDRA goons. He finally had a couple of pistols, a decent blade and some extra clothing. As he stuffed what he needed into a bag he'd picked up at some Army surplus store in Brooklyn, something one of the goons said played over and over in his head. The squad leader advised they weren't returning without him and gave him a choice to come quietly or they'd make him come back.
"There's gotta be a rope or something!"
"Just go! Get out of here!"
"NO! NOT WITHOUT YOU!"
He dropped the bag and fell to his knees, slamming his eyes shut. His heart pounded in his chest and he cried out in pain once more.
"I thought you were dead."
"I thought you were smaller."
The voices were clearer this time but the faces were still obscured. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, the pain in his head growing more intense with each beat of his heart. Bracing himself on his hands and knees, he tried to breathe as deeply as possible to regulate his heartbeat and stop whatever was happening, but it didn't help. The voices and memories just kept coming and there was nothing he could do to stop them.
"That man on the bridge. Who was he?"
"You met him earlier this week on another assignment."
"I knew him."
He slammed his left fist into the floor, cracking the concrete, his scream echoing in the expanse of the warehouse as he collapsed into a heap.
"Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time…"
His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, the pain continuing to intensify as the cerebral assault continued. It felt like his skull was going to split in two.
"But, if you don't do your part, I can't do mine. And HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves."
The Winter Soldier lost consciousness but before he did, he heard his own voice as clear as day.
"But I knew him."
He woke up hours later with a splitting headache and chilled to the bone after laying on the cold concrete for so long. Squinting at the bright sunlight around him, he found his bearings and finished packing his bag, intending on finding some food before heading to the harbor to find a way off the continent. On his way he passed a small coffee shop where he ordered the largest cup of coffee they had and some kind of breakfast sandwich. He hadn't had an appetite for days and ate ravenously, not even tasting the food. He ordered one more for the road before continuing his journey to the harbor.
There were several large container ships docked in the harbor and while his request to tag along was denied by the captains at the first two, the third captain shrugged lazily and asked how much he'd pay for the ride. His eyes grew wide when he was handed a bundle of cash three inches thick and he stepped aside to let the strange man board. His French a little rusty, he told the captain he wanted to be left alone and disappeared below deck.
Four nights later he stood at the bow of the ship, leaning against the railing. He inhaled the cold North Atlantic air deep into his lungs and closed his eyes, thinking about the voices and memories that were seemingly trying to surface. One of the voices he'd heard lately was German.. or perhaps Austrian? Either way, he despised it without fully understanding why. The little bit he could remember about what he'd heard, the man told him he was now a part of HYDRA and that meant he hadn't always been. They'd taken whoever he'd been prior to that away from him and he hated all of them for it.
He'd quickly recognized the voice of Pierce, with his garbage about his skill set being a 'gift' to mankind. He opened his eyes and glanced down at the water below, swallowing hard and clenching his jaw. He knew deep down he'd been a soldier before HYDRA got a hold of him- he could feel it. But he had a hard time believing anyone outside of HYDRA would agree his work had changed anything for the better. Killing soldiers on a battlefield was one thing. Killing civilians off of one was entirely different.
A particularly cold gust of wind brought him out of his head and he noticed the dull ache begin to blossom at the base of his skull. Instead of fighting it, he gripped the railing tighter and tried to let the memories come. This time he wasn't remembering part of a conversation, however. This time it was different.
This time instead of hearing voices he felt himself falling, snow swirling around him. He must have fallen from a train as he watched it grow smaller and smaller as he fell into a snow-covered canyon. He screamed in terror as he continued falling, the air leaving his lungs as he remembered the impact. Had he hit water? Or ice? He couldn't tell but the one thing he did know was that he'd been in pain. All-consuming, intense, excruciating pain. Laying there for who knew how long, he heard German voices as they pulled him out of the water and dragged him through the snow, a bloody stump where his left arm used to be.
"The procedure has already started. You are to be the new face of HYDRA. Put him on ice."
It was the Austrian voice again- he remembered a small man with round glasses. He was an evil man and had been in charge of whatever HYDRA had done to him. All at once the fear, anger and pain he'd been subjected to because of that man bubbled to the surface and he felt the nausea return and the headache intensified.
His brain seemingly changed the channel, almost, and his memories shifted from the Austrian and back to those where he recognized Steve Rogers' voice.
"Come on- there are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That's what you don't understand. This isn't about me."
"Right. Cause you got nothin' to prove."
With that shift, the pain was still intense but now he wasn't crippled by it. His breathing was erratic as the ache in his head slowly spread and he felt the pressure behind his eyes again. He didn't notice his left hand bending and crushing the metal railing he was leaning on.
"Don't do anything stupid until I get back."
"How can I? You're takin' all the stupid with you."
"You're a punk."
"Jerk. Be careful. Don't win the war til I get there."
He was fairly certain this time he was talking to someone and he saw glimpses of a uniform- his own. Class A's by the look of it- Army brown. He sunk to his knees as the headache began to subside and the voices and memories faded into the background again.
"Rough night, friend?"
The Winter Soldier jerked his head around and drew his weapon, aiming the pistol at the heart of the man standing to his left. He was holding a cigarette and leaning on the railing several feet away, seemingly unperturbed by the fact a stranger was aiming a gun at him.
"Look, I mean no harm. I just came out here for a smoke and saw you freakin' out." His accent wasn't French Canadian nor was it American. There were heavy notes of eastern Europe. He put the gun back in his jacket and turned back to the water, not seeing a threat.
"I'm fine."
The man scoffed. "Yeah, okay."
The Winter Soldier slung a sideways glare at him but didn't say a word.
"Where'd you serve?" The man lit the cigarette he'd been holding between his lips and held the lighter out to him. The Winter Soldier shook his head. With a shrug he put the lighter in his pocket. "If you don't want to talk, that's fine. But I know a soldier when I see one."
The Winter Soldier turned toward him slightly. "Where?"
He stiffened as he took another drag of the cigarette, holding the lungful of smoke longer than necessary. "Bosnia. Early nineties."
He read the man's body language like a book- he was still suffering a great deal. He knew of the atrocities the man must have seen fighting where and when he did.
"I've served in a few places," he said, turning back toward the water. It wasn't entirely a lie, of course.
He flicked the butt of his cigarette overboard and leaned a hip on the railing for a moment, twisting the wedding band on his left hand. "Don't do what I did. PTSD isn't something you deal with on your own. Get yourself some help before you do something stupid." He clapped a hand on the Winter Soldier's back as he returned to his post.
He returned to his hiding place below deck to get some sleep, a dull, residual ache still present behind his eyes and the voice of a ghost in his head.
"Don't do anything stupid until I get back."
His journey took him on the run from both HYDRA and the Avengers, criss-crossing Europe in an attempt to lose them. After doubling back through Ukraine, he crossed the border into Russia and headed for a place where neither the Avengers nor HYDRA would attempt to come after him. Decades ago he'd purchased a flat in Novgorod and had a young man look after it for him in the event he should ever return. Not even HYDRA knew about it so the Avengers most certainly wouldn't. Not even Natalia.
After making his way through the narrow, snow-covered streets for two hours, he was certain he had no one following him and entered the building, climbing the stairs to the third floor and knocking on the door of flat 305.
A young woman answered the door, standing warily behind the chain.
"Я могу вам помочь?" (May I help you?)
"Добрый вечер. Петр здесь?" (Good evening. Is Peter here?)
She nodded and called for him, waiting several minutes for Peter to appear. When he did finally get to the door he was using an old cane, shuffling slowly. His eyes widened momentarily before his face melted into a smile.
"Иван ! Вы вернулись ! Я извлечь ключи." (Ivan! You're back! I'll get your keys.)
The old man disappeared one more time, returning with a set of three keys, handing them to the man he knew as Ivan. With a grateful nod and firm handshake, he shook Peter's hand and disappeared into his flat upstairs.
In the thirty years or so since he'd been here very little had changed. Peter had kept the place livable, as he'd promised, returning regularly to dust, make sure the water ran and the lights worked. He dropped his duffel into the closet with a heavy thud and removed his jacket, sitting down on a threadbare sofa that was still fairly comfortable.
In the weeks since he'd fled Canada he hadn't had a single dream, nightmare or otherwise and no memories had returned. He had tried everything he could think of to trigger something, anything, but the more he forced it the more frustrated he became. That was when he'd decided to return here, to a place where he felt safe, to see if that would have any impact at all. With HYDRA and the Avengers being less of a threat here, he could focus on something else for a while.
But first he needed to get some rest and he kicked off his boots, removed his shirt and climbed into the small bed across the room, smiling a little when he pulled back the duvet.
Peter had even been washing and changing the bed linens.
The Winter Soldier, now referring to himself as Ivan Rabinovich, settled into life in Novgorod quite easily. In the months since he'd returned, he'd found work as at a factory, working the night shifts no one wanted so as not to draw further attention to himself. In his free time, which he had way too much of in his opinion, he researched and read more about the life and death of one James Buchanan Barnes.
The entire wall of the small dining room in his flat was dedicated to the lives of Rogers and Barnes, with photos, notes and US military reports of their missions and whereabouts during and after World War II. Some days certain photos or mission reports seemed familiar, but considering he'd read them day in and day out for months everything felt familiar.
One December evening, he'd given up for the night and took a seat by the window with a mug of tea cooling on the sill, watching the snow fall silently outside. Peter died in his sleep the day before and his family left earlier in the evening for the church for the funeral; his daughter, the one who'd answered the door months ago, had come upstairs to inform him. He gave his condolences and offered her some money as a token of his gratitude, which she graciously took before hugging him and presenting him with a small package.
He stared out into the night, watching a few people below hurry back into their homes to escape the cold. The package was heavy in his hand and he decided to open it, removing the twine and newspaper to reveal a hand-carved wood train engine, a Soviet flag painted carefully on its roof. He turned it over, looking at the craftsmanship, before putting it down on the window sill next to his tea. He stood up and backed away, the toy giving him a very uneasy feeling.
Dismissing it as nothing, he turned off the lights and climbed into bed, lying on his side and staring at the outline of the train in the darkness. Not long after he fell into a restless sleep.
Not two hours later, the pain came on intensely and quickly, rousing him from his sleep and making him cry out in agony.
"Ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?"
"Hell, no! The little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I'm following him. But you're keeping the outfit, right?"
"You know what? It's kinda grown on me."
He twisted and turned in bed, blankets and sheets tangling around his legs. The memories were clear now and he could see faces in addition to hearing voices. He was walking with Steve back to his place after his Ma's funeral.
"How was it?"
"It was okay. She's next to Dad."
"I was gonna ask…"
"I know what you're gonna say, Buck, I just…"
"We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It'll be fun. All you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash."
He remembered bending over and retrieving a key from an old brick, handing it to a younger, much smaller Steve when he searched his pockets and came up empty-handed.
"Come on."
"Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own."
"The thing is, you don't have to. I'm with you till the end of the line, pal."
Decades of memories flowed through his mind, spreading pain through every part of him like molten lead. He remembered everything, both from Bucky's life and that of the Winter Soldier's, all at once and it was impossibly overwhelming.
"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes…"
"SHUT UP!"
"I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend."
"You're my mission! YOU ARE MY MISSION!"
He remembered each and every swing of his fist, the feeling of bones breaking beneath his fist, the life leaving his best friend with each blow.
Bucky Barnes sat up in his bed, throwing his legs over the edge, bare feet hitting the cold floor.
"Then finish it. Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line."
The scope of what had happened, everything he'd done, rushed at him and sent him falling to his hands and knees on the floor. And there in a rundown block of flats in Novgorod the only sound that could be heard was an anguished, heartbroken scream into the lonely Russian winter night.