HUMAN
It was dark when he woke.
It shouldn't be dark, he thought. The room should have been brightly lit, with people busily buzzing around, just like when he had been put under. Steve should have been there. He had lost all notion of time but despite his dizzy state, he felt very clearly that something was wrong. Things were not the way they should be.
He didn't feel cold – not at all. Usually, whenever he had been woken from cryostasis before to do Hydra's dirty work, he had only felt the bone chilling cold until they mangled his brain. Then he just hadn't felt anything anymore. He wasn't sure if his own body had refused to feel so that the killing was easier or if it was the constant brainwashing that was taking its toll. But then again, it had made things much easier.
This time, everything was different. HE FELT. He felt warm and that worried him deeply. It was a strange feeling that rummaged around inside of him, this warmth was something new, something unexpected, something that scared him.
But, what worried him even more was the fact that he was out of cryostasis and there was nobody around. The deal he and Steve had struck with T'Challa, King of the Wakandans, after the showdown in Siberia was that he would be on deepfreeze until a "cure" for his dangerous condition was found. And he should be the first to know if the Wakandan scientists had found one, he contemplated.
He was a danger to society, to humankind, Bucky had realized that very moment Helmut Zemo had read from the book and activated the Winter Soldier in him, even though he had promised himself to never let it happen again. But it did, and he couldn't do anything about it. He hadn't been able to control himself then, no matter how hard he had tried, no matter how hard he had fought it. He had felt himself succumbing to the overpowering lure of the 'magic words'. He was sure that it might just happen again in any given momento and he was also sure that he would not be able to resist, no matter how hard he tried. That was why he was back in the tube in the first place.
He remembered those few days before the cryotube was activated one last time. He remembered – very vividly actually - when Steve had found him in Bucharest and their eventful race through Europe with its abrupt end in Berlin when this crazy Sokovian soldier activated the Winter Soldier in him. He remembered how hard he had fought to snap out of the daze that had kept him in killer mode and he remembered that he had only managed because of Steve. He remembered. HE REMEMBERED.
Steve … Captain America. That scrawny kid back in Brooklyn all those long years ago, now the glorious hero. His best friend, the man he had given his life for during the war over 70 years ago, the man who had brought him back from the path to destruction, the man who saved him from himself. Too many memories, too many feelings and he hated it. He hated it because he couldn't control them. He couldn't control the impact they had on his mind and heart.
He got confused every time he tried to piece things together the right way. Steve had tried to help him, but his brain was too scrambled, too twisted, too hurt. He kind of knew as a fact that he had joined the army and left Steve behind. He kind of knew as a fact that he had been captured by Hydra during a raid and rescued by Steve. He kind of knew that he had died, trying to protect Steve. However, he didn't only know from second hand sources, he actually remembered that Hydra had done some nasty experimenting on him. And he remembered that a small and ugly man had done unspeakable things to him, turning him into the killing machine he was now.
Steve had helped him to at least establish some sort of timeline but it only made him realize how many people he must have killed. He remembered every single kill, but he couldn't remember the faces of many of them. Most of the time, they blurred together and haunted him in the few hours of uneasy sleep that he had allowed himself during his time of hiding in Bucharest.
He was seriously fucked up, that was the one thing he knew for sure. He was a broken piece of machinery, he had stopped working correctly and he was almost sure that there was no help for him to get rid of the conditioning Hydra had engrained to deeply in his mind. He was lost and obviously beyond any help.
Before, the emptiness in his head and heart had been some sort of a blessing, he would receive his orders and comply. He would embrace the blankness and just function, but lately, that feeling of having missed out on so any things just because he couldn't remember was weighing heavy on him. Normal, even casual daily routines turned into difficult situations.
When he lived in that little apartment in Bucharest, he had gotten by basically never really leaving it. It was hard for him to blend in, or at least that was what he believed. His bulky frame must stand out, he was sure. And in those very few occasions of going out, he made sure to not mingle and socialize, just in case. His metal arm might have raised some questions. He always thought that people would recognize him, he was certain that Hydra – or what was left of it - was looking for him.
Ironically, he was made by a civilian over something as innocent as buying plums at the local street market. And that had just been the beginning. But then again, he could understand that people freaked out over things they didn't understand. And he was a riddle in himself.