|| Hey guys! Thanks so much for looking at my story! This is one of my first real fanfictions. I've written two before this but it has been a while. This story is rate M for language, violence, other adult themes, and possible rape in later chapters. Please please review! Feel free to pitch me an idea that you would like to see in a later chapter. Now, that doesn't guarantee that I will use your idea, but it will definitely help me brainstorm! ATTENTION: THIS STORY IS NOT COMIC BOOK ACCURATE. I have taken some minor aspects from the comic books, but the majority of this story is of my own imagination. DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THESE CHARACTERS.

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A Man With Nothing to Remember

Chapter One

Avengers Tower,

December 17, 3:33am

"You're a good man," she said as she ran a hand over his sweaty cheek.

"Not really, no," Bucky said and he grabbed her wrist gently and lowered it slowly back to her side. "But you're the only one who understands that." He was used to his nightmares waking people up. It had become quite normal now. But he was sick of it. Sick of keeping it bottled up, for the more he crammed it down,

the worse the nightmares got. The worse he felt about himself. He needed to be rid of it all. He needed to be free of this.

He looked over at Steve who just watched them with concern. "I didn't know what I was doing." He looked down so he wouldn't have to look at them. "They cut me open and stitched me back together more times than I can count."

She ran a hand through Bucky's hair to stop him. "You don't have to talk about it."

Bucky nodded. "Yes, I do." He looked over at Steve who still hadn't said a word. "It's the only way I'm going to get past this." Bucky walked over to the large wall-scale window and stared out at the busy streets of New York City. "I don't remember the fall. In fact, the first day is still a blur to me." He rested his right shoulder against the glass and sighed, leaving behind a puff of condensation on the window. "I remember someone dragging me through the snow. They were talking to me, but I couldn't quite make out what they were saying. At first I thought I was dead. But I realized I wasn't when I noticed I was missing half my arm. I didn't have much time to freak out though, I kept blacking out."

Steve walked over and stood next to Bucky. He rested a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

"The next thing I remember, I'm strapped to an operating table. I was surrounded by men in white lab coats. And t-they..." He stuttered slightly and took a deep breath to try to stop his hand from shaking. "They were cutting it off," he whispered as a tear rolled down his cheek. "All the way up to the shoulder. I blacked out again. And then next time I woke," he shrugged his left shoulder, "I had this, THING for an arm." He blinked a few times as another tear threatened to fall. "I could feel the electricity flowing through it. I could feel the power it had. I lost control." He looked over at Steve who also had tears in his eyes. She stayed back though. Bucky suspected maybe it was too hard for her to be near him. Maybe she was afraid to cry. Or maybe she was afraid to learn how the story really happened. All she knew was what THEY had told her.

"I grabbed the doctor by the throat and I..." He felt a shutter ripple through his spine. "I threw him across the room like he was a rag-doll." Bucky stared off into the city and his eyes glazed over as the full flashback took hold of him.

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An Old Operating Room,

Unknown Date, Unknown Time

The doctors ran quickly to help their fallen comrade as he coughed for air. They stared at him with wide eyes filled with fear. The Soldier broke free of his binds with ease and stumble to his feet. He looked down at his hands then back up to the doctors. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO ME?" He shouted as he started pacing back and forth with anxiety and confusion. "WHERE AM I?" He turned to one of the doctors and slammed him hard against the wall with the metal arm clenched firmly around his throat. He lifted him off the ground and the man's gagging went silent as his eyes began to bug out of his head. His mouth was open, but no sound came out. "Someone better start talking or–"

The sound of a gun cocking made the Soldier stop dead in his tracks. A man in a Russian military uniform had entered the room and had a large handgun pressed against the back of his head. "Sit down, soldier," he said through a thick Russian accent.

The Soldier dropped the doctor, who began coughing violently, and slowly turned around and sat back on the operating table without taking his eyes off the man.

The man walked toward the Soldier, but didn't lower his weapon. "Now, you need to calm down. I will answer any questions you have, but you need to ask them in a civilized manner or this is going to get very ugly, very quickly." When he saw the Soldier's shoulders relax, he slowly lowered the gun, but kept it firmly in hand.

The Soldier stared at him for a good five minutes as he tried to figure out what to ask first. "Who are you?" He managed to say.

"My name is General Vasily Karpov."

"Where am I?"

"You're in a hospital facility just a few miles outside of Moscow," Karpov said gently.

The Soldier looked around the room. The air was damp, and there were a few mold spots on the walls. The equipment didn't look clean and there was a glass of dirty water on the table next to him. Some hospital, he thought. He looked down at his robotic arm, startled by it again.

"That was a pretty nasty fall," General Karpov said. "It's not your real arm, but it's pretty close."

"Fall?" The Soldier asked as his brow furrowed in confusion. "I-I don't remember a fall."

General Karpov and the rest of the doctors in the room exchanged looks. He paused for a few moments before putting away his gun and bending down to the Soldier's eye level. "What's your name, soldier?"

The Soldier blinked a few times and he narrowed his eyes, screaming at his brain for information that was lost. "I-I... Don't know.." He looked up at Karpov who was still staring at him. "I mean I don't remember." He racked his brain for any useful pieces of information, but the more he tried to find some, the more he discovered he couldn't remember. What day was it? More importantly, what year? How old was he? Where was he from? He knew his accent was American, but beyond that he had no idea. "I don't remember anything," he said finally.

General Karpov rose to his feet. He motioned for the doctors to leave the room and he followed them as they began filing out the door. "Don't go anywhere," he said as he disappeared through the doorway.

The Soldier looked around the room again. He wasn't quite sure WHERE he was, but the room itself gave him the creeps. It reeked of stale blood and death. He stood up slowly and wandered the room. He ran his normal hand along the side of a wooden table. Old blood patches stained the wood and sections of the walls, and the different tools and knives were also stained. He drew his metal hand into a fist and out again. He could hear the sounds of the technology working in the arm and looking at it for too long make him uncomfortable. He turned away from the table and noticed something just poking out from underneath a furnace in the corner. What was that? Was that a... Finger?

The door opened, causing the Soldier to look up, and the General walked back in followed by the doctors. One of them had a bandage wrapped around his hand. Blood soaked through the bandage on a stub where his pointer finger should've been. The Soldier glanced back at the finger on the ground and swallowed.

Karpov walked over to the soldier and put a hand on his shoulder, steering him back to the table where he gently pushed him into a sitting position. "Unfortunately, there is not a whole lot we can help you with. You don't know who you are, and until you gain your memories back, neither will we."

The Soldier looked up. "You mean I can get them back?"

Karpov nodded. "Perhaps. We will do everything we can to help you remember. But until then, your going to have to stay with us."

The soldier blinked at him.

"It wouldn't make sense for you to go back into a world you know nothing about." Karpov put his hands on his hips. "But your stay here isn't going to be free. You're going to have to help us with a few things. And besides," he nodded to the Soldiers' robotic arm. "You'll have to pay that off too. That's an expensive piece of equipment you've got there. It was all we had."

The Soldier nodded. "Yes, sir. I will do whatever you ask. I owe you that for saving my life alone." He looked up at them through soft blue eyes. "Thank you." These people were kind to him. They could have just left him to die in the snow, but they didn't. They agreed to give him a place to live and to help him regain his memories. Why shouldn't he trust them? That's more than he could ever ask for in a situation like this.

"Allow my people to escort you to the room you will be staying in. And if you need anything, anything at all, please, don't hesitate to ask," Karpov said and smiled at him.

The Soldier returned the smile and followed his men as they lead him away.

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General Karpov watched as they lead the Soldier down the corridor before walking down to the Red Room where his apprentice was training a few female agents in the fighting ring. "Aleksander," he said as he approached.

Aleksander paused his fighting and murmured something in Russian to the two girls who quickly departed. "Sir," he panted in Russian, "how's he doing?" He crossed over to Karpov.

"He's confused. He doesn't know who he is, or where he is. He doesn't remember a thing." Karpov crossed his arms. "I think he's the perfect candidate."

Aleksander's eyes widened. "Are you talking about the Winter Soldier project? What makes you think he'd be fit?"

General Karpov unfolded his arms and crossed over the fighting ring, grabbed a towel and tossed it to him. "Because. The serum worked. There's no way he would have survived that fall if it hadn't. Plus, he doesn't remember a thing. For all he knew, he could have just as easily worked for us already, or another organization like us. His lack of memory makes his mind easy to mold."

Aleksander wiped the back of his neck with the towel. "What do you propose?"

"Department X is in need of a good soldier. He'll need to be trained. That's where you come in."

"But sir–"

"You're ready." Karpov cut in. "You have been for quite some time now. But," he held up a finger threateningly, "don't even think about going easy on him. A man with no memory needs to be pushed hard or he'll start asking questions. Questions that we cannot afford to answer. We keep his name from him, we keep everything from him. You understand?" His eyes narrowed. "And if I even SUSPECT that you're feeding him information I will not hesitate to find another apprentice. One who follows orders."

Aleksander swallowed. "Yes, sir. What do we do first?"

Karpov turned away from Aleksander and made his way toward the door. "Leave that to me."