The Winter Soldier pulled his coat tighter around himself. The sky was overcast and it had been drizzling icy rain all day. He was deep in the old Soviet Block. He'd spent a lot of time with the Russians and felt quite comfortable in the frigid mountains of Eastern Europe. He and the cold were old friends now.
It hadn't always been that way. There was a time when the darkness closed around him and his veins filled with ice, he'd been so scared, so scared of the cold. The cryo-tube was a simple design. You put someone inside and it flash-froze the occupant for later reanimation. The full process took two minutes, two excruciating minutes… because your brain was usually the last thing to shut down.
He'd learned quickly not to scream because his mouth would freeze open and the cold would pour down his throat and into his lungs, stopping his breath. His heart would thunder in his chest for a few seconds, trying to inflate them but by then his blood was freezing in his veins and every inch of him felt like he was on fire. The techs had nicknamed the device, "The Tomb". It was apt because he felt like he was dying every single time. After awhile, when he had started to welcome death, he gained an appreciation for the cryo-tube. The cold had become a welcome respite.
He looked right then left as he crossed the narrow lane. It was early. There were few people out and about in the sleepy little hamlet. He really shouldn't be here. What he was doing was reckless and stupid. It was also his choice and that's exactly why he was doing it. The Winter Soldier was stepping outside the perimeters of permissible behavior and he knew it. His stomach turned at the thought. He knew what the punishment for breaking protocols was, he'd suffered through it twice. There wasn't a third time.
Every step he took made the voice in his head scream at him to contact his controller at once. He ignored it as best he could. Something inside him had broken on that carrier over the Potomac. He wasn't entirely sure what it all meant but he thought, he prayed, that there was something different about him now. That maybe, at one time, he had been a person, a man, instead of a weapon. Whatever it was, whoever he was, he wasn't going back to his masters. They would have to kill him this time. He wouldn't submit. A face flashed in his memory, a younger version of the man on the carrier. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.
As he approached his destination, he put his head down and pulled his gloved hands free of his pockets. As he opened the door of the café, he murmured, "My designation is Asset Seventeen." He stopped just inside the doorway to stamp his feet on the provided mat. He put his hands up to his mouth and pretended to blow so he could gain an extra few seconds to scan the room.
The room was large and open. It was a modern café design with tables around the perimeter as well as small ledges where people were standing, sipping their beverages and using wi-fi. He assessed the room for exit points and the people for possible threats.
There were currently fifteen people spread out within the space. Not optimal, he could be caught in a cross fire. However, the openness of the space mitigated some of the risk as he had several ways to move. Satisfied and knowing that he couldn't stay at the door without drawing unwanted attention, he decided he was going ahead with his plan.
There were two people ahead of him in line which suited him fine because he could covertly keep an eye on the people around him. There were two people to his left at two o'clock and four people to left at five o'clock. Four more to his right at one…
"May I help you, Sir? Sir?"
His attention snapped forward when he realized that the girl was addressing him. The old man had stepped down to the other end of the counter to wait for his beverage. "Yes," he responded in perfect Russian. "I would like hot chocolate. Thank you." He held out a couple of Euros.
"Would you like whipped cream?" the girl asked with a smile.
Another at his six… he put the bills on the counter and stepped to the side behind the old man. Did he like whipped cream? He thought he did but he couldn't think about that right now or he'd be too nauseous to get the drink down.
The girl looked at him oddly but scooped the bills off the counter with a shrug. "Thank you."
There was something about the man to his left and six.
"Your hot chocolate, Sir." A young man presented him with a steaming paper cup and was gone before he could even say thank you.
He walked slowly over to a ledge where he could face the door and most of the patrons. He held the cup up and inhaled. The smell of chocolate surrounded him and suddenly he was a child running down the street with a skinny little blonde boy calling after him to wait up. It was like a slap to the face. It was a memory. He hated memories. When he started to remember things, it meant it was time for a wipe. A wipe being a euphemism for lobotomizing him.
Hydra found out early-on that he had enhanced healing abilities to go along with the rest of it. It wasn't anything miraculous. He could be hurt, he could be killed, same as anyone. It just took a bit more effort. His bones could still break, his skin could still burn but when he healed, his bones mended without a trace of injury, his burns, without scarring.
He knew they had done terrible things to him when they had found out. Thankfully, he never really remembered the specifics. But he did remember what Zola had told him. He always remembered Zola, they made sure of that. He remembered the gleeful little man leaning over him, telling him that his healing ability was going to save his life. Hydra wouldn't have to terminate him after all. They were going to give him a new identity. That he didn't need to fight anymore. How long ago had that been? He didn't know but it seemed like life times.
Asset Seventeen pressed his thumb and finger to his eyes. Depending on the extent of his recovered memories, they used varying levels of high voltage to clear his mind. Once, it had taken him two months to recover from being wiped. He couldn't even walk when they had finished with him. Whatever he had done wrong that time, Hydra had been very unhappy with him.
He'd had to relearn almost everything. That had irritated his controllers even more, it hadn't been a pleasant two months for him. But the device that striped away knowledge could also be used to implant new knowledge. They had spent his downtime re-educating him with highly specialized training like piloting several types of aircraft, fluency in five languages, and the latest computer technologies. Unfortunately, having knowledge inputted was only slightly less painful than having it stripped.
The Winter Soldier pushed the errant memories down. While rationally he understood that there would be no more mind wipes, no more punishments now that he was on his own, his conditioning was still telling him otherwise. He was getting a headache. He needed to just drink his chocolate and get the hell out before someone spotted him. He looked over at the man at his six and cocked his head.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Jesus H Christ on a crutch. Hawkeye nearly dropped his coffee when he looked up and saw who had just walked in the door, big as life. He heard Nat's voice in his head, Smooth move. Just wave at the Hydra trained super assassin with the Vibranium arm, why don't you. He turned slightly away from the figure and waited for him to walk up to the counter.
The Archer glanced up at the picture windows and was pleased to note that he was able to see Barnes in the glass. He took another sip of his coffee before he casually reached in his pocket for his phone. It was fucking Christmas. They hadn't even been looking for Barnes in this area. The only reason he was even here right now was because he had skidded-out on some ice. A local Samaritan had driven him into this town. He had a few hours to wait for Nat to swing by and pick him up, so here he was… and here was the Winter Soldier.
Hawkeye took another drink and glanced at the glass. Barnes' back was to him so he casually turned and checked him over. He was wearing a knee length coat, more than enough length to conceal a long gun. Barnes would prefer an automatic, likely an Uzi. He would also have a hand gun, perhaps in his right pocket. He'd seen footage of his street fight with Steve. He liked knives so you could bet there would be a few concealed here and there. The archer looked around the room. This was not a good scenario.
There was a click and Nat's voice, "I am not stopping to get you a croissant."
"Who's with you?" Hawkeye took another sip and glanced up at the window. Barnes had taken his drink to a ledge at the back. He was not so casually scanning the room.
Nat instantly recognized the tone and turned all business, "It's just me. Rogers and Wilson are about twenty miles east. What's your sitrep?"
"I am sipping coffee in a café… about twenty feet from a man with a metal arm doing the same."
"Holy shit. I'm getting Rogers on the line. How does it look?"
"Not good. We've got a room full of civvies and he's armed. No pun intended."
"Hold the line." There was a pause. "Falcon is bringing them in, ETA four minutes. Steve says sit tight and don't agitate the situation."
Hawkeye pulled the phone away from his mouth. "Don't agitate the situation? Is he out of his mind?" He spoke back into the phone, "Let's just hope our confused friend doesn't decide to agitate it. This place will turn into casualty central. Might be better if I just pull back entirely, wait until he decides to leave. I can watch the front," he rolled his neck side to side so he could look over shoulder.
"I agree with Rogers. If we lose this chance we might not get another. We need to keep eyes on him."
"Uh huh. Well, I'm on board with the plan but I'm telling you if this goes South, its going all the way to Meh-hee-co."
"Understood. I'm two minutes out. We should converge about the same time."
Hawkeye sat his phone down and took another sip. The coffee was suddenly bitter. He liked to think that while he didn't have any enhancements that his finely attuned sense of when a situation was going to go to shit was just as legitimate as a superpower. And right now, it was telling him he was in deep doodoo.