Author's Note: This is a companion piece to my fic Make Me Whole, and I highly recommend reading that one first. For a long time, I've wanted to write a deleted/extended scenes fic, so I leapt at the chance when I realized how much was left unexplored in Make Me Whole. I kept to a pretty limited POV in that fic, primarily telling the story through Steve's eyes, with occasional forays into Sam's perspective. For the sake of suspense and coherence, I decided not to write anything from Winter's perspective. But that left out a whole facet of the story, and I couldn't bear the thought of being the only one to know about it.

So I decided to write a separate fic for all the scenes we didn't get to see in Make Me Whole. Chapters will not necessarily be in chronological order, so I'll make a note of which chapter of Make Me Whole it corresponds to so you can see the context of the scene.

Please feel free to request scenes you would like to see! This fic will include scenes from different perspectives than what's in Make Me Whole, as well as completely new scenes. I already have plenty of material that I want to write, but I also welcome any suggestions you may have.

This chapter takes place during Make Me Whole chapter 1, "The Winter Soldier".

I've been looking in the mirror for so long
That I've come to believe my soul's on the other side
All the little pieces falling
Shatter
Shards of me
Too sharp to put back together
Too small to matter
But big enough to cut me into so many little pieces

…

But I know the difference
Between myself and my reflection
I just can't help but to wonder:
Which of us do you love?

- "Breathe No More" by Evanescence

The Winter Soldier remembered everything. They didn't think he did. He'd heard them discussing it when they thought he was sedated (eyes closed and breathing steady meant no looking, no questions, no pain). They thought that once they spoke the Words, his memory was shut off, and he would remember nothing of what he'd done when the cold, deadly clarity wore off. That was what they wanted—no thoughts, no memories, no emotion. Just the razor-sharp instincts they'd painstakingly pounded into him.

They were wrong about this. He never told them; he was afraid that if they found out, they would find a way to 'perfect' their technique and he wouldn't remember anything at all. True, he couldn't remember much anyway—everything was foggy and jumbled, and mostly he just remembered pain—but it was all he had.

But he (whoever he was, the one who could actually think and feel) was aware of everything he did as the Winter Soldier. It was like sitting in the backseat of a car—he couldn't steer, but he was aware of everything around him. It was like watching through a peephole into someone else's life. And yet he could feel every impact, smell every drop of blood, hear every scream. They seemed far away, when looking through the Winter Soldier's eyes. But they were there, and they seemed to latch onto him no matter how hard he tried to hide.

While the Winter Soldier tried to kill Captain America, he didn't remember. But after an explosion of pain knocked his senses clear, and everything snapped into sharp, painful reality, he thought it all seemed familiar. Yes, he had fought this man before. This strange man, who was a formidable enemy yet spoke like a friend. What was he doing? Why was he talking, when he should be taking advantage of how the whole world was dipping and swaying, and come finish the Winter Soldier off?

"Please..." Captain America gasped, "c-come with me... You can...walk away right now." He bent over, clutching at his bruised throat, but he kept choking out words between wheezing breaths and coughs. "Stop letting them...tell you who you are. Make your own choice! They call you...their Asset...but I know...you're more than that."

Let them? Let them? Did he have any idea what Hydra was like? You didn't let them do anything. They took whatever they wanted, and there was nothing you could do to stop them.

"What the hell do you think you know about me?" he growled, though it came out slurred. It was hard to keep Captain America in focus.

The man in the silly blue costume straightened to his full, formidable height. "I know that you're a human being!" he cried. His voice was still hoarse, but it was strong again. "And that is not how you treat a human being. It's not even how you treat a dog! You don't have to put up with that. You deserve so much better! And I'll hunt down every last one of the scum who did this to you."

The Soldier froze, leaning against a stack of crates to keep from falling flat on his face. Why? he wanted to ask. Why are you trying so hard? What do you get out of this? Why would you possibly care about me? Or are you just like them, the ones who smile and then beat me till I bleed?

He felt a little more steady, so he pushed away from the crates. He didn't need any memories to know that this man was different from every other target he'd ever hunted down. Why? What made him like this? What set him apart from everyone else? He had to know. He took a step closer...

Something crashed to the deck of the helicarrier in a blazing inferno, and his legs were knocked out from under him. Before he knew what was happening, he was tumbling off the edge. He scrambled to grab onto something, but couldn't find anything to stop his fall.

"No!" Captain America screamed, reaching out to grab his hand, but their fingers barely brushed against each other. As he fell, he caught one glimpse of blue eyes filled with terror, grief, guilt...

"Bucky!"

He reached desperately, but it was no use. Their hands were a whole foot apart. Then something in the metal he clung to broke, and he was falling, falling through the cold and the whirling snow, becoming one with the winter. That face grew farther and farther away, the bright sun dimming to a distant star filled with fear and grief and far, far too much guilt.

Then a hand closed over his own, and he was back in reality, and he was no longer falling through the sky, but rising. He looked up in surprise and saw the other man—the one with dark skin, Captain America's soldier—gripping his metal wrist and carrying him back up towards the helicarrier. The engines on his wings whined and strained, not used to lifting this much weight. But even though he let out a cry of pain, the man's grip remained firm.

Why? Why did this man save him? Why did Captain America care so much? Why did he seem...familiar?

The Soldier collapsed onto the deck of the helicarrier, falling to hands and knees. Part of him was screaming to get up, find a weapon, pull out a gun or a knife because they're going to come and kill you come on you have to keep fighting...but he was trembling so hard he didn't think he could stand. And they didn't come over to keep fighting. They were talking about something. He couldn't focus.

That flash of...memory...wouldn't leave him alone. The face he had seen, the man who had been reaching for him, was the same person who had just tried to catch him now. It wasn't just someone who looked similar when put in the same situation. No, the eyes were the same. They had both done this before—he had fallen, and Captain America had been unable to catch him.

And he had shouted a name. Bucky. Who the hell was Bucky? Was that...his name? The Soldier stared at his hands, pressed flat against the deck beneath him. They had known each other. Sometime far back in his jumbled memories, this man had known who he was, and that was why he wanted to catch him now.

But...no. Captain America couldn't see most of his face because of the mask, and he spoke to him like a stranger. A stranger who knew far too much about his life, but still not someone he knew very well. And yet he had looked anguished when the Soldier had fallen. He didn't seem to have recognized the Soldier, yet he still cared that much.

He looked up and saw the two men clasp hands while the wings unfolded again. Captain America looked over at him one last time, his gaze pinning the Soldier in place with the weight of its regret. Then they blasted into the air, and flew towards the nearest helicarrier.

Who was this man? He needed to know. He needed to find out. This man had something the Soldier wanted...no, that he needed. And he wasn't going to let it get away.

Come with me, Captain America had said. I can hide you, somewhere Hydra can never find you. Was that even possible? No...no, of course not. Even entertaining the idea of escaping Hydra's clutches was laughable. He, of all people, knew better than to even wish a life outside of their control was possible.

But...even if it wasn't...he had to at least try. The thought of trudging back to Hydra when someone had looked at him like that...

Slowly, the Soldier pushed himself to his feet, still trembling slightly. He needed to take this slow. He needed to talk to Captain America again, see if he was really serious. And if he betrayed a hint of dishonesty, the Soldier could always just kill him anyway. But to vet Captain America's offer, he had to be sure no one else was listening. He felt for his earpiece, but it was gone. It must have fallen out at some point during the fight, or maybe when he had fallen over the edge. Next he felt for the hidden microphone, and crushed it under his heel. He pulled off the rest of his communication equipment and dropped it over the side to tumble into the river below. Now no one was listening, and no one could tell him what to do. He felt strangely light, like he could float away at any moment.

But since he couldn't actually float away, he needed to get back to the jet he'd used to get here. Captain America's companion had said they had two more helicarriers to go—and he had seen which one they'd headed to, so he just needed to get to the third one.

The next several minutes were easy. With a plan firmly in mind, it was almost like being the Winter Soldier again. He was following orders, so he could push every ounce of worry and every extraneous thought out of his mind. The only difference was that he was the one giving the orders, and that made him feel warm inside.

He slipped past the guards on deck, and waited for Captain America in the engine room. They had told him that Captain America would probably target the engines, so he stood in front of the control panel and waited for the door at the other end of the catwalk to open.

As predicted, Captain America soon stepped through the door, eyeing the controls he wanted to sabotage. The other man was nowhere in sight. When he saw the Soldier standing in his way, Captain America stopped and let out a sigh. The Soldier wondered what that sigh meant.

"People are gonna die," Captain America said with a tone of resignation. "I can't let that happen."

He also didn't want you to die, the Soldier reminded himself. "I don't care about them," he said roughly. "But if I step aside...can you make sure Hydra never finds me?"

Captain America inched forwards. "You mean...you're going to walk away?"

"They...hurt me," he said slowly, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. Fists, raised voices, burning pain from his temples all the way down to his toes. They would find him, they would punish him, they would push him down and he would come up gasping but they would push him down again, they would take his mind and his memories and they would throw him down a dark well and he would crash to pieces at the bottom and he would never put himself back together again...

He took a deep breath. "I don't...want to...anymore."

Captain America looked at him with an odd expression full of...sympathy? Pity? Whatever it was, it made the Soldier uncomfortable, so he looked away.

Was it possible to leave all of that behind, once and for all? Could he really live a life free of the pain, the fear, the shame?

"I tried to, once." He forced the words out, choking on memories he actually wished they'd taken from him. "After my mission, I just...didn't go back." After they'd found him that time, they'd made sure he would never try it again. "It took...two weeks...for them to find me. But...it was...worse."

They had used every last punishment in their extensive repertoire that time, one after another, sometimes letting him catch his breath, letting him think they were finished only to start again, worse than before. The memory of that pain still made him twitch, his nerves jangling. Something inside him reared up in terror at even the thought of crossing them again, and for a moment it was all he could do to keep still.

"This time will be different." Captain America took a step forward, and the Soldier surged back in alarm, hitting the console behind him. But instead of pressing forward, Captain America stopped and let the Soldier catch his breath.

"This time, I'll be there to protect you, and hide you." His voice was so...soft. Not in volume, but...texture? Then a lilt of humor mixed with his words, though not in the mocking way he was used to. The softness didn't leave his voice. "Besides, this is Hydra we're talking about. The last place they'll look for one of their own would be at Captain America's side, right?"

He had to admit there was a certain amount of sense to that. "So I'll...stay with you?" The thought was strange, bringing up nothing but a blank white stretch in his mind. He couldn't even imagine what it would be like.

"I think that would be the safest thing to do," Captain America said, without even having to think about it, as though he took enemy assassins into his care every other week. "At least until you feel ready to strike out on your own. If you disappear for long enough, they'll probably stop looking for you."

The Soldier hesitated, his resolve teetering on the edge of a knife. He wanted to believe this man. He longed to think that he was sincere, that he meant no harm, that he could actually end the pain. There was no smirk on his face, and his gaze was steady; he looked the very picture of honesty. Either he meant every word he said...or he was the best actor the Soldier had ever seen. But after a moment's reflection, he realized there was no way to know for certain. He would have to make a decision based on faith—faith that this man was trustworthy, or faith in everything Hydra had told him about this cold, cruel world.

Stepping aside was simultaneously the hardest and the easiest decision he had ever made.

The smile that broke across Captain America's face made the Soldier stare. It wasn't like the few smiles he occasionally received. Those were usually triumphant—a hypothesis proven correct—or leering grins that asserted control over him, making him feel like a bug squirming beneath a shoe. No, this smile was...relieved? Happy? He barely even knew what those words meant anymore. Whatever the right word to describe it was, being smiled at like that was like being smacked in the face. Only...instead of pain and fear, this left him feeling...good. He didn't know exactly what this feeling was, but he knew he liked it. He wanted more.

He couldn't keep from tensing a little as Captain America stepped past him to do whatever it was he'd come here to do. But Captain America didn't seem to notice, turning his back and focusing entirely on his task. It only took a minute, but still...didn't he know that the Soldier could easily stab him in the back? The shield strapped there didn't cover everything; with the man's guard down, he could easily hamstring him and carve out his kidney before Captain America could even turn around.

What a reckless, naive man. How had he managed to live this long? He really needed someone to watch his back.

Or maybe...turning his back was deliberate. Maybe he was trying to say something...that he trusted the Soldier to not stab him in the back. It was still a stupid thing to do, trusting someone that much when he didn't even know him. But somehow, being trusted so much made the Soldier reluctant to break that trust. He had never been trusted before. Hydra didn't trust him; they were always interrogating him, watching him, making sure he'd done what they'd told him. They had a dozen safeguards in place to make sure he had no choice but to obey.

But Captain America just trusted him. He hoped he could earn it.

"Charlie lock," Captain America said into the device on his wrist. The Soldier tensed—had someone been listening in on their conversation?—but then saw that it was the short-range kind that had to be spoken into directly. Their conversation wouldn't have been loud enough for anyone to hear.

After discussing the plan with whoever was on the other end of the line, Captain America told them to fire in five minutes. Apparently they were trying to get the helicarriers to destroy each other. The Soldier didn't care, but the communication device had reminded him why Hydra had been able to find him last time.

"All right, let's go," Captain America said to him, starting towards the door. "If that jet on the deck is still intact, we can—"

"Wait," he said quietly, trying not to flinch when Captain America turned and looked at him. "There's...I have...a...tracking device. In my arm." He raised his left arm slightly.

He waited for Captain America to get angry, or demand to know why he hadn't said anything sooner, but instead he just nodded. "That's how they found you before, right? Then we'll have to get it out if you're going into hiding. Do you know where it is?"

The Soldier nodded. That was another thing they probably thought they'd erased. They'd taken him out of cryo just to put it in. As soon as they could, they'd said the Words, as if taking every precaution against his memory. He couldn't be sure, because the chair made his brain mushy and disorganized, but he was pretty sure they'd wiped him both before and after the procedure. But the part where the Winter Soldier had sat stock-still and let them place the small chip inside his prosthesis...that was crystal clear.

He pushed on the interlocking metal plates the way the mechanics always did, and a small section slid to the side, opening a hatch that exposed the intricate innards of his arm. Unfortunately, the part he had to open up was on the back part of his upper arm, meaning he had to crane his neck to look at it, and there was no hope of seeing in far enough to find the tracking device.

"Here." Captain America stepped forward and reached for his arm. The Soldier's knife was out and jabbing toward his face before he even knew what he was doing.

When he did realize, he cursed himself. There goes your only chance, he told himself bitterly.

But Captain America only held up his hands, moving slowly to show they were empty. Of course, they both knew he could cause plenty of harm with his bare hands. "I just want to help," he said. "I can probably get a better angle on it."

The Soldier wanted to lower his weapon, but he couldn't. The other man was too close. Far, far too close.

Still moving slowly, Captain America closed one hand around the knife. The Soldier's hand twitched, half of him wanting to stab his attacker in the eye, the other half wanting to jerk his hand away before he got hurt. But Captain America actually pulled the knife closer to himself. "Do this if it makes you feel better," he said, leaving the point of the knife mere centimeters from his Adam's apple. "But we've got to get that tracking device, or you won't be going anywhere."

I didn't think he could get any stupider, the Soldier thought numbly, but he nodded once and watched warily as Captain America circled around to his side. Keeping the knife at the ready helped calm the Soldier's nerves somewhat, but his heart still raced as Captain America bent down and peered inside his arm.

"Is it this little green thing?" he asked, and at the Soldier's nod, he reached in.

His left arm couldn't feel anything, but Captain America's deft fingers moved carefully, as if trying not to hurt him. Within moments, the tiny tracking device was in his hand. The Soldier quickly retreated a few steps, shoved his knife back into his belt, and closed the panel in his arm again.

Captain America looked thoughtfully at the little device in his hand. "We should attach this to something in here. Then maybe they'll think you drowned in the rubble."

"They'll find it." The Soldier knew only too well how thorough Hydra was. Even if there were only two people loyal to them left, they would comb through every scrap of debris until they found his body. That was how valuable he was to them.

"But hopefully, not for a long time." Captain America climbed up the side of the central console, using tiny footholds and incredible gymnastic ability, and wedged the tracking device into the smallest crevice he could reach. It would be next to impossible to find, especially if this sank to the bottom of the river.

As if on cue, the entire helicarrier shook with an enormous explosion. Captain America lost his precarious grip, but he landed on his feet on the catwalk below. "We need to get going," he said, already running for the door. "Come on!"

The Soldier followed. As he ran, he realized that he had completely severed the leash Hydra had used to hold on to him for as long as he could remember (though that wasn't saying much). They couldn't find him, they couldn't hear him, they couldn't tell him what to do... They couldn't even speak the Words in his ear and turn him into their perfect Asset.

He was their Soldier no more.

In you do I take refuge;
save me from all my pursuers and deliver me,
lest like a lion they tear my soul apart,
rending it in pieces, with none to deliver.

- Psalm 7:1-2