Pain was a sensation that Steve had grown familiar with during his time as a super soldier. From occasionally falling from towering heights to receiving the occasional knife wound. His pain threshold had skyrocketed since his transformation, and no simple ache could slow him down. But at the moment, screaming, scathing ripples of agony burrowed into his spine as he drifted back into consciousness on the cold aluminum examination table. Immediately, he craved the sweet release passing out would give him.
"Good morning, Captain Rogers," a voice with a thick Swiss accent greeted him. He recognized it even if he couldn't place where from, and he hated it. "I do hope you're comfortable. You took quite a fall when you were on the train. I would call it a miracle you are alive… if it weren't for your genetic manipulation. A beautiful project indeed. Though I've created a little something myself… you'll meet him soon enough."
Every word the man spoke was like a cymbal bashing against Steve's eardrum. Slowly, his mind began to reorient itself. Yes, he could remember. The fall. He'd fallen from a train in the tundra… so had Bucky.
He sat up sharply when he remembered Bucky had fallen too. But his arms pulled taught against leather straps that bound him, sprawled on the metal surface and unable to move at all. The wave of dizziness and hurt that washed over him made him contemplate how he hadn't fallen into blackness once more. Then he saw the scientist- he recognized him now: Arnim Zola- remove a massive needle from his forearm. His right arm had a brace around it.
"What's that?" his speech was slurred and mumbling, but the stout balding man in the crisp white lab coat seemed to understand.
"It's an adrenaline shot. I can't have you passing out before Schmidt arrives. He personally would love to speak to you. The success story," Zola pronounced "the" with a "z," and for some reason, Steve found it grating. He wasn't one to complain about accents in any form- he'd retained some of his Brooklyn dialect himself. But this man deserved every ounce of scrutiny Steve could find within himself. Zola had detained and tortured his best friend. Steve hated this man with all of his soul.
"Where's Bucky?" Steve's voice echoed in his own skull, and his words sounded as if they were coming from a mouth detached from his body.
"You mean Sergeant Barnes," it wasn't a question, but it wasn't a correction either. It was just rephrasing Steve's words. "He's in the room next to us. He isn't quite awake yet."
Before Zola could begin to monologue once more, the door to the lab burst open and crashed against the wall with a sound comparable to a gunshot. Black spots danced in Steve's vision as the sound ricocheted through his mind. He wanted to pass out. It seemed the better option given the circumstances.
His vision was blurred, but it didn't obscure the black-clad figure with the crimson complexion. The Red Skull. Though they'd briefly met when Steve had gone to rescue Bucky and what remained of the 107th infantry, the captain hadn't been close enough to really see the spite, the sadism, and the malice within the dark eyes of Johann Schmidt. The Red Skull, as his name implied, was nothing more than a scarlet death's head on the body of a living man. It was a horrifying sight to say the least.
"Good morning, Captain Rogers. I'm so pleased to see you again. I thought it would be best if I came by in person to explain HYDRA's plans for you. A phone call or messenger simply didn't seem right. This is going to be quite a shock for you after all," a hateful grin spread on that bright red face, and Steve knew he was going to hate what came next.
He took the Skull's dramatic pause as an opportunity to search for an escape. The leather bonds were too thick to break. The array of gleaming sharp objects on the marble counter was out of reach. The table was too wide to tip.
"You're going to be HYDRA's shield from now on," Schmidt continued. "There are several ways to go about this, and the one my subjects choose is your choice. However, at the end of any option you decide, you will be HYDRA's newest weapon."
Steve actually scoffed, though it caused him pain. He glared at the Skull. "You should know that isn't going to happen."
Red Skull smiled, but it wasn't malevolent. It was smug. As if he'd already won. The man- if Steve could even find it in himself to call him a man- turned his back on both the short red-haired man with round spectacles and the bound captain wearing white scrubs. Steve took the time to wonder what they did with his suit. Schmidt walked to the door and paused as he gently pulled it open.
"I was hoping you'd choose that option," he chuckled darkly, then slammed the door shut behind him.
The adrenaline shot was wearing off, and Steve's pulse was slowing. His eyelids grew heavy, and he let himself pitch headfirst into the dark.
Bucky's vision wouldn't clear no matter how many times he blinked. This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. He'd been having them ever since Steve rescued him. But he blinked and blinked and tried in vain to scrub the vision away. It didn't work. He felt his chest heave with fear. This pain was too real to be a nightmare.
His left shoulder was on fire. It was a constant, shrieking fire that threatened to consume the rest of his body. He shook and seized against his will, but Bucky couldn't find it in himself to scream. No, this was not a nightmare. This was real.
"Ah, you're finally awake, Sergeant Barnes. Such a shame you didn't make it in one piece as our other candidate had… however, you seem to be handling your pain very well. Can you speak to me, Sergeant?"
He knew that voice. That decided Swiss accent dripping with superiority and narcissism. He'd heard that voice monologue for hours when he'd been held captive in the labs. Arnim Zola had been the star of every nightmare he'd had since those weeks.
"Go to hell," his voice couldn't rise above a whisper, and his spirit was too weak to acknowledge that. Bucky felt as though he would die. He was in constant agony, and he was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to pass out.
Slowly, his memories returned to him. "Steve!" he said suddenly, voice finally shooting up to a decibel that echoed through the concrete room. He was in a lab, strapped to a table. "Where's Steve? Is he okay?"
"Captain Rogers is just fine. He's in a far better state than you, at least, Sergeant Barnes. Why don't you take this time to relax? When you awaken a second time, the two of you will be reunited. You have my word."
"Right, totally trust you," Bucky mumbled, but his eyelids were so heavy and he was so exhausted. He just wanted to black out.
A needle pierced his arm, and the dark obliged his wishes to enter oblivion. Just like that, he toppled into blackness.