The room was small, but not too small. High ceilings and yellow-cream colored walls brought a cheery sort of feel to the place. Old wooden framed pictures adorned two of the walls, while the third was empty, and the fourth contained a large window covered in white flowing curtains. The carpet was plain and white, with a few stains here and there, and a small trail of flattened carpet wound its way around the room where Steve paced when he couldn't sleep. There were pillows and blankets haphazardly strewn next to the bed where he slept on the floor. A small nightstand made its home next to the empty bed under the window, and an old wooden dresser stood firmly on the opposite wall.
Steve sat crisscross on his bed, papers scattered all over, humming an old tune under his breath while he sifted through them. Manilla folders and white legal papers with redacted information piled up next to him. There were old black and white photographs, protected S.H.I.E.L.D. documents, and newer color pictures of the cryogenic freezers HYDRA kept Bucky in. He was staring at one paper in particular that was mostly black lines, but there were a few words legible. He sighed after trying to read through it and tossed it off the side of his bed. Picking up a folder, he flipped through files until another caught his attention. He tried to pull it out when he was Interrupted by a knock at the door. Startled, papers went flying out of his hands and all over the room. He relaxed again and took a deep breath.
"Who is it?" He questioned in a strangled voice.
"Its me," came the muffled reply as Doctor Banner stuck his head through the door.
"Ah, Doctor, wasn't expecting you this early," he replied smiling.
"Yeah, well I kinda though this was more important than what I was doing before. I heard what happened and took the first flight out."
"Where we're you, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Borneo. More info just came through on a gamma leak at one of my buddies old facilities, and I was called first. But, this definitely takes priority. Do you... want to know how he is?"
"Yeah," Steve perked up, "sure. Thanks again, for coming on such short notice."
"No problem, Steve. Alright well I should warn you, he's a bit worse for wear. You really did a number on his, uh, regular arm. I actually need your help if that's okay, you're the only person I can get right now to set his arm, and Tony's busy with... stuff. So if you want to, my car is outside." He pointed a thumb behind him and shrugged.
Despite wanting to see Bucky, Steve was a little conflicted about seeing him right now. He had waited for so long, but his friend didn't seem know him at all. He saw some recognition in his eyes, but not enough to know he wouldn't attack if given the opportunity.
"Time is of the essence, friend. I can't leave him with Tony for too long, or he might accidentally blow something up. Car's out front if you want to..." Bruce trailed off looking expectant.
"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Let me grab a few things, and I'll meet you outside."
Banner nodded and his form retracted from the door frame. Steve threw some clothes in a bag, grabbed a few folders from his stacks, and pulled on a hoodie and some shoes. He ran outside and hopped in Bruce's red convertible. Well, it was technically Tony's, but they mostly shared cars now. Science buddies privilege. The car revved and they were off.
"You don't mind of I keep the top down, do you?" Bruce asked.
"No not at all, go ahead." Steve's gaze was somewhere else looking out over the cars and sidewalks.
"Hey, look I know it seems bad right now, but take it from a professional and a friend, he's going to be okay. Whatever happens, we can deal with it. Okay?" Bruce yelled over the constant roar of the wind.
"Thank you Bruce. I'm just... not sure I'll ever have Bucky back. The real Buck. He's so far gone." Steve frowned and looked down at his hands nervously fiddling his thumbs.
"Honestly? I don't think he'll ever be the same exact person he was. But give it some time, Steve. He might come around to something like his old self and remember. That's actually the first thing I want to do when he's stable. I think it would be worth it to look into what kind of technology HYDRA used to wipe him. If we can figure out how they did it, it might be possible to reverse it. That's my theory, anyway."
Steve stilled and looked thoughtful before nodding slowly. The rest of the ride to the tower was quiet, save for the wind whipping by and the sounds of the city.
They pulled into a large underground garage, stocked with dozens of Stark's other cars, shut the doors firmly as they got out, and stepped into the elevator.
Up another twenty floors, there was a small drab bedroom. Well, as drab as a room in Avengers Tower could possibly be. There were no pictures or objects signifying any sort of inhabitant, only a cold steel desk with a bright lamp and a snugly furnished bed. The room was a dull slate gray color that reminded the Soldier of one of the many rooms he stayed in waiting for debriefings. Except, the lights were brighter. Much brighter. They shone in a way that contrasted the eery tones of the room.
The Soldier was lying face up on on the solid white and black sheets on the low bed. He had been trained to be completely still in covert missions where he was captured. He never broke under torture, or spilled any information. And if he was captured, the captors almost never made it out alive. He wasn't entirely sure that this counted as a hostage situation, mainly because he was being given so much freedom. Maybe they all worked for HYDRA.
He could have escaped any time he wished, went back into the big world, and ditched the people keeping him here, but he didn't. He didn't break out of the room, sneak down the emergency exit flight of stairs, and escape the building. He didn't wander the streets looking for urban areas to hide in and scavenge for food and clothes in dumpsters. He didn't, even though he wanted to. Because of the man. Steve Rodgers. He was here. He found him. Why did he find him? He knew he shouldn't leave the man. But he didn't know why. Just like he didn't know why he saved him from drowning.
He attempted to shift in the bed, but was stopped by a stabbing pain in his arm. Where had the man gone? The man with glasses. He briefly remembered the man saying something about going to get help. Help from who? Was he going back to his supervisors? When were they going to wipe him? Why wouldn't they just get it over with? Why leave him to wait in pain for what he already knew was coming?
They almost always cared fro his wounds first. He knew that. Then they would strap him to the chair. He hated the chair. He never remembered it at first, because they wiped his memory of even the chair. But some things were so common that he couldn't forget. Like the training, the beatings, the commands, and most of all, the chair. The more he remembered the chair, the more he despised it. It was like a constant nagging in his head telling him to make a break for it. But it was also a reminder of what would happen if he did run away or disobey orders. Yes, he remembered the chair, but not exactly what it did or why he should fear it; that was mostly intuition. He only remembered what it did as soon as he was strapped in, but by then it was too late.
The last thing he remembered was from a few weeks ago. They had just wiped him. He woke up to intense pain and an ache in his head. He was given his usual suit to wear and his mask and was given supplements and chemicals intravenously.
They told him that he had to wear the mask at all times. They said the target can't see his face, or take it off. Said it would distract from the mission. He was told to eliminate his target at all costs, and keep the hellecarriers in the air.
He didn't listen. He took his mask off before he even left the compound.
As hard as they tried to make him a purely instinct driven fighter, they could never take away his sharp wit. It's what kept him the ultimate killing machine for so long. He wasn't stupid. He knew why these past missions were so public. He was never sent out in the open to that kind of dirty work. It was always covert and silent, not running down the interstate with an assault rifle and blowing up cars. They did it on purpose. They never intended for him to survive. His mission was to kill the target, then return to base, and be neutralized. He was old equipment anyway. They couldn't risk it with the more frequent memory lapses. He was only to complete one last mission, then they would put him down.
But things didn't go the way they planned. He saved the target, then he ran away. And he stayed hidden until this new group chased him down. He remembered very clearly what happened.
He woke up in the back of a very dingy old van. The floor was carpeted and very shabby. The insides were peeling off white white paint, probably like the outside of the van. His feet and hands were tied together with some sort of metal looking rope. There two rows of seats on either side of him, and two people sitting on both sides. They were the same people who had fought with him right before he was electrocuted.
There was a man in the driver's seat, singing along to a rock song he couldn't identify. He was the one in the metal suit, then. On his right he recognized Natalia Romanova, she was sitting very still with her eyes closed and her hands resting beside her on the seat. She wasn't asleep though, he knew she was very alert and waiting for any indication of a fight. On his left, here was the target himself. He sharply inhaled at the surprise of seeing him.
He didn't remember much about the earlier fight, except he was very tired and very sloppy with his fighting style. He had been stumbling through the woods for a couple days trying to find a small town or gas station, but instead found a group of people in the woods, armed, and decided they were either S.H.I.E.L.D. or HYDRA, and attacked. He didn't pay attention to their faces.
The target looked down at him, and something akin to rage boiled in him. He should be attacking, he should finish his mission. But Captain Rogers looked so... so sad. It jerked something else inside of him this time, something he didn't know how to describe. They ended up staring at each other until he blacked out again, which wasn't long.
He was pulled from the memory by the sound of a door opening. He refused to look anywhere but a little spot he found on the ceiling, not wanting to deal with looking. Looking meant contact. Contact meant you had to talk. He didn't want to talk, maybe not ever again.
He felt someone touch his injured arm. They asked if he could sit up, and he did. It took a little more strength than he thought it should, but he eventually was upright, now staring at the door handle.
"Alright, that's really good. We're going to set your arm now, and I have Steve here so you don't break something if you lash out. It's going to hurt a bit, okay?"
He didn't respond, his gaze drifting in and out of lucidness. He felt a set of hands holding him in place, and another lightly touching his right arm.
"...Alright I'm going to count to three, and set it. One... two-" crack.
The ride up the elevator was agonizing. Every bone in Steve's body ached to get out and sprint up the nearest stairwell to his friend, but he forced himself to stand calmly in the elevator with Bruce and talk medical things.
Bruce explained that Bucky had several fractured ribs, a bruised collar bone, and a dislocated shoulder. He also had many various scrapes and cuts, mostly from his adventures in the wilderness, but Steve was too lost in the thought that he had caused all the serious injuries his friend now had. It made him sick to his stomach to think about. But he had to remind himself that this was also an exiting time, his friend was back, and he was really truly here. Regardless of willingness to communicate, he was still there, up only a few more floors now, living, breathing, there.
He isn't prepared for what he sees. Bucky is there, yes, but there's a distant look in his eyes slightly glazed over, and Steve doesn't know if he's ready for this after all. But he sucks in a breath and enters the doorway anyways. Bucky is laying on his back in a new pair of blue sweatpants, without of shirt. His hair is a little damp and pulled back into a pony tail with a few stray strands untouched themselves from the hair band.
Steve takes long purposeful strides to the bed to assess the damage for himself. Bruising. A lot of bruising, wow I didn't think I hit him that hard...his arm looks pretty bad. I did quite a number on him.
Steve gently touched all the bad areas, and felt the broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, saw the bruising around the collar bone.
"Hey there um, what do I call him?" Bruce wondered out loud.
"No idea. I'm not even sure if he'll respond to anything right now." Steve replied in a dejected voice.
"Well lets see," Banner cleared his throat and stepped up to the bed, "Um, Sergeant Barnes, do you think you could sit up for us?"
Bucky immediately started to rise, but couldn't quite make it all the way up, and both Steve and Bruce rushed over to help him the rest of the way. Steve felt the metal arm underneath his hands and almost recoiled at how warm it was. He didn't pay much attention to it while he was fighting, except to avoid it, but now his eyes were glued to the shiny surface.
Steve pulled his hands away after the Soldier was all of the way up, and watched as the man's gaze almost seamlessly focused to another point on the wall behind them. It bothered Steve that his friend was so lucid and non-violent, but he supposed it was for the best.
"Okay, that's really good. We're going to set your arm now, and I have Steve here so you don't break something if you lash out. It's going to hurt a bit, okay?"
There was still no response as Bruce nodded to Steve and they took their places next to Bucky. Steve once again held his friend's metal arm, and felt it frighteningly warm to the touch, but he held on anyway.
"Alright. I'm going to count to three, and set it." Bruce nodded at Steve. "One...two-" crack.
Steve braced himself, waiting for Bucky to swing a punch or try to fight his way out, but nothing happened. He just sat on the bed with a now in place shoulder staring vacantly at the wall. It was a little shocking, Steve thought, that he didn't move during something that painful.
Bruce stared at the soldier for a while, then sighed, "He's been like this the entire time. The only reaction we got out of him so far was Tony. Just about strangled him to death. Guess it goes to show that Stark's still the most annoying one. Heh. I think maybe-maybe it would be best of we keep him here for a while though... right now this is the most protected area in the city, and probably in the entire country. Stark said its fine, just as long as he doesn't break anything. Oh, and would you mind grabbing that for me?" He pointed to a roll of white gauze sitting on the bedside table.
Steve passed it to him. "Yeah. I figured that would happen. Do you think Tony would mind if I stayed here for a while? Just until things blow over, I don't want to overstay my welcome. And... I don't want to leave him here by himself." Steve pointed to his friend. "I want to be here if...if-"
"Yeah. I understand. I don't think he'd mind if you stay, but I'm not the person to ask. I don't wanna say yes and be wrong. But I'll put in a good word to Potts for you. Ultimately, she has the say." He started to unwind the gauze from its spool and cut off strips and lay them out on the bed.
"Thanks again, Dr. Banner, for everything. You didn't have to come out here and do all this, but I'm happy you did, or I don't know where we'd be right now."
"Hey, no need to thank me, I'm always here for the team, you know that. Besides, I had to get the chance to see this guy for myself; everyone's been talking about him."
"Yeah. I figured. Word gets around fast here." Steve was a little worried how the rest of the team would handle having Bucky here. It was hard enough with two master assassins, he didn't know what would happen having a third, amnesiac one hanging around.
While Bruce was busy cutting away, Steve sat down next to Bucky on the bed. He wanted a better look at the cybernetic arm, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to touch it. A hesitant hand reached out and lightly brushed the thick interlocking plates of the arm. It was still warm, and he could hear a small humming or whirring sound emanating from deep inside it.
"I don't know if you're listening right now, Buck, but I want you to know that you're in good hands now. I'm glad you're back." Steve searched his friend's face, looking for any sign of comprehension, and after finding none, sighed and went back to helping treat and dress his wounds with Bruce. Bucky fell asleep after that.
They finished half an hour later, and Bruce went to his room across the hallway, and said to call him if anything happens. Pepper came in the room a while later, and said that she had already set up a room for him to stay in, and that he was welcome anytime he wants.
He must have sat for hours on the bed watching the rise and fall of his friend's chest as he slept, but he had to get up eventually. So he took a shower. Walking back out with a fresh shirt and sweats on, he felt a little better, and less like his own thoughts were waging a mini war in his head. He went across the hall to a closet, and found some blankets and pillows in it. He lay them out carefully on the floor beside the bed, and lowered himself down on them. It was almost eleven at night, and it had been a long couple of days without sleep, so he was out almost as soon as his head hit the pillows.
When the soldier heard the breathing from the man on the floor even out, his eyes opened again. He briefly wondered if it was possible for him to forget how to sleep. Like for forgetting how to speak, or how to look someone in the eye. His thoughts were slowly turning from a blurry mess into co fusing memories, and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, even if he couldn't remember how. He didn't remember how he fell asleep, only that he woke up a few hours later to terrifying images of death and violence. He didn't try to sleep again.
A/N: Hey again people. Sorry for taking so long to update, finals are kicking my sweet behind and probably will continue to do so for a little while longer. Thank you guys for the all of the encouragement and response, keep it up! It helps a lot :) Up Next: A slightly soupy plotline gets somewhat thicker, and also, Tony!