The sixth death is the only one that is not truly his own.
The Asset has no memories of his life as Bucky Barnes – no notion of an existence beyond the ice and chair and the momentary thrill that comes with missions – and though he has little fear of death, that's mainly because Hydra would hardly tolerate him fearing anything. The jolt that fires through his heart every time he catches sight of the chair is one he must swallow down and hide; it would not do him any good to remind Hydra that he is a creature capable of feeling.
There are a few among his handlers who must surely suspect that something more is lurking beneath the surface. The blond man who calls himself Pierce will often study him following the delivery of a mission report, as if waiting for a mask to fall away, and he knows that Karpov distrusts him though he does not know why. The Asset has no recollection of ever making his handlers doubt his obedience, but then, he often suspects that they know him better than he knows himself. They are his creators after all; the puppeteers who have moulded him to their design and throw him into the chair to be rewritten when it suits them.
He supposes it will only be a matter of time before he disappoints them enough for them to discard him.
The new Winter Soldiers are perfect. As he spars with their leader, the silent eyes of his handlers watching like hawks, The Asset feels something like fear sink into his chest as all his efforts do little to halt his opponent's progress, and he can only roar in pain when his arm is twisted behind his back and he's thrown against the wall like a rag doll. Looking up at his assailant, he can see the muscles straining under his skin and the rage decorating his features, and he can only imagine how his handlers must feel about their new brutal work of art.
It's almost amusing, how The Asset's last mission was to retrieve the serum that would create those capable of usurping him, and if he wasn't in so much pain he might even dare to smile.
He drags himself upright, his eyes glancing to the remaining Soldiers who seem to be watching the proceedings intently, and for a long time he can hear nothing but the roaring of his heart. His handlers and the researches are talking, though not to him, and he only takes a moment to notice that the murderous rage in his opponent's face has refused to settle before he's deafened by a sudden scream.
An unassuming doctor is thrown to the ground, his neck snapping on hard concrete, and before anyone can move, the remaining Soldiers join their leader in a flurry of brutal activity. The Asset doesn't know whether to be afraid or thrilled as a rebellion he could only dream of inciting breaks out, but any notion of feeling anything is destroyed when he feels the barrel of a gun against his temple, and Karpov's hesitant command to protect him rings in his ears.
He does as he's told, knowing the only other option is a bullet, and begins his charge through the fray as his handler holds onto him like a frightened child. Whenever someone gets in the way, he merely pushes them aside be they scientist or Soldier, and his orders take over leaving him with no other goal but to get Karpov to safety. Part of him's tempted to join in – to turn and break Karpov's neck – but doing so would likely be fatal and though he does not know why, he finds that he has little wish to die.
They reach a cell and he clumsily throws Karpov inside before slamming the gate shut behind him. At his back, his handler collapses in a heap, appearing more human than The Asset has ever seen him, but it doesn't take long for the activity outside to steal his attention away. The Soldiers have left several broken bodies on the floor, though the arrival of a team of armed guards seems to be slowing them down. Already the leader has blood blossoming from a gunshot wound to the shoulder, though he doesn't seem to notice the pain as he charges towards a younger guard, ignoring all commands to stop, and pulls the gun from his hands before he can summon the courage to fire.
That ends up being the guard's last mistake. The Soldier plants a bullet in his head within seconds, causing the other guards to move back while yelling panicked orders to each other. The Asset simply watches as the scene unfolds, curious, and smirks as one of the women attacks and acquires a gun herself, merely shrugging off the bullet which plants itself in her arm.
In the chaos, it takes him a while to notice that Karpov is speaking behind him, though when he turns he realises that he's not the one being addressed.
"- out of control… No, we're trying, they're not standing down!" he shouts into his radio, running a shaking hand through his hair as barked, distorted orders come through the speaker. The Asset cannot hear what is being said above the noise, but he doesn't miss the way Karpov's face pales and his trembling hand stills.
When the voice on the other end of the radio finally stops, the world seems to quieten and The Asset meets his handler's gaze as he looks up at him, face white as milk.
"All of them, sir?"
The curt response of "да" that follows has Karpov swallowing, before he drops the radio and rises to his feet, facing The Asset as he reaches for his gun. The Asset doesn't move, though he imagines he should, and he's surprised to feel no fear when the gun is lifted and aimed directly at his forehead.
Karpov doesn't say anything before he pulls the trigger, but then, The Asset hardly expects him to.
When he wakes, he finds himself lying on a sea of gold, and Bucky gasps as the weight of everything he'd forgotten comes crashing upon him. There's a hand on his forehead, brushing the hair from his face, but he clenches his eyes shut in order to escape the comfort he does not deserve.
Memories that were once burned from his mind return in full force and it feels like he's been hit by a train, though he can imagine that being more tolerable. He can see his life as Bucky Barnes and his existence as the Winter Soldier warping together like a twisted painting; can feel the blood of the those he's killed staining his hands and the weight of everything he's lost crushing his chest, and the pain is so intense that it takes a while for Death's soothing voice to reach him.
"I'm sorry, child. I'm so sorry."
Her words seem genuine, a pain he hasn't heard her express before slipping into her tone, and he wishes he could hide away with her forever like a child seeking solace in his mother's arms. The universe is rarely so kind, he knows, but he can't see what more he has to offer the world if he's sent back besides pain and death.
"I don't want to go back," he says, choking on tears he hadn't realised he'd been shedding, and the hand on his forehead stills. His handlers' words come back to him like a cruel joke – their empty promises that his actions are helping to shape the world – and a bitter laugh escapes him as he realises they must have been right.
He supposes he was foolish, all those years ago, to assume that what he had to offer the world was something good.
"Perhaps it is," the woman by his side says, her warm hand coming to rest against his cheek and brushing away a stray, burning tear. "You still have time."
If that promise is supposed to be reassuring then it fails. If anything, it feels like a threat; a guarantee that there's still room in his pathetic life to cause more harm. It's not like he even has Steve anymore, or his little sister. They've both been left in the past while he keeps surviving through the decades.
It takes hours for the other possibility of Death's words to sink in. The possibility that, somewhere in his future, there's hope for redemption for the things he's been made to do. A chance to put things right.
He's not sure he deserves such a chance, but he thinks he's willing to take it.
In an attempt to regain some semblance of dignity, he opens his eyes to the light and sits up, bringing his knees to his chest as he evens his breaths. The woman simply waits for him to recover, her golden eyes seeing him more clearly than he's seen himself for many years, and he's surprised to find that when he's finally able to speak, his voice is steady.
"I'll go back," he says, the words ironically feeling like a death sentence. "But I need you to promise me something."
Bucky looks over to the woman kneeling by his side and watches as she gives a single, understanding nod. He suspects she already knows what he's going to say.
"The next time I'm here… if I'm still that thing, I need you to promise that you won't let me go back. No matter how much time I have left, I need you to keep me here. Can you promise me that?"
"I promise," she says with less hesitation than he expects, and in spite of everything, he finds himself smiling with relief. It feels like there's an end in sight at last, assuming the Winter Soldier dies again, and though he knows that returning now will likely lead to yet more pain, there's a slight hope brewing within him that maybe something better will come along as well.
It's a fool's hope perhaps, but it's all he has.
"Okay," he says, as he holds back his approaching fear with a steady breath. "Let's do this."
The woman places a gentle hand on his forehead and for a moment he thinks he can feel the spot where the bullet entered, before that phantom pain vanishes and the light is replaced with a familiar chill.
When The Asset's eyes creep open and narrow in confusion as memories of a gun being pointed at him return, he finds himself lying on a metal slab. There's a faint burning in the centre of his forehead, though when he tries to raise a hand to feel it he finds that he's far too weak, and his breaths start to come quickly as though his lungs are trying to drink in all the oxygen they can.
He hears something clatter upon the ground and a sharp curse, and out of curiosity The Asset turns his head to see Karpov backed against the wall and looking like he's seen a ghost. A glance in the other direction reveals the other Winter Soldiers lying on tables of their own – still and silent and hooked up to enough tranquiliser to knock out a horse - and something like disappointment finds a home in his chest as he realises that their rebellion must ultimately have been squashed.
"He was dead!" Karpov mutters hysterically behind him, but in his exhaustion The Asset doesn't have the strength to question his words. "I killed him, he was dead..."
The sharp sound of a slap rings throughout the room, and he turns once more to see Karpov crouched on his knees, numbly clutching his cheek while a sharp-suited man stands beside him, far more relaxed than his partner. When the man turns, The Asset vaguely recognises the handler known as Pierce, and he feels his heart stutter in his chest as he takes careful steps forwards.
If Pierce is surprised that he's awake, he doesn't show it, and instead stares calmly down at the creature on the table like he's little more than dirt on his shoe. His silent assessment lasts for what feels like hours while The Asset wills himself to remain emotionless and betray nothing, only taking a breath when Pierce turns, seemingly satisfied.
"Wipe him. We may as well keep him considering the others have failed," he says, his voice growing quieter as he walks away. The Asset doesn't bother watching him leave. "And get over yourself, Karpov. Zola warned us this would happen."
With that, there's the sound of a heavy door being slammed shut, and The Asset is left to ponder the meaning behind his handler's words in silence.
A/N - I hope you've enjoyed these two chapters. I'll try to get the last three up as soon as I can, although uploads might not be as frequent as I'm back at uni tomorrow. It should be finished within the week though :)
As always, thank you for reading this and any feedback is greatly appreciated!