Chapter Eight
Adrenaline surged through Bucky, and slammed himself back, out of reach of the grasping fingers of the— God, it was an arm. And the elevator's floor was metal, he could see that, but the arm had torn through it like it was tissue paper. Was that what the Winter Soldier was? Some kind of robot?
Unable to find its target, the arm pulled back and then there was the twisted groan of metal being pushed aside as the hole in the floor was methodically enlarged. Frantically, Bucky pressed himself back, then scrambled up so he was standing on the hand rail that was against the elevator's back wall, hands braced against the sides to keep his balance. He needed to get out. He needed to get out of here now, before whoever or whatever the hell was on the other end of that thing managed to get in.
The elevator gave a horrifying creaking sound, and seemed to shudder to the side. Bucky's eyes darted to the elevator's ceiling. There had to be a… there! A trap door into the elevator shaft; it was small but he should be able to squeeze through.
The elevator shuddered once more, and he braced himself again, nearly falling off the rail. God, the hole in the floor was already much bigger… He leaned forward, grasping at the trap door, and it burst open, leaving a gaping hollow in the ceiling. He glanced down at the floor and saw a flash of metal and hair, and a brief glimpse of a masked face – human then? Probably? Was there any hope that he'd listen to reason?
As he scrambled forward and swung himself through the gap and into the elevator shaft, he yelled, "Why are you even doing this? What the hell's your problem?"
There was no reply, just more sounds of metal twisting and giving way.
Heart thudding, he clambered onto the top of the elevator and took stock of his surroundings. The elevator shaft was dim and narrow. Cables stretched up into the void, and he couldn't see any sign of doors along the sides. Maybe there weren't any – it was supposed to be an express elevator, after all. He cursed, and glanced down. "You don't want to do this," he called out. "You know what the Avengers can do! You're in the middle of their building, and this has gotta be attracting attention." He looked around frantically. The cables, just the cables. "They'll find you, and they'll bring you down!"
He flicked his eyes down again. The hole was a lot bigger, and he could see someone squeezing through. Dammit, dammit, fuck. He abandoned talking, leapt to the cables and started to climb.
There was a horrendous crunching noise underneath and he glanced down, panting, to see the masked man emerge into the lift, jump smoothly and immediately up, catch the edge of the trap door cavity, and pull himself into the lift shaft in one impossibly smooth and fast action.
"Fuck!" he said, out loud this time, and then the cable shook as the man began to climb. Frantically, Bucky pulled himself upwards, but the masked man was terrifyingly fast. There was a clang of metal hitting metal, as the robotic arm grabbed the cable just underneath him, and then a hand fastened around his ankle, and pulled. Bucky clung to the cable, frantically trying to keep his grip, but his hands burned as slowly, inch by inch, they slid down. The vice-like grip on his ankle tightened agonisingly and he screamed. He wasn't going to be able to hold on. So, maybe…
Bucky closed his eyes, said a silent prayer, and let go. Suddenly, the Winter Soldier found himself pulling down on a free-falling object, and Bucky rocketed backwards, crashing into him as momentum yanked them both downwards. They hurtled backwards down the shaft and crashed onto the elevator's roof in a pile.
Gasping with pain and a frantic, all-encompassing terror, Bucky jabbed his elbow back into the Soldier's ribs and then twisted, bringing his hand around to aim for the eyes. This wasn't a fair or honourable fight; it was a fight for survival. He felt absolutely no guilt in using every tool in his arsenal, including all the dirty fighting techniques he'd learned in the alleyways of Brooklyn and the streets of Europe.
Unfortunately, none of the tools in his arsenal appeared to have any effect. The blow to the ribs didn't even cause the man to pause. The jab to the eyes didn't even make it halfway there, as his wrist was abruptly caught and wrenched back painfully. He let out another yell and tried to kick, to punch. Bucky was far from a bad hand-to-hand fighter; he'd even go so far as to say that he was excellent. Against this man, this soldier, he had no chance. In less than thirty seconds he was pinned painfully down, his face mashed into the lift's roof.
"You can't—can't kill me!" he panted, desperately, uselessly. "Do know what they'll do? The Avengers? Steve?"
His assailant didn't go in for the kill, but he didn't let go either, and he pressed forward to pin Bucky's limbs down more securely. Bucky gasped with pain as his shoulders were wrenched back. God, he was so fast, so incredibly, implacably strong. "You're not…human," Bucky wheezed out as the pressure on his ribs increased.
Finally, the Winter Soldier broke his silence. "No." He didn't sound angry, or emotional. He didn't sound anything at all.
"Let me go!"
"No."
"There's no reason— You freaking homicidal maniac—"
"No!" The word was roared, abruptly, and Bucky jolted underneath the Soldier.
"What— What the—"
"Not homicidal."
Seriously. That was what was angering him? Despite his position, Bucky had to suppress a bark of laughter. "No? Have you seen—?"
Suddenly he found himself being turned around and shoved violently against the wall of the elevator shaft, the back of his head connecting with the concrete with a dull thunk that sent stars wheeling across his consciousness. The Winter Soldier was right in front of his face, staring at him over the mask with an expression that could drill holes in diamond.
He blinked groggily, instinctively jerking his head back and them wincing as another wave of stars threatened. "Wha—"
In one smooth move, the Soldier removed his flesh hand from where it was pinning Bucky's shoulder, lifted it to his face, and removed the mask. "Not," he said, viciously, hopelessly, "homicidal."
And Bucky stared uncomprehendingly at his own face, as the horrible sense of dread he'd been feeling for the last few days finally rose to a shrieking crescendo.
The uneven drag of his own breathing was the only thing that Bucky was aware of for the next few seconds. The face...that was his face. That was…. He stared helplessly. This had to be a trick, or a mistake, or an—
"Illusion," he gasped.
The Soldier stared back at him, and all traces of the emotion he'd recently displayed abruptly drained away like water. "No."
"Yes! This is a trick of some sort. This is a...I'm not alive is this time...why would I be alive in this..." His mind spun around wildly. "They said the Winter Soldier was an assassin. A killer!"
The Soldier was barely restraining Bucky now. He barely needed to. "Yes," he said in monosyllabic agreement.
"That's not what… I wouldn't..."
The Winter Soldier's brow furrowed slightly at that. "Not true."
"I am not—"
"A soldier. You are." He looked at Bucky, his expression mostly impassive but with a touch of…irritation? Perhaps? "You killed, then. And after…"
Bucky felt a surge of fury, and he grasped onto it. It was the only thing that made sense right now. "I killed Hydra troops. And Nazi soldiers. Combatants who knew what they were signing up for. No civilians. No innocents."
His own eyes stared at him. "Not yet," said the Soldier.
"Not…. I wouldn't…." Bucky stared back, trying desperately to make sense of the situation. "You, you're trying to kill me." A chill went down his spine. "Kill me before I turn into…"
The Winter Soldier frowned at him, then nodded his head fractionally. "It needs to be done. The mission…the mission is… There needs to be payback."
"No. There doesn't. You think you… I don't know who you think you are but I don't believe—" The Soldier narrowed his eyes, and Bucky found himself jolted back against the wall again. He swore. "This is insane. I am not going to do anything. This isn't going to solve anything!"
"It's better. They won't be hurt. He won't be…no one will be hurt." In the blink of an eye, a knife appeared in the Soldier's hand.
Bucky stared at it, his heart racing. This couldn't be happening. He was going to die, unless…. He had a sudden flash of inspiration. "He? You mean Steve?" When the Soldier hesitated, Bucky pressed on, adrenaline pumping wildly. "You think Steve won't be hurt by this? Really?"
The man with his face suddenly looked unsure. "He…. It would be better…"
"Better? He's going to arrive here and his friend will be dead, and he won't even know how or why! I don't think you could find something that would hurt him more!"
And the Soldier's face crumpled slightly. "It… It can't be…." He frowned, looking conflicted. "He has to understand…"
Bucky exhaled shakily. "Okay, so don't kill me, and we can find an explanation for everyo—"
And then the Winter Soldier's expression sharpened, like he'd made a decision, "He has to understand."
Bucky's stomach dropped, and he opened his mouth to make an argument just in time to choke on the words when the Soldier's head rammed into his forehead. A stab of pain spiked through his already abused brain, and everything faded to grey.
He was moving, rocking from side to side, and all the blood was rushing to his head. Hazily, Bucky opened his eyes, and saw dark walls going by. Upside down? Why was he upside—Oh. He was being carried. Over a shoulder? The world jolted and he let out a small cry before he could stop himself. His head hurt again. Where was he being carried? What was—? He gasped slightly and winced as a flash of light flared against one of the walls. Fast as lightning, it twisted up the wall like a crack, and then, before he could wonder, it was gone, and Bucky was being whirled around, and his head really hurt, and the world faded once more…
Bucky woke up to a metallic tapping sound that echoed through his skull. He flinched, and then recent events jumped urgently to the front of his mind and he slammed his eyes open in panic.
He was in some kind of room. The furniture was practical and minimalistic, and the walls were dark and reflective. One wall was almost entirely taken up with panels and screens, and the other with two enormous, heavy looking doors that met in the middle. The Winter Soldier was currently in front of these doors, and he was attaching strange electronic devices to the place where they joined. As Bucky watched, he placed another one and stood back. The metallic tapping sound started up again, getting faster and faster until it erupted into a hissing. The smell of burning wafted through the room.
Okay, he thought. Push away the fear. Push away the feeling of horror. Focus. Survive. You've done this before. Do it again. Gathering his wits, Bucky assessed his position. Despite the fact that there was certainly furniture in the room, he had been deposited onto the floor. Worse, his arms were cuffed to the legs of a bench, and when he craned his head back he could see that it was bolted down. Gritting his teeth, he tested the cuffs. Possibly he could slip out of them, although he might need to break a finger or two to do it. But what then? He couldn't see any convenient exits nearby, and the large inconvenient exit looked like it was being...welded together? By the strange, twisted soldier who was pretending to be him, because he couldn't be, couldn't be...
The Soldier turned from the door and regarded him silently. Bucky tried to glare back equally silently, but desperate curiosity soon won over. "Where the hell are we?"
"Panic room," said his captor.
"A room where you go when you're panicking? What's...like an emergency room?" He stopped, as a thought came to him and he looked over the room with fresh eyes. "Or a bunker? This is a bunker?"
The Soldier blinked at him. "This panic room was designed by Anthony Stark in 2010, during preliminary planning phrases for this building," he said blandly, as if reciting from a manual. "Its function is to provide, in emergencies ranging from natural disasters to hostile incursions, a secure and safe place for Virginia Potts and other key staff members who may be at risk because of their personal ties to Anthony Stark. The panic room is stocked with two weeks of food and essentials, and has a state of the art air and water filtration system to prevent outside contaminants from affecting the occupants. The walls are made of a ten inch titanium alloy, and the room is fully insulated and virtually impregnable." His mouth snapped shut as he finished the recital, and he resumed his silent stare.
Bucky stared back, disturbed. "So it's like Bruce's lab then."
"No." When Bucky looked confused, the Winter Soldier furrowed his brow, and continued. "There are...differences. The panic room was part of the original architecture, and the laboratory was added to the design in 2012." As he continued, his voice once more assumed the distant tone of recital. "The laboratory is designed to lock from the outside and resist damage inflicted to the interior for as long as possible, to allow time for the building to be evacuated and for calming tactics to be used. The panic room is designed to lock from the inside, and is designed to resist damage to the exterior for an extended period of time..."
"So what was with the welding?" Bucky snapped, disconcerted.
The other man looked indifferently at him. "A guarantee. All mission plans should have built in redundancies and back-ups. No element should be left to chance."
Bucky glanced over the room again, and his mind was racing. Getting out would be difficult, to say the least, which meant that he was trapped in here with…which meant that he was trapped. The only discernible hope seemed to lie with the Avengers finding where he was and somehow getting through the ludicrously secure door. In his favour he had only one positive that he could think of, and that was that he…that the Soldier seemed open to talking.
The more they talked, the more time his potential rescuers had. Great. Fine. So, conversation topics? How about— "You broke into a building full of people to find one man, and that wasn't leaving anything to chance?"
The Winter Soldier frowned at him. "No."
"Really? Because it seems like you were awfully lucky to me."
"No," he repeated. For a few seconds it didn't seem like he was going to elaborate, and then he seemed to realise that more detail might be needed. "Information from the covert listening devices indicated that you were separated and you had taken the device with the deactivated microphone."
"That had everything turned off—"
"—Except the electronic shielding, which had a tracking algorithm hidden within its coding."
Bucky didn't really understand much of the last sentence, but it dawned on him that his current situation might possibly be his own fault. Stupid freaking technology. "Shit."
His thoughts were interrupted by a dull, very muted thumping sound coming from the door. It didn't sound like machinery or anything so…Steve's team? Had they finally figured out where he was? Suddenly hopeful, Bucky yelled, "I'm in here!"
"They can't hear you."
Bucky glared at him. "You'll excuse me if I'm going to try anyway." He took another breath and yelled, "Hey!"
"The panic room is fully contained and almost sound-proof," the voice next to him recited implacably. "Voice communication is via a satellite link—"
"Okay!" Bucky snapped, disappointed. There was absolutely no acknowledgement of his voice from the outside, as far as he could see. The thumping continued for half a minute more, and then faded totally. "Fuck."
The Winter Soldier gave him a curious look but otherwise did not reply. Instead, he gave the door a final check and then walked over to the wall with the panels and screens on it. As Bucky watched, he plugged a couple of small rectangular devices into the one of the panels, and then began tapping at a keypad that was nestled in another.
Bucky watched him cautiously. "Now what are you doing?"
The Winter Soldier didn't pause. "Setting up the recording," he said. "It will save automatically to the tower's servers."
"The recording."
"Yes."
Bucky gritted his teeth. "What," he said, "are you recording? And why?"
The Soldier paused at that, looking genuinely bewildered. "The conversation," he said, in a tone that implied, 'obviously'.
"Our conversation."
"For Steve."
"For Steve?"
The Winter Soldier frowned at him again. "He needs to understand. You said. He needs to know it was a…choice. Not knowing will…will make him hurt."
"Me dying will make him hurt."
The Soldier paused, looking faintly troubled. "Yes?" He said, in a tone that implied he wasn't at all sure of that. "But he will hurt…less this way. If he understands. He'll understand."
"He'll understand why I'm dead?"
"Understand it was your choice."
"You've got another thing coming if you think I'm going to—"
He was drowned out by a hiss of static, and then Tony's voice suddenly rang out from a speaker on the wall. "Testing, testing? Anyone in there?"
"Yes!" yelled Bucky, as at the same time the Winter Soldier dove for a backpack that was sitting on a chair a few feet away.
"Right? Bucky? There's no… injuries?"
Bucky glanced warily at the Winter Soldier. He had pulled several electronic objects from the backpack over to the panels, and now he was plugging one of them in. "No. Not really, I…There's someone—"
"Bucky!" Steve's voice broke in loudly, as though he'd pushed himself in front of the microphone. Bucky saw the Soldier freeze, for just a second, before he continued tinkering with the panel.
"Steve," said Bucky, his mind racing, because what was he supposed to say? 'You were keeping this from me?' 'Can I have a freaking explanation?' 'There's a guy here who thinks that he's me, ha-ha, ridiculous isn't it, now get me out?'
He opened his mouth, and then Steve said, "Bucky please. You don't need to do this. I know it's been bad, but we can do something about it now. If you just give us time—"
Bucky shut his mouth with a snap. Wasn't talking… Steve wasn't talking to him. He wasn't talking to him, but he was talking to Bucky. But that meant…
From his position on the floor, Bucky saw the Winter Soldier's mouth set into a grim line. "Too late," he said, softly, tiredly.
"It's not too late," replied Steve. "Bucky, you know I would never—" The Winter Soldier slammed his hand onto a switch. The voice abruptly cut out.
The silence that followed was painful, and Bucky sat, frozen with horror. Steve was talking to Bucky. He called him Bucky. Steve did. This wasn't… This wasn't someone pretending to be…. This was himself. That was himself.
The Winter Soldier. The killer. His future.
The Soldier turned, slowly, and looked at him with eyes that held a thousand nightmares.
"Now," he said. "We talk."
