Once again, I apologize for the long interval between chapters! Life has been emotional recently and I didn't feel up to writing. But this chapter, I think, is one of my best! I got to write Buck's panic again, as well as Tony's sarcasm. :P

Enjoy!

Disclaimer:

I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios. Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.

Chapter Fifty-Five - The Only Shadow

"You ready, Barnes?"

I brace myself against the freezing wall, shivering. "Yeah. Go for it."

Tony places his hands on the storage room's feeble door. "Jarvis, engage thoracic repulsor beam at max power."

"Your suit is at low battery, sir. It may result in– ."

"A week was long enough in here! Just do it, Jarvis!"

"Of course, sir."

The warm light of Tony's stealth suit fades away as the power transfers to his chest plate. A whirring sound retreats from his laboring suit, rising in pitch. The powering beam pulses with an ever-growing blue light and, with a flurry of sparks, the attack bursts forward. The door cracks down the middle and plummets outward. The earlier device Tony had activated shoots across the room like a bullet and clatters to the ground, useless.

Even the dim light of the HYDRA base is like a blue sky to our eyes, having so long been trapped in this chilled storage room.

Tony knocks on his helmet. "Jarvis? You there?"

Silence.

The helmet muffles the curse that follows. Tony reveals his face. "My suit's down."

"Well, he warned you."

"Don't forget, I still don't like you."

I grind my teeth. Four days since that last argument and still…no progress. I exchange a glance with Tony, working my jaw. "So are we splitting up, like you suggested?"

Stark nods. "Of course we are. We need info about HYDRA's plans, but we also need to find Rogers and Romanoff. Like we discussed– you search for our missing people, and I'll sneak around."

I rub my aching abdomen and nod toward the entrance. "Looks like HYDRA doesn't clean up corpses. That agent who tried to shoot you is still lying there."

Tony shrugs. His suit shrivels into nanoparticles and sucks into his wristwatch. "Perfect. I can steal his clothes."

I purse my lips. "That sounds wrong on so many levels."

"This wouldn't be a spy mission without some incognito-style sneaking. Come on, you should know that." Tony strips the agent of his outer gear and begins to dress in black.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and fidget at the sound of distant footsteps. A hot wave overwhelms me as I'm reminded of the hostile territory around us. "T-Tony, we need to go. This isn't– ."

"Really?" Tony whips around and quirks at eyebrow, half-dressed in HYDRA gear. "Now you're panicking? I'm surprised you've lasted this long without Steve, to be honest. According to him, you have panic attacks about every– ."

"Shut up, Tony!" The whisper is so sharp that my throat protests at the ferocity in my command.

"'Kay, fine. I'm almost ready, jackrabbit."

I dig the Winter Soldier goggles out of my pocket. "Why do you even call me that? It's distracting."

"Exactly."

"Are you trying to get me killed?"

"Well, that wouldn't be– ."

"Don't even finish that sentence." I snap the goggles on and a shade of dusk closes around the world. "Answer me. Why do you call me that stupid nickname?"

Tony shrugs for the millionth time. "Because you're jumpy. Like a rabbit."

My fists clench and I stroll past him to the end of the hallway. "All clear."

"I'm not ready, Barnes!"

"Keep your voice down."

"You don't have permission to order– ."

"Dispatch." I slide into the hallways without waiting for another word.

Lucky for me, Tony blasts through the comms:

"I told you I wasn't ready, Barnes!"

"So what? Were splitting up, aren't we?"

Tony grumbles.

"I'll head toward the jail. You get the info about HYDRA's attack."

"Brilliant. So where do I find that information?"

"Rumlow's office. Or the barracks."

"And where's that?"

"Upstairs." I raise my gun and turn a corner. "There should be an elevator at the end of this floor if I remember correctly. The higher floors aren't just empty rooms and jail cells. You'll find something up there. But once you do, get out. I don't want Rumlow to know that we're looking for clues about their attack."

Radio silence.

"Tony?"

"I'm trying to get into character– stop bugging me."

I grit my teeth. "Fine. Keep me updated."

Tony responds with his famous silence-says-everything answer.

Darkness sharpens and cocoons around me, accenting every tap of my footsteps on the vibranium floor. My heartbeat pulses in my fingers, which seize the pistol in a white-handed grip. Tight gloves, boots, and gear pinch as I walk, setting each foot heel first, then toe, at the slowest, stealthiest pace possible.

The hallway's end approaches.

Speeding up my steps, I round the corner and fling up my gun. Negative hostiles. The barrel tickles my cheekbone and I flex my fingers against the trigger. My wall of hair drapes like a veil over my face, casting me into my own shadow. Accented boots carry me in silence over the vibranium floors. My eyes hunt like a predator and scout every inch of every room in an obsessive frenzy.

In feverish haste I prowl, breathing raspy, blood fizzing in my veins, and stomach churning like helicopter blades. Sweat beads on my forehead and clings to the roadblocked furrows found on it. As my agitated trembling intensifies, the drops plummet onto the hood of my goggles, sliding off like rain on a window. Soon, my gear is drenched as premonition caves in. Chills shudder through my expectant position, yet the perspiring prevails. My abdomen twinges with the familiar ache of my half-healed wound and my stiff joints creak in pain.

Light stabs from ahead. I flinch with a hiss.

Exclamations. HYDRA agent. Gunshot.

I squash myself to the side and mash the trigger as an object whizzes by my head. Bullet shells pounce from my gun and blood splatters on the walls ahead. I lower my weapon.

Two bodies clog the corridor, stained in red.

My chest tightens as I approach them.

Blackened holes pierce their chest and stomach areas, oozing blood. The ribbons of crimson leak like rivers and pool at the blemished ground. Their exposed flesh drains sluggishly of color, yielding to ashen greys and death-kissed pallor. The folds of their masks peel away and reveal their limply-parted mouths. Lifeblood trickles along dry, cracked lips.

I picture the glazed eyes under the dusk-marked goggles and lower my gun, gnashing my teeth.

Why do I suddenly…?

These were enemies. Not friends. I killed the right people.

I killed the right people.

The right people.

Swallowing hard, I inch around the corpses and continue. Gravity claws at my muscles and I steady myself against the wall.

These are my enemies. They're HYDRA. HYDRA is evil. It's okay to kill a few in order to serve the greater good.

The greater good.

HYDRA.

Is.

Evil.

Rumlow's trigger word rings in my ears.

"Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu."

Homecoming.

Where is home?

Home.

I stagger to a stop and massage my temple. A shadow threatens. The only shadow.

HYDRA is my home–

No, Brooklyn is my home. Not HYDRA.

The room spins and I collapse against the wall, panting.

What's wrong with me?

"I'm dangerous, Steve. HYDRA treated me like a monster and…maybe they were right."

Another bout of chills shudders through my frail figure. I lay my head back and release a quivering breath. Giving in, I drop against the wall and slide toward the floor. A snap of pain claws across my abdomen and I crush my tongue between my jaws.

My…bullet wound?

Flicking sweaty hair from my eyes, I strip off my goggles and fumble with my outfit's straps.

Belt off.

Then vest.

I tear a hole in my leather shirt.

And undergarments.

I rip my gear open and my heartbeat staggers.

The two messy scabs where the bullets had pierced me hide amongst inflamed flesh, pumping with heat. A foul odor drifts from the wound and I turn away, struggling to calm myself.

Infected.

My eyes flutter shut and my teeth chatters. My next breath catches in my throat and I attempt to moisten my cracked lips.

Heat floods over me and dominates the cold of my fever with burning, blistering, boiling panic.

I can't make it. We're not gonna make it.

I start to lean over.

Pain reverses the action.

A tingling sensation overwhelms my body. Legs. Jaws. Tongue.

I press myself back, hands scraping at the walls for something to grasp. The sweaty gloves cling to my palms, the skin underneath hot and clammy.

We're not gonna make it.

I scramble with my gloves and wrestle them from my hands, hurling them away from me.

Breath rattling.

We're not gonna make it. We're not gonna save them.

My heartbeat roars in my ears. Staring distantly ahead, I clamp both sides of my head with my hands, doubling over.

We've failed. I've failed.

We can't do this.

Echoes.

"Your face is my canvas. Time to bloody it up."

"…is my canvas…"

"…Time to…"

"…bloody it up."

Tears sting on my face. My nails bite at my temples as I squeeze harder. Harder.

Nausea rolls through me like a boulder.

It's too much. Too much.

I can't.

Control this.

"It won't be long before we awaken the true soldier."

Stop, stop, stop, stop– PLEASE, make it stop…

Rumlow's memory cackles in my ear."Feels familiar, doesn't it? Pain."

Please, please, please…make it stop…

"Feels familiar…"

I rock back and forth.

"…doesn't it?…"

The world around me dies.

"…Pain."

I'm wheezing.

Pain.

Gasping.

Pain…

Fading…

My senses click into place when the nausea rises to the limit and my stomach clenches. I rapidly twist to one side to heave.

A minute later, I drag myself back to my original position, gravity on the throne.

Wh-what just happened?

For an additional minute, I make not one movement to let my brain catch up with my body.

I fish a packet of frozen meat from my pocket to work through in order to moisten my dry mouth.

One piece. Then the next.

Calm down. I need to calm down.

I freeze as I notice white speckled on my fingernails and I rub my temples. A few flakes of broken skin fall.

A sigh escapes me.

All the…built up anxiety went through my hands and I…squeezed too hard…

I take a deep breath. Okay. All right. I just had a panic attack. I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm safe.

But the searing of my abdomen reminds me otherwise.

Fatigue and pain rendering me immobile, I lift a single hand to the comm. "T-Tony?"

Nothing.

"Tony…?"

No answer.

I slump against the wall and tears prickle in the corners of my eyes.

Dang it, Tony… Forget the things I've said before… I really do need you…

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Woooowww, things are not so good for Bucky.

Next chapter, we'll get more of Tony's mission! Yay!

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