To say that Bucky was hurting, would be the biggest understatement imaginable. The constant thumping against his skull was undesirable, however sadly not the most pain he had had to endure.

There was a warmth over him, that was the first thing he noticed beyond the pain. A pleasant sensation that could easily be overlooked. He focused on it as he ascended to consciousness, making the process just that little bit nicer.

Whatever he was laid upon grumbled, surface moving about under him. He murmured a groan, breath catching in the back of his throat from an abrupt stabbing sting in his side.

Bucky was beyond confused; memory blended up into non discernible pieces.

Noticing something gently laid against his face, Bucky gradually pried his eyes open, his lids heavy.

Everything was a faint dark blue. He was shrouded in a darkness, a blanket covering him. Sunlight residing somewhere outside in the world beyond.

His face was warm from breathing against the fabric laid over him, air thicker.

Bucky went to move his hand, to pull the blanket from his face. Something beat him to it, his hand barely twitched, fabric tugged away.

The light of day made him squint, eyes overwhelmed by the sun sniping through a window. Through hazy vision he could make out the interior of a car, a dark-skinned hand pulling away from him.

Eventually he could make out Sam's face glancing repetitively over his shoulder as he tried to keep his eyes on the road.

"You're not gonna try kill me, are you?" Bucky heard him ask. "Because that would be awkward."

"What? No." He rasped back a response in fathomless confusion.

A bump in the road aggravated a pain in his side.

Bucky drew back the blanket further revealing his chest. His jacket was undone, black t-shirt stiff from dried blood. Investigating the problematic area, he found thick grey tape bound around him.

Letting the shirt edge slip from his hand he scrunched his eyes closed, weary eyelids happy with this decision.

Bucky heard the gunshot like it had just gone off, a ringing in his ears, the vivid memory attacking his senses, a rancid smell and wetness being recalled.

"Take it easy Buck." Sam comforted.

Joining the world again, Bucky found Sam's concerned eyes peering at him through the rear-view mirror. Both his hands were latched onto the wheel something being tense about the situation.

Bucky was being assaulted on all fronts, images trying to sew themselves back together to reform memories. Recent ones.

"What did I do?" Bucky asked alarmed, voice breaking as he tried to shove an elbow under himself.

He knew this feeling of disconcertment all too well.

"Nothing you need to worry about." Sam was quick to defuse the escalating panic.

"H-How?..." Bucky gave up in his attempt to sit himself up, letting his head hit back down against the backseat, lifting a hand to his head instead.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Sam answered with another question, glancing periodically between the road and Bucky in the rear-view mirror.

He could feel dry blood crusted on the side of his head, wincing when his fingers brushed over the deep cut on his brow.

"The basement… I remember the basement." Bucky was struggling to recall anything cohesive, each memory he did find was corrupted by flashes of blood and violence.

Sam sat in silence encouraging him to continue.

The radio wasn't even on, the background noise of the busy highway there only company.

"Anything else?" Sam pushed when Bucky didn't say anymore.

"What happened Sam?" Bucky asked back plainly.

Sam's hands tightened around the wheel, eyes now staying on the road.

"Hydra."

Bucky looked up at the car ceiling. Never had he thought he could hate such a word.

"It was a trap." Bucky concluded.

"A trap for you." Sam reached over for something on the passenger seat, keeping his vigil watch on the road he passed what he had retrieved off to Bucky.

He held the small voice recorder, looking it over, flipping it round in his hand to examine every part of it.

"Don't play it." Sam quickly added, Bucky picking up fear in his tone.

"What's on it?"

"I'm not sure." Sam admitted. "Whatever's being said. Brought out an old friend of ours."

Bucky swallowed. He knew it to be true prior to Sam's confirmation. Didn't mean he wanted to believe it.

All the work, all the people that had stuck their neck out for him, it was starting to seem all for nothing. He couldn't even keep his head on straight. He wasn't free, he had never been free.

"I know what you're thinking over in that brain of yours." Sam clicked the indicator, car slowly weaving through traffic. "It's not gonna do you any good man."

"Tell me exactly what happened." Bucky insisted, face stern, voice cold.

"Why? What good would it do?" Sam objected, looking back at Bucky confrontationally.

"I'll remember eventually." He remembered them all, every last one.

No matter how many times Bucky had his mind scrambled, memories supposedly erased. They always came back. Now he had to carry them with him, like the actions of another man weighed down on his shoulders. That man was just his past self, a man he would do anything to be rid of.

Sam shook his head, conflicted on how to respond.

Sam retained his watch on the road, white lines mesmerizing at times as he reeled off the events leading up till now.

He had been on the edge of his seat waiting for Bucky to wake up. He had been out for hours; Sam having had to stop at a gas station already. That experience being strenuous with a bloodied shoulder and a man passed out in your backseat.

He shoved the gear stick into place, moving into another lane to overtake a car.

Sam had covered Bucky fully prior to their approach to the highway gas station, as well as their passage through the American border.

There was no explaining or defining the relief he had felt when Bucky had come too. He had hoped of course, but there was no certainty. The world had favoured him this time, at least for now there was luck on their side. Sam wasn't about to rely on it though.

With the conclusion of the explanation of events Sam heard Bucky take a deep breath, he was unsettled.

Sam couldn't blame him. He wouldn't even know what to do in Bucky's situation, not being able to trust your own mind, your own actions. Not a pleasant scenario.

"Did you know about other words?" Sam had to ask. He needed information after all to plan ahead.

"No."

A hush returned; Bucky having been short with his response.

"It couldn't have been more than two words, just repeated over." Sam played back the gruff Russian voice in his head; it had looped enough for him to mostly remember it. Though he was sure he would still butcher the pronunciation if he attempted.

"The translation probably wouldn't come to anything. The old words are just a string of nonsense."

Bucky hissed as he stretched to hand the recorder back. Sam recovered the device, returning it back to its spot on the passenger seat.

It didn't take a genius to know Bucky was hurting, inside and out.

"The Wakandans got that other shit out of you before, I'm sure-"

"No." Bucky cut him off.

"No?"

"I'm not doing this again. I've had enough second chances." Bucky was drained of emotion, just staring blanky up at nothing. Wallowing in his own pit of misery.

"What makes you think you have the right to give up?" Sam didn't hold back, being brutally honest.

Bucky clenched his jaw, frowning. "Steve believed in you. This is nothing more than a setback."

"Don't bring Steve into this." Bucky grumbled; forehead furrowed.

"Why not? Why not bring up Steve?" Sam continued his confrontational approach. Maybe making him not pay as much attention to the road as he should have been. "I have never seen anyone go through the wringer like that to bring someone back that far gone." Bucky wouldn't meet Sam's eye line in the rear-view mirror. "He had faith in you from the very start, he never had doubt that he could bring you back." Sam was getting irritated the longer he went on. Bucky would be throwing away everything that had been done to get him to this point.

Sam wasn't about to let him do that, not now, not ever. There wasn't a chance in hell.

"What if he was wrong." There was a tremor in Bucky's voice.

Sympathy pooled in Sam's stomach, his frustration settling slightly.

"I don't know what life was like back in the forties, but I hate to inform you it isn't smooth sailing these days." Tough love was still in order. "You wanna throw in the towel. Not an option." Sam shook his head, not able to contain his discontent internally, breaching out in physical form.

"Food wasn't great." Bucky suddenly mumbled a quip.

"In the forties?" Sam peered back at the old man.

"Yeah." Bucky sighed.

The heated conversation had transitioned so quickly that it came to a stop. That awkward silence returning with a vengeance.

A few minutes past before anyone spoke again.

"Where are we going?" Bucky questioned, groaning as he shuffled about on the backseat trying to get comfortable.

"Louisiana." Sam announced. "You were right. Someone's letting intel slip, we were setup."

"Hence, Louisiana." Bucky acknowledged before finally allowing his eyes to rest, a long journey ahead of them.

South Korea 1951, Goyang.

The Winter Soldier had his orders. Infiltrate, assassinate.

He stalked the dark dirt streets, gunfire popping in the distance. Mountains around the city like shadowed giants in the moonlight.

The humidity was intense, but the soldier was conditioned to ignore such factors. His mission was all that mattered.

Buildings that had once stood where now nothing but rubble, heavy artillery having brought the structures down, the buildings remaining just waiting for their time to come.

Lights rounded the corner ahead, the soldier ducked back into darkness, the remains of a decimated building having only a few brave walls remaining.

The tank roared as its treads ate up the ground, the barrel of the machine faced forward as it passed. It was war torn, scarred from previous battles, paint work scratched and scuffed from the impact of all forms of projectiles.

The streetlights that were still alive were scattered and barely on, power lines hanging dangerously low in areas.

The soldier remained undiscovered, tank passing unaware of his presence.

He proceeded forward once the area was clear, the deep yellow rudimentary lighting glinting off his silver arm. Sweat beaded on his face, hair messy as he traversed the ravaged city.

The soviet allies had become aware of communications being sent from a bar in Goyang, it was his mission to silence them. Cut the enemies communication at the roots.

It didn't take him long to find the location, surprised to find the bar still standing. A string of lucky buildings situated near the edge of a river having fared well. The buildings themselves were crude, structure a mix of corrugated metal, brick, and wood. There was a glow from within, a light on.

There was one entry point, the door dead ahead.

Upon entering the soldier's eyes fell on a black man sitting at the decommissioned bar, quite content in pouring himself a drink. Surroundings a mess.

"Surprised you took so long." The man was audibly American, he didn't turn to face him. He was strong in build, matching the soldier in hight. He downed the shot in his hand, glass slapping down on the bar with a clank.

The man tutted, the drink not to expectations.

He finally got up off the rickety stool, the legs looking like they were about to snap.

"Heard about you… whispers." The man pointed to his ear.

The soldier could now see he had short black stubble on his face, dog tags around his neck, laying on top of the foliage green t-shirt.

The soldier quickly came to the understanding that the original mission tasked was null and void, the poorly encrypted transmission had been a trap to lure him out into the open on enemy terms.

His hand snapped down to his holstered firearm, taking the pistol from his side he aimed and fired at the man.

The stranger was quick, reflexes unnatural catching the soldier off guard. Having sidestepped the bullet, taking his own gun from his belt the man fired back.

The soldier's metal arm took the shots, using it as cover to move up on his new target.

They swatted each other's guns from their hands in coincidental unison.

The soldier kicked the man in the chest, making him crash through the wooden bar, in a mess of wooden splinters and glass shards.

The soldier gathered up his gun with his metal hand, swinging his arm up and over to take aim at the fallen man. But the stranger was gone, no longer in the wreckage of the bar.

A battle cry roared, and a hand grabbed at his gun from the side, a thick arm locked around the soldier's neck.

The soldier fought back, not giving up his hold on the gun as he tried to aim it at his attacker's head.

The soldier's metal arm wheezed a moan, it beginning to slowly overpower the incredibly strong man, gun that he still had in his clutches edging closer into a position to fire.

Finally, the soldier was up against someone who posed a challenge.

He threw an elbow back, making the stranger grunt, the soldier able to dip down out under the man's bulging arm. Spinning round, he was still being held by the wrist, the stranger rejecting his attempts to reclaim it.

That hold still iron, the man pulled the Winter Soldier into his knee, fist then striking him in the head taking him to the floor. A large boot crashed against the soldier's head making him cry out as the man wrenched at his metal arm. He wouldn't give up the gun. It meant life and death.

The soldier could hear the snapping of wires, the tearing of metal before the limb was ripped from him. The force required making the stranger stumble back with its release.

Authors Notes

Everyone's thoughts on the story have been amazing and so helpful! Really apricate it. I hope I can keep delivering good chapters. Thanks again, hope you enjoyed this chapter.