Chapter 7: The Soldier

The van stopped, and the Soldier remained seated. The woman whose voice commanded him opened the rear doors. She took off her black wig, revealing light brown hair. She smelled of lilac and mint and carried a brown pack that was familiar to him.

"Follow me."

He exited the vehicle. It was dark, the night air was cool against his bare skin. He followed her to a large industrial building. Somewhere, deep in his mind, he knew this wasn't right. He'd been with Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers was a friend.

He felt as if he were watching a dream from a dark abyss in his mind, peering upward at the world from underwater. Drowning. No matter how much he fought, he remained submerged, tethered below. It felt like dying.

He marched stiffly behind her, through a large doorway. The interior was large and spacious, commercial in nature. A warehouse. She led him to a staircase that descended. He followed her.

Below, there was an exam table and a chair with restraints and a circular machine his brain immediately recognized. It brought a memory of pain. Another woman with a familiar face was in the room, seated in a chair pushed against the wall. Dr. Helen Cho, his brain supplied. Her hands were shackled to the wall, her feet bound to the chair's legs. She had dark hair and almond eyes. Gray tape covered her mouth. Her left eye was bruised, a cut along the side. Her dark eyes tracked him.

A middle-aged man in a suit walked up to the woman, ignoring him.

"Nicely done, Irena." The man spoke with a subtle Russian accent.

She handed him the pack. "The journals. I haven't reviewed them."

"Excellent work, as always. And the red book?"

"Unsuccessful."

"Unfortunate, but congratulations on a successful mission, nevertheless."

"It was a bold plan."

"You executed it well."

She nodded. "Hail Hydra."

"Hail Hydra," he responded.

The man finally turned his attention to the Soldier. "How long will this last without his memory being wiped?"

"Unknown," she said. "I suggest we move quickly."

The man nodded. "Wise." He tilted his head to the table. "Soldier, lay down on the exam table."

The Soldier remained still.

Irena smiled and gestured to the table. "Do as he says. You are to follow his orders, the same as mine.

The Soldier complied. He felt metal restraints descend across his chest, around his wrists and biceps, then his thighs and ankles.

His heart sped. His breathing quickened. Something buried deep inside him screamed, but his throat made no sound. His eyes stared at the ceiling.

"This procedure should ensure a permanent end to the virus personality infecting the Soldier," a man's voice said. It was different. It had a German accent.

A cattle prod the size of a child's baseball bat came into view above the Soldier. He remembered it and the pain it brought. It had multiple settings—some designed for punishment, others for incapacitation.

"This…" the Russian man said, "is for the Hydra agents in Hungary."

The cool metal slid along his upper thigh. He knew what was coming next. The man above him was too young to be particularly creative about torture, unlike so many in the decades before.

He felt the hard device slip beneath the thin fabric of his boxers and press into the tender skin of his groin. He gritted his teeth so he wouldn't bite his tongue. His body convulsed with a thousand shards of bright hot agony. He held back the scream, a sliver of satisfaction breaking through the torment at the look of surprise in the man's face. The prod jammed harder into the soft flesh behind his testicles until the scream bubbled from his throat and consciousness left him.

-0- -0- -0-

"Well, this was one hell of a wake-up call." Stark strode into the conference room.

Steve could barely sit still as FRIDAY brought up the recorded video from the Veronica room. It had been 10 minutes since Bucky had been kidnapped. A complex full of Avengers had been able to do nothing to protect him. Wanda and Dr. Abodon were having their wounds tended to. Natasha was injured but insisted it wasn't bad. She wanted in on the operation.

Stark dropped into a chair as the video began playing. The room was dark, so the image played in black-and-white. Bucky was on the bed, apparently asleep. The female voice began reciting the Russian words. By the end of the second word, Bucky was on his feet, obviously disoriented, looking around.

He attempted to locate the source, but at the fifth word, he covered his head with his hands and stumbled toward the door, then started pounding. "FRIDAY, open the door!"

He punched it relentlessly with his metal fist, but Stark's work proved its merit against the onslaught. Bucky grabbed the handle of the door and braced his feet against the wall, pulling with what looked like all the strength he had. The door creaked but held.

At the final word in the activation string, Bucky's struggles ceased, and he straightened, his back to the camera.

Steve closed his eyes briefly. "FRIDAY, stop the video."

This is what Bucky had been afraid of. It's why he'd run. Why he never contacted Steve. They'd been trying to help Bucky, and they'd only made things worse.

"I told him this was a safe place," he said, eyeing Natasha. "I told him he could trust Dr. Cho, and all this time, he was trusting a Hydra agent masquerading as Helen Cho."

"It's not your fault, Steve." Natasha rubbed at her forehead.

Sam entered the room, slightly out of breath. "They got Bucky?"

Steve nodded.

"Okay, you're going to thank me," Tony said. "My penchant for not always sharing with others really paid off today. Remember that in the future."

Steve looked up at Tony. It sounded like good news. He desperately hoped it was good news. "Tony, whatever it is, get to it. We have no idea how much time Bucky has or what they're planning."

"FRIDAY, bring up Barnes' location." Tony said, tilting his head.

The screen in the room came to life with a map of New York and a glowing red dot. "Good news, they're only about 13 miles away.

Steve was on his feet. "How do you know where he is?"

"I put a little something on his arm." Tony dropped into the vacant chair next to Steve. "The background EMF of the mechanical limb should mask it from standard scanners."

"After everything we just went through with Ultron, you're still keeping secrets?" Steve didn't know whether to be furious with Tony or hug him, but he was becoming less and less sure he could fully trust him.

Tony raised his hands. "Hey, can the outrage. If I'd told Barnes, when they activated the Winter Soldier, he'd still know, right? He might've spilled the beans, disabled it. If he doesn't know, he can't tell them. If I'd told you, then you'd either decide to tell him or keep it from him, and neither one seemed like a good option for you. I was doing you both a favor, and you can send me the thank you card and GREAT bottle of whiskey later. Now let's go get Barnes. We'll be there faster than you can blink."

"Don't we need a plan?" Natasha asked.

"We don't have time to waste." Steve rose from his chair. "Two lives are at stake."

-0- -0- -0-

Irena Aslanov almost felt sorry for the man as she listened to his screams. Finally, they ended, and he lay limp on the table. She'd gotten to speak to the "virus," as Meyer put it, back at the complex. She'd only ever seen the Winter Soldier once before, on a mission years ago. He had been formidable, robotic, unrelenting, and fearless.

The man she met at the complex had some of the same elements but was more human. She'd seen emotion in his eyes, heard it in his voice. She'd seen him smile. She wondered what he'd been like in the 1940s.

His fate, however, was sealed. After the doctor finished excising part of his brain, there would be no possibility of healing or regeneration. Only the Soldier would remain. How functional he would be at that point was in dispute, but Meyer seemed overly confident in his proposed method.

She heard the buzz of the clippers as the technician set about shaving the Soldier's head in preparation for the procedure. If he was lucky, the Soldier would remain unconscious. When he next woke, he should, quite literally, be a new man.

-0- -0- -0-

Vision carried Natasha. Tony and Sam took up flank positions, and Steve drove an electric motorcycle. Its silent engine would avoid tipping off Hydra to their approach.

When they got eyes on the warehouse, they took cover. Guards were visible—three on the roof, four on the grounds. Steve wished they'd had more time to plan and obtain better information, but they had to make do with what the situation had given them.

At least, hopefully, they'd have surprise on their side.

"I'm picking up possible playmates below, one level," Stark's voice sounded in his ear.

"How many?" Steve asked.

"Unknown. They're underground. Not an easy read."

Steve sighed. "Vision, we'll handle the topside, use that special talent of yours to pay our friends down under a surprise visit."

"Understood," came the polite, British reply.

-0- -0- 0-

Bucky came to and immediately realized he was restrained, but awareness of his circumstances came slowly. He was in a dim room. A man's face was above him. He recognized him from before—one of the scientists who had worked on him a couple of times, before Pierce.

With that recognition came an icy fist of fear over his heart. He remembered other times when he was on a table, restrained. There were other faces, different voices, but there was always pain.

The German doctor's words came back to him. "This procedure should ensure a permanent end to the virus personality infecting the Soldier."

They were going to take everything he had regained away from him. He felt the vibrating scrape of the clippers against his scalp. Heard the buzz in his ears. He struggled against the metal restraints, but they didn't budge.

His heart thudded fast and hard. His chest heaved, constricted by the unforgiving metal. He couldn't get enough air.

He convulsed, fighting, desperate.

"Now, now, it's quite useless," the German scientist said. Bucky remembered his name. Meyer.

"Stop!" Bucky bit down on the word the moment it left his lips. Pleas were useless. He'd remembered that much. It was either submit or fight.

He chose to fight while he still had some of his mind. He bucked against the restraints with everything he had, but they were unyielding. He screamed as he pushed his muscles and ligaments to their limits against the restraints. The metal dug into his chest, legs, and right arm. He felt slick warm wetness on his arm and legs. His metal arm scraped hard against the restraint, its mechanical innards straining.

Finally, the restraints on his metal arm gave. He reached up, grabbed the doctor by the neck, and flung him up and over the table.

Others descended on him before he could work the remaining restraints. His metal hand found the trachea of one assailant just as something sharp dug into the right side of his neck. His vision blurred, and he felt his strength fading.

-0- -0- -0-

The Avengers made quick work of the topside guards. Sam and Tony took out the ones on the roof. Natasha and Steve handled the ground. The cover of night proved helpful, allowing them to get closer to the guards without being detected.

As the last guard fell, Steve heard the screams in his earpiece. Bucky.

Steve didn't bother finding an entrance. He made one through the side of the warehouse. "Vision?" It was a desperate plea.

"Intervening," came the reply.

Steve heard gunfire and thuds.

He was inside and leaping down the stairs in seconds. He took in the scene at once—Dr. Cho was restrained in chair against the wall. Vision made short work of her restraints. Another woman, dressed like Dr. Cho had been—the imposter, he assumed—was unconscious on the floor a few feet in front of the real Helen Cho. A large mechanical chair with restraints sat to the left, bolted to the floor. Steve's eyes rested on it for only a moment, but the rage it evoked lingered as his gaze went to Bucky on the table. Steve hurried forward.

Bucky was pinned to a large table, wearing only the boxers he'd been taken in. He struggled weakly. His head was mostly shaved, with just a few patches of hair. The procedure had been interrupted, and that implication sent a shudder through Steve.

Thick metal restraints covered the rest of Bucky. Only his left arm was free, moving in chaotic, uncoordinated jerks and tugging at the metal strap across his chest. Unconscious or dead men littered the floor around the table. Bucky's backpack lay on the floor among them.

Steve wasn't sure whether Bucky or Vision were responsible for the fallen men, but it didn't matter. They had to move fast. There was no telling whether any of the Hydra agents had time to call for reinforcements, or if there might be others in the warehouse.

"Vision, help Helen," Steve commanded.

He heard footsteps and spun around to see Natasha jump down the last few steps to the floor, her gun at ready.

"Situation, Cap?" Sam's voice sounded in Steve's ear.

"Situation secure for the moment down here," Steve replied. "Check out the rest of the warehouse for surprises."

"On it," Sam replied.

"Since everyone's asleep here, I'll go topside to help mop up," Natasha said, and disappeared back up the staircase.

Steve rushed to the table and looked down at his friend. Bucky's eyes were unfocused, his pupils dilated.

Bucky's metal arm shot upward, but it was slow and clumsy. Steve tilted out of the way and grabbed the arm. "Bucky, it's me."

Bucky lifted his head and blinked. "Steve."

The sense of deja vu was so overwhelming, Steve stopped to take a breath. For a split second, he was back in Azzano, standing over the table, discovering his friend was alive.

He had no time for reminiscing and pulled himself back to the present. He grabbed the metal restraints and pulled, but they wouldn't budge. He grabbed his shield and raised it, hesitating a moment. He'd have to be careful. Too much force, and he could go straight through the restraints and into Bucky's flesh.

"Allow me, sir." Vision appeared and made quick work of the restraints, tearing them one by one from the table.

Steve took only a moment to give Bucky a once over. Blood was visible on his right arm and legs where the restraints had held him—he'd obviously fought to break free—but Steve didn't have time to inspect the wounds. At first glance, they looked superficial and would likely heal quickly on their own.

"Come on." Steve grabbed Bucky, draped his friend's right arm across his shoulders, and lifted him off the table.

Bucky shook his head and pulled away, crashing to the floor as his knees buckled. He reached out, his fingers just barely reaching the backpack, and pulled it toward him.

"Bucky, I got it. We need to move." Steve reached down, grabbed the pack and slung it over his shoulder, then slipped his arm around his friend, yanking him upward.

He felt Bucky's movements gaining strength, becoming more deliberate. His enhanced physiology was already fighting whatever it was they gave him.

Steve looked at Vision, who now carried Dr. Cho in his arms.

"Get her out of here," he told the android.

Vision nodded and floated up the staircase with his charge.

Steve heard gunfire above. He withdrew his shield and held it in front of him and Bucky as they made their way up the stairs, but he was thrown off balance when Bucky twisted to place his body behind Steve just as another shot rang out—this time behind him. The bullet ricocheted off the metal arm, and the momentum sent Bucky spiraling away from Steve and down the staircase.

Bucky landed with a hard thud, his metal arm taking most of the impact. One of the men by the table had regained consciousness and was armed and firing. Bucky rolled out of the line of fire, and Steve sent his shield flying into the man, knocking him out a second time.

He took a steadying breath as he grabbed his shield. Even half conscious, Bucky was still protecting him. Steve grabbed his friend again and hefted him up, then made another attempt at the stairs. He moved faster, dragging Bucky with him, his shield in front, listening to the commotion and what sounded like chopper blades in the air.

Something exploded above.

"Status?" He barked.

"A little busy, Cap." Tony replied. "We're dealing with the choppers."

"Vision?" Steve asked, "Is Dr. Cho safe?"

"I am en route with her to the Avenger's Complex. Would you like me to set her down and return to render assistance?" the android asked.

Steve heard another explosion outside the warehouse. He assumed that was at least one of the choppers.

"No, Dr. Cho is your priority," Steve replied. "Get her to safety."

"Understood," Vision replied.

They emerged at the top of the staircase just as everything suddenly went quiet. The lights were all on, bathing the warehouse in a fluorescent glow. He saw Natasha and Sam, both breathing heavily. Natasha was favoring her right arm. Sam had a gash across his forehead and a slice along his right thigh from what looked like a bullet graze.

Steve looked around. There were more dead or unconscious bodies, a smattering of debris, and a new hole in the roof. "You've been busy."

Natasha shrugged. "Actually, it's been a slow day at the office." The side of her lip twitched upward, then she jerked her chin toward Bucky. "How is he?"

"He's fine," Bucky answered, pulling away from Steve and straightening. He wobbled slightly but held his balance. "Sorry about…."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Getting kidnapped? Don't be. That's on us. And I'm fine. I know how to roll with a hit."

"The building's secure," Maria Hill's voice sounded in Steve's ear.

"Dr. Cho is safe. I'm en route back," came the polite, British voice.

"Thank you, Vision."

Steve put a reassuring hand on Bucky's right shoulder and took a moment, now that he had one, to study him. Blood dripped from his right arm and his legs. The wounds were more visible in the brightly lit room—gashes, scrapes, budding bruising in the faint outline of the metal restraints along his wrists, bicep, thighs, and ankles.

Steve guided Bucky outside. It was dark, with only a partial moon and a few exterior lights for illumination. Maria Hill stood by a large black van, the back doors open. Another black sedan was parked a few feet away, with a driver behind the wheel and a man Steve recognized as a former S.H.I.E.L.D. operative standing stiffly near the passenger door.

Bucky suddenly put on the brakes.

Vision descended, his cape flowing gently in the wind. "The Avengers complex is secure. The agents in the chopper have been taken into custody—those that survived, of course. Unfortunately, there were two casualties."

"Don't fret them, Vision." Steve prodded Bucky forward. "Come on, we have to get you checked out and back to the complex."

Bucky refused to budge.

Steve eyed him, not sure what the resistance was about. He'd obviously broken out of the Winter Soldier programming. "What is it, Buck?"

Buck swallowed hard and looked at him.

Vision stepped forward. "This is the van Hydra used to transport him. I believe it's causing him distress."

Oh.

Maria Hill stepped forward. "We recommissioned it, but," she reached up to touch her earpiece, "can we get another transport? The limo bus, maybe?"

"Here." Natasha appeared, a blanket in her hand, and wrapped it around Bucky. "Supply closet. There're also a few computers and weapons. We're in the process of packing up what we can find."

A few minutes later, the Limo bus arrived. It was slightly larger than the van, with windows all around and bus-like doors that led to the passenger area. Steve smiled. It was one of Tony's spare party busses. The bargain basement one, he'd called it. But the windows, though not quite offering the privacy they'd normally want, would hopefully put Bucky at ease.

"Is that better?" Steve asked Bucky, gesturing a hand toward it. "Should be a lot more comfortable."

"It's got a mini bar," Hill said.

With a slight hiss, the doors parted. Steve eyed the driver. From behind, it looked like Happy.

Bucky nodded, gripping the blanket more tightly around his shoulders. His bare feet padded across the blacktop, and he walked up the three short steps to the bus. Steve followed him, getting him situated comfortably on the rear bench seat and setting his backpack next to him.

"You want the heat on, Cap?" Happy asked from the driver's seat.

"Yes, please." Steve kept his eyes on Buck. "How are you doing?"

"My head hurts a bit," Bucky said, "but I'm fine."

He didn't look fine, not with the tight lines around his eyes, the blood coating his arm and legs, and his patchy shaved head, but Steve hoped all that was superficial. He hoped. The headache wasn't a good sign, however.

"Did they use that chair on you?"

Buck shook his head.

"Is there anything they did in there that I need to know about?" Steve asked, sitting next to him.

Bucky peered at him, and there was a look in his dark blue eyes that Steve couldn't quite read, but it told him he should stay close.

"No." Bucky said finally. "I don't think so." He took a breath. "How is Dr. Abodon? Wanda? Dr. Cho?"

"They're being tended to," Steve reassured him. "Nothing fatal."

"I knew her."

"What?" Steve leaned forward. "The imposter?"

Bucky nodded. "I saw her once, on a mission. Her perfume was familiar. It gave me an uneasy feeling."

"What's her name?"

"Irena. I'm not sure about her last name." Bucky tilted his head back against the window and closed his eyes, then ran his right hand over his forehead. "How did they do this? I woke up, someone was talking in my room." His voice wavered. "I didn't see anyone. I couldn't get out."

Steve clenched his fists. They'd made a prison for Bucky that served him up to Hydra on a platter.

Hydra knew what they were doing. They knew none of them would be able to stand by and watch while Bucky killed himself, working off Hydra's termination order, and they'd open the door. That was all the Hydra agent needed. It had been a set up. They must have taken Dr. Cho before Steve and the others arrived from Hungary with Bucky.

"Bucky, we owe you an apology. I owe you an apology. We were trying to keep you safe by locking you in the room. We screwed up. We're implementing upgraded security, and you can come and go from your room whenever you like. Keeping you locked in there is what caused this."

Bucky opened his eyes and looked at Steve for several long seconds. Steve had no idea what his friend was thinking. He was inscrutable these days, so very different than he had been in Brooklyn, before the war, and before Hydra.

Finally, Bucky cleared his throat. "You should keep me locked up." He took a breath. "How did you find me so quickly?"

Steve shifted in his seat. He hated that Bucky preferred a prison to freedom, but he understood. He hoped they could find a way to remove the activation code so Bucky wasn't a few words away from killing people, but keeping Bucky as a defenseless prisoner in a reinforced room had already proven to be a poor solution.

As for the GPS, Bucky deserved to know the truth, but Steve knew how it would sound, and he'd already broken Bucky's trust once by inadvertently allowing a Hydra agent access.

"Tony Stark planted a GPS locator on your metal arm—in the imaging lab, I'm pretty sure."

Bucky took a deep breath and turned his head, staring out into the darkness. The mop up of the warehouse was well under way. Most of the Avengers were inside. Only Maria Hill, her associate, and Vision were outside keeping watch.

A short while later, Tony and Sam arrived inside the bus.

"Uploaded all the data we could find to a secure server," Tony said. "Natasha and Vision are finishing the mop up—lots of old files, some equipment."

"What about that…lab?" Steve took a breath and got to his feet. "The chair with the head piece?"

Tony raised one of his iron gloved hands. "Took it out. They won't be using that one again, at least." He looked to Bucky. "They get a chance to use it on you? You remember us?"

Bucky swallowed and pushed himself to his feet, putting a steadying hand on the wall. "No, they didn't use it on me this time. They put me on the table as soon as I arrived." He pushed passed Steve and walked up to Tony, holding the blanket around him with his metal hand. "You put a GPS on me?"

Tony nodded. "Yep. I'd do it again, too. You want me to remove it?"

"No. Keep it." Bucky extended his right, blood-coated hand from beneath the blanket. "Thank you."

Surprise flickered briefly over Tony's face, then he nodded and shook Bucky's hand with his suit-clad one. "You're welcome." Tony shot a look over Bucky's shoulder at Steve.

Steve sighed. He knew the look. It was a silent I told you so. Despite Tony's gloating, Steve was relieved that Bucky wasn't upset by the clandestine intrusion.

"Happy, take us home," Stark said.

"Sure thing, Boss."

Sam and Tony took a seat as the bus began to move. Bucky sank back into the corner of the bench seat, the side of his head tilted against the window.

"There's a bar in the shelf behind the bench seat," Tony said, "In case either of you want a stiff drink."

Bucky shook his head.

"No, thanks," Steve said, "wouldn't do much good, anyway."

"Well," Tony raised his hand and made a gimme gesture, "hand me the whiskey back there."

Steve shook his head. Stark was certainly something else. He opened the top of the shelf and looked inside, found the whiskey, and tossed it to Stark. Tony caught it deftly, opened it, and took a long swig, then held the bottle out to Sam.

"Thanks." Sam took the offering and swallowed a shot.

-0- -0- -0-

The roads were clear that early, before the sun was even close to rising. Within a few minutes, they were back at the compound. Bucky tried to ignore the building pressure in his skull as he followed the others back to the room. Steve kept pace with him, to his right. Sam carried the brown pack. Tony chatted about upgraded security measures, photostatic detection technology, and upgrading the sensors in the room to detect any new devices.

The hallway leading to the room was a mess. Bucky stopped to examine the disaster. He remembered walking out of the room. The door was still open. He'd walked through it with the Cho imposter. Natasha had tried to stop the two of them. Bucky had neutralized her with one brutal, quick swipe of his metal arm. He'd heard her body hit the wall, hard.

Steve walked through the open door. Bucky pulled himself out of the memory and followed. His head was killing him. The blood on his arms and legs was drying, becoming sticky and itchy. He needed a shower. He didn't think sleep would come soon. He wasn't sure he'd be able to fall asleep again for some time.

Sleep wasn't safe. He couldn't stay awake forever, though.

"She planted something?" he asked.

Steve nodded. "On the armchair."

Sam set the pack on the kitchen island and Tony hovered in the doorway. Bucky stopped in the center of the room. He looked at the crumpled bed where the words had pulled him from sleep. He remembered the horror of realization as the pressure built in his head, the ringing in his ears, the fight not to be pulled under.

He'd gotten to his feet as the words continued, but no one was in his room. The words came from somewhere in the center of the main living area, but he knew he didn't have time to find the source. The sound bounced around. He needed to escape. He yelled for FRIDAY. He pounded at the door. It refused to budge. He was terrified.

He was even more terrified strapped to that table. They were going to cut into his brain, take away everything he was permanently. He was just getting his memories back, and they were going to steal it all from him forever.

The thought of how close he'd come shook him to his center. It made his head hurt. He was trembling. His legs felt weak.

"I—" Bucky raised a hand to his head. The blanket dropped to the floor, and the room spun.

"Buck?" Steve's voice. "FRIDAY, Med assist."

Bucky's knees buckled, and he crumpled forward, catching himself with his metal hand. His head felt like someone was using it for a soccer ball. He sensed Steve near him, then a warm hand on his shoulder.

"My head…" Something was wrong. The pain stole his breath. Emotions flooded him, all of them at once, along with faces, voices, memories. He couldn't hold it back. He struggled to gain control, to find the quiet, to grasp even the Hydra conditioning, but it all failed him. "Help…"

The onslaught of memories hurt almost as badly as it had when they'd had been wiped from him. His mother's face. His father's deep voice. His sisters, Ruth, Margaret, and Becca. Meeting Steve in the snow, getting his money stolen. Mr. Anderson and the ruler, the smack against Bucky's knuckles. Coney Island. Hot dogs. Getting his orders. Arguing with Steve over his faked enlistment papers. Saying goodbye to his parents before he left. Azzano. The Howling Commandos. Zola's table. The dark room. The pain. Seeing Steve, towering over him, impossibly large. The train. Falling…

He heard his name. Steve's voice. Hands on him.

"One of the techs is on his way." Sam Wilson's voice, nearby.

Bucky realized there was a sound coming from his throat. His face was wet. He was trembling, braced against something.

Steve.

The pain in his head began to subside, enough that he could breathe again. He took a few deep, shuddering breaths and took stock. He was on the floor, leaning against Steve's chest. Arms were around him.

"I remember." It came out more as a sob than words.

He didn't care. He remembered. He wanted to write it all down, just in case it went away again, but it was so much, so many details. He couldn't possibly capture a lifetime in a few books.

"My mother." Bucky looked up into Steve's face. "Your mother, Sarah. My sisters. Mr. Anderson. You grabbed my mitten, put snow on my torn knuckles. I remember the Christmas I got you the colored pencils, just before my 18th birthday. I tried to sneak a beer. My mom caught me. I took cookies and my mom's banana bread recipe over to your place. You used to stuff newspapers in your shoes." He smiled at that, then found himself laughing. "Coney Island. I made you ride the Cyclone. You threw up."

The panic on Steve's face melted. He was smiling. "I'd stuffed myself with three hot dogs an hour before. Waste of money. They came back up."

Fast footsteps entered the room. Bucky looked over to see a young man in a white lab coat carrying a hard case. He crouched next to Bucky.

"I'm Brian, one of the techs assisting Drs. Cho and Abodon. How quickly did your pain come on? Was it sudden or gradual?"

Bucky leaned away from the man. "I'm okay."

The man seemed undeterred. "How 'bout I-?"

Steve raised a hand. "I think he's okay. Can you give us a minute?"

"Give 'em some breathing room," Tony said, now inside the room, leaning against the island near Sam.

Brian nodded and stood, heading over near the other two men and setting his case on the counter.

"Hey, why don't we-?" Sam jerked his head toward the open doorway.

"I hate missing the good stuff, but fine," Tony relented.

Bucky was relieved when the three men left. His cheeks were wet, his nose was running, and his entire body felt like cooked spaghetti. His headache was lingering, but manageable. The blood on his arms and legs was dry, flaking and making his skin itch.

"You remember all of it?" Steve asked him.

Bucky looked back at his friend. The friend he really remembered now. The one he'd given his life for. The one he now knew why he'd been willing to die for. Because it was Steve. He'd been protecting him his whole life. The world needed more guys like Steve Rogers. Gutsy. Loyal. Honest. Never ran away a from a fight. Hated bullies.

"I think so." He was smiling again. He didn't know why or how it had come back so suddenly. "I wouldn't know if there's something I'm not rememb—"

And then he realized what else he remembered. All of it. Hydra. Every person he'd killed. Their faces. The ones that begged. The ones that prayed. The ones that never saw him coming.

He'd remembered a few of them before, but nothing like this, and not with such a gut-wrenching level of detail. The mother and her little girl. The young Japanese man in the hotel. The fucking President of the United States.

"Bucky, what is it?"

They'd made him kill so many people. They'd trained him for years. The girl in the hospital gown. They'd raped her, tortured her, until he put a bullet in her head to end her misery. She wasn't the only one. Victim after victim, until he didn't hesitate.

"I—" he sucked in a deep breath, pulled away. The enormity of it crushed him. How could he tell Steve? How could he even say the words?

"Hey, easy," Steve began, "I'll call the tech…"

"NO!" Bucky was gasping again, shaking his head. "No, I…killed…so many. I remember them. All of them..." He didn't want to remember that. Not all that.

He was a killer. His mom, his dad, everyone thought he died a hero, but he was a murderer. He'd killed mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters. Good people. People who stood up to Hydra.

"God, Bucky, I'm sorry. What they made you do…It wasn't your fault, none of it."

He knew that. But he'd done it. All of it. His hands pulled the trigger. It was his face, his eyes his victims looked into. How was he supposed to live with that?

"They made me, but I did it. All of it. So….much." It was all so much. Too much. "I killed—"

He couldn't say it. I killed a little girl, Steve. She had brown eyes and curls. Her mother was a threat. She was a witness. I killed them both.

How could he have done that? If he remembered it all, he was there. Some part of him had been there. How had that part not stopped himself?

There was so much blood on his hands. His real one was literally soaked in it. He could smell it, feel it. He didn't think he'd ever be able to scrub it off.

-0- -0- -0-

Steve didn't know what to do, how to help. Bucky was on his knees, curled into himself, his right hand behind his neck. Steve didn't know what images his friend was seeing. All he could do was imagine those horrors, and he knew how devastating those memories would be for Bucky—someone who had fought his whole life for what he thought was right, who'd given his life fighting against the very people who ended up twisting him to their own purpose.

He reached out to try to comfort his friend, but the moment his hand made contact, Bucky lurched upward, careening toward the bathroom. He debated calling the medic, but this wasn't a physical thing, and he wasn't sure Bucky needed more people around at the moment.

Steve followed. Bucky was in the shower, clawing at the controls until water spilled out of the showerheads. He collapsed against the tile wall beneath the spray, his fingers scrubbing at the blood on his arm and legs, his nails scraping over the still healing wounds.

Sam appeared in the doorway to the bathroom. His gaze went to Bucky, dark and concerned, then to Steve. "Should I call in the medic?"

Steve followed his gut. "No."

He didn't think bringing in the EMT was the right call. The person they really needed was Dr. Abodon, but he was out of commission for the moment. So was Dr. Cho, but she wasn't a psychiatrist and what currently affected Bucky was outside her wheelhouse.

The most qualified person around was Sam. Steve stepped toward the Falcon and guided him just outside the bathroom door—close enough so that he could keep tabs on Bucky but still offering both of them privacy.

"He remembered everything," Steve whispered. "Everything."

Sam's face fell with realization. "Jesus Christ, that's…rough. What did he say?"

"Not much other than he remembers all the people he's killed." Steve leaned and glanced through the doorway.

Bucky was still huddled in the shower beneath the spray.

"Any idea, Sam?" Steve asked. "What do I do? How do we help him right now?"

Sam shook his head. "This is a bit outside my level, man, but I'd say, for now, just let him be. Stay close. Keep an eye on him, but I don't think there's much anyone can say or do to make this better for him. He's just going to need time to process it all."

Steve nodded, but he didn't like doing nothing. It went against every impulse he had. He hated seeing his friend in so much pain and not being able to do anything about it.

"Can you get me a status update on Dr. Abodon?" Steve asked.

Sam nodded. "I'll go check on him and the others. If anything changes, let me know. I'll tell the medic he can take off for now."

"Thanks, Sam." He watched Sam leave, closing the door.

Now that he was alone with Bucky again, he walked back into the bathroom. His friend hadn't moved, but he'd stopped scrubbing at his arms and legs. He just stayed huddled sideways against the spray, folded in on himself, his head against the tile wall.

All the blood was gone, and Steve could get a good look at the wounds on Bucky's arm and legs. There was a red, blotchy ring around his wrist, and a gash on his bicep that had been crusted and healing. Bucky's fingers had worked off the scab and torn it open again, but it was only barely oozing blood. His legs were in a similar state, his ankles torn up from the shackles and a couple of healing gashes on his thighs from where metal met skin. Hydra had obviously developed restraints strong enough over the years to contain a supersoldier… except for the metal arm. Whatever they used hadn't quite been strong enough, and that mistake had cost a couple of the Hydra agents their lives.

Steve turned off the showerhead and grabbed a large, gray, fluffy towel from the wall. "Let's get you dry and out of there." He spoke softly, telegraphing his intentions. "I've got a towel. I'm going to wrap it around you."

Bucky didn't move or say anything, so Steve crouched next to him and wrapped the towel around Bucky's shoulders. Gently, he urged him on his feet, and Bucky yielded, pushing himself up and letting Steve guide him out of the shower and into the living room.

Once there, Bucky pulled away and went to the dresser and changed from the wet boxers into a pair of sweats. Then he moved to the bed, but instead of laying on it, he sank onto the floor at the foot of the mattress and leaned back against the bed, the towel still wrapped around his shoulders. His blue eyes were haunted, unfocused. He tilted his head toward the far wall.

Steve sat down next to him, not quite touching, but close. He hoped Bucky would be able to fall sleep eventually. Except for the brief sleep he'd managed before the recording started, he'd been up all night. It had to be getting close to sunrise.

They sat in silence. Steve wasn't sure how long, but at some point, the tension left Bucky's body, and he tilted sideways against Steve's arm.

"I can't sleep," Bucky muttered, his voice dragging with fatigue. "I'm afraid of waking up to those words."

"It's safe to sleep. I'll keep first watch, buddy."

And, with that reassurance, Bucky's head tilted against Steve's shoulder, and his breathing steadied into the rhythm of sleep.