28: Little Soldier Boy
Setting: AU: Monday, March 5, 1945; Friday, September 13, 1946; Friday, January 18, 1949; Thursday, January 1, 1959; and Tuesday, November 12, 1963: Russia, Cuba, and United States of America
xxx
WARNING: Murder, Childbirth, Deliberate Guilt
Translations:
"Сержант Джеймс Барнс, три два пять пять семь ноль три восемь." - Russian - "Sergeant James Barnes, three two five five seven zero three eight."
"Mae fy bachgen melys." - Welsh - "There is my sweet boy."
"Mae angen enw. Yr ydych yn fy Tomos Iago." - Welsh - "You need a name. You are my Thomas James."
"Fy TJ" - Welsh - "my TJ"
"Papa, chwarae." - Welsh - "Papa, play."
"Beth ydych wedi yma, TJ?" - Welsh - "What do you have here, TJ?"
"Papa, pam drist?" - Welsh - "Papa, why sad?"
"Papa yn galw i mi TJ" - Welsh - "Papa calls me TJ."
"Na! Papa, helpu!" - Welsh - "No! Papa, help!"
"Papa! Na! Papa!" - Welsh - "Papa! No! Papa!"
"Dove stiamo andando, Signore?" - Italian - "Where are we going, Sir?"
"Ritorno alla base. Dovrai risolvere la missione a modo tuo. Migliorare il suoi errori." - Italian - "Back to the base. You will solve the mission in your own way. Improve on his mistakes."
"Si, Signore," - Italian - "Yes, Sir."
"Beth yw dy enw?" - Welsh - "What is your name?"
"Milwr gaeaf." - Welsh - "Winter Soldier."
"Rwy'n gwybod ichi." - Welsh - "I know you."
per favore - Italian - please
"Ie, Fy TJ. Ond yn awr yr ydych yn fy hyfforddai. Rhaid ichi weithio'n galed a deallus a gryf ac yn gyflym. Maent wedi'u hyfforddi i ladd, beidio â meddwl chi." - Welsh - "Yes, my TJ. But now you are my trainee. You must work hard and smart and become strong and quick. They are training you to kill, not to think."
un ohonynt - Welsh - one of them
"Y nod o unrhyw Papa." - Welsh - "The goal of any Papa."
xxx
Setting: AU: Monday, March 5, 1945: Russia
Opening his eyes, Bucky immediately tried to fight his way off the hospital gurney he recognized as being below him. Straps held him down and fear began to fill him, but Bucky drew a deep breath and forced himself to relax, looking around at the plain room. He recognized several figures standing there in what seemed to be hospital gear and foreign uniforms. Fear overtook him and Bucky began fighting once more.
As he struggled, one man in uniform stepped over and slapped a news sheet down over Bucky's chest, stilling the injured, frightened man. Looking down at the captive patient with the bandaged stump where his left arm used to be, torn off in his fall from a speeding train, the uniformed man asked, "You are American, yes?" He had a heavy accent, perhaps Russian.
Slowly, Bucky nodded and said, "Сержант Джеймс Барнс, три два пять пять семь ноль три восемь." He watched the man roll his eyes.
The soldier bent forward, closer to Bucky and said, "if you had cooperated from the first, American, we would have been able to radio in your aid to your comrade. As it is, he had no aid and therefore could not be saved."
Confused, and wary, Bucky fumbled the news sheet before the soldier held it at an angle Bucky could read it from. The article, written in Cyrillic Script, spoke of a fight with an unknown military faction, thought to be part of Hilter's Nazi's. A plane loaded with explosives had been the site of the battle as well as the prize, and a lone American soldier had apparently won both. However, the lone soldier, identified in the press as Captain America, was a casualty when the plane crashed into an ice field in the North Atlantic. He was missing and presumed deceased.
Going pale, Bucky stuttered, "No . . . Steve . . ." Grief and disbelief warred until the man's words penetrated and Bucky looked up. "You said I could have helped?"
"Yes," the soldier straightened. "We overheard the conversation he had with a British command. However, we were unable to break in, and none of those present spoke English. Had you been cooperative, you could have caught their attention and provided advice or aid."
"Why would you wish to?" Bucky frowned, eyes narrowing, trying to fight back tears.
"Why?" The soldier looked incredulous. "Because we are Allies, you imbecile! Have you Americans forgotten that we Russians have been fighting the Germans for years now?"
Stunned, Bucky fell back against the gurney, eyes misting as he realized the truth of what the soldier said. He had been fighting his own allies - - and as a result, he'd lost the chance to save Steve. "Are they sure he's dead?" he whispered.
Turning to a frozen human arm in a quilted blue sleeve, the soldier said, "the plane went under the water, American. Your Captain is quite dead. We regret that we have found no way to reattached the arm." He removed something from the hand and slipped it into a thick envelope then put the envelope in a file.
Bucky couldn't bring himself to care what the man had taken from his hand, too lost in the grief of losing Steve. He didn't argue when the Soldier told one of his medical comrades to "freeze the American. He will ship to the unit tonight. When recovered, he will train in the Red Room."
xxx
Setting: AU: Friday, September 13, 1946: Russia
Wailing and pained-filled cries reverberated in the sterile operating room. The woman in the center on the bed, feet in stirrups, cursed in Russian as yet another wave of contractions hit her. The coppery scent of blood filled the space as the woman pushed, another scream ripping from her lungs, trying desperately to get the infant out of her womb. Watching the woman through narrowed eyes, the doctor in a medical jacket and cotton face mask spoke in rough Russian, demanding she push. He seemed gruff as he insisted the woman deliver the infant into the world.
Both the doctor and his maternity patient ignored the man laying on a table nearby, drifting in and out of pained consciousness, the stump of his left shoulder bandaged in dressings which needed changing but had been neglected for some hours. The experiments to work on his arm had not been going well; he kept healing too quickly for what the doctors wished to do.
The woman glanced over at the other patient, her forehead sheened with sweat, her brunet locks sticking to her skin as she went through the pain and exertion of labor. She wondered what had happened to the man, a soldier, no doubt. How had he lost the arm? Had it been an accident or had it been blown off by the enemy. Moving her head back to look at the doctor, the woman let out another scream as she gave one final, strong push.
Holding onto the tiny infant as it slipped free from the woman's body, the doctor nodded, cut the cord, and turned away from the mother, carrying the small human to a table to begin washing. He made sure the infant was in perfect health and physical form.
The infant, a boy, started to wail, using a very strong set of lungs. The body might have been a little smaller than most newborns, but what the boy lacked in size, he seemed to make up in loud wailing.
"My baby . . ." The woman panted, falling back onto the table, exhausted. Her brown eyes moved to take in the sight of the little baby on the table.
"No, mother, not your infant. This infant belongs to Mother Russia. You were merely the body to incubate it." The doctor didn't even look over at the woman who received no aftercare, no help with the afterbirth.
"He came from my womb! I am his mother! Please!" The woman pleaded, sounding hysterical.
Snorting behind his mask, the doctor replied evenly, "the infant was placed inside you to grow. You did not conceive him."
The infant continued to cry, face red and scrunched up, limbs flailing.
"He can bond with anyone. You do not have to be the parent to have a bond. See? If I put him with this broken solder, he will respond as easily as if you held him." The doctor walked over to the one-armed patient and settled the infant in the crock of his right arm.
Blinking dully, pale eyes filled with pain and confusion, the man with lank brunet hair asked, softly, in English, "where am I?"
The infant's wails tapered off slowly, a few more silent tears running down his red cheeks. The baby blinked his wide pale blue eyes, seeming comforted by the human contact.
Moving slightly, his body aching, the soldier gently said, "there now, little one. You're safe with me."
Triumphantly, the doctor glared at the woman in contempt. "You see? You are nothing to him."
The woman looked between the suddenly quiet infant and the doctor, a sense of dread filling her as if she knew what was to come. "Please, I can be of use! I can help you raise the boy! Please?"
"Ah, but Mother, you have been of great use already," the doctor said to the young woman. He raised a pistol and shot her in the forehead. Turning away, he began writing notes in a folder.
The infant instantly started to wail again as the gun went off, his cries filling the room.
The gunshot broke Bucky out of his daze and he curled his aching, battered body around the baby protectively. "Shh, little one. You're safe with me. I'm here." He began singing softly in Welsh, a lullaby his mother had sung to him when he was an infant and each of his sisters afterwards.
As Bucky continued to sing, the infant's wails started to ease once more. The baby seemed to be very comfortable in Bucky's arm, almost like he was meant to be there. He let out a few babbling noises, his limbs wiggling a bit as he listened to the man's soothing voice.
Looking up at the masked doctor, Bucky softly said, "do you have something for him to eat? He's hungry."
The doctor whirled around and studied the pair for a moment before moving off to the other end of the room. He came back shortly with a glass bottle of some kind of liquid. Carefully, the doctor lifted the little human and began to feed him, rocking him slightly. "Go back to sleep, soldier."
Bucky opened his mouth to protest then sighed and nodded.
The infant started to cry again once he had been removed from Bucky's arm, refusing to feed off the bottle, the contents ending up all over his face as the wails turning into full blown screams.
Frustrated the doctor gave the infant a glare then transferred the glare to the American soldier lying helpless on the bed. Bucky had been in and out of feverish unconsciousness for months, and had only just become lucid, but the doctor showed no joy at the prospect. He glared again at the infant and just plopped it down beside Bucky on the injured side, thrusting the bottle into the patient's good right hand. "Feed that thing or I'll smother it. Keep it quiet," he growled.
Immediately, Bucky began to softly sing to the infant, brushing the liquid protein from the tiny features as he soothed.
The infant's wide pale blue eyes looked up at Bucky, blinking slowly as his cries calmed down once more. He made a few more babbling noises before accepting the bottle and beginning to suck on the nipple to get the much needed protein. The infant continued to suck until the whole protein mix was gone, a very hungry infant as well, it seemed.
Bucky, recalling years when he'd helped with his little sisters, though it had been so long ago, carefully used his only hand to slip the newborn into a seated position with his head supported by Bucky's hip and side. Rubbing soothing circles on the baby's back, Bucky tried to get him to burp so he wouldn't get a tummy ache and spit up later since air always got in with the formula.
The doctor frowned and wrote something in his notes then went off to report to his superiors concerning the soldier and the infant.
The baby boy wiggled a bit before letting out a few burps and then started that same babbling coo again.
Bucky settled the boy back down on the mattress next to his left hip, reaching over his body awkwardly to make contact with the infant's flesh. He rubbed the boy's tummy a bit as he continued to sing lullabies, both in Welsh and in his father's native Polish. Eyes breaking away for a moment, Bucky scanned the room but could tell nothing about his circumstances. All he knew was that he was here, not with the Howling Commandos, and he had no idea how long he'd been here in and out of consciousness. His last memory was of cold and an almost flying-falling sensation, but - - he couldn't really remember much. When he tried, he grew tired and his head began to ache. Stroking the boy's nude chest and belly, realizing it was hot in the small room, Bucky soothingly said, "Mae fy bachgen melys."
The baby boy blinked up at Bucky once more, a toothless grin spreading across his features as he heard Bucky's voice. The infant's limbs flailed again before he settled down, still looking up at Bucky with that happy expression on his innocent face.
Nodding, Bucky continued, softly, in Welsh, "Mae angen enw. Yr ydych yn fy Tomos Iago."
The baby, whom Bucky had just declared to be Thomas James, grinned even wider, his lips pulling into a huge toothless smile. He made a happy, joyful noise, something so odd in that hidden away medical facility.
It had been some years, but Bucky knew newborns usually couldn't respond so well. This baby acted more like he was several months old. Slowly, horror dawned on the soldier. Had the Russians, too, been trying to work on an enhancement method, but using infants? He stroked the baby's tummy and softly said, "fy TJ." How could he protect this little boy from the horrors he was sure to face?
xxx
Setting: AU: Friday, January 18, 1949: Russia
TJ sat in the center of the sterile operating room where he'd been born two and a half years before. He'd never left the room and Bucky had been in with him, as well, the entire time. "Papa! Chwarae!" TJ held up a doll that Bucky had made for him out of rags found in the room.
Smiling at the toddler, Bucky squatted down and reached over to stroke the boy's soft brunet curls. He'd only ever spoken Welsh to the child in private, but around the doctors he'd spoken English and Russian. He didn't know why he'd been given the boy to raise, but he wasn't about to protest since it meant the innocent child would be safe. So far, Bucky felt lucky; despite the missing arm, nothing more had been done to him, and the child was untouched.
"Beth ydych wedi yma, TJ?" he asked the small child, his voice soft in the musical-sounding language.
Unfortunately, the child didn't get to answer. Instead, the door opened and Bucky, looking up, was thrown into a head-spinning nightmare of remembered horror, pain, and humiliation.
In the doorway stood the short, well groomed figure of a bespectacled, balding man with a long, clean white jacket over business attire. Just beyond him stood a tall, lean figure with burn scars along his face and down his neck and up one side of his head; his hair had been shaved off to accommodate. Fear welled high and Bucky nearly vomited and passed out at the same time.
"Papa, pam drist?" TJ asked, looking up at Bucky with his naturally wide eyes, as pale as Bucky's own. He looked at the two men in the door and let out a whimper at the sight of the scarred man. TJ hugged his doll close to his chest, inching closer to Bucky.
Hand immediately encircling TJ at the lower back, Bucky pulled the boy close and stared in mute horror. Nightmare days came rushing back over him and he began to shake. Wetting himself without realizing, Bucky fell into his old dissociation defense of repeating, in several languages, his name, rank, and serial number.
Doctor Arnim Zola rolled his eyes and turned to the tall Hydra soldier, Predan, who had managed to pull himself from the rubble of the exploded building so many years ago. "He is alive," Zola said, sounding breathless, excited. "The serum worked, look at him!"
"Not much more than a scared, whipped dog," Predan commented, looking disgusted at the sight of Bucky and the evidence that the man had wet himself in fear. "He only has one arm and he pissed himself."
"I will fix his arm. Make him better than before," Arnim swore. He glanced at the child. "And this is the boy who was born? The one they want to raise?" The small man strode over to the cowering man and the small child. He knelt down on one knee and softly, smiling gently, said, "Hello, boy. I am Doctor Zola."
Hiding mostly behind Bucky, looking up at Doctor Zola with fear filled eyes, TJ said, "Papa yn galw i mi TJ."
Surprise lit Zola's face and he said, "I believe he's speaking Welsh! Amazing." He looked at Bucky and shook his head. "Well, the boy is not part of my work. He will be raised by your compatriot, Predan. I will have you bring him there while I fixed the mess of this arm."
Predan nodded once and strode into the room, directly over to the cowering Bucky and terrified TJ. "American bitch," Predan commented, spitting at Bucky before reaching down to pick up TJ.
Bucky went wild. He launched himself at Predan, kicking, tearing, and biting, trying to protect TJ, keep him away from that monster. He was a wildcat.
Cursing in his native tongue, Predan was able to get the upper hand rather quickly and yank Bucky off of him, literally tossing the smaller man away. Glaring at Bucky, Predan scooped up TJ and headed for the door.
"Na! Papa, helpu!" TJ screamed, beating his tiny fists on Predan's back as his wide eyes met Bucky's over Predan's shoulder.
"No!" Bucky echoed the boy, trying to go after the child and man.
Predan shouted for some of the other guards to come in and help keep Bucky back. Three guards rushed in to wrestle Bucky to the ground, sitting on him, pushing his face into the hard, dirty concrete.
"Papa! Na! Papa!" TJ wailed, the ragdoll that Bucky had made him falling out of his tiny hands and landing on the floor near the door.
Struggling against the guards, Bucky screamed and howled like a wounded animal. When, finally, they allowed him up, he bolted for the door, only to slam into the locked barricade. "Where are you taking him?" Bucky demanded.
Arnim Zola shrugged and said, "he is an experiment, like you, Sergeant. He was created to be an experiment. They should never have let you become attached." He walked over and injected Bucky's neck with something before the soldier could ever register the doctor's actions. "To think. You begin to actually communicate once a stranger's infant is involved. Fascinating."
Bucky felt lethargy roll through his body and he sagged towards the door, leaning heavily on it. Slowly, he stretched out an arm and groped around until he picked up the small ragdoll. Lifting half-closed eyes, the pale-eyed soldier said, "what abuse are you going to put that baby through?"
Snorting, Arnim Zola shook his head, watching as his patient fought a losing battle with drug-induced sleep. "No torture, I assure you. He was born with the serum in his veins. He is the first in a line of Super Soldiers. You, on the other hand, are barely a positive note in the records."
Fighting, and losing, Bucky slipped into sleep, his mind a swirl of pain and fear and worry.
xxx
Setting: AU: Thursday, January 1, 1959: Cuba and Russia
Not even nodding as his handler and abuser for years, Predan, informed him of the parameters of this mission: his first actually in the field. After coming out of the cryogenic freezing chamber he had been placed in shortly after receiving a biomechanical prosthetic arm from Doctor Arnim Zola, it had taken much work, more training, and the use of a pain-inducing chair Predan had introduced him to to get Bucky to a numb, dissociative point where he was able to function fully under Predan's orders. He simply locked away the horrors he endured when not being trained. Now, he stood watching and listening, in the shadows, as Fulgencio Batista took over the running of Cuba. Bucky had been assured the man was a monster on par with Adolf Hitler or Johann Schmidt.
He waited until the man stepped away from the well wishers nearby, standing in the archway of a balcony overlooking his new palace. Fitting the silenced rifle scope to his eye, Bucky waited, breathing slow, soft, and steady. He watched the man as Batista took one more step . . .
A muffled sound, like a pencil snapping, rang out, overshadowed by the crowds around the hall and balcony. Bucky waited long enough to see the man fall, twitch, then go still, bleeding profusely from a pair of head wounds. Slipping back into the shadows, rejoining his handler, Bucky never said a word. He merely handed off the weapon to Predan, pulled on a trench coat,, slapped a fedora on his head, complete with press-pass tucked in the brim, and slipped into the confused crowd.
An hour later, he joined Predan at the extraction place, blinking slowly behind his protective, filtered mask and goggles at the child sitting in one of the seats on the plane, next to another handler from the horrors of his past: Demonto Rumlow. The boy had brunet curls, cut very short, big pale blue eyes, and a dark grey uniform like the one Bucky himself wore to train in. The boy couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen.
"Winter Soldier," Demonto said in a low drawl, "this is a future soldier. He is observing your mission."
Bucky nodded his head once to the boy then looked at Predan.
"Dove stiamo andando, Signore?" The boy asked, looking up at Demonto, his leg bouncing a bit in his seat.
"Ritorno alla base. Dovrai risolvere la missione a modo tuo. Migliorare il suoi errori." Demonto responded, grinning at Bucky. He ignored that Bucky understood the insult.
"Si, Signore," the boy respond and then tilted his head a bit, his wide eyes taking in the masked man.
"Mission was a success," Predan growled softly at Demonto, eyes narrowing a bit. He hated working with other agents; they always tried to do better than their comrades.
"Even a success can be built upon," Demonto said easily. He reached out and touched the boy's hair, possessively, making Bucky's stomach knot.
The Winter Soldier turned his attention out the window.
The boy watched the Winter Soldier for a few moments, his leg still bouncing, as if he had way too much energy running through his body and needed someway to let it out. "Beth yw dy enw?" He didn't know why he felt the urge to slip into the Welsh language with the silent soldier.
Surprise lit Bucky's face behind his mask and goggles. No one else he'd met since joining the military, since becoming a puppet for the Russians, had spoken Welsh to him. Carefully, he answered the boy, "Milwr gaeaf."
The boy scrunched up his nose and opened his mouth to reply but Predan snapped at the other handler, "he is to speak a language we all understand or he doesn't speak at all!"
Rolling his dark eyes, Demonto turned to the boy and said, in English, "speak English around them. Predan is jealous because he doesn't speak your baby talk."
Turning his attention back up at Demonto, the boy said, in accented English, "what kind of name is Winter Soldier, Sir?"
Demonto said, "it is his only name. Once you begin your real training, you will give up your foolish child's name and become a real soldier with a real name." Demonto dropped his hand from the soft curls on the boy's head.
"But, I like my name. Thomas James is a good name, Sir," TJ argued softly, looking as confused as he sounded. Why would he have to give up his name just to be a soldier?
Bucky turned instantly and studied the boy. Slowly, in perfectly American accented English, he said, "because Thomas James is the name of a boy who goes to classes with civilians and becomes a civilian businessman. A soldier does things no civilian ever does. You will want a name to do those things under. To separate your civilian, soft side from your soldier, hard side."
Bottom lip jutting out in a pout, TJ sat back in his seat on the plane, arms crossing over his chest, "I like my name."
Predan quirked a brow, looking unimpressed, at the young boy and then shifted his eyes to Demonto, "did the brat get any discipline? He acts as a spoiled child."
Demonto looked at Thomas James and said, "TJ will be disciplined as a soldier in training. And as such will get no sympathy for acting like a soft, civilian child. Thirteen is a bit old for tantrums." He sounded disgusted with his charge.
Looking up at Demonto again, TJ frowned softly and said, "I just don't understand why I have to change my name. You didn't have to change your name."
Demonto shook his head and said, "because I am not a field soldier who will gain a reputation to impress those for good and cause fear for those in the wrong. I am merely a handler." Demonto slapped TJ's hand, hard enough to make it red and sting. "You are embarrassing me, child."
Stiffening at the slap, drawing his hand back, TJ immediately sat upright and dropped his eyes, "Sorry, Sir . . ."
Bucky watched the boy, barely recalling the toddler he'd cared for from birth. Finally, he said, "if you were not a soldier, what would you do with your life? How would you protect the people who need you?" He'd never wanted to be a soldier himself, but months of harsh training and pain had shaped him as well as fear of the chair and the inevitable time in a frozen state of limbo; he wished to help this boy accept the life of imprisoned fighting he was born into, to avoid the chair and cryochamber.
Predan rolled his eyes, turning a glare on Bucky, "enough, Soldier. I am done with this chit chat. No more talking unless ordered to, understand?" His large hand fell to Bucky's thigh, squeezing harshly.
Bucky merely bowed his head in agreement once then sat perfectly still, not wishing to be put through the chair. The plane landing prevented any further conversation. Both handlers whisked their charges from the plane to the training bunker.
Demonto gestured to the equipment stores. "Suit up and choose the weapons you will need for this mission. You will take down the evil general who tried to bring chaos to his country." He watched the boy carefully as Bucky slipped to the viewing room to watch through the window.
Looking up at Demonto, TJ nodded once, slipping out of the plain grey uniform he wore and into a tactile uniform much like Bucky's except, instead of all black, the gear was a soft grey, almost like the color of concrete. TJ slipped on a filtering mask, something Demonto said to always wear for missions, and a pair of goggles before grabbing a long ranged rifle and a few knives. He hid the knives among his uniform.
TJ shifted the rifle in his hands and looked to Demonto, nodding once to signal he was ready.
Nodding back, still dressed in his tactical outfit, Demonto led TJ into the simulated area, full of animatronic civilians and targets, both acceptable and unacceptable. Not saying a word, Demonto stood to the side and allowed TJ to work.
The thirteen year old boy bolted into action. He moved swiftly and efficiently, his speed rival to that of the Winter Soldier's despite not even being full grown yet. He moved through the targets without touching a single one, not killing any of the acceptable targets either. TJ jumped and twisted and ran through the room until he'd made it to the point where he set up for his assassination shot.
From the viewing room, Bucky could see the hesitation in the boy's posture as TJ's finger curled around the trigger. TJ adjusted his scope and let out a breath and then another one and another one after that. Eventually, the boy missed his shot, the evil dictator moving out of his range.
Demonto shook his head and spoke into TJ's headset, "again. He cannot live. Democracy depends on this."
Swallowing thickly, TJ stood back up and nodded once, heading back to his starting point. He performed the exercise again, with the same exact result: TJ never touching a single target and the man he was supposed to assassinate getting away.
"No! You are hesitating to take the shot, boy! He is a man who has killed and will kill thousands! And you let him live?" Demonto shook his head. "I have coddled you. You are weak and soft. You are a woman."
The thirteen year old stiffened and stood, turning slowly to face Demonto, "I . . . I do not know that man is bad, Sir. I have seen no files or reports."
"I have told you he is the target and is a bad man. He lead military troops to overthrow the government, making a military dictatorship. How is that democracy? You dare challenge my word, child? I am your handler and give you the assignments. Would you question our great generals when given a task?"
"Yes, if I believed I did not have sufficient information regarding the target I am to kill," TJ responded, setting down his prop rifle. The boy spoke intelligently, reminding Bucky of the infant that had seemed months beyond his time.
Demonto lashed out and struck TJ across the face, hard. "You are impertinent. I shall have to have Predan use his Discipline Chair on you!"
TJ stumbled to the side with the harsh hit, the mask and goggles falling off with the blow. Blood started to run from the boy's nose and he lifted a hand to touch it. He pulled his fingers back and blinked at the sight of blood on his fingertips. With a snarl, TJ launched himself at Demonto, his speed greater than the other man's, and wrapped himself so he firmly latched onto Demonto's back, arms tightly around his handler's neck.
Growling, the taller and much stronger man flung his body backwards, landing on the ground with the boy under him, hitting the cement hard. He bucked hard, making the boy hit again against the unforgiving floor.
With a yelp, TJ let go, dazed from his head smacking against the floor, and scrambled from under Demonto. He tried to get away but everything was spinning and he couldn't seem to get his feet underneath him.
Demonto grabbed TJ by an arm and leg and hauled him up, carrying him out of the room and down to the training pool - - the cold one. He threw the boy inside. "Attack me, you bastard?"
Drenched and struggling with the heavy combat gear he wore, his body aching and head throbbing, TJ kicked and clawed his way back to the surface of the pool, breaching with a shocked and pained gasp. Blood started to tint the water, seeming to come from the back of TJ's head.
Demonto reached in and pulled the child from the water and left him by the side of the pool. "Now, get your ass up and go to the first aid room, boy!" he snarled. "Any care you get is something you earn yourself.
Shivering, lips a nice shade of blue, TJ struggled to his hands and knees, feeling like he was about to fall sideways back into the cold water. Shaking his head, TJ let out a sob, "I - - I can't, per favore?"
In a neutral tone, Bucky said to Predan, "permission to train the boy to be a soldier, sir."
Predan watched the scene in front of him with a disappointed expression, "granted, Soldier. This is why children soldiers are never a good idea!" He sighed and shook his head.
Bucky didn't reply. He merely walked into the pool area and scooped up the thirteen year old into his strong arms; one made of metal and gears created by Arnim Zola years before and the other his own flesh and blood. He carried the shivering, bleeding child out and down to the first aid center, ignoring the voice of Demonto turned in anger on Predan. Laying TJ on the bed, Bucky began immediately tending his head, pulling a blanket close enough for the boy to reach if he chose.
"Rwy'n gwybod ichi," TJ muttered, his eyes looking up at Bucky, his skin pale and body still shivering from the cold water.
With a nod, not removing his mask or goggles, Bucky very softly said, "Ie, Fy TJ. Ond yn awr yr ydych yn fy hyfforddai. Rhaid ichi weithio'n galed a deallus a gryf ac yn gyflym. Maent wedi'u hyfforddi i ladd, beidio â meddwl chi."
TJ simply nodded, "yes, Papa," he muttered so softly that it could have been easily missed by Bucky.
Bucky stroked down TJ's wrist to his hand then finished bandaging his head. In English, now that he'd told the boy he was being trained to be a mindless killer, Bucky asked, "are you ready to redo the scenario? Think of the target as un ohonynt."
Swallowing thickly, TJ looked up at Bucky and slowly nodded, moving to sit up, his back and ribs screaming in protest. TJ fought through the pain and carefully got to his feet.
Bucky carefully stripped the boy's tactical gear to check for other injuries. "You have the serum I do, I have been told. It will help you heal quickly. But you must learn to ignore pain, too. Put it in a compartment and lock it away until you are being treated."
Nodding again, TJ looked at Bucky and said, "I am ready to retry the mission."
Redressing the child, sure there were no breaks, Bucky stood. "Good. Let us go train. I will make you better than I ever could be." Softly, he added, "Y nod o unrhyw Papa."
When TJ got back to the training room, the boy took up the rifle again, positioning it on his back so his hands could remain free. When he got the signal to go from Bucky, TJ started to move once more. He wasn't as fast as he'd been before due to his injuries but this time he effortlessly sunk his knife into the targets that were deemed acceptable, hitting them in spots that had they been real, they would have died without a sound. Once TJ got positioned with the rifle, his main target in his sights, TJ let out a breath and pulled the trigger, the target dying with one shot.
Demonto looked smug and turned to Predan. "I think he will do well once trained. You?"
Snorting softly, Predan said, "if you can control that rebellious streak? Yes, I think he might make a decent soldier."
"You have a way to control your own soldier's rebellious streak, yes?" Demonto grinned. "So, we can use the same method if he proves to resist too hard. I think your soldier shall train mine until he is older and wiser."
Predan nodded once, looking at the two soldiers with calculating eyes before he called, "again! This time, do it together!"
xxx
Setting: AU: Tuesday, November 12, 1963: Dallas, Texas, United States of America
Four years outside of the chamber, rarely enduring the chair, had passed. Bucky trained TJ hard, working on stealth as well as strength, marksmanship and puzzle solving. He worked hard to teach his pupil to follow orders, even if they felt wrong, and accept that his betters were the ones making the decisions. Bucky and TJ were merely tools, weapons to be used. And during that four years of training, Bucky and TJ had formed into a seamless team of assassins, despite the seventeen year old's inexperience in the field.
The Winter Soldier had dubbed his young shadow The Winter Wolf.
Now, on their first outside mission since Bucky had helped unknowingly usher in Fidel Castro as the dictator of Cuba, Bucky waited by a fourth story window of a warehouse overlooking a busy street in an unidentified city. He wore his filter and goggles, earplugs keeping him from overhearing any propaganda spouted by the enemy civilians in the mob lining the roadway. A dictator would be driven down that road in but moments, surrounded by guards and henchmen and lackeys, expecting his downtrodden subjects to idolize and worship him as he waved from his expensive vehicle. Bucky stood in shadows, dressed in equally dark clothes. He glanced over at his charge behind a wooden stockade fence on a slight rise by the street, dressed in the blue uniform of the local police force but waiting in the shadows to do his part.
TJ scanned the area, remaining cool and collected as he stayed in his stationed spot in the cool fall breeze. He, too, wore the plugs in his ears to keep out the propaganda that the crowd seemed enraptured by. TJ could tell that the many men, women, and children lining the gently curved street were excited to see this dictator. For the moment, TJ kept in the shade of a tree that had a good view of the street.
As a series of vehicles, some ridden by law enforcement officers, rounded the bend onto the street, Bucky tapped his earpiece once, sending a small muffled beep through to his two accomplices. It was the signal that the target car had rounded the bend. Looking through his scope, Bucky pushed away any of the blurred, faded images from a past long dead. He pushed away the emotions his bond with the boy raised. Instead, he pushed away all contact with feelings and reality and dissociated until he became the Winter Soldier. With a small frown of concentration, he hit the signal again and began to silently count.
As two shots rang out from a window above him, the Winter Soldier waited, knowing that a silenced bullet would also be fired from Predan's rifle just one floor above. His job was merely to make sure the target died if somehow Oswald and Predan missed. The fourth team member, the Winter Wolf, was there as a final insurance policy on their target, though he shouldn't be needed. Predan's bullet had done the work Oswald's two had not. Oswald was inept; he should never have required two bullets, let alone backup. That was the problem with using outside agents. In the future, Predan would most likely make sure never to accept outside aid.
Verifying through his scope that the man was truly hit and down, the Winter Soldier slid further into the shadows and hurried quickly down the back steps and into the basement, making sure to avoid those people just coming up the main steps. He would meet the unit at the extraction point, if any of the others made it out; they had a mere twenty minute window before their ride would leave.
TJ watched the chaotic scene erupt in front of him. The Winter Wolf was suddenly surrounded by screams of terror and even wails, as if the supporters lining the streets had just lost a family member. TJ had never seen so much chaos before. The vehicle sped down the road after Predan's and Oswald's bullets had exploded through the air. TJ stood there, frozen for a moment, as he watch the pretty woman in the car, dressed in all pink, reach for something on the back of the vehicle. . . had she really just reached for part of the target's scalp and brain matter? TJ knew from his own extensive training that a hit like that was fatal. Their target was dead.
Shaking himself, TJ turned and started towards the extraction point. In his police uniform, people parted the way for him, some grabbing at him and sobbing in terror and grief. TJ brushed them off easily, weaving through the crowds until he made it to the waiting vehicle.
Already waiting there, the Winter Soldier nodded once as he slid his rifle behind the rear seats of the cleaning van. He climbed into the back seat, noting absently the windows had been blacked out.
TJ moved to climb into the van after Bucky but furrowed his brows, a hand going to his abdomen as he felt painful cramping. Had he been shot and not realized it? The Winter Wolf looked down, trying to see if he could spot any blood but he looked fine. And, why did he feel hot suddenly?
Hissing softly, the Winter Soldier said, "get inside, Winter Wolf!"
Swallowing thickly, TJ pushed past the pain and uneasiness his body felt and stepped into the van, practically collapsing next to Bucky. Looking down at the youth, the Winter Soldier reached out and began massaging TJ's stomach, a very vague memory of a small boy who was soothed from horrible cramps flashing through his mind.
Predan tossed his rifle in the back with the two other soldiers as he slipped into the driver's seat, pulling away from the curb, just barely managing to miss the police barricades around the perimeter of the scene. Glancing back in the rearview, Predan frowned fiercely, "did the Winter Wolf get injured?"
"Uncertain. Winter Wolf has pain in the abdomen, Sir." Winter Soldier replied immediately, his tone neutral.
Predan frowned but didn't say anything else until he made it to the second extraction point. They'd need to get out of the country and fast.
TJ whimpered softly, turning his head to nuzzle at Bucky's neck, a very soft mewl breaking past his lips. The young man's skin had developed a thin layer of sweat and he seemed overall dazed.
"What happened to the American, Oswald?" Winter Soldier asked as he continued to gently massage TJ's abdomen.
"The American will serve his purpose," Predan answered simply, pulling into a small tarmac where their plane waited to take them back to Siberia. "Come on, we have to move, carry him if you must," Predan ordered, slipping out of the driver's seat, grabbing all three rifles as he got out.
Winter Soldier slid one arm under TJ's legs and the other around the youth's back. Lifting quickly, easily, he slid from the van and followed Predan up into the small plane. "His skin is heated, Sir," the Winter Soldier reported as he set TJ in one of the seats and buckled him in.
Frowning severely, looking at the dazed and sick looking man in the seat, Predan locked the rifles away and walked up to TJ. He placed a hand on the young man's skin and shook his head when he felt the fever that Bucky had reported. Predan moved to the back of the plane and grabbed a first aid kit, injecting TJ with something to make the man sleep. "The medics will look at him when we get back home." He watched as TJ quickly fell unconscious and then moved to buckle up himself, "sit down, Soldier."
Obeying, the Winter Soldier moved to his own seat and sank down into it, buckling in. His eyes trailed forward to the unknown pilot then back. He watched the unconscious seventeen year old slumped in his own seat and worried privately for the boy. In his peripheral, Bucky noted the entrance of Demonto Rumlow; the man slipped into a seat next to Predan and softly reported, "all clear. Target deceased."
Nodding once, Predan called to the pilot, "clear for take off." He looked back at Demonto and said, gesturing to TJ, " we had to sedate your charge. Some sort of sickness or something. The medical team will have to look at him when we get back."
Looking interested, Demonto waited until the plane was in the air before unbuckling and making his way over to TJ. He checked over the youth and questioned Bucky extensively about TJ's symptoms. Finally, smiling, Demonto walked back to his seat and sank down, whispering, "that is good. The injections are working. Doctor Zola is trying to change him, to breed him. Make more super soldiers."
Glancing over at the unconscious TJ, Predan shook his head, "shameful waste of an Alpha, converting him. If he's transferred to the breeding program, all those years of training will be for nothing. After all, a breeder had no use of combat skills . . . all the bitch will have to do is spread his legs."
Sending a look to Predan, Demonto asked, "you have been given one of the early serums? How does it work? I understand the first patient became a horror."
"Serum has been perfected after all these years, those side effects no longer happen," Predan glanced at Demonto, quirking a brow at the other man, "why? You hoping to be approved for such an honor to carry the serum in your veins?"
"Doesn't any soldier wish to carry on his agenda indefinitely?" Demonto shot back.
Predan shrugged one shoulder, leaning back and getting comfortable for the long plane ride back to Siberia. "I suppose in one way or another."
"And you, Predan, do you hope to be honored as the first to breed the pup?" Demonto grinned widely.
Cracking one eye open to look at Demonto, Predan let out a chuckle, "if they want the strongest pup out there? I am the only choice to mount the bitch."
Snorting, Demonto said, "no, I think they would choose our Winter Soldier if they wanted a strong choice."
Letting out a dark sounding chuckle, Predan simply said, "they wouldn't do that. Trust me on that. Besides, Winter doesn't have it in him to mount, isn't that right, Winter?" Predan looked over at the silent soldier, his tone mocking.
"I will do as ordered," Bucky responded neutrally, not really following the conversation, especially now that it seemed to have gotten lewd. He paid more attention to the young man he'd been training full out for the last four years.
Predan turned a grin on Demonto, and asked, "have you used sex as a controlling device, Demonto? Seems to work wonders. Though, if you have been, they might make you stop if he becomes a breeder."
"I have not done anything sexual to the boy. I knew they were waiting to see how he would present and if they wanted to change him. And I know exactly what you mean about Winter being unfavorable for mounting. He got so upset when I even suggested it that he brought the entire base down on us. I was put in the stockade and he was rushed off to be coddled by that performing ape." Bitterness tinted his words.
Predan just chuckled darkly before getting comfortable in his chair once more and letting his eyes close.
Ignoring the pair completely, Bucky let himself up from his seat and moved to sit beside his charge, belting into that seat so he could keep an eye on TJ as the pair headed back to debriefing, correction, and cold storage.