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3. The warning posted on the door

His clip is empty. Rather than reload, he tosses his weapon to the ground and pulls out one of his knives. He always has knives on him, he thinks. Force of habit. Twirling it through his fingers to remind himself of its weight, he continues to move forward, catching bullets that he cannot dodge on his left arm and making quick work of anyone who comes within arm's reach. It's almost too easy, and the sinking feeling that this is where he feels most comfortable is hard to ignore.

"Status, Buck," Steve's voice crackles in his ear.

Hastily glancing around the room, he throws his knife at the last man standing, who drops to the floor immediately. "Threat neutralized," he answers.

"That was fast," Sam's voice interjects, and he smiles grimly.

"Be careful leaving the barracks, Buck. There are a lot more of them than we thought. Meet us downstairs as soon as you can."

"Copy."

He never talked much on missions, even during the war. He was focused, getting the job done. Unnecessary chatter was a distraction, though he knew a lot of guys needed that, needed to distance themselves from what they had to do. He supposed he just wasn't one of those guys. As the Soldier, speaking freely wasn't exactly encouraged, and he was certainly not expected to say anything outside of the mission parameters. Probably for the whole seventy years. So Sam might tease to lighten the mood, but he won't respond to it until the job's done.

Wiping his knife on the clothes of one of the dead HYDRA agents, he goes to where he dropped his gun and picks it up. Reloading it efficiently, he pauses to listen carefully before moving cautiously out of the barracks he was sent to neutralize. Whether or not that meant to kill every last one of them was not specified. Steve prefers not to approach missions with the intention of ending a lot of lives, but he knew what he was doing, sending him in here. Sending the Winter Soldier in here.

As he moves silently down the dark hallways, the stillness somewhat shocking after the intensity of the fight, he considers the other missions he has been sent to perform. Not many involved wanton destruction, unless Steve was involved. Steve is more subtle now, he notes, but definitely not a spy. Not a trained assassin. So Steve takes Sam and they approach the issue like soldiers, while he sneaks in to neutralize threats before they become an issue. Just like old times, he supposes.

He hears footsteps approaching slowly, and he freezes in place, listening hard. The footsteps continue in his direction and he slowly rotates to lean against the wall behind him to present as minimal a target as possible. A heavily armed man appears around the corner, moving hesitantly forward and looking around hastily. He waits as long as he can before springing forward and wrapping his metal fingers around the man's throat; the armor he wears prevents him from using another type of attack as effectively.

Gunfire echoes deafeningly down the corridor as the startled HYDRA agent attempts to get a shot at him. It's useless; he's too close. He tightens his fingers and uses his other hand to knock the gun from the other man's hands. It clatters to the floor as he swings the man against the wall, knocking him unconscious. Probably not killing him, but he doesn't have much experience with less-than-deadly force.

"Status, Bucky," Steve says suddenly, sounding a little out of breath.

"En route," he answers.

"Faster would be better," Sam mutters.

Automatically, he moves more quickly in Steve's direction. When he runs into other agents, he doesn't waste time attempting stealth. They are surprised, afraid, and pose little threat. Even heavily armored ones are quickly dispatched. Finally, he reaches the large room Steve and Sam are trying to fight their way across. It's too small for Sam's wings to be very useful, and they are getting cornered by more than twenty men. He doesn't take time to count them; just jumps into the fray.

It is difficult to gauge time, but he feels bones break against his fingers, both metal and flesh, and runs out of ammo again more than once. His knife is dripping as he pulls it out of the last man. Steve and Sam are standing nearby, catching their breaths. He doesn't like the way Sam is looking at him.

"What?" he asks irritably.

Sam smiles. "I'm just glad you're on our side," he says sincerely. Steve smirks at that.

"He's always been good in a fight," Steve agrees, rearming himself and securing his shield to his back.

"You're making me blush," he replies, wiping off his knife again and tucking it back into its sheath.

"Let's go, then," Steve orders, leading the way down a narrow corridor.

Sam sighs dramatically. "I hate these underground missions."

"We'll find you somewhere to use your wings next time," Steve promises.

They fall silent as they move quickly and quietly downhill. He can't say he likes underground missions, either, but they do tend to feature that component heavily. HYDRA was in hiding for decades; their remaining bases are not likely to be out in the open. He's been to enough of them recently to know that's the case. It's good to have backup this time, he thinks. Or a team. It's been a long time since he's had any support on missions.

Steve motions for them to stop, and he peers around the corner before nodding at them. They have reached the detention level. Moving forward when Steve moves back, he surveys the room. Three guards, on high alert, but they clearly don't expect the intruders to bother coming down here. They're heavily armed and might present a challenge. To someone else. He pulls out his pistol and neutralizes the three of them in a matter of seconds. Glancing back, he gives Steve a smile.

"Was that not the plan?"

Steve shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips. "Not really, but it works. Let's go."

He falls back to let Steve lead them again, checking their surroundings constantly. They are deep in the base now, and he can't help but feel something like a trapped animal. Their footsteps echo across the empty room as they move passed the dead guards and toward the rows of cells.

When he was in Azzano, Italy, HYDRA took him prisoner. He and his men were packed into small cells that just consisted of bars on every side. There were over a dozen of these. It was cramped, unpleasant, but it was better than later. When he got sick, when he couldn't work anymore, he was taken to an isolation ward. No one had come back from there. He hadn't wanted to be afraid, but he'd been terrified. In front of the others, it was easy to put on a brave face. But, alone, he couldn't do that. Alone he had resorted to saying his name, rank, and personnel number to keep from giving up. And then Steve had rescued him.

So he can't help but feel empathetic toward these prisoners, even if their cells are much more high-tech than his was. It takes a few tries to figure out how to open the damn things, but they manage. They stare at him, these people, and not in the same way they stare at Steve. He wonders if his reputation precedes him here, too.

"I've got the doctor," Sam says, leading an elderly gentleman toward them.

"Great. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Steve addresses the man, who squints at him.

"Where are you taking me?" the man asks, in the tone of someone resigned to their fate.

"Nick Fury sends his apologies for Copenhagen," Steve replies, and the man's eyes widen.

"I… I thought he was dead."

"We all did, sir. Now, we need to get you out of here."

Leaving Steve to his job, he turns away and starts to head back out, prepared to clear a path if need be. It's awfully quiet on the trip back uphill, with nearly a dozen prisoners in tow. The unsettled feeling from earlier increases and he can't help wanting to be done with this place as soon as possible.

Suddenly, a shot comes out of nowhere and manages to hit Steve square in the chest. He goes down. Automatically, he pulls his weapon and fires accurately in the direction of the shot, hearing another body hit the floor.

"Steve!" he cries, turning back and running to his friend.

Sam, who was covering the rear, sprints to join him. "What the hell," he says.

He kneels by Steve, whose eyes are closed, and is sickened to think of how much he looks like when he was pulled out of the Potomac.

"I'm fine," Steve wheezes, wincing.

Relief makes his knees weak, but he helps Steve to his feet anyway. "We should hurry," he says to Sam, who nods, a similar look of relief flooding his face.