"I don't know if I can do this."

Bucky was hovering in the doorway to the laboratory, his stomach twisting into a tangled mess of knots inside his body. Steve was beside him, but the laboratory was shooting up his anxiety levels to dangerous heights. His arm seemed to flex and recalibrate on its own accord, causing Tony and Bruce to exchange nervous glances. Tony's suit was on standby, but Steve had made him promise not to put it on unless things got bad.

Of course, if things got bad, it would probably be Bruce they had to really worry about.

Steve headed into the room first, giving Bucky as reassuring squeeze of his shoulder as he went by him. He stood next to the chair and felt his own apprehension rising. Though it had been heavily upgraded and enhanced by Tony, the chair was still eerily familiar from the photos he had seen in the Winter Soldier dossier. Ugly and angular, with straps and tubes and lots of scary electronics that still looked nothing but alien to the old fashioned Captain. He would be terrified to have to sit in that kind of contraption, and he didn't even have all the emotional scarring that Bucky did.

Bucky wanted to run. Something deep in his brain was telling him this was a bad idea, that danger was close. Survival mode was fogging his mind like an invisible gas; his heart rate increasing and sweat rolling down the side of his face. The muscles in his shins twitched; every fight or flight instinct in his soul urging him to bolt to survive and another day.

He didn't want to go back. Not into that chair. That chair meant pain and cold and a thousand other horrible things that made him want to throw up.

It wasn't fair. He wanted to get better. Not this. Not whatever this hell his life had become. Because of the experimentation, Bucky's brain was healing without the constant "wipes" from his handlers at HYDRA. Healing was a such a deceptive word, however. As his brain repaired itself, the memories that were once lost to him were creeping back into his consciousness. They came in clips, like puzzle pieces falling into place. And they were horrible things: things no one should be forced to remember.

He remembered the crack a neck made when it was broken by his hands. The gurgle of a crushed trachea under his metallic fist. The splatter of blood across an office building wall as viewed through the scope of a long-range sniper rifle.

Intense training. Brutal training. Sparring with real blades and real clubs and not being allowed to eat or sleep for days on end. Kicks to the jaw for speaking out of turn. Carvings into the flesh for failing an important skill assessment.

Horrible, degrading acts at the vile hands of his handlers. Their fists tangled into his hair, pulling, pushing. Gagging and swallowing and swollen, bleeding skin. Post-coital cigarette burns into his back. Deceptively tender strokes along his face and the inability to even show his shame or displeasure without the threat of severe punishment.

Those were what were coming back to Bucky as his brain 'healed' and he couldn't handle it. Some days were okay. But more often than anyone was comfortable with, he would break again. He wasn't sure if it was a short circuit or a coping mechanism or just plain PTSD, but something would happen and it would all go to shit. Somebody would say something, or something on the T.V. would show something, or just a smell or a sound or a sight would trigger something in him and he wasn't Bucky Barnes anymore.

He was back to being the Soldier. He was back to his missions. Which mission? He rarely knew. But if there was someone in his way, they had to die. He had put three SHIELD operatives into the ICU, and more than once ended up back into a brawl with about the only person who could go toe-to-toe with him: Steve Rogers. Sometimes the episodes lasted only a few seconds. Sometimes he ended up in a holding cell for days.

Bruce and Tony had run every brain scan and test they knew to do. There was simply no precedent for what had been done to him. Drugs and sedatives did little to control the situation; his body would filter out any foreign chemical in his brain before it did any good. Tony had even gotten him high on marijuana once (much to Steve's distress) which seemed to help for a few hours at best, but even then sometimes the paranoia would kick in and things would get even worse.

Bucky was lucky Captain America was respected as much as he was around SHIELD. Coulson especially was giving him more leeway than anyone else in his position would probably be allowed. But it was time for drastic measures. Coulson had given him an ultimatum: the treatment or the Fridge.

Bucky had 'chosen' the treatment, because the Fridge wasn't an option. He would put a bullet in head first, not that he dared let Steve in on the fact that that was an option he had already considered many times over. It was probably a good thing he had no access to a gun in the Avengers tower, else he may have already done so.

But here and now, staring at that monstrous chair, he didn't know if he would be able to handle this. He saw Tony sigh and check his watch. Bruce smelled of anxiety. They both were watching him like a hawk, eyes flickering over to Steve impatiently. But Steve wasn't going to rush him, or force him. Steve wanted him to come into the chair on his own, even if it took all damn day.

He finally took a step closer, and Steve smiled at him. It was a forced smile; he could tell. Steve couldn't hide anything from him, much less the pained nervousness playing out on his features. The short series of steps over to the machine seemed like a lifetime. His steps were heavy and controlled, trying not to show any outward signs of the turmoil swirling around in his head. Finally, he was there and he carefully sat into the worn leather seat.

A wave of nausea rose in his throat as he settled into the chair. He knew what was coming, and if it was anywhere near like it had been before he didn't figure it would be any better. "What did you say the chances are I make it out of this alive?"

All the men in the room looked at each other, each daring the other to speak first. "About 60%. We think," Bruce finally said. It wasn't much more than a guess. They had no real way of knowing for sure.

Bucky was quiet, his head nodding almost imperceivably. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was cotton. "And the chances that I'll actually, you know, be functional?"

Another long pause and Dr. Banner silently wished someone else would save him from having to say it. He sighed. "About 30%."

Steve shook his head, crossing his arms across his chest and his jaw working under his flawless skin. He was on the verge of tears himself and he could barely even try to comprehend what Bucky must be going through.

"Okay," Bucky said flatly, leaning back into the chair. It was now or never. He licked his lips and let his eyes finally raise up to meet Steves'. It was like a moment frozen in time as they stared at each other. Both of them knowing this was the only option, but neither of them wanting to accept this could very well be the last time they ever saw one another.

"Hopefully the end of the line isn't as close as it feels," Bucky said, trying to pitch it off as a joke but his voice catching just enough to betray his fear.

Steve looked as though someone had punched him in the gut. He stepped closer to Bucky and pulled up a chair. "Don't say that," he said seriously, keeping his eye contact. "I'm going to see you real soon. We'll go out on the town," he said, forcing that pained, puppy dog smile of his.

You're always late for your dates, Bucky thought bitterly, recounting the times Steve had told him about the 'date' he missed with Peggy. Was his fate doomed to be the same? Would he either die or end up on ice again... indefinitely?

"Are we ready?" Bruce asked hesitantly once the silence that had settled into the room got uncomfortable.

Steve looked to Bucky. He wasn't going to let anyone touch him until he consented.

Bucky forced himself to take a deep breath. "Yeah," he grunted, sounding weakly convincing at best.

Bruce nodded and Tony and he moved over to the chair and began the process of setting up. There were IVs to insert, and electrodes to adhere. The whole time Bucky found himself unable to look away from Steve, who was hovering around nervously. If he was going to die today, Steve was the last thing he wanted to see. Not blood. Not weapons. Not Pierce.

Steve.

It was time. Like he had done countless times before, he opened his jaw and let Bruce insert the rubber mouthguard. Steve came over and took his right hand, giving it a support squeeze before Tony adjusted the table to lay Bucky on his back. "It's time," he said, giving a serious look to Steve.
Steve reluctantly stepped away, his own nausea rising. It wasn't easy to make Captain America feel sick, but knowing this could be the last time he saw his best friend was the fastest way to do it.

Bruce took a deep breath and began the procedure. It started with a series of injections, before the electricity came on. This was the truly horrifying part; the electronic buzz was so strong even Tony, Bruce, and Steve could feel the hairs on their arms stand up on edge. But the clincher were the screams. Bucky screamed and screamed around his mouthguard, his eyes bulging and muscles contracting as unknown voltage raced through his brain. It was almost too much for Steve to handle.

It seemed like an eternity before Bucky fell silent; unconscious. Steve wiped his face, a mix of tears and sweat making his skin glisten. But even after the screams stopped, Bruce and Tony continued to check monitors and administer different drugs. They were steel-focused on their task, and Steve didn't dare interrupt them lest he cause them to mess up an important calculation.

After what felt like hours, Bruce walked over to Steve. "That's it," he said quietly. "Now we just wait to see if - " the flash in Steve's eyes caused Bruce to reconsider his words, "when he wakes up."

Steve walked over to his friend, who at the very least seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He put his hand on his head - red hot and covered with sweat - and gently wiped the hair out from his closed eyes. "What's going to stop the same thing from happening again?" he finally asked, not taking his eyes off Bucky. "His brain healing and remembering everything." "Well, we don't, really," Tony said. His voice may have sounded callous but he clapped Steve on the shoulder to show his support.

"But the idea," Bruce continued, knowing more of the medical side of things, "Is that we also administered a modified version of your super soldier serum. Hopefully, his brain fully heals before he wakes up." "It's like we're locking away the memories in scar tissue," Tony said. "But nothings certain, Cap. You look like hell, you should try to get some sleep. He'll be asleep for at least eighteen hours."

If only that were true.