Chapter 4

Everyone in the room watched intently as the Winter Soldier's eyes opened. The Winter Soldier, for his part, was confused, still under some effects of the sedative that the red-haired woman had used. After a few moments, his training kicked in and his eyes flew all the way open and he pulled on his restraints, testing their limits.

"Whoa, big guy! Chill out. We're not here to torture you. Probably - ow!"

The Winter Soldier looked up to see the black man rubbing his shoulder, shooting the man on his left a dirty look. His eyes narrowed. He'd talked to the black man before; his name was Sam. That meant the other man was . . . Steve. The man who claimed to know the Winter Soldier since before he was the Winter Soldier.

"Bucky," Steve said quietly. The name made a headache spring up in the Winter Soldier's head and he clenched his teeth.

"That's not my name," he growled.

"It was." The Winter Soldier's icy eyes snapped over to the red-haired woman, who appeared to be picking her nails. She returned his gaze calmly, unfazed by his expression. Then she frowned. "Are you wearing mascara?"

He didn't like that woman.

"No," he eventually said, dismissing the woman and turning back to Steve, as he seemed to be the most conflicted of the group. He took a deep breath, formulating the question in his mind. "How did you know me?"

"I think the better question is 'when'," the woman muttered.

"That's it, Natasha," the man named Sam grunted. "We're leaving."

"But-!"

"No complaining," Sam snapped, dragging the woman out the door. The Winter Soldier watched the interaction, confused. He remembered fighting that woman and that man. She was obviously allowing the other man to drag her out, though the Winter Soldier couldn't see why.

"Thank you, Sam," Steve muttered, running a hand through his hair and fixing the Winter Soldier with an intense look from his blue eyes. The Winter Soldier returned the gaze blankly.

"Why am I restrained?" He asked, trying to move again and failing.

"Natasha thought it would be a good idea," Steve replied. It seemed as if the whole situation pained him. Suddenly, the Winter Soldier cried out and ducked his head, seemingly in pain. "Bucky!" He rushed to his friend's side - or the person who had been his friend before - but wasn't sure what to do. The chair the Winter Soldier was in buckled and his hands were clenched into fists.

Just as suddenly as it had happened, the Winter Soldier relaxed, tipping his head back and taking deep breaths. Steve watched, an expression of concerned worry on his face. Here was his friend, but there was nothing Steve could do to help him or get his memory back. Then again, Steve thought, watching Bucky - no, the Winter Soldier - recover, maybe getting his memory back wasn't a good thing. No doubt the Hydra scientists had put his friend through countless tortures that were better left forgotten.

The Winter Soldier slowly calmed down, his breathing and heart rate returning to normal. He needed to get a grip o his memories, but at times he was powerless to stop the flashes of past events.

"Don't struggle. It will only make this more painful."

He stiffened, but forced the memory back. He was his own man now, not Hydra's.

Apparently, he thought bitterly, he was being restrained for his own safety. Looking up, the Winter Soldier saw Steve still staring at him, and there was enough pain in his eyes to make the Winter Soldier wonder just what had gone on between them in the past.

"Do you know how old you are?" Steve eventually asked, sitting back down heavily in his chair. The Winter Soldier frowned, for a moment not wanting to answer the question, but then he realized that Steve was supposed to be helpful to him, so he searched his memory.

And came up blank.

"I- I don't know," he slowly said, confusion written all over his face. "I can't remember."

He remembered ice. And cold. And Darkness. But nothing else.

"You're over eighty years old," Steve said, "and so am I."

Immediately, the Winter Soldier shook his head.

"That's impossible."

He didn't sound so sure of himself.

"No, it's not," Steve responded, interlocking his fingers while his brow furrowed in thought. He wasn't sure how to talk to the man in front of him; his mind screamed "Bucky" while his eyes screamed "Winter Soldier". The two were the same man, but apparently Bucky was long gone. "You and I . . . we were partners in the United States military."

The Winter Soldier's eyes snapped wide open, shock on his face. More memories flashed through his mind, too quickly for him to make sense of them but one stayed just long enough for the Winter Soldier to recognize Steve holding out his hand, grinning, with gunfire in the background. A moment later, the Winter Soldier came back to the present, sweat dripping down his face.

"I . . ." he shook his head again, trying to dislodge the headache that was pounding in his brain. "I think I remember you."

Steve's expression was so full of hope that it made the Winter Soldier sick to his stomach, but he couldn't really do anything about it, being strapped to a chair and all.

"That's a start," Steve sighed. "Do you remember anything else? Your name?"

The Winter Soldier knew that the people referred to him as either "the Winter Soldier" or "Bucky". The latter name made his head hurt, but he couldn't help but think that there was a reason for that. Was Bucky his name before?

Suddenly, a memory came through his head. This time, it wasn't a barrage of images, but rather a single name: James Buchanan Barnes. His eyes widened and his hands tightened into fists. So that was his name.

"James . . . Buchanan . . . Barnes," the Winter Soldier muttered, speaking it slowly as if the words were foreign. Steve's expression only grew more surprised.

"You know your name!" He said, excited. The Winter Soldier shook his head.

"That's all I remember."

Steve frowned, puzzled. He couldn't figure out his friend. At some points he was easy to understand and at others it was nearly impossible to figure out what he was thinking.

Suddenly, the door burst open, with Black Widow supporting a wounded Falcon.

"We've got trouble, Captain!" She yelled, slamming the door behind her. "I think some Hydra agents still want Bucky dead!"

You can't have a Captain America fan fiction without at least a little action. It's really weird to write third person (usually I write in first person), especially when one of the characters doesn't even know how to think . . .

Apparently you guys like what I'm writing, so I'll keep writing it. Please review if you can!

-RoR