Chapter 3
A psychotic laugh escapes my lips. It tickled and hurt at the same time. The doctor then tests the reflexes on my other leg. And with the tap of a rubber hammer, my leg kicks with mechanical precision into the air.
All day I've been stuck, poked, and examined from every possible angle. The Avengers are much more strict than I thought. I mean, plenty of diseases and sickness go around in a refugee camp, so it makes sense, but I'm up to date on all my shots.
Immediately after my interrogation, I was escorted down the hall, this time without a blindfold. There are two medical rooms chock full of supplies and also two doctors. And boy, are they thorough. I think I've been checked for every disease known to man.
And like every time I go for a checkup, I am thoroughly exhausted by the end of it. So when I am officially declared in perfect health, Sam comes to pick me up, and I say pick me up, I mean literally. I am so tired I pass out on the mini hospital coach, and when I wake I feel warm arms around my back and legs; he is carrying me bridal style.
"Oh, so you're awake now, Ms. Shrink?" He chuckles. I almost get out of his arms, but if he's carrying me, why in the world would I walk? "Very funny, Mr. Bird. You aren't going to put me down, are you?"
Sam's large, slight gap tooth smile, melts away any anger left inside me at the way I've been lied to. How can someone so nice mean any harm? "It would be my honor. To bad I don't have my wings, though. I could fly you across the compound. That'd be hot, wouldn't it. You like birds?"
"Oh, yeah. Especially the small ones." I tease.
Sam sighs in fake exasperation and jokes, "Dang girl. It's always the beautiful ones that give you a hard time."
We both laugh and then all goes quiet. I listen to his feet tap the floor. The hallway is white, although the setting sun tints the hall pink. Large windows look over a lush jungle and on the other side are multiple rooms; some full of scientific equipment and a few offices.
Sam coughs conspicuously, and says "I'm sorry for the way you had to be brought in here. But none of us wanted to risk going back to the underwater government jail."
"It's fine. I understand the precautions." Although it was slightly insulting, seeing what Mr. Barnes has been through, I would've done the same.
Again, neither of us speaks. There is so much unspoken tension because of why I am here; it's hard to chat over helping a ninety year old brainwashed assassin
Sam turns a corner and carries me down a different hall, where I think the bedrooms are located. Through a slightly cracked door, I see a long haired girl around my age who looks to be rewatching some old news footage of a building exploding. Sam notices me watching her and comments, "That's Wanda. She's been watching that old footage ever since we got here. Can't seem to move past what happened."
"What exactly did happen?" I question. Then reality hits. She must have blew up the building. Red tendrils had been swirling through the building before it blew. Having been away from televisions for so long, I haven't heard much news, except the few times the UN volunteers came. "Never mind." I say quietly.
"Yeah. It's rough. But hey, we've got a top notch therapist on our hands. Maybe you could talk to her?"
I reply, "Sure." He's right when he says they now have a therapist on their hands, but it's such a different realm when you're helping people with supernatural powers. It seems beyond my expertise, but how can I ignore such a pained human being?
We arrive in a medium size room with two wide windows overlooking the jungle which must surround the whole compound. Everything is refreshingly simple, like the whole place. A gray carpet covers the floor and the only furniture in the room is a bed with all a white comforter and sheets, desk, and dresser with a fancy TV on top.
"Oh no. This is not fair. Everyone gets a TV in their room except me! It's ridiculous." I burst out laughing and Sam, despite his frustrations, has to suppress a grin.
"Well, I'll let you rest for a bit. Steve left the file on Bucky on the desk for you to study. Dinner is at 8:00, down the hall from here. See you then." He raises a palm in goodbye, then closes the door silently behind him.
I flop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. White; just like almost everything in this place. It's such a contrast to these people; the compound is so clean and pristine, but these people are dirty and messy. Good intentions, but foiled plans. This place is like a mask: something to hide the people's nature inside.
But what a good portrayal of humans. A mask and underneath is a body full of dirt and worms. Although, being a psychologist, I suppose I read too much into these things.
I spend ten minutes trying to figure out how to set the high-tech alarm to ring for 7:50pm, and when I get it, I drift off for a quick catnap. Having been on a motorcycle for three hours, a plane for three, a car for two, and then an interrogation, it's that kind of sleep that just feels so good.
Thus, I feel like killing when the alarm beeps and I smack the machine with the ferocity of a lion. Although, I immediately check and make sure I haven't broken it. Classic me.
Despite everything, I'm kinda happy. I'm about to meet the Avengers; who on God's green earth gets to say that without having to be attacked by aliens or robots? This is probably the most exciting and nerve-racking experience of my life, which is weird, considering I've lived in a place where the death percentage is up by fifty percent.
I decide to change into a flowy black dress, my last clothes having through a lot and being overall frumpy, and head out my room. The hall is completely silent and when I peek into Wanda's room, nobody is there.
I wander down the hall, glancing in doors, but once I reach the end of the hall preceding the bedroom foyer, I see a group of people eating around a large table. Complete silence.
It feels awkward walking into a noiseless room; it makes me feel that much more conspicuous. As soon as I enter the room, all eyes are on me. And that's when I get a good look at their faces; all utterly dejected and cheerless.
Steve comes out of the hypnotic silence, and stands, saying loudly, "Ella! Come on in. Take a seat." He seems rather taken aback at his voice echoing through the room.
Lightly resting a hand on my back, Steve leads me to a seat next to Sam. I'm glad to be sitting next to someone I know amongst this sea of doleful faces. Clearing his throat, Steve declares, "Everyone, this is Ella Walin, the psychologist here to help Bucky."
Some nod, others say hi monotonously. "Hi guys." I quickly grab a piece of pizza from a box at in the middle of the table and nibble on it, trying to seem occupied and in place.
The dismal attitude is beginning to absorbing into me. A man with awesome brown hair glances around the room, looking at the few people around him until he finally locks eyes on me and says, "I'm Scott; Scott Lang. Nice to meet you." He reaches across the table to shake my hand. "It's good to know there's a shrink around. I think we could all use a session." Scott chuckles a little but I can tell he means it.
"Nice to meet you too, Scott!" I try to speak as cheerfully as possible. It's hard to fake a smile when everyone seems like they would rather die than laugh, though.
"I'm Clint," A man with light brown hair and a small goatee says. "And I'm Wanda," The girl from earlier says, brushing a small strand of hair from her face.
"You already know who I am," Sam jokes lightly.
Small chuckles circle around the room, and a little conversation ensues, the ice now broken. They ask me a few general questions but the focus is mainly on eating. It takes the pressure out meeting them, to some extent.
Slowly, they leave the room, taking their paper plates with them. Clint gets up first and leaves the room, Wanda following him, then Scott leaves with a small grin my way.
When it's just me, Steve, and Sam, clarifying talk of Bucky's upcoming treatment starts. Steve begins by asking the very clear question, "So, um, what exactly is the plan."
"I don't know yet. Usually the procedure for PTSD involves sessions together, in which the traumatic events are discussed. And this should help with the memory problem too. But I really can't tell you how I will precede until I talk with him. Whenever I can talk with him, I should be ready. I plan on studying his file tomorrow."
Sam and Steve comically nod in unison. When neither of them speak, I continue, "Is there a space that we can have the sessions together?"
Steve shakes his head slightly, clearing it, and responds, "We have a room we'll show you tomorrow."
I stand from my chair, and it scrapes the floor. "Well, I'll bid you goodnight."
"Goodnight."
I head back to my room and flop back onto my bed. Not even bothering to change or brush my teeth, I fall into a restless sleep.
/
Floating. Blackness. Utter suspension in space in time.
A never ending cycle of darkness, there are no dreams; your brain cells don't move, being completely frozen over. They lie waiting, until with a rush, bright lights flood the dark. None, and then all at once, your night turns to the brightest daylight.
The first thought in Bucky's mind is I'm drowning. As Steve, Sam, and T'challa watch on, Bucky shakes, trying to pull out of his restraints. But they hold him down as more water is rained on top of him like a waterfall. It flows like rivits of a stream flow with iridescent smoothness; water skimming the ice that coats his body.
Bucky coughs up some of the it, opening his mouth for the first time in a month. The water flows right over his face because of his tilted upright position, but it still gets stuck, with a burning sensation, in the back of his throat.
The deforestation process involves cold water cascading down Bucky inside the capsule, gradually getting warmer until his whole body is up to temp. It is then filtered out of the cryo through a tube, so the whole thing doesn't fill up.
Steve watches as his best friend wakes from his long sleep. Bucky tries prying his eyelids open, his eyelashes coated in frost. And now that his body is almost entirely unfrozen, Steve walks into the room where a scientist is conducting the procedure. Through the window of the capsule, Bucky watches as Steve and the scientist discuss the next step of deforestation.
Anger flushes over his body like the water; he doesn't understand why Steve would wake him. He is still dangerous. With a whoosh of pressure, the capsule opens and Steve catches Bucky in his arms as he falls forward, unsteady on his legs.
"Steve.." Bucky mumbles.
"What is it Buck?" Asks Steve, concerned, helping his friend to a medical examination table.
"Why-" He sputters, coughing up more water. The scientist/doctor hurrys to his side and gives him an oxygen mask to help his body get used to breathing once again. After inhaling deep for a minute, Cap standing there looking worried, Bucky continues, "Why did you bring me out." His blue eyes meet Steve's.
"We found it Buck. We can get rid of the words." Bucky stares, taking in all of what that means, and Steve smiles wildly.
"It's best you rest for a little though, before the procedure."
"You're going to lock me up, right?" Bucky suddenly becomes fully aware and awake and begins to shrink back from the doctor's touch. He doesn't want to hurt and kill again. "Bucky, we don't-" He's interrupted, "Put me away, Steve." The Winter Soldier speaks firmly. "I won't risk the lives of anyone on this compound."
With a sigh, Steve excuses himself from the room and converses with T'challa and Sam. When Bucky is given the OK, he is immediately put in the same blue square as Ella was just two days ago; a decision that the three agreed upon. When Steve peers into the small eyehole on the door, he sees Bucky sitting on the edge of his cot, head in hands, hair overflowing through his fingers.
With an almost silent swoosh of air, Steve pushes the door open and sits on one of the leftover seats. It's hard for him to push out the words; what do you say to your best friend about having to go through a brain racking procedure to undo being brainwashed, and then having to endure months of therapy?
With a deep breath, he makes his case. "Listen Buck, this won't be easy to hear, but this procedure to clean your mind…. It won't be pretty."
"I know that, Steve. It's never easy." Bucky's words are muffled. "But it's worth it."
Heaving a sigh of relief, Steve tries to end the conversation by beating around the bush. Cap speaks remarkably fast, "And after it's done we brought in the best therapist for you we could find and I mean of course it might take a long time but-" Bucky looks up and interrupts him, saying, "A therapist?"
Deep inside, the broken Winter Soldier desperately longs for help; to be brought out of the darkness he has so long endured. And seeing as Bucky's a reasonable fellow, it would make sense for him to accept the help. But the pride of being a man and, for that matter, a soldier, assassin, and New Yorker, makes him question Steve.
"I'll be fine." Bucky flops back on the mattress turning away and pressing a palm to his forehead; the pounding headache is getting worse.
"Listen, I know it's not what you want, but you really need help Bucky. The headaches are getting worse, aren't they?"
"It's just from the cryo." He mumbles, his back facing Steve.
"Yeah, maybe, but before; when you were on the run. They were bad, weren't they?" Grabbing Bucky's shoulder, he forces him to look into his face. Bucky's face remains passive but his mind really is splitting.
"How did you know?"
"I had it. I had post traumatic stress disorder Buck. When I woke from being a Capsicle, I knew I needed to stay strong, so I ignored everything I was feeling. It was vital that I received help, though; the headaches were never ending, nightmares of the war and losing Peggy... I couldn't punch out all my feelings, and neither can you just avoid them."
"Steve, I'm sorry, I didn't…" He trails off.
"No. You didn't know. Just do it for me, see this girl. She has been studying your file for a whole day now, and if anyone can help you, Ella can."
With the swiftness of a cheetah, the Winter Soldier grabs Steve's arm as he stands. The yellow light paints Bucky's face in a morbid way. Sick, just like his mind.
Practically pleading, he says, "Don't bring her to see me until the words are gone. Please."
With a clasp to the shoulder, Steve says, "Of course."
Bucky goes back to his fatal position and Cap leaves the room. But both need to feed off the other because without the other, they are malnourished. When it was just the two of them in Brooklyn, they bounced off of each other's strength. Steve had to be tough, while Bucky was usually the defender and rock. But when his sister died, Steve was a crutch for him; a vitality. Separation is not healthy.
As both soldiers stay at their appointed posts, neither feels at ease. A sort of relief washed over Bucky when Steve said he too has suffered from PTSD but Steve had control. It feels like a forced thing for Bucky: forced therapy, forced mental procedure- everything forced since Hydra. Obviously Bucky knows it's all in his best interest. And the procedure was an idea he was all in for. But deep inside, for a reason he just can't pin down, anger boils.
Steve just wants to help, as ever. It is just so hard for the old man. It's like a fire constantly burning inside him, turning into a wildfire when provoked.
All night both stay awake. In fact, almost everyone is awake.
Wanda is laying on her side, blue-green irises staring at a picture of a family: a mother with brown hair and almond eyes that match her daughters, a father with a blond mane that matches his son's. Her thoughts and vision become blurry as tears stream down her pale face. The lose of Wanda's family cuts to her heart; she needs her family for guidance- she was pulled from them to soon.
Scott is also focused on an image. His young, messy haired, tooth missing, daughter; his sweet girl. And he abandoned her; his promise was broken.
Clint also broke a similar promise: to stay home. He has broken it for far longer than he ever intended. It kills Clint to his very being; the guilt coursing through his very body every time he thinks of where he is and where he's supposed to be. And every time his old farm house comes to mind, so does his wife, and how she probably wants to kill him, (And how Clint would love to let her if it meant seeing that beautiful face one more time.), and how he's surely missing Nathan's first steps.
Steve is awake, hoping, nay, praying that everything will help Bucky get back to normal. If that's even possible.
The only person awake is Sam and only because he used sleeping pills; the only way he can keep out any nightmares. Old memories can still pop up in the form of a phantasma from time to time.
And Bucky just woke up from a nightmare. He lays silently screaming into his pillow, tears melting into the fabric. He heaves, as if trying to force the images out of his body with the sheer force of his beaths.
But tomorrow, everything will change. Ascendancy will descend onto these broken hero's.
/