Winter of the White Wolf

Chapter 9 - Empty Echoes

Wakanda
Six years and many months ago…

A series of singular words heightened his focus, and when the final one was spoken, the soldier felt something shift inside him, casting new light upon their hidden meaning.

миссия скомпрометирована. Mission compromised.

нейтрализовать ложного обработчика. Не оставляйте свидетелей. Neutralize false handler. Leave no Witnesses.

His eyes sparked to life as he sprung towards the source of the original words and the person who bore them.

The lightly armored figure was only a few steps away, and he intended to lift a hand to go for her throat and… Came up blank. What had happened to his arm? No matter. She pivoted, but he managed to catch her shoulder with his free hand and used the momentum to bowl her over.

He quickly took inventory of his present location as they grappled with one another, looking for anything he could use to his advantage. Dirt. Leaves. Sticks. Fire. In a rush of motion, he shifted his weight and used one foot to kick a piece of burning lumber towards her face. She blocked it with one wrist, hissing something at him ferally as she did. For a moment, it looked like she was about to say more, but he knew he couldn't allow her to further compromise the mission. She had to be silenced. With killing intensity, he lurched forward and shoved his fingers between the rings around her neck and the flesh of her throat. He didn't have another arm to complete the choke hold, so he wrapped his legs around her for leverage. Not ideal, but effective.

Then came the spear. He could feel the muscles of her heck strain under his fingers as the weapon whirled wide, and there was an audible crack as it struck him hard in the side. Probably his ribs. No matter. The second time, the sharp edge went for his head and he faltered the hold as he was forced to reposition to dodge the brunt of the strike. He was already at a disadvantage. He couldn't let his opponent maim him further. It would put everything at risk.

The figure gasped and used one hand to clutch at her neck while the other hand made a show of spinning the spear in what must have been an intimidation tactic to buy her time. No matter. His eyes calculated the spin, and when the moment was right, he swung his body towards her and spun, catching the staff of it with one steadfast hand. The woman hissed something at him in a language he didn't recognize. There was a fierceness in her brown eyes, but her strength wasn't substantial, and it was clear she wasn't going for killing blows: they must have wanted to take him alive.

He wouldn't give them the chance.

He heard another voice, but his focus stayed on the figure in front of him. She was the only potential threat, and after she was eliminated, he could alert his prior handlers. When he saw her try to use her catlike agility by launching herself towards him, he threw off her momentum by suddenly twisting and shoving the spear back in her direction, punctuating the move with a kick. She flew backwards and slammed into a tree. Hard. She cursed something under her breath as she rolled onto her hands, spitting blood as she collected herself and prepared for another go.

He was quicker. He launched himself towards her and felt his hand make contact with flesh and then that other voice… there was a word, and then… blackness.

The soldier blinked awake.

He was on a metal table.

There were figures around him, and the moment he felt everything click into place again, he tried to grab the nearest one by the throat… but found his hand restrained at the wrist.

He lurched his body towards her, managing to butt her in the side of the head as tried to pry himself upright, but found similar restraints across his neck, torso, shoulders, legs, and ankles. He strained against them, and he could hear voices around him yelling and scrambling. He must have been captured.

But how?

It didn't matter. He'd eliminate them soon enough, starting with the false handler.

Then there was a word, and the blackness returned.

When the soldier blinked away again, he realized he was still on the same table, and by the strange groggy sensation he felt, he realized he must have been drugged or sedated. He struggled against the restraints, bidding his time until his body cleared itself of whatever they'd given him so he could finish his mission.

His wild eyes regarded the room around him with calculated intensity as he sized up his targets. He would eliminate the one nearest him first, then the false handler, then the other ones with those spears. In such close quarters, he had the advantage.

"We should put him back into cryo until we can clear the poisoned commands."

"The failsafe must be preventing the reset," Another voice. The one nearer to him. The one he would kill first. If she came a little closer, he was certain he could wrest the device from her hand. "Cryo or not, I can't do my work when he's in this state. I don't have a baseline to root it out."

The false handler spat something pointedly in that other language.

More of that language, but at an increasing volume. Were they issuing coded commands? No matter, he'd be free soon enough. He'd managed to dislocate his thumb and the rest of his hand would follow through the restraint shortly.

"Bast damn it," the false handler spat as she turned her eyes on him with a sour intensity, her voice hoarse as she switched to Russian, "Желание." Longing.

"Ржавый." Rusted.

The countdown! They were trying to wrest control! He snarled, lunging his head towards her before he slammed it back into the metal table. He bridged his body, trying to find a weakness he could leverage. He heard the sound of pins beginning to give way.

"Семнадцать." Seventeen.

He found his voice, bellowing, "останавливаться! Я знаю, что ты делаешь!" Stop! I know what you're doing!

For a moment, the false handler actually did stop speaking. She exchanged a look with the other woman, but then resumed her hoarse words, keeping her eyes focused on him as she did.

"Рассвет." Daybreak.

"Печь." Furnace.

"Я убью тебя!" I'll kill you! He snarled as he finally managed to pull his wrist free. His hand went for the nearer figure.

"Девять." Nine.

She stepped back, dodging the grab by the smallest of fractions as the other women with the spears rushed towards him.

"Добросердечный." Benign. The false handler continued in her rough voice.

"Возвращение на родину." Homecoming.

He recoiled in a scream as one of the spears slammed into his hand.

"Один." One.

Then another.

"Товарный вагон."Freightcar.

The soldier felt something shift in him and his head jolted upright as he immediately took inventory of the faces surrounding him, quickly identifying the one who had spoken. For a moment, no one said anything, then…

"Солдат?" Soldier? The figure asked.

"Я жду приказаний." Ready to comply. He focused on his handler and waited for instructions.

A woman nearby said something in another language and his handler spat something back.

"Put your hand back in the restraint," she said. He did as ordered, and was casually aware but unconcerned as other hands secured it. It was not his place to question.

"Most recent Mission Report?" his handler asked. "In English."

He opened his mouth, intending to comply… but there was something wrong. He frowned, struggling. This was unacceptable. "Unclear. I… may have sustained damage."

His handler regarded him critically but said something else in that language of theirs.

"Remain still," his handler instructed, so he did.

They put something over his head that obscured his view of the room, but he laid there patiently as he awaited his next order.

Moments later, a command came, followed by a series of flashing lights that swirled around his vision, disorienting him.

His last conscious thought was a fleeting image of a face he thought remembered, but couldn't place.

The darkness swallowed him once more.

When he came to, he jolted awake in a bright room. Where was he? He flinched, but he wasn't sure if it was from the light, or the intense pain radiating from his side. How had he gotten here? Where was here? Hadn't it been dark? He thought it'd been dark. He went to shield his eyes, but when he went to pull his hand up, he found it was strapped to the table. The skin along his arm was swelled purple with deep bruises and his thumb looked to be broken.

"You're awake," the voice was female.

Shuri's.

It's was Shuri's voice. She stepped into view just out of reach of him, beyond the edge of the metal table. She had a raised welt along on the nearest side of her face. He squinted as he forced his eyes to focus and was immediately aware of the sea of red, silver, and gold-clad Dora Milaje flanking her, their spears poised ready at their sides. One of them had a focus on him that was so intense it was almost predatory.

Ayo.

"What happened?" He couldn't remember much, but he was beginning to piece enough together to at least have a fair guess. His throat felt dry as he spoke, "Did I hurt anyone?"

Shuri looked significantly to Ayo, and the warrior woman raised her chin as she regarded him. Her face was bruised, and a bloody lip broke her otherwise symmetrical face. She addressed him in a combination of Wakandan followed by Russian "Ungubani? Thetha igama lakho, солдат." It was a command.

He frowned, parsing the languages and the words, trying to make sense of them. He looked back to the strap over his right wrist… his empty left shoulder. His mind slowly filled in the request: Who are you? Speak your name, soldier.

Confusion continued to ensnare him, and he found that he didn't have an answer he felt certain of, so he laid there and tried to think it through. The longer he lay there, the more it became apparent that he wasn't getting anywhere. A fresh wave of emotion rolled over him and he found himself repeating, "Did I hurt anyone?" This felt important.

"Nothing that I can't fix," Shuri assured him, her voice even as she glanced up at what must have been a readout somewhere behind him. "How are you feeling, Sergent Barnes?" Ayo sent her a significant look, but said nothing.

Yes. That was it. That was his name. Wasn't it? It used to be.

"I can't remember what happened. But something happened," he felt his eyes start to well up with tears. When he tried to lift his hand up to clear them, he felt the pull of the strap holding it back. He closed his eyes, as if that might drown out the world and all the confusion flooding through him.

There was a sound of footsteps, and then the next thing he knew, he felt the strap around his wrist loosen. He opened his eyes to see Shuri standing there looking down on him, Ayo not a step beside her, and other Dora Milaje somewhere just out of view. He felt so lost, but somehow he managed to croak out, "I think it's Bucky." His face twisted, "But I'm not sure."

He looked up at the faces around him, as if pleading for an answer that would never come, "Why am I not sure?" Panic rose in him, "I thought I was getting better?"

And then something broke inside and he put his hand over his face and wept. Out of fear, out of confusion, out of pain and hopelessness. He didn't have the strength to fight it. Every emotion he had in him poured out at once.

Then, he felt a hand brush against his right shoulder and squeeze it softly. It continued to rest there. Silent. Wordless. But present. A moment later, he felt another hand come to rest against the side of his left clavicle, just above where his other shoulder used to be. Those strong, but gentle fingers grasped him and stood guard over him as he continued to weep.

No one said a word as he cried himself dry, but in that moment, those hands grounded him and reminded him he wasn't alone, even if everything inside his head insisted otherwise.

Author's Remarks:

Cue those Wakandan drums!

Prior to watching "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier," I remember hoping somewhere, somehow, that we'd get to see more of Bucky's time in Wakanda. I was absolutely THRILLED to see the mid-season flashback we got (what incredible acting of such a powerful moment!), but somewhere in the back of my mind, I also wanted to see some of the rougher stuff, so…. Here we are.

Part of this scene was prompted by a bit in the comics, where Red Skull says "Sputnik" and it makes Bucky go unconscious. In my own head-canon, I'd have to imagine there are all sorts of things locked in there beyond the trigger words we've heard repeated in the MCU, so I'm going with the idea that the path to recovery was… quite a wild ride, and at least in my own mind: was something that took quite a bit of effort to learn and unlock beyond just the words found in that red book. Failsafes. Codes for various sleeper modes: the whole deal.

I'd been debating how and where to put a flashback like this, and this feels like about the right spot because I felt like it was important to show more of the sorts of interactions I'd like to imagine these characters had. I know there are some versions of events where people imagine Bucky was tossed into cryo and Shuri fixed him right-as-rain, but I just feel like there'd be a great deal more process than that. I also think there is a dynamic between the Wakandans and Bucky I really want to dig into, because fancy-new-nickname-or-not: there's a lot of history, and after the canon events of "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier," there is also a fair bit of betrayal to address too.

While writing this section, *absolutely* used an online English to Russian and English to Xhosa translators, so I make no claims of how accurate the above translations are, but I opted to put my intended English translations beside things as well. My feeling was that since Bucky was originally trained during periods where Wakanda wasn't viewed as a major world power, was that the "30 languages" the Winter Soldiers know do not include the Wakandan native tongue. That's just my take on things, though.

Written to "The Winter Soldier," "Alexander Pierce," and "End of the Line, " by Henry Jackman on "Captain America: The Winter Soldier (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack).