Steve observes the Winter Soldier crash to his knees as if he's sitting on his couch just watching a movie—for a moment he doesn't feel like someone physically present. He hears him moan out with pain, hand going to grip his bleeding stump, and Steve finally snaps out of it. He wishes not to be able to hear what he's chanting under his breath.
"What is he saying?" Stark asks, armor opening up so he can hastily step out. It closes and stays active and ever vigilant. Stark makes to approach the kneeling man and Steve's arm shoots out on its own accord, successfully stopping the engineer from taking another step. With a reassuring half-smile Stark removes Steve's arm from his way and crouches. Steve tenses up, still expecting the other man to attack.
The Soldier's voice fades gradually until he can't hold his own weight and topples over. One more time, Steve catches him before his face can smash against the floor.
"Those numbers, were th—?"
"Yes." He loads the body into his arms, ignoring Stark's troubled gaze, pressing like a thorn when Stark doesn't look away.
(The skin through the fabric feels almost as cold as the first time Steve carried him.)
Stark is not one to be ignored, though. "What chair is he talking about?"
"How should I know?"
He stalks through the doors that J.A.R.V.I.S. opens for them, Stark by his side. Once they reach the doctors, Steve feels a weight lifting off his shoulders when he leaves the Winter Soldier in their capable hands. He's already turning away from the gurney when Stark, after saying something quick to his med team, follows him.
"I already got the substance from his wounds analyzed." Stark is still looking over his shoulder while Steve tries to ignore the drive that is forcing him to turn and go back. There is so much he doesn't know, so much that doesn't add up, and it's making him vibrate with energy.
"Yeah?" Steve looks at him sideways with real interest, slowing down so Stark doesn't have to jog to keep up with him. "What is it?"
"A mix of things. I won't bore you with the details but…" He presses a finger to his chin while he mulls over his answer. They enter the elevator, both consciously giving a wide berth to the wall that is now carrying a bloody print—the syringe has already been disposed of. Steve presses the button that will lead them to the gym. "It's a bit like the opposite of a spray-on nanofiber skin."
Steve stares at him, not completely sure he understands. "It keeps his wounds from healing?" Stark nods his head vigorously, clearly excited by the idea of such a thing existing. Steve won't point out how creepy it is that he's smiling like a loon over an invention that prevents someone from healing.
"I got in touch with Bruce 'cause I wanted to bounce some ideas off him and also get his input." They have already reached Steve's destination but he's too invested in the information to step out of the cabin.
"Now we think that, after we get some samples of his blood and urine—my med team will take care of that before his body can eliminate all of it—we will find similar components in his system that are currently preventing his body from healing properly."
"That's…"
"Evil?" Stark supplies.
"For starters." Steve blinks owlishly, surprise getting the better of him. He rubs his tired eyes. "Fuck. I hate HYDRA so fucking much."
Stark snorts at the feeling his words pack and pats the taller man's shoulder. "By the way, what are we doing with the other two? We won't be sending them to S.H.I.E.L.D. H.Q. any time soon so…"
"I don't think they know much," Steve declares, finally making his way to the lockers. "I'll send Nat and Barton later to interrogate them but I don't think they're from the top of HYDRA's food chain."
Stark nods in agreement; he's clearly thought the same thing. "I'll tell Nat and Clint to ask them about the Winter Soldier, specifically. Taking into account that they've spent at least a week working with him they're bound to know something more than what we know about him. If he only works with HYDRA, what circles he moves in…"
"Good idea." Steve asks J.A.R.V.I.S. to inform the two spies about the decision and Stark pipes in with some specific questions he wants Natasha and Barton to ask them.
Steve opens his locker and gets out his training clothes. "You looked at the pen drive yet?"
"Nope, too engrossed in the sample Dum-E brought me. What is that face? Why are you making that face?"
Steve shakes his head with pursed lips. "It's just…" He sighs with annoyance. This has been circling his mind since he saw it happen. Tying his shoes he finally answers, "He petted your robot."
"He petted Dum-E?" Steve is glad Stark looks as taken aback as he'd felt at the moment it happened. Stark snaps his mouth shut when he catches himself gapping.
"Yeah, your robot gave him clothes and then he…" Steve gesticulates widely with his arms, wanting to express somehow how bizarre the situation had felt. "He patted it as if it was… I don't know, his dog bringing him his morning paper?" Steve blushes at the stupid comparison.
"Huh."
Steve wants to demand something more than a 'huh' but he's mindful of the fact that Stark knows just as little as he currently does. The Winter Soldier just doesn't fit the image he—that all of them had constructed in their minds. He's supposed to be a ruthless murderer, a man lacking any empathy and humanity. Maybe Steve had in mind the image of a movie villain, constantly glaring suspiciously, maybe even kicking puppies. He would have understood not finding a caricature of a villain but this… A man falling asleep while taking a bath, petting a robot when it delivers him clothes, saying sorry for staining Steve's clothes with his own blood… Even his voice doesn't sound as he'd imagined it, too soft even when hoarse.
"You think he's acting?" Stark throws the question, having been through a similar thought process as Steve. "Maybe he thinks that if he acts as a good boy we will get all buddy-buddy with him and get him a sentence-reduction?"
Steve's face scrunches up with doubt. "Yeah, it sounds stupid. He's getting a life sentence. Or," he raises a finger as well as his tone, catching Steve's attention as intended, "maybe the Winter Soldier isn't all that much."
Steve looks at him with another expression of doubt but waits for him to elaborate. "What? It could happen! You start a rumor to scare your enemies away about an unstoppable assassin and you build it for decades, making your character as badass and horror-striking as possible until a day comes when it has turned into a legend and people will believe anything you add to the ghost story."
Steve's first instinct is to contradict Stark but he doesn't act on it. Could it be true? Could the Winter Soldier be part story part fact? Steve thinks back to what he's thought of the Soldier when they've been in the same room. Apart from the three fights they had engaged in, the Soldier has been docile and cooperative. Steve can't just forget that his behavior could be caused by a number of different reasons but his mind has been already prompted in a direction he's been trying to avoid.
"Are you trying to say that the Winter Soldier is just another HYDRA weapon…?"
"But with the difference that he's a man wrapped in a fancy fairytale to scare off HYDRA's enemies? Yes, that's what I'm trying to say," Stark affirms, gaining momentum. He plops down on a bench, hands gesticulating and words firing out with speed; Steve sits on the bench in front of the scientist, leaning on his knees. "This balderdash about a killer from the sixties—no disrespect to Natasha and the 'intelligence community,'" (Steve isn't that pressed over the air quotes this time) "but I'm not convinced that guy is almost a hundred years old, serum or no serum. The assassinations have in all probability been executed by different operatives, ones with additional help."
Steve nods, turning over in his mind his teammate's theory. It makes sense and Steve wouldn't be telling the truth if he denied having had a similar hunch about the Winter Soldier's story that Natasha had told them.
Steve gets up from the bench dressed in his gym clothes and heads for the door, still weighing up Stark's words. "There's not a lot we can do right now. I'll call for a meeting once Natasha and Barton have gathered some information from the two HYDRA technicians; maybe we'll have new information to help with that theory."
He has his hand around the doorknob when Stark calls out. "Hey, if you wait a minute we can spar."
Steve regards him with a surprised look. Things seem to be progressing between them lately and he doesn't want to be the one to bring it to a halt. He nods and waits for Stark to get ready, eager to get his mind off all the useless theories about the Winter Soldier.
He reminds himself that the man is heavily anesthetized and being prepped for an operation; there's nothing for Steve to do right now so he better put the pent-up energy to use.
"Captain Rogers, your immediate assistance is needed in the medical wing," J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice cuts over the music. Steve stands up from the dumbbell bench, directing an alarmed look at Stark who's already stopping the treadmill and is drying his face with a towel, his expression just as alert. Stark raises a questioning eyebrow and Steve detects the unease in his tense posture.
"We better get going," Stark advises.
Without stopping to dry off his own sweat, Steve races to the elevator, doors already opened for them.
"J, what's going on?" Stark demands, still catching his breath.
"The Winter Soldier has attacked one of the operating room assistants, Sir."
"Shit," Steve curses under his breath, stopping himself from punching a hole through one of the walls.
Shit shit shit.
"Has he killed anyone?" Stark is the one to voice the dreaded question.
Steve feels his whole body tense up, fingers curling into fists and nails digging into his palms. They shouldn't have left him unsupervised. Jesus Christ, he's the fucking Winter Soldier! God, they really got deceived and underestimated him. He shouldn't have let his mind wander from one idea to another; he should have just paid attention to the facts they already had!
Time stretches while they wait for the answer.
"No one has been gravely injured, for now." The words don't do anything to abate their distress.
"Tony, we shouldn't—"
"The anesthesia was supposed to work on him for far longer," Stark raises his voice over Steve's, successfully cutting him off. Steve can hear the strain on his tone and understands it for what it is: Stark controlling himself so as not to panic. "My team knows what to administrate an enhanced hu—"
"We weren't sure if he was enhanced!" Steve can't help but shout, voice bouncing against the metal walls. His hands itch for his shield, unsure of what they'll find once they make it to the operating room.
"I made sure," Stark says, volume rising but not making it to outright shouting. If Steve keeps acting with as little control, though, he knows Stark will shout back and all the effort to see eye to eye will be for nothing.
Steve breathes in, then out. "Stark, why didn't you tell me this sooner?"
"Because we already were almost one hundred percent sure he was enhanced, Rogers, just not with the same formula as you," Stark explains between teeth. Steve can almost hear the voice from Stark's mind counting down to ten. Steve doesn't insist but rage is still bubbling inside his chest.
"I had to make a decision," Stark says, calmer this time, almost resigned. "He has tracking chips inside his body; HYDRA could find him any moment now no matter the fact that J.A.R.V.I.S. is trying to cloak the signal."
Steve hadn't known about that.
The doors open and they shoot out, outright running down the halls with everyone else stepping away to let them pass. Steve hears the ruckus before he finally pushes the doors wide open and burst into the room. Stark follows close behind and the two men need a second to take in the scene that's taking place before them. Steve's brain starts by registering the overturned operating instruments and tables, followed by the man that's being assisted by his colleagues, a cut bleeding on the back of his head. His eyes end on the figure crouching on the other end of the room.
"What the…" Stark sounds as bewildered as Steve feels.
"He shouldn't have woken up," says one of the surgeons. She steps closer to them, hands shaking but face not giving away her emotions. "We must have miscalculated when we made—"
"Lola, hey," Stark stops her short. He sets a hand over her shoulder. "I completely understand. We'll discuss it later, when there isn't a drugged man with a scalpel in his hand and another one with a possible concussion."
Steve is already stepping closer to the Soldier. The man is completely naked and some of his disinfected and stitched up injuries are visible from where he's cowering—there is no other word for it. The Winter Soldier shakes with his body drawn in, only his hand sticking out from his body, a sharp scalpel threatening whoever tries to get too close.
"Hey," Steve tries to get his attention even though he's not sure the man is lucid enough. His hands are raised at chest height, palms open so the other man can be assured Steve isn't armed. "Hey, look at me."
This is bizarre, his mind supplies. Steve isn't sure anymore if he can trust any of his presumption about HYDRA's Winter Soldier; in less than a day, the entire image Steve had built about the assassin has been discredited and he feels off-balance.
The man's feverish eyes are obscured by sweaty strands of hair and they jump from one person to the next one. His only hand has turned bone-white around the scalpel.
"Soldier," Steve calls out, this time his voice packing authority. The man's head snaps up—Steve hears when his breath catches in his throat. "I won't harm you."
The Soldier scowls and his nose scrunches up as if the words smell bad.
"No," he grunts.
"I promise that these people are here to help you," he tries to explain. Steve's voice has taken a soothing cadence, one that surprises even him. Everyone else has fallen into silence; Steve can see them from the corner of his eye, observing as he tries to calm down the other man.
"Look at your abdomen." He doesn't. Steve huffs a frustrated breath. "If you look down you'll see that they've been treating your injuries." Some of those injuries are sluggishly bleeding down his skin and to the floor.
The Soldier takes a quick glance down to make sure Steve isn't trying to trick him. Uncertainty flashes over his face and he shifts the grip around his weapon. Steve exploits this little doubt and gives a step closer—hands still raised—and crouches so they're at eye level. The Soldier studies him with suspicious eyes and the sharp blade pointing at his heart.
"I know that you must be confused," Steve keeps a low tone, "but we're not the enemy."
Not completely true.
The man returns a look that seems to be trying to express that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, as if he's saying "everyone's an enemy, you idiot".
"Okay," Steve says to himself. His eyes rake over the Soldier, trying to come up with a useful idea. "How about this: I'll stay here while they treat you. You can keep the scalpel."
"Rogers, I'm not sure…"
"Tony." He turns so Stark can see the urgency painted all over his face. "Trust me on this one."
Tony nods but takes a step forward, attentive and holding his muscles tense if anything happens and he has to spring into action. Steve is sure the Iron Man armor must be close.
Steve turns back to the Soldier and shuffles closer, slowly so not to startle him. The man looks groggy but the anesthesia must be wearing off. The man scrambles to get up using the wall behind his back as support. Now they're standing facing one another with just two feet separating them. Steve's arms are still held in the air.
"We won't hurt you." He tries to imbue as much earnestness into his words as possible. "I swear."
Steve is sure the Solder doesn't trust him (comprehensible); in spite of that, he ends laying on the operational table, Steve hovering over him with a scalpel dangerously close to his throat.
Steve blinks in pure bewilderment, unable to comprehend how he got to this point. Just hours ago he was pinning the same man to a wall, having to stop himself from punching the daylights out of him. And now…
Steve looks down and can see in the man's eyes and body language that he's aware of his precarious situation. He looks up at Steve and they lock eyes. His arm lowers an inch when a minute passes and Steve hasn't taken advantage of the Soldier's sorry state.
"I told you I wouldn't hurt you," Steve says so only the Soldier can make out the words.
"Okay, the show is over." Tony claps his hands once and suddenly everyone spurs into action, tables being righted, utensils returned to their place, modesty blankets placed.
A nurse wheels a stool behind Steve so he can sit down. Steve thanks her with an awkward smile. The Soldier fulminates the woman with bloodshot eyes until she's out of sight.
"You shouldn't do that, she's helping you," Steve reproaches him. He slides on his 'Captain America is disappointed in you' look, as Natasha and Sam call it.
Steve feels the air being punched out of him, the thought of his hospitalized friend making him snap back. He hears something metallic clatter to the operational table and a hand is clutching at his forearm, fingers digging painfully into his muscles. Steve looks down at the panicked face. His need to pull away increases.
"You promised," the Soldier reminds him, jaw clenched, voice cracked. Steve tries to free his arm but the man won't let go, holding onto him like he's a safety rope.
"Rogers, what the fuck are you doing?" Tony snaps. Everyone freezes and waits to see what will follow.
"Not my arm." Steve stops struggling against the grip, paralyzed by the three words.
"What?" He blinks down at the ashen face.
The man looks more delirious now and Steve expects him to be sick any moment now. He's profusely sweating and his body is shivering too much for the surgeons to do anything. The professionals share uncertain looks. "We have to anesthetize him," one of them points out the obvious.
"No!" The Soldier loses the little calm he had regained. He kicks out causing the modesty blankets to fall to the floor once again and the team of professionals gives a step back. A woman takes off her surgical mask and storms out of the room; a man follows closely behind, hand covering his mouth.
"Rogers, do something, for fuck's sake!" Stark shouts, visibly holding himself from trying to shut the Soldier up by his own means and inevitably getting himself killed.
Steve stands on his feet with his hands at either side of the Soldier's head and tries to get his attention. "Hey, hey, hey! Calm down. You gotta calm down!"
The man seems unable to hear him. The Soldier's respiration is raged and irregular and his hand is still anchored to Steve's arm. Cold and clammy. Steve covers it with his own palm. He lowers his face closer to the Soldier's, lips to his ear and shushes him. "You're going to be okay." He feels foolish and his face heats up at the hollow words and proximity. But the Soldier stops writhing after a few seconds, the operational room regaining some semblance of sanity.
He lifts his head and looks at everyone else at a loss. Tony makes a frantic gesture with his arm. Keep going, he mouths. Everyone waits with bated breath.
"You're safe." Steve feels filthy just by saying such a lie.
"I'm not leaving." Steve feels filthy saying such a thing to someone who's part of HYDRA. He didn't get the chance to reassure Sam that everything would be okay when he was the one bleeding out.
A woman and a man start repositioning the paper blankets, hopefully for the last time. Steve grips the man's arm and the Soldier zeroes in on the hand where it touches his clammy skin. Steve observes as the man's jaw slackens; it's like he's seeing a miracle take place and Steve gets even more confused by the situation he's been dragged into.
A woman approaches them on the right side, wheeling a table with everything needed to put the Soldier under anesthesia once again. She looks at Steve and then pointedly at the Soldier's arm. Steve stretches it out, slowly so the Soldier won't panic. "She's going to put you under anesthesia."
"No!" He was expecting that reaction.
"They need to in order to treat your injuries," Steve explains patiently, voice strained but not raising.
"I don't need it," the Soldier punches the words out through gritted teeth, staring challengingly at the professional.
"Oh, I assure you, you do," Tony butts in. "These people will have to cut off the unsalvageable tissue," he explains. It's enough for Steve's stomach to turn.
" ' ." The man blinks away the sweat that's covering his face, sharp scalpel now pointing at the anaesthesiologist.
"Stark, I won't be operating on someone without anesthesia!" the surgeon shouts, panicked at the mere idea. She takes a step closer to the operational table, arm pointing at the sprawled man. Steve fears the Soldier is about to start growling and biting. He slides one arm over the Soldier's collarbone and the other presses lightly down on his right shoulder, making sure not to touch any injury.
"She's not taking my arm," the Soldier mumbles under his breath, words slurred. Steve looks around to make sure if someone else has heard but everyone is looking at the surgeon and Tony.
"He could die of circulatory shock, Tony." Steve tunes into the conversation taking place. The woman is looking pleadingly at Tony, waiting for him to understand that she isn't willing to risk one of her patient's life, no matter who he is.
"I need my arm," the Soldier is still mumbling. He sounds delirious and Steve believes it must be caused by the infected wounds. Steve ignores Tony and the surgeon and observes as the man's head lolls to the left while he tries to keep his eyes open. He isn't sure why but Steve is almost sure the Soldier is looking at his stump.
"You can't take it," he keeps slurring, chills shaking his body. "I need it." He shifts his head and blinks up at Steve. His brows draw together.
"It's useful for…" He looks unsure. "Missions. Y-you need it so I can…" His eyes flutter closed. The Soldier doesn't reopen his eyes when he rasps out, raving on, "So I can complete m-missions. Staying… functional."
Steve looks down at the uneasy features, sure of one single thing: the Soldier was addressing a different person while he grasped at straws and made his desperate argument against getting his remaining arm amputated.
Not shifting his arms from where they're still holding down the Soldier, Steve raises his voice so everyone will hear. "He's unconscious."
Silence falls and everyone looks in their direction. The first in react is the anesthesiologist that was about to anesthetize the Soldier. Once the IV penetrates his vein, everything progresses swiftly.
Steve's eyes don't leave the pale face, not even for a second while his brain spirals into thoughts of serial numbers, prisoners of war, and things much, much more difficult to consider as the actual truth.