Chapter Thirty
✭
Skugge | Wardruna
Nothing but the cold wasteland of SIberia below.
Zemo looked down, eyeing the bunker as they began their descent. It was almost perfectly blended in its surroundings, entrance burrowed into a hillside where it would not be seen from above. The intense snowfall hid what might have been the opening of the missile silo, along with decades of abandonment. Who could say if any of it was still operable anymore.
But this was the location. The coordinates matched what the Winter Soldier told him.
They made landing, and Zemo's boots crunched on the frozen ground — centuries of winter rendering the earth solid with ice. He turned to the pilot; Georges Batroc, a reliable mercenary with his little brigade, had been essential in Zemo's overall plan. The notorious pirate had a fleet of stolen vehicles and aircraft at his disposal.
"Stay here, out of sight." Zemo told him. "I'll return when it's done. When you see Captain America, don't engage. It's all part of the plan."
Batroc grunted, what appeared to be an acknowledgement. He did not look Zemo in the eyes.
"Good," Zemo didn't have time for the whims of moody Frenchmen. With a jerk of his chin, he ordered the rest of his men to follow. Between the four aircraft, Zemo had what remained of his personal guard, who hadn't been killed in London and Paris, now escorted him and the Soldatka into the derelict Soviet bunker.
"Is this it?" Rumlow asked as he met Zemo's pace. His breath clouded in front of his face, frozen winds whipping at their cheeks and coats.
"It is," Zemo said. Years and years of work, subterfuge, and sabotage. Working his hands to the bone, to sit and watch the world turn like paint drying. So slowly, waiting for the masterpiece to finally set in its place. He smiled to himself. "I know you're anxious, Rumlow. And yes, before you ask — I will give you what you ask for."
The man's eyes fixed on him, an inner light like dancing flame. He couldn't hide his glee. "You mean it?"
"Of course," Zemo intoned, as the shadow of the bunker loomed over them. Old gray metal, white with frost and red with rust. Old Cyrillic words were once painted on the doors, a yellow diamond warning sign that had both long since lost their meaning. Rumlow's men rushed to work the bulkhead doors open, screeching on ancient hinges. "I am a man of my word. All that you and I have worked for, Rumlow, it ends here."
Doors yawned open, revealing an impenetrable darkness within. It was only slightly freezing within than without - the biting wind only able to reach so far inside. The entryway, as it were, was just large enough to hold a vehicle — tall ceilings and stairways and catwalks that led off in many directions beneath the earth. An entire compound hidden beneath the snow. Weak yellow-green light flickered from ancient industrial bulbs.
Rumlow sent off what was left of his engineers to get the electricity working. But Zemo could already feel the power buzzing somewhere below; this place wasn't without power. They wouldn't risk it.
But it's more convenient to wait for the elevator to work.
The old creaking thing did not invite passengers, but Zemo was unafraid as he stepped onto the platform, the Soldatka at his side, a pale-eyed shadow. Rumlow was more hesitant as he joined them.
"Are you sure this is safe?" Rumlow asked.
Zemo did not deign to answer that question.
They descended.
Darkness swallowed them. Intermittent lighting indicated how many levels they passed on the way down. Somewhere after ten, just after their ears popped, did the elevator finally reach the bottom.
The temperature had dropped significantly, but there was something else beneath the chill. A sound. A humming.
It wasn't clear what it was at first; they stepped out, a low mist hovering across the floor, hiding the dust and dirt beneath. A small hallway lead out into the giant cavern. The silo.
"Here it is," Zemo gestured. "HYDRA's dirty little secret."
"It's—" Rumlow came to a stop, gaping at the sight. "Those aren't warheads. They can't be. They're too small."
In the center of the circular platform, a raised dais with several stairways up, sat not a giant missile containing world-destroying nuclear material — but a small circle of standing columns. Glass and metal, with a distinct tube shape. Not unlike a small submarine, perhaps, or a capsule.
Eight in all.
"You were not HYDRA's first attempt to recreate Zola's formula." Zemo said to the Soldatka as they stepped up onto the large dais. Massive cords and tubes laid all over the floor, powering the cryo-chambers. A distant light from above illuminated the area, casting deep shadows across the space. His hand brushed across the upper half of one glass panel. Faint blue light emanated from within, and there — a sleeping face. "Just their first successful attempt. These ones — all rejects, for one reason or another. Temperamental issues, I believe. Uncontrollable. Weapons of mass destruction, turned into rabid animals."
The Soldatka said nothing as she followed. Her eyes cast up the large frozen columns, like a terrible monument to some mechanical god.
A quick look around revealed a control panel at the southern end of the dais. For each chamber, a button for each chamber, and a large red switch to activate all at once. Zemo flicked it, pleased to find it still worked.
All around them emerged the sound of an engine whirring to life. One by one, each of the chambers began decompressing, emitting freezing mist into the air. A minute, before the first door cracked open, and an unsteady foot stepped onto the dais.
"I've always wondered how a true super soldier would fare against this lot," Zemo said. He turned and smiled at Rumlow. "I suggest you take refuge in the observation room, Rumlow. This next part will be messy."
And with that, he stepped off the dais, leaving the Soldatka in the center, as eight figures emerged from their chambers.
~o~
"We can hold them off," Wanda Maximoff said, her voice calm against the klaxons filling the air. "As long as you need."
Five kids. Five sorta kids. Two who were technically legal adults (but still looked like children), one who hid his age behind a mask, a two-year-old android who could change his appearance at will, and Howie, who was not old enough to drink alcohol even in his home country.
Who had just decimated the front line of Ross' vanguard.
Bucky had to admit, he was a little impressed.
"I can't ask you to do that," Steve said, at once appearing both relieved and stern. Like a man who couldn't decide whether he was proud or worried.
"Well, it's a good thing we're not asking, then," Pietro replied, with a flick of his head. Always the cocky one. Bucky was starting to see where Mia got it from.
Was it fucked up to rely on kids for this? Yes. But what choice did they have? Bucky was already stepping back behind the line, turning to run. And Steve would soon be at his heels.
The Wakandan ship was waiting. This time, Zemo wasn't getting away.
And Ross wouldn't be following.
There was no time for discussions. Carter elected to stay to help with the injured, as did Natalia. One part of Bucky wished she followed, the other part was relieved; where they were going next, he wanted her to have no part in it.
Too risky. Too dangerous.
Even for her.
They were in the air before Ross had time to realize what had happened to his tanks. They spotted Sam during lift-off; in the distance, returning and banking to the left. "I followed them as long as I could, Cap! Heading due east, it looks like. Wish I could say where — I'm almost out of juice. Didn't want to crash land into someone's farm."
Steve sighed, bracing himself against the ship's console. "Thanks, Sam, stay safe,"
"We'll handle Ross, don't worry. Keep us updated."
"Will do."
As soon as the line of communication ended, Bucky spoke up. "I know where they're going."
Steve and the King looked at him simultaneously. "You do?"
"Yes." Bucky's voice was low. It had taken him up until now to remember just what it was Zemo wanted the Winter Soldier for. Hours and hours he had wracked his brain desperately, wondering what was so important that he had to lose Mia for it. And now, finally, it clicked. "I've been there before. An old Soviet bunker. Abandoned in the Seventies. They… they tried to make more of me."
The others exchanged wary looks. It was Okoye who broke that eerie silence first. "Other Winter Soldiers? Different from your child?"
"Yes," Bucky nodded, and might've laughed at the idea she was suggesting if it didn't hurt so much. "The Russians picked who they thought were their best and brightest soldiers and agents. Ones who were already trained, already loyal. Figured the transition would be easier than it had been with me. And for some of them, the serum took. But it came at a price."
"The psychological component," T'Challa surmised.
"Uh, yeah, you can call it that," Bucky smirked to himself, studying the floor. He could still remember it. The screams. Those wild eyes. Animals rattling in their cages. "It wasn't like they were using modern scientific technique. Small sample size. No control group. All already a little… messed up in the head." Bucky wasn't sure what made each individual pass the qualification tests, but he could guess. "They all liked killing, even before they got the serum."
"And so they created monsters," Steve guessed, folding his arms across his test. "Zemo is after that serum?"
"No," Bucky said. "He's after the soldiers."
"What?" T'Challa bristled in alarm. "They're not dead?"
"They were put on ice," Bucky shook his head, leaning against the outer wall. "Old Soviet trick. They never like to throw anything away if they think they can salvage something from it. Figured they can go back to them if a cure was found. Or just… leave them to rot. Not like they can get out, anyways."
"How many were left?" Steve asked.
"Eight," Bucky said, though he wasn't sure. He was fairly certain, from the hazy memories he could recall. A circle of cryo-chambers, locking each one down one by one. "There's a chance they might have died in stasis. Happens sometimes. But… they're super soldiers. Odds are they'd still be viable."
Another silence fell over the ship, as they took in this information. The grim reality; eight crazed super soldiers. A small army. Zemo wouldn't even need his Madbomb.
No question as to why Zemo would want to divert his path of wanton destruction for a pit stop in Russia. Likely to regain strength in numbers after Paris, and what better way to do that than with more super soldiers? No country had the proper defenses for that sort of thing.
Grey skies stretched onward.
It was only a few hours, a few hours to think and ponder and prepare. Bucky could only hazard a guess as to what would await them. Aside from the super soldier rejects, there was Zemo's little army and whatever mercenary troops he hired. And Mia, of course. The silo, he believed, was decommissioned, with no actual nuclear weaponry inside. The best place to put your failed science experiments and forget about them forever. He doubted most current Russian officials even knew about it anymore.
So much time had passed. Mia, trapped somewhere a mile below the surface. Bucky couldn't let himself wonder. Couldn't contemplate the possibilities or he'll go crazy on this ship.
"Hey," Steve appeared at his side, as they gazed out the window below, out onto the desolate landscape. "We'll make it through this. We always do."
It was easy to believe in such things when it was coming out of Steve's mouth. Just had a way of saying them that made it sound like simple truth. A fact. Reality itself.
It reminded him of a different time. "The last time we did something like this — was it Germany?"
"The Alps."
"Right," Bucky nodded vaguely. He could remember the mountains, the snow, the train. "I always hated that moment, right before we jumped out of a plane or off a cliff. Its like that coaster on Coney Island all over again. Every time."
"Every time?" Steve shot him a startled look, faintly amused. "No way. You were stone cold the whole time."
"On the outside, maybe," Bucky grinned, partially to himself. "Especially if there was a girl there. Couldn't follow your example, throwing up after the coaster."
"You know, Buck, I'm really glad you're remembering things now," Steve sighed, shaking his head with resigned humor. "But there are some things I'd like to forget. You know?"
"What was the name of your date again?" Bucky pondered for a moment, wanting to feel like a boy again, just a stupid kid with no problems but girls and school and rent at the end of the week. "Dorothy?"
"Dottie." Steve closed his eyes. "She took a shine to you."
"Yeah, well, she couldn't see what she had," Bucky nudged Steve's side. Sometimes he, too, was just that tiny shrimp of a kid who could never hold a date to save his life. Still in there somewhere. Still the same man. "You can do better than her now."
"God, I hope so," Steve laughed to himself. "If I can't do better now than I could at sixteen, then I'm doomed."
"You and me both," Bucky said, a sad smile of nostalgia. "That's how it always goes. Just you and me left standing."
"To the end of the line." Steve said.
"To the end of the line."
And then — they arrived.
It was nearing the end of the day, but hard to tell with the cloudy skies and growing snowstorm. Ayo picked up other aircraft, grounded, on her scanners, but they could be avoided. Steve intended to drop the sky and make a run for it.
"Stay in the air," T'Challa told the Dora Milaje. "We may need an immediate escape."
It was a fair assessment.
T'Challa did not say what he himself would do, but Bucky personally didn't care, as long as the King stayed out of their way. For their safety, and Mia's.
Okoye flew low, the ship still invisible, and they dropped twenty feet to the ground below, and took off running. They couldn't identify who the heat signatures within the small fleet of helicopters were, but best guess was that Zemo wasn't on them. Not yet.
If his forces saw the two, they didn't attack. The bunker loomed before them.
The doors were already open.
There was no other entrance. If there had been, Bucky would have suggested it by now, would have preferred a stealthy infiltration to even the odds. They'd be outnumbered, which was a real problem for a super soldier. Bucky vaguely remembered old war propaganda, how one super soldier was worth an entire legion of men. A one-man army.
Now they were going against eight.
Something neither of them had ever done before.
They walked in, stepping slowly. No one in the main foyer, as it were; though their traces were there. Prints in the snow, crates of supplies. The scent of humans still in the air, fresh.
An open elevator, inviting them in.
"I don't usually say this, but," Steve began as they slowly scanned the area, before his gaze landed back on the elevator. "This feels like a trap."
"Of course it's a trap," Bucky replied darkly. They had the anti-Madbomb bracelets just in case, but he doubted it would be much use in an underground bunker full of thick concrete. "He knew we'd follow. It's probably booby-trapped. Good thing there's stairs."
Steve, who had just been about to step onto the platform, reeled back. "Jeez, why didn't you say so before?"
The stairs were by far the longer way to reach the base of the bunker, but far safer and quieter. It spiraled around the outer wall of the silo, down and down and down, with doors at every level that traced off elsewhere. But Bucky didn't believe Zemo had any reason to explore further than what was directly beneath them.
Steve went down first, shield up, with Bucky at the rear, rifle at the ready. Short bursts for close combat, as what surely awaited them will be.
It got colder and colder, their breaths clouding in front of their faces. Ears pricked for any sound. But aside from the errant creak, rattle of old pipe, or drop of liquid, there was no sound. No sound at all. Like the place had been abandoned, just as it was before. This was not the air of a place that had just unleashed its secret quarry.
"This doesn't feel right," Steve murmured as they passed yet another empty doorway.
"I know," Bucky agreed. A trap, they could expect. But total silence? It was unnerving. Something felt wrong in a way he couldn't interpret.
But what else could they do than remain on alert? An eye out for every shadow. They were too deep now to try contacting T'Challa or the ship; their comm links just fizzled in their ears. Nothing but white noise.
They were all alone.
And so they forged onward.
A low mist crept up the steps as they approached the base level. Bucky's ears had popped some time ago, and he knew they were close now. They definitely should be hearing something by this point. Smelling something. And he did — something new.
Blood.
"That's not good," Steve muttered as they stepped into the mist. It covered the ground like a murky swamp at dusk, a pale blue in the faint lighting, churned up at their movements before settling again. The faintest touch of extra moisture in the air.
Bucky knew what it meant before they turned the corner and saw it. "They're out."
All the cryo-chambers were open. Doors hinged up, interiors empty.
No one to be seen.
They changed positions immediately, back to back. Shadows everywhere, darkness creeping in where the dais didn't touch. Too many hiding places. The failed experiments were no doubt lying in wait until they got into position.
The smell of blood was even stronger now.
"Someone's died," Bucky said, almost instinctively. Beneath the mist, he could feel it sticking to his boots. Puddles of it, all over the place. And a scent that strong? "There's too much blood, its—"
No sooner had he said that did Steve trip on something.
"Whoa!" Steve recoiled when the mist billowed at his stumbling, and pulled away to reveal a large dark mass sprawled across the floor.
A pool of blood around him.
Steve threw Bucky a look of alarm. "Is that one of them?"
Numbly, Bucky nodded. He'd never heard the heartbeat. "He's dead."
And when they looked back towards the dais, now at a new angle, they could see he wasn't the only one.
The mist didn't rise up as far as the elevated platform. Four others were immediately visible, red so thick it splattered black against the glass and metal of the cryo-chambers and across the floors.
With the sense that there was a chilling lack of survivors now, they moved more freely, quickly, checking each body in turn as they stepped onto the dais. Not a single pulse beat anymore. Turning a body over, Bucky faintly recognized the face, frozen in an expression of shock. A knife wound to their chest, puncturing their heart.
An expert move. A killing blow. Quick, immediate, no chance of recovery. They'd be dead within minutes, even less.
The kind of kill he'd make.
"Who did this?" Steve asked, as he dropped the body of another, who appeared to have lost both eyes to a blade. He frowned at Bucky, a line forming between his eyes. "Mia?"
It was the only answer that made sense. As Bucky scanned the room, heart pounding, he could make out a few other limp forms lying in the mist below. Fearing the worst, he ran over to check each one. None were Mia.
"All eight accounted for," He told Steve across the room, a little breathless now. It was hard to tell how the scene played out, but it appeared that the last ones to die were the most injured, skin ripped and torn. Their own hands were covered in blood. Bucky's mouth went dry. "She couldn't have fought them all by herself. She's not strong enough— there-there's too many—"
Eight for the two of them would've been a tall order. Just Mia? Just Mia and her few years of experience? Just Mia and whatever weapons Zemo felt merciful enough to give her?
"Maybe she's okay," Steve offered, though he hardly sounded convinced himself. He looked about helplessly, but there was no sign of her. Bucky saw a bloody handprint here or there, small enough to be hers, but no sign of Mia. "Maybe Zemo wants her still alive."
Bucky supremely doubted that. Zemo hated them. Hated everything she was and was not. He wouldn't go out of his way to save her life.
"Why would he do this?" Steve seemed beside himself in shock, surveying the area. "If he wanted to use these people, why would Zemo let her kill them…?"
Bucky had no answer for that.
Then a soft sound, just behind him. The faintest whisper, like the rubbing of fabric, a soft exhale.
A heartbeat.
Bucky spun around.
There, against the far wall. Half hidden in shadow and mist, he could just make out her crumpled form. Slumped back, head resting against an exposed pipe, eyes closed. Blonde curls come loose, the ends caked in blood and sticking to her face.
"Mia!"
He rushed to her side, dropping to one knee. Hands shaking as he cupped her face, turned it towards the light. Her eyelashes flickered, revealing one sclera to have turned red with blood. A gash at her hairline seeped blood down her face.
Steve's footsteps were close behind, but Bucky wasn't listening to whatever Steve was saying, trying to rouse Mia. She was still alive! But it didn't take long for Bucky to count her injuries — what remained of her gear was ripped and torn. A knee cut open. Knuckles bleeding and raw. Bruises around her throat and arms, along with an array of lesions. Bucky was fairly certain her dominant wrist was broken, with its odd angle and swelling, as well as several ribs. Her breath wheezed in and out painfully. A broken nose guessing from the blood. Pulling back one eyelid, then another, revealed pupils of different sizes.
A hand on his shoulder, Steve's voice seeping into his thoughts. "… Bucky? Buck! We have to move her now. Get her out before —"
"Before what, Captain?" A voice echoed, followed by a laugh. "I'm afraid it's the end of the line."
Both of them whipped their heads around, caught off guard as a large form stepped out of the mist. Bucky recognized that voice instantly, right before that skeletal mask appeared under the light.
Rumlow.
No sooner had he looked away, did Mia finally move. Bucky didn't pay heed at first, a split second he'd regret.
Before he had time to look back at Mia, her fist punched his side, a formidable blow.
Bucky gasped at the sudden sharp pain, and looked down to see her withdrawing the bloody knife from his chest.
The blow knocked the air from his lungs, and Bucky recoiled instinctively. Scrambling back away from her, and the knife in her hand. Bucky didn't have time to call her name. Mia's eyes were wide open now, fully alert — but it wasn't her.
She wasn't there.
A clang of metal distracted Bucky, looking back to see Steve charging Rumlow head-on, taking a round of bullets against his shield before blocking a physical strike. Something that should have knocked Rumlow off his feet.
But there he was, standing toe-to-toe against Captain America.
Shit.
A rustle. Bucky looked around again. Mia was gone.
Double shit.
Pressing a hand to his side, trying to put pressure on a wound that was already seeping too much blood, Bucky stumbled to his feet. His thoughts reeled, panicking, and that's before he saw pops of light from above. More gunfire, from what remained of Zemo's men.
Bucky slung his rifle around, leveling it up above his head. Bam, bam. Two down in short order.
A shadow flickered to his side.
Mia burst from the mists, knife in hand. She came from his blind spot, striking Bucky from behind, and disappearing into the misty shadows again before he could follow her trace. By the time Bucky realized she'd cut into his back and severed the strap of his rifle, she was already gone.
He tried chasing after her, but running through the spot she had vanished into revealed nothing. Bucky's heart pounded in his ears, and between Rumlow throwing Steve across the dais and Zemo's men taking potshots at them, he couldn't hear any sound Mia might be making, anything that would give away her position.
Bastards.
"Mia!" He called into the shadows, but knew it would get no response. But she was here. She was alive. Somehow, she was still moving, still fighting.
A voice responded, but it wasn't hers.
"Did you really think I would let those abominations live?"
Zemo.
Bucky looked up, but it was only the speakers his voice emanated from. But he had to be close by. Bucky knew this place. Knew where Zemo could be speaking from.
It was unclear who the man was monologuing to specifically, as Steve was too busy fending off Rumlow's blows to respond. Nevertheless, Zemo went on, "It was you that killed my father, and your kind that destroyed our legacy, our empire. So long as a super soldier exists, there can be no peace. The serum was made as a blessing to the worthy, but I see now that it can just as easily be used on degenerates. All of you have fouled it to a point beyond redemption. The only option left is to burn it all and salt the ground behind it."
Steve shouted something, but it was drowned out by more gunfire, and the sound of him smashing Rumlow's head through the glass of one cryo-chamber.
"Besides," Zemo said, with the sound of a smile. "I already am the ubermensch worth keeping."
Too hurt to engage him directly as she had with the rejects. She was too injured, and she knew that. Bucky thought fast, trying to think of what he would do in her position. What he would've taught her.
More gunmen across the silo, further up. Steve was pinned, shielding from the bullets while Rumlow kicked him in the face. No time to think. Bucky raised his rifle once more and fired.
Again the shadow struck — this time right in front of him. Mia came in fast; Bucky had closed one eye to peer down his scope, and it was from that side she emerged, striking him across the face and throwing his arm off. The last bullet missed its target.
Bucky hissed in pain. The blow stung, the blade had sliced across his cheek and narrowly missed his eye. It had unbalanced him as well, and Bucky tried to whip around fast enough to catch her, but Mia slipped out from right beneath his fingers, into the shadows again.
"Such a tenacious creature," Zemo laughed, and Bucky knew then he was watching. "She'll fight to the death, you know. I activated her self-termination protocol. As soon as she's finished the task of eliminating you, she'll destroy herself. Or die trying. And thus, the end of the Age of Heroes."
Stick to the shadows. Keep utterly silent. Never stop moving. Strike only when the target wasn't looking. Never risk more injury than she had to.
The only advantage she'd have against a larger, stronger opponent was the element of surprise.
Bucky didn't know how he'd get around her self-termination protocol yet. His best option was to render her unconscious and bring her back before she could fulfill it.
But it was hardly a foolproof idea.
All he wanted was to find Zemo and put a bullet in his head.
The observation room.
It was here, somewhere. A glass panel, heavily reinforced, to watch a missile launch.
Bucky paused his growing panic just long enough to scan the walls. Zemo was wise to keep the inside light off, but it didn't render him invisible.
There.
Bucky turned once, and fired, directly ahead.
The bullet struck glass. Above him, the speakers crackled with the sound of a flinch, possibly a dropped receiver.
And just like clockwork, Mia reappeared.
This time, Bucky almost had her.
He turned just in time to raise his arm, open hand to catch her. But maybe she saw it coming — the knife came up and under, and Bucky seized in terrible pain as the tip of her blade met where metal prosthetic and skin were sewn together, just under his armpit.
Bucky cried out in pain, jerking his arm back instinctively to protect the wounded area, and Mia vanished once more.
No more monologuing, Zemo was probably already running. But there was no way to chase after him — not with Mia here, and not with Rumlow making shit worse. He and Steve had torn the dais apart, glass shards everywhere. And that's when Bucky decided where his priorities lied. Which problem to solve first.
He shot Rumlow.
In the back. Right above his hip. Dirty, merciless, not at all sporting. But this was war and Bucky was sick of this shit — just lets Mia dart by with her knife, flinching as it dug into his shoulder before disappearing again — but just kept walking towards the dais, firing another shot into the back of Rumlow's leg, and watching him drop tone knee.
Super soldier or not — Rumlow wasn't bulletproof.
The man screamed in pain, and Steve stepped back, as if already conceding the fight won. He gave a short nod to Bucky, and maybe Bucky should've just done that sooner. But Zemo had timed it all so well. He knew exactly how to distract them both.
"Shoulda done that in New York," Bucky spat. If Rumlow hadn't put a gun in Mia's hand, had put it to her head, he would've been dead a long time ago. "How stupid are you, huh? Crossbones? He already marked you a dead man."
Rumlow, mask off, gritted teeth, tried to haul himself back up to his feet, one leg dragging behind. "Fuck you. He gave me what I wanted. He's a man of his word."
Steve shared a look with Bucky. As Bucky knocked Rumlow's feet out from beneath him, Steve asked, "You took that serum, didn't you?"
"Of course I did! I had to even the playing field!" Rumlow snarled, and spat blood at their feet. "This is war, remember? I don't care how much it hurts, HYDRA needs a real soldier, a real —"
"What, a patriot?" Bucky asked, throwing a hand up. "You signed your own death warrant, dumbass."
Rumlow blinked, grimacing in confusion. "What? That serum won't kill me. I haven't lost my mind, see?"
Bucky didn't need to see Steve's expression to know that was debatable. Indeed, Rumlow's disposition seemed no different than before. But that wasn't the point they were trying to make.
"Zemo wants the death of all super soldiers." Steve told him. "Mia won't stop until we're all dead."
"And now," Bucky said, grabbing the back of Rumlow's head to wrench it backwards, look him in the eye. "That includes you."
And he got to watch, live and in person, as the truth started to set in. Eyes widening, mottled skin paling in shock, horror. "No. No, he wouldn't —!"
"Wouldn't what?" Bucky snapped, and let go of Rumlow with a powerful slam of forehead against metal. Rumlow slumped to the ground, groaning. "Kill you? You're replaceable!"
They were all replaceable. That's how the best weapons were made.
"But she —" Rumlow now scanned the room, eyes wide with panic. "She wouldn't attack me, I'm her superior, it's in her protocol —"
Steve cocked his head. "Is it? Is it still?"
Rumlow had no answer. He struggled to rise again, but clearly was having trouble contending with the truth. With the fate his great leader had left him to, for the simple desire of being a super soldier. Like his old childhood hero.
"You have to kill her," Rumlow finally said, a new light in his eyes, looking up at them with a combination of rage and desperation. "You have to! She won't stop, she'll —"
Plink-plink!
Something flew through the air and bounced across the dais. A metal disc, slightly magnetic, no bigger than a baseball. Red light blinking. Bucky's heart skipped a beat.
"Grenade!"
Bucky threw himself back, landing hard on his side just before the explosion went off.
The explosion rocked the ground and echoed painfully off the hollow walls of the silo, rocketing all the way up back to the surface. Old rust rained down from the ancient catwalks. The wave heat had almost been welcome in the pervasive cold of the Siberian bunker. What remained was the smell of smoke, burnt cloth and skin in its wake.
Bucky had landed on the side Mia stabbed, which he had momentarily forgotten in all the adrenaline-fueled action, and was now painfully reminded just how badly she had wounded him. Getting up again wasn't so easy this time.
Breathing definitely hurt now. A wheeze he couldn't ignore. Using his metal arm in any way sent spikes of pain down his shoulder, neck, and back. But Bucky could still get up and see that Steve was still standing, still okay, if covered in a bit of soot.
Rumlow, already injured, hadn't been able to get away.
And now he wasn't moving at all.
"Buck!" Steve ran to his side when Bucky was a bit too slow in getting back to his feet. "God, you look awful."
"Not lookin' so great yourself, champ," Bucky grumbled, as he took Steve's offered hand and hobbled back to his feet. Steve didn't look as bad, he supposed, but Rumlow had done a number on him. Beat-up face and ripped up sleeves and that was after Paris. He had a bad cut bleeding on just the outer corner of his eye, and more from his chin. "It's done now. We gotta —" he winced as he straightened. "Gotta head out before Zemo gets too far."
"Just take a breather, we're not alone here," Steve offered, letting go of Bucky as soon as he could stand on his own. Sans shield, Steve was looking pretty naked. Must have dropped it after the grenade.
Bucky had dropped the rifle in the panic of the grenade, and without the strap it had been left behind, destroyed by the explosion. Bucky wasn't terribly bothered. He had two smaller sidearms on him, and he could probably find another rifle in here somewhere.
But looking around, it was clear the fight was over. Rumlow was dead, or as close to it as he could get. Bucky didn't particularly care to check, aside from putting another bullet in his head to make sure. What was left of Zemo's men had either died or fled with him.
It was very quiet now.
Too quiet.
"He won't get away," Steve assured him, as if he could read Bucky's thoughts. He walked over to wear the vibranium shield laid near some coiled piping. He bent down, paused, hand outstretched. "Wait, this isn't my —"
The shadow struck.
This wasn't a knife strike. The flash of light against red-blue-white before she struck Steve full across the face with his own shield. A blow so powerful, enhanced by vibranium, straight knocking Steve off his feet and throwing him several feet across the floor.
Bucky couldn't close the distance fast enough. "No! Stop!"
Steve, rendered nearly unconscious by the blow, too slow to recover in time.
Mia, lunging at him, pinning Steve down, raising his shield over her head.
And he wondered.
He wondered if she would still listen, if the words were right.
It's my order, do you understand? Bucky could hear his own voice, far away. An echo of a memory. I'm superior to him, so it's me you listen to.
"Stop!" Bucky shouted. And then, in a surge of panic, horror, and absolute cold certainty: "Будет!"
His voice came out sharp, strong, unforgiving.
The voice of the Winter Soldier.
Ready to bring that shield edge down into Steve's neck, Mia froze.
Her eyes, wide in shock, looked up at Bucky, as if seeing him for the first time.
An emotion.
Fear.
"Disengage!" Bucky commanded in Russian. He didn't know if it was the language itself key to this ruse, but whatever it was, it was working. She believed it. She heard the Winter Soldier. Mia lowered the shield, scrambled off of Steve, away from him.
Her breath wheezed with exertion. Her movements were uneven, heavily favoring one side now, trying to hide it as she grimaced, straightening as much as she could. Bucky tried not to think about the blood seeping into his gear, how heavy it felt now. How cold his fingers were, how lightheaded he felt.
"Bucky —" Steve began, coughing a little, but Bucky didn't look at him, didn't take his eyes off Mia, just brushed him off with an errant wave of his hand. Mia couldn't be distracted, couldn't be allowed to think of anything else than whatever order he was about to give her.
"Your orders?" He asked, stepping closer. Mia was still armed. Steve's shield in one hand. Knife sheathed. Probably other things he couldn't immediately spot right now. He had to get it all off her.
"Eliminate all super soldiers." She replied instantly, without hesitation. That film falling back over her eyes, a stillness, a soldier at attention. "Including myself."
"Nyet."
She blinked in surprise. "But Lord Zemo —"
"He is not a Lord. He lied to you." Bucky didn't know if this would work. If the Soldatka could even conceptualize that kind of deception, if it even mattered in her programming. "He infiltrated your protocol. He turned you against your true purpose. Against me."
"But my orders —" she started again. A computer unable to resolve this equation.
"To kill every super soldier," Bucky repeated. He knew the tone to keep. Even, cold, not quite angry but not quite calm either. "Would you kill me?"
"No!" She gasped, and there it was again, that fear, that horror, the terrible reality of betraying the integral hierarchy in her protocol. And maybe, just maybe, some true loyalty beneath.
"But I am a super soldier." Bucky replied, and he knew the logic would break her. "You cannot fulfill your objective while letting me live."
There was a reason Pierce had always been so careful with his commands, to never let them conflict. Never put the Soldat in a position to make any significant choice or interpretation. There could be none.
Because that's when the protocol started to fall apart.
Mia's eyes turned glassy, pleading unto him. Her voice, so small. A child, lost at sea. "…What do I do?"
"Your orders have been revoked. Drop your weapons." And he watched as Mia slowly put down the shield. He could hear Steve moving behind him, and prayed to whatever god that was listening right now that he wasn't about to do something stupid. Now was not the time to interfere. Not when Mia was putting down one pistol, then another. A small collection of grenades. Throwing knives. A stiletto from her boot.
And then, at last, the knife. A simple combat knife, straight on both sides before ending on a small curved edge with a slight hook. Nasty to look at but nothing special. Not poisoned. Not enhanced in any way.
It was all she needed.
And she hesitated, eyes unfocused. The protocol, ticking.
Bucky held out a hand, trying to keep it from shaking. His voice, from trembling. "Give me the knife."
It took her a second too long for her eyes to refocus, to look at him. Bucky took another step closer. "Give me the knife, Mia."
Her eyes widened. Bucky knew he fucked up. It just slipped out. She wouldn't respond to her own name.
The trance, broken.
Bucky had feared Mia would turn the blade on him as she had earlier. Instead, a flick of her hand, and the blade turned inward, and she thrust it towards her chest.
"No!" Bucky launched at her.
He grabbed her wrist, just as Steve swept up from behind, arms wrapping around Mia's midsection in a classic tackling action. All three went down.
Mia screamed.
But the knife never pierced her skin.
Bucky ripped it away, wincing at the crack her wrist made at the sound. She'd just been holding onto it too hard — he wasn't thinking. Too scared to think of what would happen if he hadn't been strong enough.
Mia screamed and writhed in Steve's arms, who rolled her away out of reach from any potential weapon. She kicked and scratched and threw back her skull in a mighty head butt that broke Steve's nose, but still he didn't let go. Bucky worked fast to frisk her over for any remaining weapons (none), before grabbing her flailing arms and pinning them to her chest as gently as he could, trying to calm her down, speaking words he couldn't hear, as she broke down into sobs, tears stained with blood streaming down her face.
"It's okay it's okay it's okay —" Bucky just kept repeating the words, a crazed mantra, as if enough times would make it true. "It's over now, it's over, I promise —"
She didn't struggle for long. Mia had already been weak to begin with, as she panted and gasped for air. For a second, he worried Steve was accidentally suffocating her — which he knew, deep down, Steve would never be stupid enough to do — only for Steve to release her, to back off, to help cradle her head off the floor, as Mia stopped fighting, as her blood smeared across the floor and all her injuries finally caught up to her.
Breath, rattling in her throat, blood on her lips.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, before her eyes fell shut and her body went limp.
~o~
Zemo could no longer hear the fighting anymore.
He didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. All he knew was that the fighting was done, and he had no reason to stay any longer. The business was taken care of. All threats to his Fourth Reich, eliminated.
Rumlow. Zemo sneered to himself, shaking his head. The man just had to insist. Couldn't let it go, despite Zemo's tirades against the matter. Couldn't see that youth of the body and youth of the mind were far more valuable than sheer strength and fortitude.
"Fool," Zemo grumbled to himself. Good help was so hard to find.
Batroc's helicopters awaited as expected. Batroc himself stood in the open doorway of the main vehicle, and he did not shift as Zemo made to levy himself onto the aircraft. Startled at the silent rebuke, Zemo fell back on one foot and snapped, "Move!"
Batroc glared down at him. "What happened in Paris?"
The question took him off guard. "What do you mean? It went exactly as planned. More or less. The Madbomb was damaged but it will still be of use —"
"This isn't about your infernal weapon!" Batroc snapped. "The attack! You said you would destroy their power structure!"
"How else to terrify them?" Zemo had no idea where this was coming from. It was as the Second World War went. The French were so horrified by the progress and slaughter of the Third Reich army that they capitulated almost instantly after the Wehrmacht had crossed the Reine. This time it would be no different. The French would do anything to spare the lives of their valuable citizens. "That is what I'm doing, fool!"
"Non! You've slain my fellow countrymen in a war you've already lost!" Batroc snarled, throwing up a hand in disgust.
"Damn you! You're just a wretched pirate, don't pretend you have honor now!"
"I will not take payment in their blood!" Batroc said, his expression unmoved as the blades above him began swinging to life. Zemo let out a cry as Batroc slammed his boot into his chest and sent Zemo to the ground. "And now you will die here, as your own countrymen did, trying to conquer something that was never yours."
And with that, the helicopter began to rise, Batroc spitting down at him. "Bon voyage, lèche-cul."
By the time Zemo got to his feet, the helicopters were long out of reach.
This was it, then.
A great leader, abandoned to his fate. Perhaps all the super soldiers were dead. Zemo still had some loyal followers left. Still had the Madbomb, though damaged and without a way to repair it.
He could still regroup.
He turned. There, not fifteen feet away, stood the Black Panther.
"Ah." Zemo pushed a smile on his face, as if he had not just endured abject humiliation at the hands of a criminal. "Your Highness."