Avengers: Search for the Winter Soldier

Chapter 23

Title: The Space Between Worlds

Summary: Day 6 with Steve, 16 days out from Hydra

With the constant mental conditioning and memory wipes no longer being administered, the absence of Hydra's influence begins to have an effect on the Soldier's ability to regain his memories, but many of those are traumatic and intrusive. The drug reduction therapy begins to take its toll.

As he slowly begins to comprehend his new surroundings, Steve and the others see a few positive changes in his behavior and his ability to interact with them.

Note: Dedicated to Trez26 for your support since the beginning.

WARNINGS! – The following chapters contain some very dark imagery of forced imprisonment, physical torture, abusive contact and emotional and psychological collapse. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. If you cannot bring yourself to read this or any other chapter in its entirety, please contact me for a summarized version of what happens in this chapter. I'll be more than happy to tell you how we're moving ahead, without you having to face what's contained here. Be aware though that none of it is happening to him now. It's all taking place in his memories.

The Soldier watched the wranglers preparing the prisoner for his next round of treatment. What was it the controllers and technicians called it?—Oh yes, behavior modification.

He watched as the shock troopers brought two wooden stools into the cell and stacked them atop each other while the prisoner's strap was being tightened behind his back. The stacked wooden stools were three feet high. They were wobbly in their construction, but that was done deliberately. It would have been just as easy to use a wooden stool that was three feet in height, but that would be a more stable platform and the last thing the trainers were looking for… was stability.

The prisoner had caught and killed the sound of pain that had escaped his throat before he knew it was even there. But the Soldier nodded just slightly at the prisoner's success in doing so. Pain should never be displayed to the trainers… as much as it can be helped. Sometimes it couldn't be helped, he knew that. The trainers and shock troopers often pushed them to their limits and beyond… so even after you learn not to scream at "the small stuff", they would push you until you did. And then they would nod… and leave.

But if you screamed too soon, it would only urge them to do more to you… until you became numb to it. In the beginning, they would work you until your screams stopped. Once you learned… once you became tolerant of the pain to the point they couldn't get you to whimper or scream, then they'd keep going until you did.

The Soldier realized that it was always a losing game for the pawns. He had been a pawn… once. But they taught him, trained him… conditioned him to be a soldier, no longer a pawn. He wasn't weak and frail – he was strong and unyielding… without mercy… he was dangerous… he was Zimni Soldat… he was the Fist of Hydra.

His thoughts faded away and he re-focused on what was happening in the cell. He watched as three of the wranglers lifted the prisoner off his feet and maneuvered him so he was resting on their shoulders. Two other wranglers guided his feet to the top of the stools and then it took the lot of them to elevate his body so he was standing on top of them.

It was obvious that the Broken Man was very weak and his entire body shook violently; from the cold, from hunger, from fear… the Soldier couldn't be sure; perhaps from all three. This was the toughest part of training.

A sound outside his own head caused him to push away his internal thoughts and his eyes flashed to the prisoner who was now trying to crouch low on top of the stools. He was trying to lower his center of gravity because he'd obviously lost concentration and in turn lost his balance. The prisoner tried to catch himself, but with his arms pulled tight behind his back he had no way to correct his balance except to lean to the opposite side. The prisoner over-compensated and the top stool keeled over and away from his feet and the man let out a whimper as his body fell toward the cement floor. With no way to brace his fall, he hit the floor hard; his face and shoulder slammed into the cement and his mind blacked out. The pain in his left shoulder was so excruciating that when his mouth opened to scream, it was soundless.

The Soldier and the shock troopers watched as the prisoner writhed on the floor. They let him lie there for a few minutes before stepping forward. The troopers charged their stun batons; the rods lit up white and then yellow and a soft hum emitted from them. Another press of their thumbs made the rods turn green and the hum changed in pitch to indicate a higher setting. In unison, the two man torture team pressed the tips of the batons to the prisoner; one in the center of his back and the other to the back of his right thigh.

The man's body jolted. His back arched away from the touch of the electrical prod but the trooper simply moved with him. The prisoner couldn't scream though. His jaw was clamped down so hard he's lucky he hadn't bitten off his tongue. The batons were held to his skin for ten seconds and then removed.

The Soldier saw the bright red circles marking the spots where the batons had touched. They only seemed to add a touch of variety to the other marks and scars all over his body.

One of the troopers picked up the wooden stools, setting them again atop one another as the cell door opened to let in three wranglers. The wranglers lifted the prisoner back onto the stools and promptly left the torture cell.

The Soldier watched in silence as the prisoner fell from the stacked stools again… and again… and again; able to stand balanced on top of them for shorter periods of time each time he was placed on them. He was weak with hunger, cold and in pain, and his entire body shook with the strength of his trembling making it impossible for him to remain balanced.

Time passed in a flash, as if this was a dream. He was vaguely aware of the passage of time, even though it seemed to have gone by in an instant. He looked up at the prisoner and then his gaze slowly lowered to the floor between them. The Soldier became very aware of his warm leather jacket and heavy Kevlar pants. The leather, steel toed boots on his feet and the gloves on his hands kept his extremities warm. His breathing suddenly became loud to his own ears under the heavy mask he wore.

He watched as the Broken Man again lost his balance and crashed to the floor, hard. This time, the Soldier heard a snap come from the prisoner's left shoulder – the pain was searing in its intensity and despite himself the Soldier gasped and his right hand came up to grip his own shoulder.

The Soldier tried to catch his breath against the pain in his shoulder. "What the hell?" he thought disjointedly, 'Why had he felt that too?" His breaths were extremely loud behind his mask and he shot a look to the shock troopers. They both were looking at him now.

They stepped forward to pick up the prisoner… but they didn't pick him up, they didn't even look down at him as they stepped over him instead. The Soldier stood his ground; there was no point in trying to evade them. There was no place to go and nothing he could do.

They'd heard his gasp, even behind the mask, and saw him clutch at his shoulder. They knew he reacted. It was a pain he shouldn't have felt, but he had and they saw him react to it.

As they drew closer to him, they charged their batons and he dropped his hand to his side. The whine coming from the torture tools was high-pitched and the lights that illuminated the rod turned from white, to yellow, to green and finally to red. The tips of the batons were shoved against his chest and even his heavy leather jacket couldn't protect him from the 50,000 volts being delivered from each one.

Steve was sitting beside the bed, keeping an eye on his friend. Banner had suggested rolling him onto his side as the possibility of vomiting was always a significant side effect of drug withdrawal. Steve sat there for a couple of hours staring at the Soldier's face and it kept morphing into the face of his old pal, Bucky Barnes. One moment he saw the Winter Soldier, with long hair and beard scrub, and the next moment that face was over-laid with the clean cut, short haired appearance of Sgt. Barnes. His eyelids became heavier the longer he sat there and he finally gave up the fight to keep them open.

The Soldier gasped and his body went rigid on the bed. His mouth and eyes shot open wide and he froze, lying on his side, facing his handler, his left hand rested in front of his chest as if it was holding him in that position. Either he had changed positions in his sleep, which he doubted, or the handlers had rolled him so they didn't have to worry about him aspirating anything if he threw up.

'That was an odd thought to have', the Soldier realized. Had they done that to him before? They must have if it was a memory lurking in the shadows of his mind.

Steve had fallen into a light sleep as he sat in vigil. He was dozing when the Soldier suddenly awoke and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He was half out of the chair and stepping back at the same time, nearly toppling the chair behind him. He wouldn't have been so surprised if there had been any indication at all that the Soldier was in distress, but he'd heard nothing to indicate that the Soldier was having disturbing dreams.

Steve grabbed the back of the chair before it toppled over and crashed to the floor. He shoved it aside as he steadied himself on his feet. He leaned down, trying to keep his face level with the Soldier's as best he could. They had raised the bed back to a height that was comfortable for Dr. Banner to tend to his patient but it was still lower than Steve's height.

The Soldier was holding his breath, his eyes wide and staring at whatever horror he'd just re-lived in his dreams. Steve didn't have to guess too hard as to the intensity of the nightmare the Soldier had just experienced.

Dr. Banner was sitting at his little desk near the foot of the bed in the corner. His head snapped up when he heard the Soldier gasp loudly and the bed jolting from where he sat. He'd administered a dose of Buprenorphine a couple hours previously to help ease the withdrawal symptoms and a few minutes after that the Soldier had fallen into a deep sleep.

Bruce quickly stood up to check on him, but waited for Steve to give him the okay. The Soldier hadn't moved yet, he was lying very still except for the minor trembling which was expected to occur from this point. Tremors and headaches were definitely going to be a constant for a while. Right now, Steve was more concerned about the Soldier's mental status; he had not been in a stable condition for a long time, he knew... but now he was even more unpredictable.

Steve watched him closely, but the Soldier didn't move or breathe for a long minute. Steve noticed that his eyes had taken on that thousand yard stare; the kind of lost stare people get when they are daydreaming or lost in a memory…

"Soldat?" he said quietly. The Soldier didn't move or seem to even hear him. "Soldat? Can you hear me?" Steve asked again, maintaining a calm and quiet demeanor.

The Soldier heard the voice; it was that soft voice belonging to the blond man. He heard his name repeated and his eyes slowly refocused and then shifted to look at the face hovering just feet away from him. His jaw relaxed and his mouth slowly closed as he tried to get his bearings.

Steve remained still as the Soldier seemed to be trying to figure out who he was and where he was. The Soldier finally blinked and glanced around, lifting his head from the mattress.

He knew this place. It wasn't the pain cells. It wasn't dark and cold and… He pressed his left hand to the mattress and the bionic arm lifted his torso easily. Steve reached out to press the button to raise the head of the bed, taking the cue that the Soldier wanted to sit up.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked as the Soldier adjusted his position so he was resting with his back flat against the raised section. The Soldier stilled at the question, his breathing becoming shallow as he looked sidelong toward the man asking, but not at him directly.

He couldn't answer that question. Why did he keep asking that question? 'Am I okay? Of course, I am. I can't be anything but okay'. Giving himself the answer as he worked out the question in his head; the Soldier gave one quick nod and remained still again.

Steve reached out to the table nearby where a dozen bottles of water had been placed for them. A few of the bottles were empty; as Steve and Bruce had quenched their own thirsts as they sat waiting. He grabbed one and quickly opened it with a distinctive snap of the sealed cap. The Soldier turned his head to see what he had in his hand.

He offered the bottle and the Soldier reached out to take it. He wrapped his hand around the bottom half, but the man didn't let go. The Soldier raised his eyes to see the blond man looking at him as if he wanted to say something. They remained that way for a few moments just looking at each other, the Soldier waiting to see what the man was going to do. Bruce watched the exchange quietly, to see what would happen next and noticed the Soldier never blinked.

Steve realized that what he wanted to say wouldn't have any meaning to the Soldier, so he said nothing and finally released the bottle. The Soldier drew his hand back but never lowered his gaze. Steve nodded and then pulled his chair back to where it had been and sat down.

The Soldier waited for him to be seated before raising the bottle to his lips. He drank the entire bottle of water in three large swallows. Bruce's eyebrows rose and he looked to Steve with a nod toward the tray.

Steve opened another bottle and handed it to the Soldier. He drank that down and then half of a third to slake his thirst. As he swallowed the last sip, he looked at Banner still standing near the foot of the bed. Steve also looked at Banner and then the sound of the plastic water bottle being crushed made him turn back.

The Soldier's body had tensed suddenly and his hand curled tightly around the bottle. He gasped for air and squeezed his eyes shut. His entire body began to tremble uncontrollably and soft groans were forced out of him as his lungs seized up and air squeezed through his constricting throat.

"Seizure?" Steve asked as he stood up.

"Nope. Just tremors," Banner told him.

Steve reached for the water bottle and tried to pry the Soldier's fingers from around it. "Is there anything you can do?" he asked.

"I already gave him meds to ease the symptoms. He metabolizes them too fast. If I keep dosing him with that it'll just end up another drug he becomes addicted to," Bruce explained.

"How long are they going to last?" Steve asked. He now had one hand wrapped around the Soldier's hand that was still wrapped around the water bottle. His left arm was curled around the Soldier's shoulders, trying to lend support as he struggled with the effects.

"Well, it's hard to say," Bruce replied. "He's been an addict I'd guess for… could be five decades. He's a super soldier, though. He metabolizes the meds I give him very quickly. It's quite possible that he can kick these addictions in as little as a few weeks... with any luck."

"That's it?" Steve asked, now feeling hopeful. "We just have to get him through the next three or four weeks?"

"Depending on the drugs and the dosages… normal human beings can usually get beyond drug dependency in ten to fourteen days. Of course, the dosages he has in his system are nearly one thousand times the amount a person can have in their system without dying, but –"

"...he's a super soldier," Steve finished the sentence.

"What we see happening," Bruce explained, "is his body's attempts to regulate his brain chemistry and re-align circuitry as the drugs are processed out his system. The duration and intensity of his withdrawal symptoms will present in various ways based on which drug the body has to focus on at any given time.

"As I don't have any idea what the initial dosages were that he was given, let's say, ten days before we found him… I'm reducing his doses by the levels I saw in his blood and urine initially. As quickly as he metabolizes, I may be starting his withdrawal doses far below where they should be, simply because I don't know where to begin.

"What we're witnessing is his body attempting to reach a new homeostasis as the drug concentration in his blood declines. Trust me, Steve, as difficult as it is to watch… these are temporary and are proof that he's moving toward recovery.

"These disruptions in his brain chemistry can have significant physical health repercussions though, so he definitely needs to stay in my care for his medical needs," Bruce told him.

As if emphasizing Bruce's last comment, without warning, the Soldier vomited all the water he just drank. His stomach seized twice and luckily it was only the water that ejected. He coughed and swallowed what was still in his mouth.

Steve held his right hand to the Soldier's forehead to help keep him from folding forward as his stomach revolted against the large amount of water he'd guzzled. He also noticed that his forehead was sweaty and his skin was hot. He held onto the Soldier as tightly as he dared until his tremors began to subside and he was able to take a few short breaths and then began to pant for air.

"And he'll need me," Dr. Golden's voice came from the doorway, "for his mental and psychological needs." She stepped into the room and walked over to the others.

She stopped at the foot of the bed, opposite Bruce and looked at the Soldier. He was sitting up in the bed, but his arms were folded securely around his torso and his knees had drawn up tightly in front of him. She couldn't see that his hand was still grasping the crushed water bottle. The blanket that covered him was now soaked with water.

As his physical symptoms began to ease, Steve loosened his hold on the Soldier's shoulders. He was now panting for air and his eyes were closed again as if trying to ignore the way he felt. He curled forward slightly to rest his forehead against his knees and he began to rock. He was vaguely aware that the soaked blanket felt good against his feverish skin.

Steve pulled away slowly, watching him and keeping his left hand on the Soldier's back between his shoulder blades while the man rocked back and forth. Steve wasn't sure if he was trying to dispel excess energy or anxiety. He couldn't blame him one bit either way.

Bruce could see that his face was reddened with fever and his skin glistened with perspiration. He went to the bathroom and soaked a wash cloth in cool water and returned with it.

As the Soldier rocked back and forth with his head on his knees, Steve reached under his chin and tried to take the bottle again. As he got his hand on it and began to pull it from the Soldier's grasp, the man became aware of it again and pulled it away from Steve. He guzzled the last of it, as he'd just lost all that he'd taken in, and then let Steve take it from him.

"Good," Bruce nodded. "Let him drink. He's going to need to stay hydrated and get a lot of rest, if he's able. He probably won't want to eat much but we need to really try to make sure he gets nutrition. He's going to need his strength."

The Soldier then rested his cheek on his knees and Bruce lifted him by the shoulders and eased him back to rest against the mattress. He swept back the long hair adhering to his face and placed the cool cloth on his forehead. The Soldier closed his eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep.

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