Winter of the White Wolf: Post S1 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Chapter 95: Viscous Descent, a falcon and the winter soldier fanfic

I hope all of you are doing well! I can't tell you just how excited I am to dive back into this story with you. :) Thanks for your patience in getting this update out. It ended up being a lot longer and more robust than I'd originally planned, but I hope you'll find all the juicy details to be worth the wait! Likewise, it's exciting to finally see Sam back on the big screen in Captain America: Brave New World! (No spoilers from me, promise!)

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Please check out this chapter on Archive of Our Own to see the art and links to my social media!

Simply search for: "KLeCrone Ao3 Winter of the White Wolf"

Winter of the White Wolf

Chapter 95 - Viscous Descent

Summary:

Barnes won't wake up.

Urgent pounding across the room lurched Ayo awake just as the haptics around her wrist surged with a high priority alarm.

Her eyes instantly bolted open in the darkness, searching for the origin of the loud noise. Frantic voices called out from the hallway, underscored by a single set of shadowed footsteps that dashed past the thin trail of light seeping in from below her bedroom door. Without another conscious thought, Ayo slung her bare feet over the edge of the bed and rushed to the door, swinging it open soundlessly as she drew her weapon and flourished it in one smooth, seamless motion.

She clutched her breath in her throat as she ground her heels into the hardwood and stood still in the doorway listening for the echoes of violence she so feared. But there were no screams, no cries for help, only a barrage of familiar voices strained with unmistakable distress.

As Ayo stepped forward into the hallway she could hear Yama yell "Hurry!" from the front room off to her left while panicked footsteps echoed nearby as someone — Sam — ran towards the far end of the hallway where he repeatedly slammed the side of his hand against Princess Shuri's door. "It's Barnes! He won't wake up!"

Ayo blinked, working to process the wildly unexpected statement as Nomble swung open her bedroom door directly to Ayo's left. Her Lieutenant was still wearing her white nightclothes and held her spear in hand as her alert brown eyes rapidly glanced to either side of her to get up to speed just like Ayo was.

Learning that Princess Shuri was not in present danger, Ayo thrust three fingers towards the front room, directing Nomble to run ahead of her while Ayo quickly released the protective protocol she'd put on Shuri's door to prevent any unauthorized entry.

When Sam pivoted on his heel and caught Ayo's gaze, it was impossible to mistake the palpable fear in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something to her, but when Shuri's bedroom door suddenly swung open he instead repeated, "Barnes won't wake up, hurry!"

Nomble was already in flight towards the front room as Sam took off down the hallway at breakneck speed after her. Ayo hurtled herself into motion a step behind him, sparing a quick glance over her shoulder to Shuri, who rapidly brought up a holographic HUD of Barnes's synced sleep timer over her left wrist as they ran. The normally green digits were a startling crimson red and grew larger with each passing heartbeat:

-72 seconds…

-73 seconds…

-74 seconds…

Ayo bid her mind to focus, but she couldn't escape the bubbling fears of what they might find waiting for them in the front room. "What happened—?!"

"When did he—?" Shuri's voice overlapped with her own as the two of them rounded the corner only to find Barnes laying face up inside the orange energy dome. His bedroll and blankets were laid out just as she'd last seen them with no signs of blood or struggle surrounding him. He was eerily still, and the fact he hadn't immediately jolted awake at the commotion surrounding him was distressing in its own right considering how light of a sleeper he was.

As Nomble sprinted across the room and took up position on the far side of the dome, Yama lifted her head from where she stood guard outside the dome near Barnes's head. A cascade of live diagnostics and medical holograms floated in the air above him and along the curve of the energy shield itself. The readouts were edged in worrisome reds accompanying flashing warnings that shone against the whites of Yama's eyes and the staff she'd preemptively extended. Even from across the room, Ayo could instantly tell something was gravely wrong.

Sam skidded to a halt next to Yama as her words burst forth out like firehose, "He's breathing, but unresponsive! His alarm went off while he was in Stage 3 of NREM sleep, but he won't wake up! I tried intensifying his haptics, audio, and lights, even pressing against him with my staff, but he hasn't stirred!"

If Ayo had been running any faster, the leading side of her foot might've collided with the outer shell of the electrical field as she came to an abrupt stop just outside the orange shell. She instinctively used her body to shield Shuri before side stepping out of the way so that their Princess could have an unobstructed view of the ailing man within. Shuri rapidly dove into her charts, but Ayo didn't miss the flash of controlled panic in her Ibhondi Yomgcini's* eyes as she urgently sought out answers hidden within the data at her fingertips.

Ayo wasn't sure what she expected to see across the face of the man inside the shield, but his expression was remarkably neutral under the pulsing of the red warnings overhead. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, but his eyes remained closed and his body did not stir in the slightest. It was almost like a disturbing shade of partial cryo. If anything, Ayo's fears had drawn up any number of violent possibilities, but this? She did know what to do with this.

They were in uncharted waters.

"The other sessions?" Shuri urged as she went into triage mode as Wakanda's Chief of Security instinctively confirmed the shield's structural integrity from a step beside her, and that its localized audio dampening field was indeed off.

"Largely uneventful," Yama answered quickly, her focus rapidly darting between each individual, as if searching for answers she did not have. "For the first few he hardly slept, but in both this and the prior session, he entered through the first three stages of NREM sleep in regular patterns. His readouts showed his mind was awake for longer durations than many sessions back on the mountain, but he woke each time without issue. Without distress," she was quick to add, making no attempts to mask the worry in her voice.

"And he was himself when he woke up," Sam chimed in. "Barnes, I mean."

Shuri tossed another set of holograms into the air surrounding her as she frantically searched for answers, pausing only long enough to toggle Barnes's haptic alarm at a stronger combined haptic and audio frequency. The shrill alarm pierced the room, prompting Sam to wince reflexively and lean away. Ayo briefly held her breath, hopeful for a response, but Barnes's breathing remained eerily steady and he didn't stir.

No effect.

Sam swallowed hard, visibly distressed that the secondary haptic alarm hadn't had any effect on the man lying on the floor in front of him. "We talked about a variety of stuff, but we stayed clear of 'Sunrise Exercise' experiments like you asked. No funny business." From his tone, Ayo had no doubt that they'd strictly avoided anything they believed might've posed an unnecessary risk.

"Barnes didn't talk extensively between the last two sessions," Yama clarified. It was obvious Ayo's Lieutenant was hoping some kernel of information might help them diagnose what had gone wrong. "He was tired. Eager for rest. The time before that he made some notes in his journals." She extended a hand towards the stack of notebooks piled next to his black backpack. "He sought out connections with his past actions in Symkaria and explanation of the star he'd clutched in the Dark Place."

Ayo could tell her Lieutenant hoped they had answers she did not, but her own attention remained divided between the growing array of holo medical HUDS at Shuri's fingertips and the oddly still man lying on his back a half a meter in front of her.

"Has his expression changed at all?" Nomble asked from the far side of the dome.

Yama shook her head. "No. It's remained flat. Inexpressive. Not stricken with nightmares or distress."

Nomble only frowned as she glanced to where Shuri continued to rapidly review data, clearly looking for anything that might explain why Barnes remained unresponsive. "There were no signs of anything awry until he did not wake?"

"Nothing, my Princess," Yama confirmed. "All the readings remained well within the acceptable ranges you instructed me to observe. There were no outliers. It's only been in the last few minutes that his vitals became oddly invariable."

Just as Shuri opened her mouth to speak, a priority pop-up chimed from above the Kimoyo Beads surrounding her wrist. Without missing a beat, she accepted the incoming transmission and the face of a neurologist from the Design Center formed out of particles of augmented vibranium. "My Princess! I wanted to ensure you were aware our patient is—" she paused, perhaps taking in the flurry of activity on the other end of the call, "—oh, you must've seen it too. That he's beyond the advised duration we discussed for his—"

"—Sleep cycle," Shuri hurriedly finished. "Yes yes. We're aware. He won't wake."

"Won't wake?"

Shuri's voice had a commanding presence to it as she pivoted the conversation into a rallying cry for assistance. "He's unresponsive. Cross-reference his latest scans. Both awake and asleep. Run simulations on any outliers that might've disrupted the balance of his neurotransmitters. Norepinephrine and orexin as well as his acetylcholine, histamine, adrenaline, cortisol, and serotonin levels. Look for anything chemical, dietary, or neurological. Pass through your simulations and call me the moment you see anything that might explain what's going on, and how we might undo the snare he's caught in. We don't have much time."

It was obvious the scientist grasped the underlying seriousness of the situation. "Yes, my Princess." The woman on the other end turned her head and called out to someone behind her as Shuri rapidly ended the call to preserve her focus.

For not the first time, Ayo felt helpless to resolve the dire scene unfolding in front of her. If she'd only chosen to stay awake, might she have been able to catch sight of something amiss before Barnes had slipped into this eerily comatose state? While Ayo didn't doubt Yama had taken great efforts to wake him, she also could not stand idly by without seeing if she could find a way through to him before the blaring red timer shining above him ran out and he slipped into the perils of REM sleep, where his mind risked permanently unraveling.

That was if something had not already gone amiss in his mind.

Looking down at her bare feet, Ayo quickly weighed her options. While her first instinct was to rush up to him and try to shake him awake, it was altogether likely he might wake up disoriented, and his first instincts might be aggressive if he felt rough hands upon him. It was therefore prudent they exercise extreme caution regardless of the urgency she felt pounding in her chest. She set her jaw as she reached to her wrist to fine-tune a Kimoyo Bead. "I'm going to shrink the shield to form closely around him for his safety and our own."

Shuri glanced over only briefly, offering her a quick nod of agreement with her methods. "You would be wise to restrain his limbs as a precaution." They had both seen him wake with violent tendencies, and especially after the events of the last few days, Ayo knew it was more important than ever to be prepared for contingencies so that they were not again put at undue risk. Even still, a part of her hated that rather than show Barnes she wished to trust him, she was instead forced to restrain him for their own protection.

Without another word, Ayo rapidly directed the orange energy dome to collapse inward and reshape itself into a thin shell around Barnes's body that hung mere centimeters around his skin, and closer yet to his wrists and ankles.

It was still Barnes, wasn't it? Or could this be White Wolf or another stranger to them? Ayo did not speak her fears aloud, but she found she hoped it was still someone that knew her. That Barnes had not been lost to the snares of his own mind prematurely when there was still so much he wished to do and see through.

Selfishly, some part of her hoped there was time yet to reach him and clear the air between them. Had he remembered one of the many trespasses between them, or was it something else entirely? She wanted to believe it was not cowardice that had coaxed her to avoid pressing him tonight on why he would no longer meet her eyes and cowered when she spoke. Barnes had gone through so much, and she'd hoped that perhaps the ripples of his mind would be calmer in the morning. But now? Now it pained her to be unable to convey the deep apology aching in her chest for a man she could see, but could not reach. Now, she might never know. She might've let that opportunity slip between her fingers without a whisper to join her other pebbles of regret.

She forced the thought aside as she made further adjustments to the translucent shield surrounding his body, being mindful to tighten the inner edges to be snug against his limbs while not restricting his breathing or blood flow. Once she was satisfied, she took a step forward and pivoted her spear, catching the attention of everyone around her. They watched in silence as Ayo pushed the rear shoe of her weapon through the nearest edge of the shield, pressing the blunt vibranium fin firmly against the tender edge of Barnes's ribs just under his armpit. She briefly jostled her weapon with enough pressure that it should have instantly awoken him.

But he didn't respond. His breath didn't even hitch at the rigid contact.

As if reading her mind, Shuri noted, "There are no changes in his readings. Not even his pulse."

Ayo righted her spear and rapidly evaluated her options. She didn't wish to cause Barnes undue distress, but she had to find a way to reach him. With decided intent, she held her breath and crouched down, reaching towards his nearest wrist and gauging the translucent restraint encircling it. If he suddenly awoke, he was liable to try to jerk himself upright and strike the shield, but it should hold him in place until they could calm him down. Explain to him what had happened. Why they had chosen to restrain him.

That assumed he still recognized them.

Ayo pushed the thought away and kept her alert eyes focused on his closed eyelids as she reached forward to touch the inside of his wrist where it met his Kimoyo strand. His beads vibrated with urgency against his skin, but his pulse remained eerily steady and unhurried. Even when Ayo gently squeezed and then pinched the side of wrist, he didn't stir or respond to the skin-on-skin contact.

"C'mon, Barnes. Now isn't the time to be stubborn. Wake up." Sam breathed a short distance away, mirroring all of their thoughts and fears aloud.

Shuri's attention was visibly split between the assortment of holographic charts and live displays hovering over her fingertips and her desire to watch Barnes for any sign of movement at Ayo's touch. Distress strained her normally composed features. She was well aware of all they had to lose if they didn't figure out a way to wake him before his mind risked unraveling. "Still no changes," Shuri noted with a frown before more tentatively adding, "but it would be worthwhile to try being more forceful. Enough so that it would surely generate a pain response as opposed to simply the pressure of contact."

Ayo knew Shuri did not make the suggestion lightly, and Ayo nodded a sharp affirmative as she got to her feet and silently asked Bast and Barnes for forgiveness as she strengthened her grip along the shaft of her spear. She tried to not pay heed to the eyes upon her as she set her jaw and slid one bare foot sideways to give herself more force for the single strike she intended to deliver to the man at her feet.

In a blur of motion, she pivoted the shoe of her weapon sideways, delivering a swift controlled blunt strike to his ribs. The impact was not hard enough to crack them, but the sound of the fresh bruise jumped over the urgent silence swirling around them. Even though Sam had seen it coming, he flinched and briefly turned away, but quickly swiveled his head back around, clutching his breath and hoping for a sign.

But Barnes didn't gasp or open his eyes. His pale face remained still and utterly devoid of expression. A few steps beside him, Shuri had clearly been hoping for something as she apologized to no one in particular, "There's nothing. Nothing neurological indicating the sensation even reached his brain."

"...What does that even mean?" Sam's worried voice cut in.

"I don't know." Frustration bled through Shuri's voice as she pulled up another volley of charts and three-dimensional holograms of Barnes's brain.

Nearby, the menacing red numbers looming over them continued to tick down.

"Is there any sign of an Event?" Nomble pressed. There was a time where Ayo might've clamored for her Dora to remain silent in their vigil while their Princess frantically sought answers, but they were all far beyond such refined pleasantries and every second counted.

Shuri's fingers were a blur of motion amid her urgent search for answers, but she appeared to double-check a series of charts before responding. "No." A loaded pause. "Not yet, at least."

"Not yet?" Sam repeated, panic rising high in his voice.

"How long does he have?" Ayo pressed.

Shuri shot a worried glance towards Barnes before answering. "If he slips into REM sleep, his mind risks untethering itself and losing further memories. Such a transition can happen as early as 90 minutes into a normal sleep session, so that was why we built in a cautionary buffer and instructed him to wake every 60 minutes."

The crimson countdown pulsed with each passing second, undeterred:

-3913 seconds…

-3914 seconds…

-3915 seconds…

Yama regarded the numbers, frowned, and quickly adjusted the HUD display to a marginally more palatable counter that declared they were at -65.22 minutes since his latest prescribed sleep schedule commenced. Nearly five and a half minutes overdue, but not yet approaching the perilous cusp of the 90 minute mark.

"So we have a little time," Sam stated, apparently negotiating with his nerves out loud.

But the way he said it had a way of jostling something in the back of Ayo's mind. "But are the estimates still good?"

"Still good?" This was Shuri, though Yama's head pivoted at the question like she'd latched onto the same unsettling undercurrent Ayo had.

Wakanda's Chief of Security did not presume herself to hold a flame to Shuri's genius or scientific aptitudes, and while she felt out of her depth as she spoke, she also knew her budding worries were far too important to go unsaid. "He lost time from his hourglass because of the painful electric current he hid from us. Because of the lasting neurological damage it caused to his mind. But do we know if that damage potentially changed the tuning of his sleeping and waking cycles?"

Ayo didn't need to speak the last part aloud, because it was clear her Ibhondi Yomgcini immediately grasped the frightening subtext: what if the dire timer running silently inside his damaged mind was no longer reassured to go off as early as 90 minutes in? What if it was now sooner?

"We've run countless simulations," Shuri began as her fingers briefly stilled and she regarded the timer with new eyes. "REM patterns should not be able to occur prematurely, but…" her voice faded off, and with it her confidence in the established threshold she had been so certain of moments before. With a burst of renewed urgency, she opened a holographic command prompt and her fingers flew over the keys as she made no attempts to obscure her choice to message the Design Center. "I'll have them run fresh simulations with the latest data. With what we have. If the threshold has changed…" her words trailed off.

Then they were working on borrowed time against an invisible countdown that could crack at any moment.

"What about leveraging the current of our spears?" Yama offered, motioning to the bladed edge of her weapon that was capable of delivering a controlled electrostatic discharge. "It might disrupt whatever's going on and allow us to wake him." It was clear she was not alone in trying to workshop anything resembling a viable path forward, even if the suggestion was not one she made lightly.

Shuri glanced again at a three-dimensional readout of her patient's brain before rapidly shaking her head. "I would not have us intercede with even a mild electrical current in his state unless those at the Design Center can support its intended use. Without that data, we do not know what it might provoke, and what further damage it might cause. Even the malfunctioning node we removed wasn't meant to be discharged in the middle of a neurological event. Try focusing on his other senses while I run comparative analyses with Griot," she urged.

With a quick bob of her head, Ayo knelt beside him and plucked a Kimoyo Bead free from her strand, tuning it so it gave off a sharp, shrill call of alarm before placing it close to his ear.

As before, he didn't stir or so much as flinch at the piercing noise.

"His eyes. Are they dilated?"

Shuri had broadly directed the question to Ayo, but Yama immediately dropped to her knees beside Barnes in an apparent signal she was willing to perform whatever medical evaluation their Princess required. Uncontested, Ayo nodded for her to continue as Yama carefully reached through the thin orange energy field surrounding Barnes and gently pulled open first his nearest eyelid, then the other. "They're both slightly dilated with a similarly sized pupil," she observed, pulling one of her Kimoyo Beads free from her strand with hand while the other spread his eyelids apart. She toggled on its built-in portable light and angled the focused beam over his face without a drop of fear or apprehension for what might happen if he suddenly awoke. "They're not responsive. His vision appears fixed." This was obviously not the discovery she had been hoping for. She turned to address Shuri. "They dilated normally earlier, yes?"

"They did," Shuri confirmed. "I checked for any signs of a concussion or lasting neurological damage and found none after his — ah — 'extended outing.'"

That was a sizably underwhelming description of their sprint across half of Aniana if there ever was one.

Yama bobbed her head once and set her jaw as she resolved to gently run her fingers across Barnes's brow like a parent trying to soothe an ailing child. "He's not flushed or sweaty as if he were caught in a nightmare," she observed before retracting her hand and nestling it tightly atop her lap. It was obvious to Ayo that even if her touch hadn't been able to wake him, she hoped the comfort of it might still be able to reach him.

"No changes in his vitals," Shuri's tight voice apologized.

"Is he in a coma?" Sam offered, clearly trying to grasp at understanding what had happened to their friend.

"No, his readings show more activity and in different portions of his brain than if he were strictly comatose. But they're far more nuanced than when he is undergoing cryo. Perhaps closer to partial cryo, where we've observed chemically-induced NREM activity. But the readings themselves, they're more like…" Shuri bit the side of her lip and squinted at a particular display before rapidly trading it out for a holographic panel behind it, "...like anesthesia. At least in passing similarities."

Yama looked up and regarded Shuri's charts with the focused attention of someone whose sharp eyes and medical mind were able to see more in the readouts than Ayo could. It was clear her Lieutenant sought a way across the cracks they had yet to bridge, and she reached up and duplicated a particular image and pulled it closer so she could regard it more carefully.

"Then if it's like anesthesia," Ayo inquired, "shouldn't we be able to wake him as we do with those procedures?" She flourished an urgent hand towards the man lying prostrate on the ground nearby.

Shuri flinched, clearly frustrated with herself. "True anesthesia is chemically induced, as are the methods we use to wake patients from those procedures. We have no such treatments here, and I have neither the chemicals or supplies on hand to artificially create a safe IV composite that might produce a strong enough counteragent to this uncharacteristic biological and neurological stasis. And that is even assuming chemical intervention would even be effective. I came prepared with many medical contingencies, but this was not among the possibilities I foresaw."

"It is not your failing," Ayo was quick to interject in an attempt to stave off the guilt festering in her Princess's tone.

"That is neither here nor there if we cannot wake him."

"But if it's like general anesthesia," Sam interjected, "then maybe that's why he's not reacting. Because it dampens your senses while you're unconscious."

"It's far more nuanced than that," Yama added, stepping in to offer medical clarification so Shuri could continue her work. "When performed properly, separate chemicals used in conjunction with one another for patient's comfort, such as ones that keep them from moving during the operation."

Ayo was well aware that the red numbers were growing more worrying by each passing second. She had hoped Shuri might suddenly cut to the chase with a brilliant solution, but it was clear that Wakanda's brightest mind as well as her scientists back in the Design Center were still struggling to diagnose not only what had happened, but how to wake Barnes. "It is more than that," Shuri thought to clarify as she multitasked with her digital data. "Depending on the needs of an operation, an anesthesia regimen will be prescribed to produce unconsciousness and immobility, but also analgesia — so you don't feel pain. Even if the body is strictly unconscious, pain stimulates pain receptors and pathways that raise heart rate, blood pressure, and so on." She looked down at Barnes. "But his body is not responding to that stimulus either. Meaning…" her voice trailed off as she began rapidly flipped through further charts in search of answers.

When Shuri didn't immediately complete her thought, Ayo found herself compelled to prompt her. "Meaning?"

Shuri's head snapped towards her like she'd latched onto something. The speed of her words increased as her slender hands sought out confirmation in the raw data at her fingertips. "There's a fourth element in anesthesia, and why those who undergo it do not normally remember the procedure. That's because the anesthetic drugs used during this process actively interfere with the brain's ability to form new memories. This brain chemistry disruption interacts with receptors in the brain, particularly in areas related to consciousness and memory formation, inhibiting the process of memory encoding and consolidation. It essentially creates anterograde amnesia, a temporary state of amnesia where events during surgery are not stored in your memory."

"So that's why you don't remember anything from during the procedure?" Sam inquired.

"Or dream?" Nomble added.

Shuri nodded once, a sharp affirmative.

"But the data we see here appears to imply he is dreaming now, yes?" Yama inquired, puzzled.

Shuri impatiently tapped her thumb along the side of her Kimoyos as she thought through things out loud. "It does, yes. It is wholly normal for dreams to occur outside of REM sleep. Especially within the second and third stages of NREM sleep, it is typical for recent memories to be replayed or for the mind to focus on simplified ideas. It's only in REM sleep where dreams become more complex and immersive, activating and interacting with additional areas of the brain, leading to far more elaborate dream experiences and triggering more remote memories and complex connections." Shuri's tone held an element of underlying discontent and confusion that Ayo was not used to hearing from their prodigy as Shuri observed the live readouts of his brain scans again. "All of this is to say that while we are observing many similarities to general anesthesia, it is not an exact match because his mind remains still fiercely active, and his hypnogram classifies him as in stage 3 of NREM sleep."

"...Could he potentially be in multiple states of consciousness at once like he suggested back on the mountain?" Nomble cautiously suggested.

"That was when he claimed to have glimpsed the Dark Place," Shuri clarified. Ayo immediately picked up the mounting distress in their Princess's voice. "But such experiences were accompanied by signs of REM. We are not seeing those now. His eyes remain fixed. Unless…" her voice faded off as she pulled up another volley of charts and completed her thought, "...unless he is caught between multiple non-REM states at once. But how? That should not be possible…"

Sam sucked in a breath of air as Ayo found herself asking the obvious, "Then how do we reverse it? If he is unconscious and his body is numb to sensation, how do we reach him?"

Shuri pounded in a follow-up message to the Design Center and briefly glanced up when the crimson red digits hovering above them spilled over to -70 minutes. Ten minutes longer than he should have been under. All this, and they still had no idea if and when he might suddenly enter REM sleep and undergo a wave of irreversible damage that could permanently destabilize his memories and brain function.

Ayo looked down at Barnes laying eerily still and the sight made her stomach tighten anew as Shuri — genius Shuri — hollowly admitted, "I don't know, but we must find a way quickly, or else he could become trapped in his own mind and lost to us completely."

The darkness clenched tight around him as his own treacherous fingers strained around the unseen object — the star. A faint sense of self twisted in the mire of his thoughts, paralyzed within a body that wouldn't obey him as he struggled to change the outcome of what this crucial moment was building to.

This echo of the Dark Place… he was a passenger now, but some part of him had once been in control. The part of him that was 'Barnes,' but not. That knew things he didn't. Remembered things he didn't. But that part hadn't seen it coming. Hadn't known than when he pulled the fragment free, his mind would unravel and he'd forget and remember too much at once. That he'd end up hurting, almost killing people.

Sam.

M'yra.

No!

He couldn't understand why he was there again in the darkness now, but as his betraying hands pulled on the star with all their might, Barnes fought to thwart those attempts. He didn't know what might happen now, but he didn't want anyone else to get hurt. He didn't want to forget about Symkaria or the Super Soldiers he'd brought there. There was too much at stake!

He stretched and strained every part of him in a feeble plea for his fingers to release the unseen object before it was too late, but try as he might, his taunt hands continued to ignore him. He was helpless to stop his own body from straining against the rigid stone before the object suddenly broke free in his hands!

No!

The force of it upended his balance and sent him tumbling backwards in the darkness, but instead of striking something behind him or stumbling to hit the ground, it was as if his body stayed in perpetual motion in the darkness, disorienting him utterly until he had no way of telling up from down.

And he just kept spinning.

No!

His eyelids bolted open and he was momentarily blinded by a cascade of bright white light. Wavering figures surrounding him. Strange sounds he couldn't place. He squinted, struggling to focus his eyes as he darted his head from side to side in an attempt to make sense of the unfamiliar shadows coalescing around him.

The colors, sounds, and smells were all wrong. Each and every one was completely at odds with the rooftop where he'd fallen asleep.

What had happened? What was going on?

As the world suddenly came into focus around him, his body reflexively coiled and tightened at the horrifying realization that he didn't recognize his location at all.

He was seated in… a chair? In a lab? How had he gotten here? Where was 'here?'

When had he been captured?

He sprung forward without another conscious thought, catching sight of what appeared to be an advanced cryogenics chamber in the center of the lab. A testament of the Winter Soldier program. His hands instantly dropped to his sides as he attempted to brandish weapons that he'd sworn had been there only moments before, but he came up empty handed. When had they disarmed him? Why didn't he remember?

He moved quickly on his feet as he rapidly took inventory of the five people standing within his proximity. Four women, one man. The nearest one — a bald woman in tribal clothing — brandished not a gun, but a silver spear in his direction. The unexpected sight made him recalculate his engagement strategy, but when he met her gaze, it was as if his blood ran cold with an underlying familiarity he couldn't explain.

A handler! He didn't remember her, didn't recognize her, but for some inexplicable reason he knew her name: Ayo.

Before he could stop her from speaking words of power against him, her commanding voice called out, "Ijoni!"

Soldier!

That language… he knew it. But what was it? His frantic eyes saw symbols on nearby machinery in the lab. Letters. Glyphs. He could read them too. Vitals. Medical charts. But where was he? Who were they?

And more importantly: how did he get here?

The handler's single word had an immediate effect on the other people in the room, and the three bald warriors in matching uniforms and those strange metal spears planted their feet and held their weapons towards him while the long-haired woman in white and purple stepped behind one of the brightly colored guards.

Barnes didn't recognize any of the other women, only the man in the red shirt that was with them: Sam Wilson. How had he gotten here? Where was Steve?

Had Sam Wilson been allied with HYDRA all along? Was that it? Had he betrayed Steve?

There would be time for questions later.

Barnes lunged for the nearest woman — Ayo — and caught the shaft of her staff with his left arm before she could turn the blade against him. In the process, he caught sight of his prosthetic, briefly registering that someone had painted it black and gold. When had that happened? He pushed aside his confusion and focused on leaning into his instincts and every ounce of his training as she engaged him, bridging the distance between them with clinical intent. When she pivoted her weight to the side and reached towards his metal shoulder with outstretched fingers, some part of him knew she sought to disable his arm if she made contact.

He couldn't let her. He couldn't let himself be captured.

When she got close, Barnes anticipated the maneuver, countering it at the last possible moment by slamming his opposing forearm against hers. There was an audible crack and a visible spark in the air as the black beads surrounding his wrist struck the metal plating along her forearm. Before she could ground a counter, he fiercely twisted the hilt of her spear with his other arm, making his once-handler reflexively choose between loosening the grip on her weapon or allowing him to risk breaking her wrist altogether from the sudden burst of force.

Rather than speak words of power, she leaned her weight into him, rolling to the side just in time to dodge a follow-up blow he delivered with his right fist. But it was as if she'd anticipated his countermove — like they'd fought before — and the warrior was fluid on her feet as she pressed towards him and attempted to keep him off-balance by alternatively sweeping her spear and armored feet at his ankles.

He immediately recognized that she was attempting to herd him back towards the chair he'd awoken in! He wouldn't let her.

Though Barnes wasn't sure why, the other people in the room stayed clear of the combat. Inconsequential. They weren't the present threat. It was the woman in front of him who was. The handler. Ayo. Barnes tracked her lips, preparing to act at a moment's notice if she sought to leverage words of power against him. But why didn't she? Why the delay? Was she toying with him, or was this some kind of test?

Intrinsically he knew the utmost danger to him were the words she could leverage against him, but his attempts to draw close to her neck to disable that possibility were met with fierce opposition. It was like she could anticipate his moves. Like she knew he would want to ensure she remained silent.

But her eyes. Her dark eyes were intense in their focus, but he couldn't read her expression other than to know it was locked on him.

He should have been able to kill her without a second thought like the countless agents HYDRA had sent against him to pull him back into a life of servitude. Why was it that he was struggling to put her down?

He dodged a well-placed blow of her spear only to have his hip slammed into the side of a mounted armrest. The unexpected contact momentarily staggered him but he quickly recovered, lowering his head in a brief feign that he needed time to regain his center of balance. The feign worked, and he waited for his moment. When his handler's nearest foot lifted to step forward and claim her prize, he struck out, swiveling her own spear around on her with vicious intensity.

The pivot was clean, smooth, and lightning fast. As it struck hard against her armor — hard enough that it should have cracked it — another warrior joined the fray. One with a vertical tattoo that ran up her cheek and over her brow. Barnes couldn't place a name to her face, but some part of him knew she wasn't a handler.

But oddly: that they spoke a number of shared languages.

The tattooed warrior came in quick on her feet and pushed Sam Wilson away from the confrontation, smoothly inserted herself between the two of them as she took up position next to the woman Barnes identified as a prior handler.

Ayo.

The name resonated deep in his mind, but he couldn't explain why.

The newcomer's spear clashed against his handler's weapon he kept gripped tightly in his left hand. Undeterred, she pressed forward, forcing him to rapidly choose between retaining his grip on the shaft or allowing his face to come within striking distance of the tip of her spear. The brief distraction gave his handler an opportunity to reclaim control over her weapon. She expertly leveraged the momentum of the swing like a reverse trebuchet as she and her companion struggled to keep him contained near the chair he'd awoken in.

He didn't have context for what had come before, and wasn't sure about any of the technology surrounding him, but he knew he wasn't going back in that chair so they could fry him again without a fight. He had too much to lose!

Barnes didn't have a clear view but he caught sight of the long-haired scientist frantically searching for something behind the armored woman guarding her. His prior handler sidestepped and her voice suddenly broke through the noise of striking metal and scuffling footsteps. Barnes tensed reflexively. It was too late! His free-will would all be stripped away in so many stray syllables, but instead… nothing happened. She shouted something in a language he didn't understand, but his mind remained unfogged. His own.

Barnes might not have understood the words, but the commands had an immediate effect on the warrior nearest to the scientist, who lowered her center of balance and stepped back as if she was conscripted into guarding the younger woman and keeping her away from him.

Sam Wilson hadn't chosen to take up arms since Barnes had awoken, but it was obvious he was searching the room too. But for what? What was their play? Barnes couldn't see any restraints, but maybe their fallback was sedatives? He couldn't let them get a hold of him. They'd strip every part of him away. Make him forget. Make him a weapon again.

Apparently Sam must've made his mind up about something, because he suddenly darted to a metal tray a short distance away and used one hand to clear off the contents while the other gripped the edge like a makeshift shield. It must've been a distraction — a coordinated attack — because immediately after, the warrior with the tattooed face pivoted behind Barnes, forcing him to choose a target. He pegged his prior handler as his primary threat and kept his attention locked on her, dodging a grapple but missing a defensive counter that gave the tattooed woman an opening she used to maneuver behind him and seamlessly thrust the shaft of her weapon tight against his throat. She pulled tight, choking him out and pinning him in place.

He reached behind him in a desperate attempt to grab ahold of her, but she stayed out of range of his straining hands.

If he didn't get out of her hold, this was it! No! He couldn't allow it!

As Sam rushed in to support the tandem maneuver, Barnes held his breath and bided his time until his handler had gotten too close. Too confident. Suddenly his opportunity came and he twisted sideways, thrusting out one leg to land a well-placed pony-kick on his handler's left knee.

The impact was audible and she staggered backwards, grimacing as she landed hard on her wounded leg. Although it wobbled unevenly beneath her, she recovered her balance and snarled under her breath. As she adjusted her weight onto her good leg to compensate and stared hard at him, meeting his eyes.

He recognized those deep brown eyes, and he wondered how exactly he knew her left leg was her weaker knee.

"Спутник!"

There was force behind her single word. A powerful command some part of him clammored to understand and fold in obedience, but he fought to remain in control. He had to remain in control.

Ayo tried again, her voice booming in his head. He could hear the intention behind the syllables. He had to stop her! "Солдат, стой! Желание!"

Barnes lurched forward and his hands immediately went for her throat. He had to silence her before she could speak any more words of power over him! But before he could make contact, Sam interceded, swinging a metal tray between them to block him.

"Buck, stop! This isn't you!" His voice was barely audible over the piercing clash of metal striking metal that resonated deep into his skull. Barnes gritted his teeth and retaliated, slamming his arm into a wide arc that connected with the center of Sam's makeshift shield. The impact sent Sam staggering backwards and the room spun around Barnes as he snarled and solidified his resolve.

They wouldn't take him alive! He wouldn't go back!

With a burst of intention, he focused his attention to the tattooed warrior still struggling to retrain him. He twisted in place and managed to leverage the shaft of her spear out from under his throat as he hurled the weapon and its owner end over end across the room.

He thought he heard the back of her skull strike the glass as she slammed back-first into the far window.

Although the back of his head screamed in pain, the soldier focused on remaining still as he'd been instructed. Keeping his eyes open and locked on a water stain on the far end of the ceiling as he'd been instructed.

He had to remain still.

Always still.

Hollow shadows lapped at the ceiling. It was hard to make out much through the grinding whine of the drills, but in the empty pauses of their work, he caught the soft scuttle of footsteps. He was aware that the other people occupying the room were changing position, but he struggled to tell them apart. There were only a few medical staff present, and their normally distinct scents were intermingled with a variety of astringent chemicals and the pungent burn of cauterized flesh and charred bone.

His own.

The scream of drills rang in his ears, but the soldier focused on remaining still. Conscious. Surges of white-hot pain tested every shred of his resolve. Steady breaths. Eyes open. He was instructed they needed to remain open throughout the surgical procedure on his brain, so he held them open, unblinking, even when his eyes began to burn and tear. He did not know the surgery's purpose — it was not his place to ask.

"Солдат, move your left pointer finger up and down. Now your right," the voice of his primary handler instructed him from somewhere behind him.

The soldier was aware of the straps around his wrists, but he did as instructed, doing his best to ignore the pain leaching through him and doing what he could to tune out the sharp scrape of supplies on nearby trays.

"Good, good. Keep them moving just like that as you count back from a hundred. Dmitri, watch his fingers. Let me know if either stops or slows."

"One hundred… ninety-nine…" the soldier began as a strange sensation shot through in the back of his mind. Chilling pressure that built up with each passing breath. He had to struggle to keep his lips from trembling or squint his eyes.

"His rhythm is steady," Dmitri's voice confirmed as the soldier continued to count down. "Are you sure you don't want to increase his dosage of painkillers? His vitals are—"

"—Within reasonable bounds," the soldier's primary handler smoothly responded. "It's much easier to get a baseline and spot outliers if his system is not dulled with needless medications." After a brief pause, he thought to add, "Солдат, if your vision blurs, you are to stop counting long enough to tell me."

"Okay. Ninety-two… ninety-one…" The soldier remained focused on the water stain on the ceiling as he continued the tasks he'd been assigned. The ambiance of the room shifted slightly, and for just a moment, he was able to pick out the faintest whiff of strawberry perfume under the charred and oily malodor dominating the operating room. Sofia. The nurse with the gentle hands. She was present. He knew he wasn't supposed to have preferences, but he found himself trying to key into the soothing undercurrent of the scent like a silent lifeline.

As he counted down from one hundred, he moved each of his pointer fingers up and down with each syllable, and though he couldn't see them, he felt assured they were still functional from the pull of the nearby flesh on his thumb on his right hand, and the strange tension in his neck and shoulder each time his left finger moved.

The disconnected sensation was inconsequential, but likely a result of recent surgeries. Some, he could freshly remember, while the scars and sutures of other incision sites told him there were past procedures that were beyond his reach. Some were only a dead ache, while others elicited regular pain responses, like the searing ones in his head that he thought would never end.

He was told the pain was necessary. So that was what he believed.

Many things were necessary. It wasn't his place to question.

From what he'd been able to glean from the fragments of conversation of those around him, he had sustained significant injuries during a mission to Goyang, South Korea where he'd been taken by surprise by an American Super Soldier. His opponent had managed to divest him of more than half of his prosthetic arm, rendering it useless before the soldier could escape. He could no longer recall the details of the encounter or the man's face, but for some inexplicable reason, he could still remember words that continued to play on repeat in the back of his mind:

"Hey…! I recognize you! You're one of those Howlies they used to talk about from the war. Cap'n Roger's friend…! "

The soldier felt like he'd heard some of the words before, but they were absent of anything concrete. Of any connection. It was like something should have been there, but it wasn't. He couldn't recall if he'd responded to the Super Soldier's strange accusation, but after their vicious encounter he'd been hunted. Tracked. He managed to escape only to be airlifted across country lines for further treatment in Symkaria. While HYDRA's scientists and limited medical staff were able to stabilize his body, his arm required significant reconstruction. The soldier had no way of knowing how long he usually went between rounds of reconditioning, but he'd overheard that they'd delayed it beyond established protocol due to concerns relating to the exposed electronics in his arm, which no one onsite was sufficiently trained to repair.

It had taken multiple weeks until a scientist who'd been deep undercover within the United States had been transported to Symkaria's base of operations to triage the situation, and once he'd arrived, the lab had transformed into a flurry of activity.

Days spent in observation or under the care of his temporary handler and the nurse with the gentle hands were rapidly replaced with all new rounds of testing and experiments led by the visiting scientist, who the soldier instantly recognized as his primary handler, even though he knew not to speak the classification out loud.

Questions made way for a series of surgeries to repair and further augment his prosthetic arm, which was rebuilt under his primary handler's exacting specifications.

While certain forms of enrichment had fallen away since his primary handler's arrival, the burn of cigarettes and commands for self-inflicted wounds had been replaced by rounds of more invasive procedures that promised to enhance his role as the Fist of HYDRA. Although he was instructed not to have preferences, the intensity of the pain was ceaseless and distracting in its regularity, although now and then the woman with the gentle hands offered him painkillers when they were alone.

The soldier didn't understand the purpose of many of the surgeries, but he didn't question them as they threaded thin circuitry through his flesh and an apparatus that could remotely stop his heart. "We can't let you be taken alive," his primary handler had explained as he worked on his open chest. "You're far too important."

There was power in his primary handler's voice, something deep and resonant that called for the soldier's attention and washed away any questions or complaints fogging his periphery. Each of his words were to be heeded and obeyed with exacting intention. The pull of them left no room for debate. It was as if each shred of praise or disappointment mattered more coming from him, and it compelled the soldier to offer him the correct response to each and every interaction.

Even though the soldier remained gripped with pain looking up at the ceiling, he continued to listen for that key voice as he continued to slowly count down from hundred. "...Forty-three… forty-two…"

"Dmitri, I'm ready to close. Солдат, you can stop counting now," that firm voice instructed, "but keep moving your fingers until his work is done." The shadows shifted across the ceiling as a metal tool slid across a nearby tray and shoes scuffed against the floor. But the soldier hadn't been told to look away from the stain on the ceiling, so he kept his eyes focused on it. "Your last mission. The one you failed. The man you fought against that damaged your arm. He's important to us. Important to you. Do you remember him?"

The question had a way of stroking at the fringes of the soldier's mind, like details he hadn't known seconds earlier suddenly resurfaced at his primary handler's request and clicked neatly into place. He remembered the other man's face now. The details of his uniform. The way he fought and smelled. The snarl in his voice. Each impact of their bodies as they wrestled for dominance. "I remember him."

"It's important we find him, and if there are other men like him." The soldier couldn't see his primary handler, but he was aware of his proximity, and he found himself fighting against some part of his instincts that demanded he evaluate his surroundings to ensure his primary handler's safety above all else. "I want you to describe in detail what his uniform looked like so we can determine what regiment and squad he's part of. Because once your incisions are suitably healed, I want you to find him and if there are others like him. They are critical to my research." He snapped his fingers. "You. Girl. Take down what he says."

"Yes, Doctor," Sofia meekly responded from somewhere behind him.

The click of a pen blended into the rattle of metal as a cart shuddered and rolled, scraping against the stone floor as it limped away on a loud, lopsided wheel.

The pain drilled deeper into the soldier's throbbing head.

Maybe if he gave the right answers, the pain would finally stop.

A shrill, primal scream pierced the air as metal struck flesh, but the soldier didn't so much as flinch. He recognized the nearby exchange regardless if he wasn't the one on the receiving end of tonight's enrichment.

"I didn't ask for your opinion!" The scent of old tobacco and fear filled the tight examination room where a burly guard — Nikolai — grasped the blunt end of a tactical weapon. He loomed over a bleeding prisoner who had been disrobed down to his undergarments and was securely strapped to a fortified stainless steel table. The prisoner showed his bloodied teeth and let out a low snarl. He was strong and hadn't gone down without a fight. It had taken multiple rounds of enrichment and the combined efforts of four guards and eventually the soldier to finally secure the dark-skinned man, and even after, the soldier had been instructed to remain posted nearby in case the prisoner thought to test the reinforced restraints digging into his flesh.

The prisoner's clothing had been stripped during his initial intake, making way for a mess of chains, shackles, and IV lines. The thin, discolored tubing towed sedation into his arms while secondary lines collected vials of blood from each calf. Oddly, there appeared to be sudden interest in redressing him, leading to what appeared to be a stalemate between the people gathered around him. Some individuals believed they should utilize the clothing each prisoner had arrived in or while others suggested utilizing alternative options, such as the vestments they sometimes dressed the soldier in.

"What if I think he'd look better in black?" Nikoli lifted the tip of his assault rifle higher. Just enough that the shadow of the muzzle fell across Dmitri's neck. "Or maybe that white coat of yours, hmm?"

The soldier could immediately sense a shift in the dynamic of the room. A quick flare of tension that echoed across everyone standing nearby. While debates about preferences and protocols were not unusual, the soldier felt something inside him shift and tighten, alerting him of the growing risk of confrontation. He found himself gauging the vitals of the guards, doctor, and nurse for early indicators that might be precursors to violence, weighing them against the unseen metrics in his mind and the strict priorities commanding his attention.

Specifically: any intended violence against his temporary handler, Dmitri, who returned the question with a low warning, "Nikolai…"

The soldier evaluated everyone in the room. Eyes. Pulse. Breathing pattern. Perspiration. While he didn't engage, he kept one hand poised over the firearm along his holster and the other over the hilt of one of his knives as he regarded the burly guard. He saw it play out in his head. Planned his method of engagement in smooth moves and quick, efficient detail. He was confident it would only take two steps and half a second for him to easily swivel Nikolai's weapon around and fire upon any of his accomplices before they even had a chance to react.

The soldier couldn't grasp the meaning behind his temporary handler's shifting expression, but he could sense the undercurrent of nervousness he experienced around Nikoli clear as day.

The burly guard kept his chin up but his eyes briefly glanced at the soldier, well aware that any attempted physical altercation or direct threats against Dmitri would be met with lethal force. When the man's eyes briefly darted to rest on the blond-haired nurse standing nearby, she took a cautious step back and hunched her shoulders. The soldier's temporary handler lifted a hand in a signal for temperance and added, "Leave her out of this. We're both just trying to do our jobs, which in case you've forgotten: is to get to the bottom of whatever serum they were injected with. We don't have time for this. He'll be here soon and we still need to get them dressed and prepped."

"Hmmph," the guard gruffed in a hollow concession before lowering his weapon to his side so its shadow fell away from Dmitri's neck. "Guess the air down here sucked away your sense of humor. But I'm sure it's nice. Pretending like you have a little scrap of power down here."

Although Nikoli's vitals settled, the soldier was well aware that his temporary handler stayed turned towards the burly guard as he added, "Солдат, dress him."

"Not like I was gonna touch him," Nikoli mused from nearby. An armed man beside him chuckled.

The soldier didn't understand what the vocalization meant, other than it wasn't a perceived threat, so he turned his attention to the prisoner, eager to fulfill his temporary handler's latest request. He met the other man's bloodshot eyes as he evaluated his intended approach. It was far too dangerous to remove more than one restraint at a time even with the latest round of chemicals running through his IVs. They made him slower, more submissive, but he still wanted to escape. And if he couldn't? Prior altercations indicated he wanted to cause as much damage as possible to his captors.

After determining an acceptable approach, the soldier picked up the prisoner's stained uniform from a countertop nearby, and stepped towards the far end of the table near the man's feet. "I am going to loosen your right ankle restraint so I can put your foot through the opening of your pant leg. If you attempt to resist, any attempts will be met with force."

The man narrowed his eyes, but he didn't say anything as the soldier grasped the man's ankle and released the nearest restraint. His creased expression was potent but inscrutable to the soldier, although he found himself trying to cross-compare it to others he could recall, as well as the unusual expression on the nurse standing next to his temporary handler. She kept her arms crossed protectively across her chest as she watched.

Behind the prisoner's head, Nikolai showed his yellowed teeth and made strange figures with his hands and fingers, but they weren't in a language the soldier understood so he resolved to proceed with his task. The prisoner's leg was scarred with scabs and tensed when the soldier gripped it, carefully avoiding making contact with the wounds. With deliberate movements, he lifted the bruised foot through the opening in the waist of the pants and then down into the opening in the far end. The soldier had been expecting some manner of counter-struggle, but apparently the prisoner wasn't set against the requested application of clothing.

"Don't think I don't know who dragged us here," the prisoner glowered unevenly under his breath.

This act of removing and reapplying clothing hadn't been any part of the soldier's mission objectives. Before leaving the facility, his primary handler and his commanders had expressed the desire for the soldier to capture one of the American Super Soldiers in Korea. They hadn't anticipated he would retrieve two.

It had taken significant planning and tactical maneuvering for him to capture them both alive. He knew it would have been significantly easier to simply disable and secure one target and eliminate the other target, but instead the soldier had found himself in a drawn out game of cat and mouse using the sickly prisoner with the broken wrists as bait for his more companion. In the end, the setup had proven effective, even though it later meant he needed to secure and retrieve two times as much live cargo and meet up with his extraction team without leaving any loose ends or witnesses in his wake.

Upon his return, even though others at the base appeared pleased at his performance, the nurse with the gentle hands and his temporary handler's tone and body language had experienced inexplicable changes in their customary patterns. Their interactions with him and each other were littered with inconsistencies the soldier was unable to diagnose.

Oddly, while his temporary handler verbalized praise at his mission success, the soldier's evaluations believed his response to not be wholly authentic.

Presently, the weaker prisoner with the broken wrists remained locked away in an observation room down the hall while the more able-bodied of the two underwent enrichment and redressing. The soldier couldn't recall being tasked to clothe someone in this manner, but he worked with smooth efficiency as he unlatched restraints and tugged each piece of the prisoner's army-issued green uniform into place before replacing securing each restraint. He made every effort to ensure the IV lines weren't pinched, and when he was midway through pulling the right half of his shirt on, Nikoli's booming voice suddenly broke the strained silence with a resounding "BOO!"

The prisoner jerked, and the soldier instinctively tightened his grip around his wrist, causing the man to shriek in pain.

The two nearest guards howled in shared laughter the soldier didn't understand as he quickly adjusted the pressure of his fingers to produce less force.

"That was a good one," one of the guards remarked as the soldier increased his pace, working one restraint and then the other until the task was complete. The soldier wasn't sure what to do with the prisoner's matching hat, so he sat it above the man's head on the table.

Without a word Dmitri stepped forward and tapped on the IV lines, opting to supplement the prisoner's intravenous cocktail with an additional syringe of fluid he delivered directly into one of the hanging injection ports. "I don't know what you're hoping to accomplish by brutalizing him. It's not necessary. This just needs a little more time to work."

"Yeah and fuck you too," the prisoner spat weakly where he lay on the table. His eyes closed for increasingly longer and longer periods, like he was struggling to muster the energy to stay alert.

Nikoli shrugged, unphased. "I was told to make sure he was in an agreeable mood before our guest arrives. So I'm havin' an interrogation and makin' him agreeable." With that, Nikolai struck the prisoner on the shoulder, producing a fresh stain of dark blood against the soiled brown-green uniform. The concealed wound bled through into the grey star on the jacket's shoulder, discoloring the fabric.

On the second swing, Nikolai knocked his weapon across the side of the prisoner's face. The bubbling purple bruises were difficult to see across his dark skin at first, but the swelling made them stand out one-by-one. When the prisoner's hat faltered and fell off the top of the table onto the floor, Nikoli lowered the blunt end of his rifle long enough to lean down and hand the accessory to one of the nearby guards who showed his teeth and put it on backwards. Once that order of business was over, Nikolai resumed focusing on what he called an interrogation, but looked more like 'enrichment' to the soldier.

The prisoner spat out blood and rolled his head to the side as he blinked sweat and mire out of his eyes. He fought hard to remain alert, but the soldier knew eventually his body would give out. They always did. It was just a matter of how long it would take.

The yellow of Nikolai's teeth gleamed in the lab's sickly lighting as he eyed the soldier and slammed the end of his weapon down again. Then a faint sound at the far end of the room drew his attention as the handle on the door at the far end of the room rotated open, ushering in a petite man with thin blond hair and round glasses. He pursed his lips and casually stepped forward, tapping the end of his pen along the edge of the metal clipboard in his hands. Unlike the thin white lab coat the soldier's temporary handler wore, this man had on a fitted grey coat festooned with a red bow beneath his chin.

His gaze was focused. Entirely unhurried. The yellow light of the lab reflected against the circular lenses of his glasses, all but obscuring his eyes.

Armin Zola. His primary handler. The man he was tasked to protect and obey.

He cleared his throat. "I'm told you haven't been very forthcoming. A pity. By the looks of it? This would all be a lot easier for all of us if you simply tell us what you know," his primary handler mused.

"I'm not tellin' you shit."

The soldier's handler casually folded one hand over his lap unconcerned as he approached the far end of the examination table. "Maybe not yet, but eventually you will. Bit by bit, we'll carve away your pesky inhibitions." Zola turned his head slightly and his lips turned upwards in an expression the soldier couldn't grasp, but felt in some way was directed at him. "You'll come around. They always do."

"They'll track us down before you have the chance," the bleeding man on the table challenged.

Zola clucked his tongue as he stepped around the stainless steel table, unphased. "Oh, no one will be coming for you. Your own government ordered you dead and buried to cover up their little secrets. You must know that. We only gave them the closure they were so eager for."

"They'll know we're missing," the bruised and bleeding prisoner spat. "That we were taken."

Zola only lifted his chin and shook his head from side to side. "Ah, that is where you're wrong. The Americans? They are fickle. Easily distracted. They will not waste valuable men to search for you. And if they did? They will find the answers they seek in the pair of charred remains enshrouded with your own dog tags." Zola tilted his head "But don't worry: We kept your toe tags for our own growing collection."

At this, Zola slipped one hand into his pocket and pulled out a pair of silver dog tags he dangled from his fingertips. The thin metal shimmered in the sickly yellow glow of the lab, casting flecks of bright light against the patchy walls. The prisoner lurched forward, "You little imp—!" He'd clearly hoped to grab them out of the other man's hands — or maybe he'd hoped to get ahold of Zola himself — but the soldier interceded in an instant, using his nearest elbow to pin the man's wrist against the metal table.

The prisoner yelped in pain as a nearby guard quickly tightened his restraints. In turn, Nikolai took the opportunity to crack the side of the prisoner's head with the grip of his gun. "Stop struggling," the burly guard complained.

A few steps away, Dmitri stood next to the blond-haired nurse. She briefly turned away from the thrashing prisoner, but his temporary handler in the white lab coat touched the back of her shoulder, coaxing her to return her attention to the scene in the center of the small operating room. Even though she was not in any apparent physical distress, her expression was strained with tension.

Why?

Some part of the soldier was keenly aware that key subtleties surrounding the behavior of his temporary handler and the nurse had changed since he'd returned with the prisoners. Tasked with focusing on the intake of the captured men, they performed their duties, but they both now rarely addressed the soldier unless it was strictly necessary.

The nurse with the gentle hands no longer offered to brush his hair. To clean his teeth. She didn't hum as she tended to charts and recorded his vitals. Her breathing stayed heightened at all times, as if she were in a constant state of distress.

It felt significant. Though try as he might, the soldier was unable to understand the underlying reasons behind the sudden changes in their behavior.

And now? As the soldier stood forcibly restraining the prisoner, he caught Sofia flinch as she met his eyes, as if she herself had been struck.

He didn't understand.

Unphased, Zola casually toyed with the short pair of dog toe tags. The soldier didn't understand why the simple pieces of cut metal elicited such a strong reaction from the prisoner. He grasped their significance as a means of identification, which was why he'd been instructed to take them off the men he'd captured and leave behind a chain around the neck of unidentified bodies with similar skin tones and physicalities. He'd kept the second set of shorter chains of dog toe tags like he'd been told, but he had no explanation why the act of removing the chains had produced a ghost of a sensation around his own neck.

It wasn't his place to ask. Perhaps it was a result of not having undergone reconditioning for an extended period of time?

A step beside him, Zola waved a hand, bidding the soldier to release his hold on the prisoner. "The Americans wasted you. Threw you both away like so much rubbish. But ah, you're far more valuable than even they ever realized!" The soldier's primary handler leaned in close to the struggling prisoner. "That's the purity of science. The possibilities. The sacrifices that push us forward. And you? You can waste your energy pretending to fight fate or praying to Gods that aren't there, but the outcome will be the same." Zola glanced in the soldier's direction, and the man strapped to the table followed the motion as he cryptically added, "It always is." His handler's expression widened and shifted again, though the soldier didn't understand its meaning.

Zola extended a hand towards Dmitri. "Increase the dosage of midazolam by 10ccs."

"Would it be a good time to begin including fentanyl in the patient's drip line?" Dmitri inquired as he glanced between Zola and the prisoner's hanging IV bags.

His handler's reply was easy in coming. "Not yet. We will leave pain relief for when he is in a more cooperative mood."

"You—!" The prisoner snarled, but his interjection was cut short by a shriek followed by a coughing fit from the prisoner in the room at the far end of the hallway.

The sound drew everyone's attention except for that of Armin Zola, who stayed unilaterally fixated on his nearest patient even as the man began to thrash and test his restraints anew. The soldier took a step forward, ready to intervene at a moment's notice, but Zola casually raised a hand in his direction, unconcerned. "As was asked of you before, who was it that supplied the serum you were given?"

"Don't know a damn thing about whatever you're goin' on about . And if I did? I wouldn't tell you a damn thing you slug-a-bed Nazi sku—!"

Nikoli struck the side of the man's jaw with the back of his rifle. Sofia flinched at the sharp noise and took a step back while Zola clucked his tongue, showing his teeth in an expression the soldier didn't understand, but recognized seeing on Nikoli. "We'll see how chatty you're feeling after your next round of testing. All men break. Some simply crack harder than others."

As his primary handler finished the last word, he turned his attention back to the soldier, and that expression on his face only grew in intensity. "Солдат, with me."

Zola strode forward and closed the door behind them as he continued down the hallway towards the lab at the far end of the facility. His pace was clinical and unhurried and he kept his voice low as they walked beside one another beneath the flickering overhead lighting and long shadows of slow moving ventilation fans. "I had my doubts on whether sending you back out so soon might put our larger objectives at risk, but I see now my concerns were unsubstantiated. You've done well. And two of them?" He chuckled, bemused. "Most impressive. You are to be commended for your efforts."

The praise settled warmly around the soldier, accompanied by a sensation of rightness. Completion. He'd been offered praise by handlers and temporary handlers alike, but something about Armin Zola's words resonated even more strongly within him, reassuring him of his intrinsic value to HYDRA and his larger purpose. That he was doing the right thing.

He would obey whatever commands his primary handler had for him. They would always take precedence over his temporary and stated handlers.

The shorter scientist clutched his clipboard under his hand as they walked, and glanced towards his prosthetic arm. "And the arm? Were there any issues with its performance?"

The soldier deliberated his response. The new model was more painful than the last, but that did not reflect negatively upon its performance. "No. It is highly responsive, and stronger than the previous model."

"Good. If there are any required adjustments, it would be apt for me to make them while I'm visiting. I do not trust its upkeep to sloppy, overeager hands." He cocked his head up towards the soldier as he adjusted his spectacles over the bridge of his nose and inquired, "Does seeing those men restrained upset you?"

The soldier wasn't following, "The prisoners?"

"Yes."

He considered the unusual question. He wanted to give his primary handler the right answer. The correct one. "My mission parameters were to retrieve one of them alive. I successfully captured two. The mission was determined to be successful."

Zola inclined his head. "And it was. Of that we are in firm agreement. I only asked because it is, ah, unusual for you to be sent to complete a mission where the targets were to be taken alive."

Was it? The soldier could remember being sent on select missions, but the details were hazy. Certainly the majority of the ones he recalled circled around eliminating targets and securing objectives, but what did that have to do with his recent mission? He felt like he was missing something. He heard the question, but he couldn't grasp the underlying context surrounding the term 'upset.' Like it was a word without context or relevance to him. One that was empty of meaning. "I don't understand the question," he admitted to his primary handler. He wasn't sure if this was the correct answer, but it was the only one he had.

"Ah, good, good. The latest treatments must be helping, then." Some portion of the soldier's confusion must have shown on his face because Zola's lips parted, revealing white teeth again as the doctor casually tapped his finger along the back of his own head, as if indicating by proxy two relatively recent surgical sites along the soldier's skull. "It makes things clearer. Less muddled. Empathy is a weakness. Something to be weeded out so pesky emotions don't get in the way of the purity of science."

He clucked his tongue as they walked into an empty room at the far end of the hallway and he closed the door behind them. "You understand how important our work is. Humanity needs to sacrifice its freedom to gain security, you see. That's why I have another mission for you, Солдат. I need you to listen. Memorize every word you hear and repeat them to no one else but me, because we cannot have shortsighted mice interrupting our most important work."

Armin Zola's lips widened, and the static in the soldier's mind was overtaken by darkness.

"You're not supposed to be here!" The hushed words were barely audible over the ambient hum of a room the soldier recognized. He was somewhere else. Sitting. Eyes closed. Restrained at the ankles and wrists while medical tape stretched across the IV line inserted into the top of his hand.

"I could say the same for you," came the hissed reply. A woman's voice. Sofia. The blond nurse with the gentle hands and strawberry perfume. "It's past midnight. You're supposed to be home with your family."

"I wanted to check in on them since I couldn't sleep. You know as well as I do that he's pushing them too hard. They're sick, and not nearly as resilient. He's liable to kill them before we can learn anything."

The soldier found himself struggling to blink his eyes open, but his heavy eyelids fought him. He was seated in the lab and his temporary handler, Dmitri, and the nurse were huddled nearby off to the side of the room near a run-down refrigerator. They'd broken from their conversation long enough to regard him with lingering expressions he couldn't parse. The soldier squinted at the sickly yellow light bearing down on him from overhead.

His temporary handler had issued a command to remain still, so he did just that.

"Don't worry about him. I told him to stay still. He has to listen to me."

"Only until Zola hands off the reins to someone else," Sofia corrected. "You can see it too, can't you?"

"You shouldn't be here," Dmitri repeated.

Had his beard always been that full?

"Don't get your trousers in a knot. I was just going to offer our patients some mild painkillers to take the edge off. Depending on which guards are on duty, I might even be able to slip in some wound care." She paused a moment before adding, "Don't give me that look. I know what you're thinking. The guards don't care. That whole troop knows they can't go too far. They're so entranced with their new toys that they've lost interest in pestering last year's domesticated model." She jutted her chin towards a raised welt along the soldier's exposed forearm. "See? The last burn Nikolai gave him has practically healed over." She regarded the IV line threading into his hand. "Have you already…?"

Dmitri sighed, "Yes, I gave him another dose. Just because he doesn't complain about the pain doesn't doesn't mean that should be his status quo. I'd like to think we're more civilized than that."

"Well then let me check in on the others and I'll be out of your hair. You didn't even see me here."

Dmitri put his fingers to his forehead and massaged his brow as he made a sound in the back of his throat. With a resounded sigh, he turned and opened the door of the nearby refrigerator, rummaging around for two small vials he handed off to the nurse. "You need to be more discreet. Zola's off trying to impress the top brass, but he's already been asking questions on why we suspended his enrichment."

"What'd you say?"

"I said it wasn't necessary. That he's been stable. Compliant." Dmitri met the soldier's eyes and slowly shook his head. "Don't seem right."

"They said it helps the condition he has."

"And after what you've seen, you still believe that?"

Sofia bit her lip, her voice soft. "I don't know what I believe anymore. When they first dragged him in from Goyang, they made him out to be some kind of novelty for us to piece together. 'Stabilize him. Better yet? See if you crack the code written in his blood so HYDRA can stay ahead.'"

"'Think of all the lives we can save,'" Dmitri concluded, his voice imitating a person just beyond the soldier's grasp. "Yeah. I remember." He lowered his voice. "I remember when it felt like we were helping people. Trying to, at least. That's why I joined up in the first place. They were fighting the good fight. Pushing back against all the corruption and foreign poison leaching into soil." He shook his head and regarded the soldier, but his words were for the blond-haired woman standing next to him. "The doctor wants to try cognitive electrical therapies with the men that were brought in."

"He wants to…" Sofia repeated before her voice faded off. "But their minds are healthy."

Dmitri winced. "I know. And I want no part in it. I got into medicine to help people, not lobotomize prisoners of war." His gaze stayed steady on the soldier and he licked his lips before slowly inquiring. "Солдат, do you remember undergoing such procedures?"

"Dmitri…" Sofia warned.

The soldier recognized that he'd been asked a question by his temporary handler, but it took him a second to evaluate a suitable response. He must comply with the requests made by his primary handler, but those of a temporary handler were far more limited. He was not to perform any action that went against the wishes of his primary handler, and was strictly forbidden from repeating sensitive information such as mission reports. His interactions within the chain of command were more structured, and he'd been instructed to obey Dmitri's medical inquiries so long as they didn't put the larger mission at risk.

Did this line of questioning qualify? "I have undergone a number of procedures intended to improve my stamina, strength, reflexes, and overall performance."

Sofia glanced behind her down the hallway nervously and crossed her arms while Dmitri added, "Do you remember a time before them?"

Some part of the soldier was aware this was a dangerous line of questioning, that he should not engage further without explicit permission from his primary handler, but he found himself responding, "...'Before?'"

Dmitri's voice grew fainter yet, "Before the nails. Was there an ailment they were meant to resolve? Were you sick?"

The line of questioning was confusing at best. Potentially dangerous. Still, some inexplicable part of him was compelled to respond. "I… don't know," he answered honestly, because he didn't. He didn't know if he ever knew, or if it was locked away behind doors he couldn't breach.

By the downturn in the expression on Dmitri's face, the soldier got the distinct impression that this was not the correct answer. Would that mean he would receive enrichment? Reconditioning? Above him, large mechanical half-circles hung in the air suspended on either side by adjustable cranes like a rigid mobile. He recognized the metal devices, knew they fit over either side of his head and that they brought pain. He was told the pain was necessary. So that was what he believed. It wasn't his place to question.

But at the same time, he found himself hoping that the correct series of answers might mean he could forgo the apparatus floating above him and what it represented. Was that a preference, though? He should not have preferences.

The details were foggy at best, but some part of him knew it would change him, and with it, how he related to the people around him. While he'd been told that being reconditioned was beneficial, for the first time he could remember, some part of him insisted it would take from him, too. That in trade of the crisp clarity it offered, the procedure might wipe away something more important he couldn't articulate.

He couldn't read their expressions, but sometimes it felt like if he tried a little harder, he might come close to piecing together their enigmatic meanings.

The man in the white lab coat met the soldier's eyes and sighed. "I was assuming you'd say that."

"You don't think he volunteered," the woman beside him deadpanned.

"Do you?"

Her response was barely audible over the hum of the old refrigerator. "No. Not after what we've seen." Her voice grew harder. "But it doesn't make it right for him to drag those men in just so they can be tortured too."

"Being mad at him won't help you, him, or anyone else."

"I'm not mad at him."

His temporary handler ran his fingers through his short beard as he met the soldier's eyes, and the soldier found himself wishing he understood what was behind them. "I don't think we'll ever know his story. Could be he was a righteous asshole. Could be he was a good man, or someone that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way? After everything we've seen, I think it's oversimplifying his cognitive autonomy to fault him for bringing those men in. He does what he's told. He can't do otherwise. You've seen what the guards have made him do to himself."

"It's barbaric." The refrigerator's motor kicked on again as Sofia met the soldier's eyes. Something in them loosened. Softened.

He wished he understood.

"And I won't have anything to do with whatever else they're planning. Blood draws and surgeries to help heal people are one thing. Not this." He lifted his head to Sofia. "You shouldn't even be here. You should slip the others some painkillers and go home."

"What are you planning?"

Dmitri snorted lightly. "Nothing heroic, if that's what you're asking."

Sofia twisted her face together and glanced down the hallway again before turning back to Dmitri. "You're gonna get out?"

He swallowed and nodded once. "I want to feel like I'm helping people again. Making a difference. Not—"

A shrill wail cut into the air, followed by muffled voices and jeering down the hallway. Dmitri winced. "—Not whatever this is." He reached over and clasped her hand. "You should go. Maybe think about doing the same."

Sofia opened her mouth as if there was more she'd planned to say, but she opted to keep her words to herself as she squeezed Dmitrii's hand back and then brushed herself off and took the two small vials from him. "Stay safe out there."

"You too."

As she softly closed the door behind her and hurried down the hallway, she left silence in her wake. Eventually Dmitri sighed and found his voice again as he smoothed the front of his white lab coat. "You probably think I'm a coward, huh? For what it's worth? I wish there was more I could do, but I'm just one man and they're the ones with the real power. You and I? Ah. We got snared up in their leash before we even knew what was happening."

His tone was even, reflective. "That's the funny thing, isn't it? We spend so much time down here in this godforsaken, musty place that we don't question why it's always just one mission after another. One war, after another." He snorted lightly, "You know, I was really hoping when they first brought you in, that I could help 'crack the code' on whatever mysteries are rolling around in your blood. People like Zola may see a world brimming with Super Soldiers like Steve Rogers, but I had smaller dreams. I was hoping I might've been able to chase down the miraculous blend of science and biology that somehow heightens your healing. Imagine the applications that might have for those in need?"

Steve Rogers.

The soldier was aware of his temporary handler's words, but these two stood out above the rest. They were words absent of context. Merely a presence. A name. There was no figure or face that accompanied it, only a sense of loss coupled with shame. Failure. The soldier couldn't explain his reaction.

He must've been malfunctioning.

Dmitri turned his head and lifted his chin, regarded him with a steady, unwavering gaze that felt oddly significant. "Regardless of what we've been told, I think there's a lot more going on in your head than even Zola gives you credit for. For what it's worth? I don't know what they took from you. If I did, I'd like to think I'm the kind of man that would've tried to give back whatever I could. But maybe we'll meet again in a future when these petty wars have run themselves dry and doctors are called upon to use their hands to heal again." He lifted his palms and let his gaze fall down to them as he rubbed his fingers together. "Wouldn't that be nice."

The soldier regarded the man's silhouette in the dim yellow light of the lab, but try as he might, he couldn't grasp exactly what he was saying or why. Even still, he strained every bit of his focus past the pain to understand his wavering expression and the missing words that were seeped in truths the soldier couldn't reach.

His temporary handler looked out over the dim and crowded room as he added, "When they find me gone, they'll probably ask you what you saw." Dmitri cast a hand out over the lab. "But all of my research is here. I've taken none for myself. Everything I know, every scrap of data is catalogued in my notes and filed away if someone wants to pick up where I left off. I merely want to be free again. To not live under this terrible burden of conscience."

The doctor looked up at the metal curves raised high in the ceiling, the ones that delivered enrichment and reconditioning through a harness that fit over the soldier's face. "I know it might be wiser to use those on you. Buy me a little more time. But that is not an act I'll have any part of ever again. Not on you, and not on those other men."

Even as the soldier watched him, Dmitri didn't adjust any of the futures or mountings. Instead he continued to regard the metal fixtures as he spoke to the stale air in the lab. "I used to be a pediatrician, you know. Some days I don't recognize the man looking back at me in the mirror, but I'd like to think he's still there between the cracks." He sighed and walked across the room, pulling a vial from the refrigerator and piercing it with a nearby syringe. He pulled the thick liquid into the barrel before placing the metal tip of the needle gently into the junction in the soldier's nearest saline drip. "This should help the pain for a while. It's the good stuff." The medication had an immediate effect, and the soldier felt his eyelids grow heavier and the throbbing in his head receded, leaving him in a haze of uncomplicated quiet for the first time in what felt like weeks.

"Rest now, and watch over her, will you?"

The soldier didn't understand the subtext of the question, but it felt important for him to respond, so he pushed his groggy lips to obey. "I will."

Dmitri's expression shifted, and the soldier got the distinct impression he'd given the right answer as the doctor gently touched him on the shoulder and turned to go.

The warm sensation lingered long after the doctor had gone, but the soldier knew that eventually his primary handler would come to check on the status of his own mission request.

Sam was trying to keep his anxiety in check. He really was. But as that flashing red timer above Barnes continued to dip deeper and deeper into the negative, he was rapidly coming to terms with the fact that regardless of any of the latest and greatest theories they had stirrin' about why Barnes was fast asleep but unresponsive, they still weren't any closer to a solution to whatever was ailing him. Of all the issues they could have possibly run into, Barnes not wakin' up simply hadn't been on any'a their collective bingo cards.

While sleeping beauty there on the kitchen floor didn't look a drop distressed edgewise, Sam knew that if the stubborn half of 'Team Underdog' managed to slip into REM sleep against their best efforts, then none if 'em — not even Shuri — knew exactly what'd happen. It wasn't good, that was for damn sure.

But if he stayed like this and never woke up at all…? Sam tried not to let his imagination get ahead of himself as Shuri frantically adjusted the nodules on either side of Barnes's temples. Judging by the frown on her face, he was guessin' whatever she was tryin' didn't have the desired effect.

That or, well, Barnes would'a woken up.

Now Sam was doin' what he could to bite his tongue and keep his curiosity in check. He knew it wasn't adding time to anyone's clock to have Shuri take a breather and hold his hand to explain complex matters of mind for his solemn benefit, but as best he could follow, the prevailing theory was that maybe Barnes and that damaged mind of his had somehow gotten locked in the third phase of non-REM sleep. Nomble had even pitched he might even be in multiple conscious states of sleep at the same time, however that worked. Shuri didn't seem entirely convinced either way, but she didn't discount the possibility outright.

Which again: prolly wasn't good.

But Barnes still hadn't responded to anything. Light, sounds, songs, touch, smellin' salts, hell — they'd even tried puttin' some regular kitchen-variety salt onto his tongue to see if that pulled out some kinda reaction, but nothin' had any effect. It was like he'd gone full comatose catatonic.

Shuri was on the line again with the Design Group in their latest attempt to phone-a-friend, but she was barely taking a breath as she went back and forth in rapid Wakandan. Sam didn't get the impression she was holdin' anything back from him or being secretive, but that she was takin' the most straightforward approach to work as quickly as possible.

Undeterred, the digits above them continued to flash crimson red:

-71.23 minutes…

-71.24 minutes…

-71.25 minutes…

Over ten minutes overdue. When Shuri briefly glanced up at the numbers mid-sentence, Sam felt his stomach sink and churn in worry that she might'a been told the simulations were off due to the hoopla with the malfunctioning electrical node Barnes had hidden from 'em. They still didn't know if they had a full 90 minutes, or if it'd been cut short prematurely like how the number of days Barnes's mind was deemed stable had been.

Sam still hadn't come to terms with all'a that, but he did what he could to shove the pesky thought away like some wayward mosquito. Like somehow starin' at Barnes might help wake him up through sheer will alone.

This time when Shuri looked away from her emergency genius hotline, she didn't say anything. She just went straight back to work at double speed like the timer had heated up. Was Sam imagining things? Maybe they still had the full 90 minutes? Or maybe she and the scientists back at the lab simply didn't know with any degree of confidence?

Whatever it was, the numbers kept on tickin' away, and that focused expression of Shuri's stayed firm and inscrutable in the bad way.

Looking for a handhold of any sorta update, Sam surveyed the faces of the Dora Milaje standing nearby. Ayo's face was locked in that well-honed Dora's neutral where she crouched beside Barnes's sleeping form, but Nomble had opted to let a measured heaping of her distress show from where she stood guard at the far end of Barnes's feet. And Yama? She was doin' what she could to help keep Sam filled-in on the latest developments so Shuri could focus.

When Shuri ducked down and pressed a Kimoyo Bead against the side of Barnes's exposed neck, Yama quietly chimed in from a step beside Sam. "They are hoping a specific type of artificial stimulant might trigger a waking response." She kept her words hushed as she did her best to fill in the gaps so he wasn't entirely in the dark.

Sam gave her a quick nod as he caught Ayo shifting closer to Barnes in case he woke. The two of 'em were mere inches apart, and the sight made every part of Sam's overactive brain scream out warnings that they were all too close if he woke up full'a venom and confusion again. Logically, Sam knew there was still a thin orange shield surroundin' Barnes that'd been adjusted to custom fit to him like a glove, but that didn't ease Sam's nerves any. Nope. It was obvious this could all go sideways in any number of ways, up to and including probably a dozen options none of 'em had even considered.

Which made this whole wait all-the-more nerve wracking.

Shuri held her breath and watched first Barnes himself and then his charts for any sign of movement. She'd been playing call and response with a growing number of people on the other end of the line at the Wakandan Design Center but she added in crisp clear English, "There's no response. There must be something else we can try."

"Any unchecked electrical pulses risk causing more harm than good," a woman insisted. "We've done the simulations. It's possible it could lead to highly reflexive REM behaviors and substantial core destabilization."

"Staying as he is isn't an option," Shuri responded as Ayo glanced up at her in what Sam took as a plea for her to temper the stress seeping through her voice.

"You'll figure something out," Ayo insisted. "You must focus."

Shuri returned her words of reassurance with a curt nod and the scientist on the other end of the call added, "We're still running additional simulations on the side regarding if it's possible his brain might be at risk of slipping into REM sleep prior to the established 90 minute mark. I have less confidence in this measured mark than I once did, but no data to back up if it has shifted or not. My team and I are not spending time focused on that number when the priority is to find a way to find a safe means to wake our patient with all urgency."

"I understand. Thank you," Shuri responded.

"We'll report back as soon as we have anything. Try whatever you must, but I advise you to avoid any electrical current that could prematurely spark a REM episode or Event," the scientist warned as the video conference closed itself and Shuri pulled up another wave of medical charts and live readings, stilling herself with a deep, trembling breath.

Sam only wished he could be of more use. And judging from the expressions of the other people gathered around him? He was guessin' they were all sharin' the same ailing boat that'd sprung a leak and was rapidly fillin' with water. Still, he found himself tryin' to piece together any unturned stones. "If his vitals are staying steady, is there anything we could to prod 'em or give 'im a bit of a kickstart in the hope that'd wake him up?"

Shuri glanced his way. "Under other circumstances, instigating even moderate pain would be the clearest path forward, but his readings show no acknowledgement of the sensation that would cause his heart rate and respiration to increase."

"Could we artificially do that in some non-invasive way?"

"Not with what we have on hand. Not safely."

"What about a 'Sunrise Exercise?'" Nomble suddenly volunteered from just beyond Barnes's feet, still dressed in her white nightclothes.

Shuri blinked, confused as she stopped what she was doing long enough to gesture a hand to the man of the hour and change. "He's unconscious."

"Such an exercise relies on him moving his body to assist," Ayo agreed. "He cannot participate in his current condition."

"But he's said his memories are sharpest around particularly poignant events," Yama cut in. "What if… it was an event where he was not explicitly moving."

Sam wasn't exactly following what Yama was digging around, but somethin' in her tone prompted first Ayo and then Shuri's heads to snap in her direction. And their expressions? Oh… there was somethin' deep buried there. But before either of them could say a word, Yama raised a hand in mock-surrender as the other remained gripped protectively around the shaft of her spear. "You know we do not suggest this lightly!"

Shuri said something in what must'a been Wakandan to Ayo, but her expression had already gone cold, distant. Like her thoughts were caught up in an altogether different wind as she regarded first Barnes and then the red countdown continuing to tick down in the air above him.

Sam wasn't sure what they were gettin' on about, so he found himself offering an overly optimistic, "Whatever it is is worth a shot, right?"

Ayo didn't respond immediately, but when she did her voice was oddly even, like she was struggling to strip each syllable of any scrap of emotion. "You don't know what you're asking." Her words weren't for anyone in particular, but her eyes lifted up and met Shuri's. "He didn't remember the details. We forbade him from even watching the footage for good reason."

Even though Sam hadn't been on the receiving end of Ayo's words, he flinched, realizing maybe he'd been more'n a little overenthusiastic to stick his hand in someone else's hornet's nest.

"White Wolf didn't, but that doesn't mean Barnes couldn't." Shuri's words were a plea to Ayo. "We're running out of time. He would understand."

The Chief of Wakandan Security didn't look so convinced. She swallowed hard and set her jaw before gesturing her hand in a sweeping motion to prompt the people nearest her to step back away from Barnes. "Give us some space," she commanded.

Sam wasn't following the details, but he didn't put up a word of objection edgewise as he and everyone else took a step back and Ayo took charge, standing over Barnes. "Dome the shield again and stay outside of it. I need to adjust his body."

"Do you remember—?" Shuri began.

But Ayo cut her off, her voice hard, "—I remember."

Sam searched her distant eyes for answers, but all he had to go on was that this was a sore spot Ayo wasn't keen to revisit. Yama and Nomble's expressions revealed little more, but judging by the way they shifted their weight and repositioned their spears, Sam was guessin' there was a chance they were preppin' to tango with whoever woke up, and they weren't bettin' on Barnes necessarily.

Now the thing was, over the past thirteen minutes or so, a number of 'em — Ayo included — had tried repositioning Barnes in the hope that they'd be able to shake something loose inside that cyborg brain of his and wake him up. But to date? Nothing had worked. His pulse and respiration stayed steady regardless of if he was laying on his back, side, belly, or hell: they'd even tried sittin' and standin' him up like some kinda cursed scarecrow with that lopsided, overly heavy 'dense molecular structure' of his.

But this here… Sam didn't need a map to know there was something exceedingly intentional with how Ayo used one hand to roll Barnes over so he was splayed onto his belly before she stepped around his body and took inventory from one angle in particular.

Sam found himself holdin' his breath as she moved throughout the dome without a second's pause of what might happen if Barnes — or someone with his face — suddenly woke up with violent inhibitions and turned 'em straight on the person nearest him. With determined intention, she used one hand to fold each of his limbs with exacting specifications while her other hand gripped her spear with white knuckles Sam didn't miss, and wasn't sure he'd ever seen on her. She stretched first his legs then his arms and neck before turning her attention to his fingers and thumbs, curling them one-by one until they looked more like claws than hands.

Sam didn't know the details — didn't need to know — but he thought he had a rather good idea that made his stomach tighten in knots.

He didn't necessarily want to break her concentration, but he also didn't want to see her get hurt, so in the name of caution he gently cleared his voice and inquired, "...This uh… would I be right in guessin' this is less a 'Bucky' memory and more a 'Soldier' thing? We're not worried about who might wake up, are we?"

Ayo's attention didn't waver from the man inside the dome, but Shuri offered a marginally cryptic reply, "His mind was… in between. In the mire of a terrible Event we did not foresee."

"Barnes has been himself after other 'Sunrise Exercises,'" Nomble noted. "This should be the same, should it not?"

Shuri cast her eyes to the charts floating above her fingertips. "His mind still appears stable, so I would like to think so, but I cannot tell you with unequivocal certainty since we have wisely never attempted to summon memories taken while in the throes of an Event. I only know that if he slips into REM sleep, far greater irreversible damage is likely to happen."

"Okay but if the Soldier wakes up, and those code words you have don't work…" Sam began.

"Then we will figure that out too." Shuri said the words with some measure of conviction, but Sam wasn't sure how much of it was an act to convince herself. He knew they were runnin' out of time and didn't have any other options floatin' around, but he hated the idea that it might not be Barnes that woke up.

The clock was still ticking as Sam summoned a short nod and held his breath as Ayo continued to finetune the limp body laying on the kitchen floor like the world's worst game of two-person Twister. Each little tweak she made managed to curdle Sam's insides a little more, because that the awkward pretzel of a pose Ayo had folded Barnes into was not only all manners of disconcerting, but it was like he'd been in the midst of clawin' his way across the ground towards someone. Someone Sam had the feeling was Ayo herself.

The whole thing was altogether distressing to watch, up to and including the fact that both Nomble and Yama had both moved in unison to brace themselves with their spears extended outside the dome. It was clear they didn't need any polite suggestions to be at the ready just in case things veered sideways and the man in front of them woke up feelin' murderous. And none of 'em needed a reminder that Barnes no longer had a debilitating joy buzzer on his shoulder they could lean into as a failsafe if worse came to worst.

Finally Ayo stepped back with that distant expression on her face, waitin' for something… but nothin' happened. The folded man layin' in front of 'em didn't move a muscle. Didn't open his eyes or breathe a word edgewise.

She leaned down and adjusted his elbow, his wrist, the position of his fingers a little more, but still: nothing.

Every second counted, yet that worrisome red timer loomin' over 'em just continued to count deeper into the negative. Worse yet? They didn't even know if they had till the countdown hit 90 minutes. It was entirely possible the switch in Barnes's head could prematurely flip and enter REM at any moment…

-76.98 minutes…

-76.99 minutes…

-80.00 minutes…

Shuri saw it too, he was sure of it. Her searching fingers urgently flicked over her charts. "There's no change in his vitals or brainwaves." Mounting distress edged her words. "It was worth a shot though."

Ayo said nothing, but Yama offered a short bob of her head. Her frown had deepened as she kept her attention fixated on Barnes like she was looking for cracks in their plan. For any possible foothold they could latch onto that would wake him.

But it was quiet Nomble whose faint voice cautiously volunteered, "...We have not yet challenged his sense of surroundings, my Chief."

Everything was a sudden blur of light and movement.

He clung onto the buckling metal like his very life depended on it as empty air rushed past his feet and bitter cold wind tore across his exposed face.

He could feel himself slipping when a disembodied voice yelled out to him with unmistakable terror that shook him to his very core:

"Bucky! Hang on!"

For a moment, it was as if he was in two places at once, with one reality laid atop the other.

He was looking up and to the right along a sheer cement wall capped with the silhouettes of steepled buildings in the distance that were backed with a starless night sky, but at the same time, he saw a curled wall of peeled corrugated metal sheeting surrounded by streaks of powdered snow rushing past an overcast grey-blue sky.

And screaming at him, reaching out to him, was none-other than Steve himself.

"Grab my hand!"

The other man was clad in a sullied blue and silver and clung to the side of the warped metal wall, stretching himself to his limits trying to reach him.

The cry of a distant engine rattled the bar he clung to with everything he had. Barnes couldn't understand what he was seeing, but he felt a wave of panic clutch at him as he extended his right hand, desperate to make contact with outstretched Steve's glove. It was so close. His feet dangled helplessly below him as he focused all his strength on reaching Steve. Just a little further and he'd be okay…

The metal groaned in defiance and then suddenly the bar in Barnes's left hand cracked audibly and snapped free from the wall. Before he could even register what was happening, gravity lapsed and he fell backwards, a guttural scream filling his ears.

His scream.

Steve's panicked voice called out after him, "No!" The syllables grew more distant by the thunder of each passing heartbeat, snatched and smothered out by an icy ambivalent wind.

Raw terror gripped Barnes's throat as he fell backwards into the open air. His heart raced as he realized he was helpless to prevent what was happening, and the grim finality that would follow. His frantic eyes sought out the gaping wound in the side of the train where Steve had tried to reach him, and he did everything he could to track him until a sea of white-capped trees and mottled stone came between them.

But his eyes. Barnes couldn't shake the sharp fear and panic he'd seen in those white-rimmed blue eyes.

A second later, he hit the ground and the world snapped to black.

Light cracked and popped around him, sputtering until everything around him dimmed into a deep haze. The darkness itself took shape, splitting open as lazy flecks of white drifted sideways, untethered by the will of a persistent breeze.

It took the soldier a moment to orient himself. The layout he held in his mind's eye was barren and straightforward. Streets and buildings set into horizontals, verticals, and horizontals.

It hadn't included snow, had it?

He knew what the substance was, but the sight of it had a way of stirring something he didn't understand, but he quickly categorized it as inconsequential to his larger mission.

"Хотите жвачку?" Want any gum?

The soldier's attention snapped back into focus as he glanced to his right where a red haired woman dressed in all black tactical gear lifted her gloved hand to offer him a stick of wrapped chewing gum. She wiggled it enticingly in the air between them as she blew a pink bubble using the gum she'd recently slipped into her own mouth.

It was obvious she was attempting to manipulate him to remove his mask. His handler had briefed him on Natasha Romanov, and warned him she was likely to try to probe him for information. He wasn't going to take the bait.

When it became clear he wasn't intending on grasping the nearest end of the stick of chewing gum, she shrugged and popped the bubble she'd been blowing before casually pocketing it. "Can't blame a girl for trying," she added in Russian before inquiring, "you do talk, right? I was told you're a good shot, but it'll make things a lot harder if we have to pass notes to chat."

"I talk," he sufficed. Did all of the Red Room operatives talk this much? He looked out over the snowy roof as she popped another bubble.

"See? Not so hard."

The soldier decided it would be best not to acknowledge her remark as he turned his attention to the cityscape beyond them. A steepled skyline lined with snow framed an ice-slicked downtown district that was the heart of the city. Scattered pockets of people traversed the slippery cobblestone streets below. All of them kept their heads down as they walked, wary of losing their footing to a misplaced step. In the distance the soldier could make out the government buildings he'd been briefed on, including the structure with faux marble and prominent towers and the one beyond it that was capped with a decorative dome. He concentrated on each of them, committing each detail to memory alongside the patterns and trajectories of the people walking below.

The whole thing would have been a lot less distracting had he not caught the faintest whiff of artificial strawberry through the protective mask covering his nose and mouth. He wasn't sure why he could identify the scent with any degree of certainty, he only knew he'd smelled it before.

The two of them ran surveillance from atop the edge of a four story warehouse, perched high along a five block perimeter surrounding the primary building of interest. Their confirmed target had entered through a monitored side entrance, and the next phase of their operation would necessitate that he was eliminated within the interior of the building in order to reduce optics surrounding the takedown.

It would have been more altogether efficient to snipe him from a distance, but that method was deemed as off-limits by this handler since this was deemed a private matter. He wanted a highly controlled, surgical operation with no witnesses and a takedown in a preset location.

The mission parameters appeared to be why he'd been brought out of cryo for a joint effort with the Red Room in preference to being partnered with other members of HYDRA's Winter Soldier program. The details surrounding them were foggy to the soldier, but the program was only mentioned by HYDRA's elite in private when their allies were not present.

From what the soldier could tell, the program had been determined to be largely unsuccessful. The other Winter Soldiers were unstable, often violent. They were highly skilled, but he found them to be largely unreliable in combat situations. They skirted clearly defined objectives, often indulging in rogue activities that produced excessive casualties and blatant, unnecessary suffering. More than once, they'd turned on him as well as their handlers and other members of HYDRA, leading to the organization's decision to largely discontinue their active use except under exacting circumstances.

Even then, HYDRA had to be wary of their persistent desire to escape.

The soldier didn't understand why their behavior was so unruly and unpredictable, but it was clear HYDRA's scientists maintained hope that there was a way to cure them of whatever ailment it was that made them unstable. They wanted the other Winter Soldiers to be more like him. Clear headed. Focused. Efficient.

The details surrounding them were impressionistic at best. Their faces were insubstantial to his mind's eye, each obscured under frosty glass.

"See anything out there we should be worried about, Mr. tall, dark, and brooding?"

"No," his answer was straight and to the point, coming out as a single puff of air that quickly dissipated into the cold night. He was well aware that it was best to exercise caution around a trained operative like her. This joint operation between HYDRA and the Red Room was delicate, and although he knew his mission parameters, he'd been forewarned that it was possible the Black Widow he'd been partnered with might have supplementary objectives HYDRA was yet unaware of. It was important he remain on his guard and not unwittingly divulge sensitive information.

He was also tasked to find out what they wanted with the politician he was tasked to eliminate.

Even still, he was perplexed at the spy's unusual methods to manipulate him, seemingly in an attempt to put him at ease. Usually he worked alone or alongside other military personnel. He'd been assured that she was self-reliant and fully capable in her own right, but he wasn't sure why she continued to try to engage with him in unnecessarily verbal exchanges. Some part of him found it distracting, but another part of him — the part that was told not to have preferences — instead found the casual attention not entirely off putting.

Within HYDRA and even when sent out into the field on missions, the soldier spoke and responded to necessary questions, but there was always an underlying intention behind them. He was compelled to respond. With her it was… different.

As of yet, he'd been unable to determine the source of the discrepancy. Perhaps it was the muffled scent of the artificial strawberry bubblegum in the air in combination with her unusually forward, pseudo-flirtatious demeanor. The same one he'd been repeatedly warned about.

Whatever the underlying cause, he found his concentration briefly lapsed as he adjusted the weight of the sniper rifle in his hands and casually inquired, "They told me I'd be working with the fabled Winter Soldier. You have a name?"

What a strange line of questioning to pursue mid-mission, but one to which he had a rehearsed response all the same. "It's cleared out below. We should get moving." He got to his feet, adding, "And 'Soldier' will suffice."

She lifted her chin, evaluating him as she tucked a strand of red hair behind one ear and mused aloud, "Code names it is." She turned away from him, surveying the buildings in the distance and blowing another bubble and popping it before slipping her fingers along her opposite wrist. With a practiced flourish, she shot a grappling hook across the street where it latched onto a taller building. "Well, Soldier, see if you can keep up."

With that, the Black Widow shot him a wink and took off into the night.

[Chapter 95 Chapter Art, by Mohish_ko]

[ID: A painting by Mohish_ko showing the Winter Soldier sitting next to Natasha Romanov atop a showy rooftop with their legs dangling off the edge. It's night out, and snowflakes are falling from the sky. Both of them are dressed in black tactical gear and he is holding a sniper rifle with his signature chrome arm with the red star. Natasha has short red hair and is smiling at him as she blows a pink bubble and offers him a piece of chewing gum. The Winter Soldier's face is wearing his customary black muzzle which covers his nose and mouth, and he appears to be furrowing his eyebrows at the request because he suspects Natasha is trying to manipulate him into removing his mask, and doesn't intend to fall for it. End ID

Mohish_ko ("mohish_ko" on Instagram) created this gorgeous piece of artwork of Natasha Romanov teasing the Winter Soldier with a piece of bubble gum in the hopes of coaxing him to remove his mask.

I've been so excited to build to this particular flashback (it's been a long time in coming since Natasha's involvement was originally teased!), and I am utterly delighted that Mohish_ko was interested in bringing this scene to life in all its adorable complexity.

While Bucky definitely suffered some particularly traumatic years under HYDRA, it's nice to imagine there were some spots of levity and kindness tucked in there too. Once again: A *huge* to Mohish_ko for bringing this fun story moment to life, and for all of you wonderful readers for keeping the story alive.

Please check out Mohish_ko's social media accounts to see more of her incredible art, and check out this chapter on Archive of Our Own to see all of the art!

Author's Remarks:

I hope you enjoyed some of the many breadcrumbs tucked away in this chapter. I can't wait to share what's around the next corner…

No spoilers for Captain America: Brave New World here, but I'd just like to say that it's great to feel that WotWW still fits nicely into the ongoing MCU canon. :)

It was great to see Sam on the big screen again since we hadn't seen him in theatres since Endgame in 2019, and it's hard to believe TFATWS came out nearly four years ago in 2021! To top it all off, today we even got some early casting news about Avengers: Doomsday!

It's great seeing what threads the MCU is chasing down compared to WotWW plot stuff I've been weaving over the years, and I love how they can both coexist.

* Ibhondi Yomgcini - Wakandan Translation: Bodyguard's Bond

· Anesthesia Facts - So that bit about there being four aspects of anesthesia is an actual medical fact! While doing my due diligence and doing a bit of medical research for this chapter, I stumbled over two key facts I'd never considered: that there are medications used so the body doesn't feel pain, and a separate medication used to create what is basically a state of temporary amnesia while under. Brains and biology are wild!

· Sofia, Dmitri, Nikoli, the Captured Super Soldiers… and Introducing Armin Zola! - This section is a meaty one! I debated throwing some of these dream sections into more substantial non-chronological order, but I thought it was important to understand what was going down in that HYDRA lab in Symkaria, and what finally prompted Dmitri to desert HYDRA. We've seen more about his death in prior flashbacks as well as Sofia's discovery of what happened during the last chapter. While his involvement with HYDRA is nothing to scoff at, I wanted to emphasize that none of this was anything he signed up for. Once he realized he'd gotten in too deep, he'd hoped to part ways from HYDRA cleanly, but that simply wasn't in the cards, and he and his family paid the ultimate price. :( As a side-note, I really liked the idea that when the soldier was clothing the prisoner, he was actually trying to treat him with care he'd probably learned from Dmitri and Sofia, such as explaining what he planned to do and trying to avoid the more tender areas of the prisoner's body. I'd like to think years later when Yama was initially trying to connect with Barnes on the mountain, her choice to be very open, methodical, and intentional was something the soldier could recognize too.

· The Hierarchy of Handlers - This is the first time Armin Zola has been 'on screen' in WotWW, and it tracked that this was a great opportunity to key into the hierarchy of handlers. The basic premise here is that the majority of handlers that the soldier has had are ones that have held the red book and know code words and commands that allow them to send the soldier on missions and control his actions. That said, sometimes that handler is occupied or away, and in the field there are 'temporary handlers' that can be empowered to provide basic instructions, but don't hold as much power over the soldier. They may know some code words, or none at all depending on the preferences of their particular handler. Moreover, they can't take any actions that would put their handler at risk. So a temporary handler couldn't successfully command the soldier to kill their other handler. But at the top of the proverbial food chain is what is referred to in this chapter as the primary handler: which is none other than Armin Zola himself. It's implied this is not something he's revealed to other handlers or even HYDRA, but this is his own sort of failsafe to prevent HYDRA and other handlers turning on him. Ultimately, it means that the soldier will obey Zola above all else, and that Zola can give him commands that remain outside of the realm that even other handlers can access. And as a longtime fan of RoboCop? This is absolutely my version of RoboCop's classified 4th directive. :)

· The Winter Soldier and the Black Widow - …And this here? I've been looking forward to pulling back the curtain here for a very, very long time. You remember that line from Captain America: Civil War where Nat goes "You could at least recognize me?" Well, maybe there was a bit more to that exchange than the movies let on… While there are strong differences between MCU Bucky and Nat and their comic counterparts (and the organizations they worked for in each), sometimes it's fun to blur the lines just a touch since we didn't get to see much of the two together in the MCU.

· Chapter Title Origins: Viscous Descent - The title of this chapter is intended to show that Barnes's mind is slowly sinking deeper and deeper as he remains asleep and unable to wake up. My hope is on one hand: readers absolutely want him to wake up, but on the other hand, some small part of you wants to know what else is lurking deeper down in his memories, and what bits and pieces might offer additional clarity to what's going on in the past and present…

Say hi and connect with me on social media:

- "KLeCrone" on BlueSky, Twitter, and Tumblr

- "Kymba" on Discord

Thank you again for your readership and encouragement during the creation of this story. Your thoughtful comments and questions truly make a difference in keeping me energized on this multi-year passion project, and I love hearing from you! :)