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They haven't seen hide nor hair of Bucky since he left Steve on the banks of the Potomac river.
It's not surprising. For the Soldier – for Bucky – to remain undetected, a ghost, for fifty years of assassinations, he must be a master at disappearing and hiding. Even if he wasn't exactly subtle on the bridge.
They reconvene at the Tower, and from there, JARVIS goes through the SHIELD data dump, finding them locations for HYDRA bases.
The first they hit is empty. But they’ve cleared out in a hurry, leaving behind stacks of information in archive boxes that hadn’t made it to the cloud yet.
Steve opens one, flicks it open, and shuts it immediately.
A photo of Bucky, naked and chained on the floor, his blood-matted hair partially obscuring his face.
A knife embedded to the hilt in his thigh.
The second base is much the same, except for a cluster of half-dead dogs in one of the labs. Clint adopts them all without hesitation, taking them up to his floor despite Tony’s protests.
The third base has a dozen loyal HYDRA agents waiting for them.
They all die.
There’s still no trace of Bucky.
The country’s been in chaos since the data dump; a worrying amount of government officials arrested, some sort of department set up, tasked with combing through the data.
And they keep searching.
The news of the motel shoot-up isn’t something they’d usually investigate, but they can’t fly out to the next HYDRA base until tomorrow, so Steve figures why the hell not.
He flies out with Sam and Natasha later that day.
It’s a bloody mess, but there’s no bodies in sight.
One of the wall is covered in sheets of paper, a large map at the back with sticky notes pinned to it, posters of the Avengers. Black sharpie obscures parts of them, in some form of Cyrillic.
The curtains are ripped like a wild wolf got tangled in them, and the bedsheets in a pile on the blood, originally a pale cream colour, are now a deep red.
A yellowed sheet of paper is in the centre of the floor, only a small smudge of blood on it.
It’s a list of the Avengers’ names, printed in thick black text.
- Banner – WS sedative
- Barnes – ? – but will stop at nothing protecting others
- Romanoff, Barton – must be together.
- Stark – car 1700 2D
- Wilson, Rogers – 0600 3D C.P 40.7812° N, 73.9665° W S.S.
It’s a hit list, that much is evident.
But why leave it there, in full view? Why write it out at all? That’s a surefire way to get caught.
And – Barnes.
Why would it say Barnes?
The only Barnes Steve knows is Bucky. And Bucky’s…not Bucky.
“We need to get back to the Tower,” Natasha says, snapping him out of it. “If they follow this plan, Bruce is in danger.”
Steve shoves the note in his pocket. It’s only then he notices what’s on the back. The writing is messy, barely legible, overlapping and running in all directions.
Barnes
Barnes.
Barnes would never leave Rogers.
Rogers would never leave Barnes.
Never leave.
To the end of
He crumples the paper up, hiding it from view.
He left Bucky. He let him fall, and HYDRA got him again.
He’d promised Bucky he was free, that he’d never go back.
And they got him. For seventy years.
Rogers would never leave Barnes.
When they get back to the Tower, Bruce is gone without a trace. JARVIS hadn’t noticed a thing. Not even a disturbance in the security systems.
Steve purposely doesn’t think about what could possibly kidnap him without a trace when Bruce turns into a giant invincible green ragemonster very easily.
“Barnes is next on the list,” Natasha muses.
“We need to find him, then,” Steve says. He turns to Tony. “You haven’t seen any sign of him?”
Tony sighs. “Trust me, if I found anything, you’d be the first to know.”
“You two are next, if this list is accurate,” Sam says, nodding at Clint and Natasha.
“It’s obviously planted,” Natasha says.
“Doesn’t mean it’s inaccurate,” Tony points out.
“Guys,” Sam says, sounding annoyed. It’s a miracle he’s still with them. “What about Bruce?”
“If someone comes for us,” Natasha says, “They could lead us to Bruce.”
“You’re not acting as bait,” Steve says immediately.
“You got a better plan?”
They’re not exactly subtle about it, but oh well.
Clint and Nat stroll across a field, weapons hidden, heading towards the quinjet at the other end. There’s trees running along one side, perfect cover for a would-be kidnapper.
Tony and Sam are up in the skies, waiting, and Steve’s in the jet. There’s no chance Clint and Nat will be taken.
It happens so fast it takes Steve a few seconds to notice.
But Clint and Nat crumple to the ground, and then Sam’s yelling into his comm while Steve runs for them.
There’s a black and silver blur, faster even than him, streaking across the field, scooping one of them up in each hand, slinging them over their shoulders, and rushing away.
They’re slowed by the two bodies though, so Steve manages to catch up, throwing his shield at their legs.
They tumble to the ground, dropping both Clint and Nat. Steve winces. The person rolls smoothly to their feet, a gun already drawn and pointed at Steve’s head.
He can’t deny it anymore. It’s Bucky.
The empty look in his eyes is back, and so is the mask.
They must have captured him again. There’s no way he works for them willingly.
“Bucky,” he says gently, raising his hands.
Bucky falters, his hand wavering.
“It’s Steve,” he continues. “Your friend.”
On the ground, Natasha groans.
Bucky’s eyes dart down to her, then his other hand comes up, a smaller gun clenched in his fist.
He doesn’t hesitate as the dart hits Steve square in the chest.
When he awakes, Clint, still unconscious, has been taken.
18 HOURS EARLIER
The handler leads the Soldier into the hotel room. The Soldier sweeps the room with his eyes, searching for threats. There are none.
The handler sinks into an armchair. “72 hours to eliminate the targets, Soldier.” He places a thick manila folder on the table.
“Yes sir.”
The handler pulls out his phone. Judging by the fact he only touches the screen with a fingertip, no typing, he’s playing a game.
The Soldier stands at attention near the door, waiting for orders.
It is dark by the time the handler stops. His phone makes a loud dinging noise, and he gets to his feet, grumbling.
Panic rises in the Soldier as the handler leaves without saying anything more.
The handler’s hand is on the doorhandle before the Soldier’s panic overrides his fear.
“Sir,” he says, voice betraying none of his fear. “How?”
The handler rolls his eyes. “Legendary assassin my arse,” he says. “Fuckin’ useless, you are.” He gestures at the folder on the table. “Read the brief.” He talks slowly, like the Soldier’s an idiot.
He’s probably right. Many people tell the Soldier that.
“And kill them,” the handler says.
Who is ‘them’?
“But sir…”
The Soldier trails off as the handler glares at him, then slaps him across the face.
“Follow your fucking orders,” the handler growls, then leaves, slamming the door behind him.
The Soldier goes over to the table, flips the folder open, and begins to read.
There is no mission directly outlined, no targets. The Soldier reads and reads about the Avengers, and he’s still no closer to knowing what he’s supposed to do.
Usually, the Soldier is given a photo of a target, a location, and a method.
He doesn’t make the decision.
But if they’ve given him information on the Avengers, it must be the Avengers that are the target.
The files give detailed information on the value of the Avengers to HYDRA, so he must be supposed to bring them in alive.
That complicates things. The Soldier was made to kill.
He will have to take them out one by one.
It is obvious Banner will have to go first; they leave him behind on missions, so he will be alone.
Romanoff and Barton are only human, so they will go next.
Stark drives to an unknown location every evening alone, which will be the best time to take him.
Rogers and Wilson, the idiots, take a run on the exact same route every day. The Soldier can set himself up nearby and shoot them easily.
There are others who may cause problems; Pepper Potts and Maria Hill, for example, detailed in Stark and Rogers’ files respectively, James Rhodes and James Barnes.
The last name tugs uncomfortably at the Soldier’s mind.
Barnes must have been one of the Soldier’s failed targets. He was punished for that.
It will not happen again.
Rhodes is tied up with the government, and Hill is sorting out the remnants of SHIELD. Potts has no military training, and is no threat.
There is no record on Barnes’ whereabouts.
But judging by the information, he will be close to Rogers.
Judging by the information, he would die before he let anything happen to Rogers.
He must be taken out.
And if Rogers truly cares for Barnes, Barnes’ death will put him off his game. Make him easier to deal with.
Make it easier for HYDRA to make use of him.
For some reason, the idea unsettles the Soldier.
The Soldier sleeps. Only for three hours, but still. He doesn’t require it to be functional. He can go for over a week before it starts affecting his functionality.
But the Soldier wants to sleep, and there are no handlers to order him otherwise.
When the Soldier awakes, fear curling in his stomach, the sky is still dark. He is alone.
The handlers will never know.
The Soldier picks the file up again, flipping through, and begins to write a mission plan.
The Soldier is not designed to be out for long periods of time. At the base, he is wiped regularly while he retrains his body from its weakness in cryofreeze.
But he hasn’t been wiped for over two days now, and he’s already beginning to glitch.
The mission must be completed soon, before the Soldier has lost all functionality.
The problem is, as the Soldier goes through the file again, Barnes.
There is nothing on his location, his habits. But he must be there.
Rogers would never leave Barnes. Barnes would never leave Rogers.
But then where is Barnes?
For the Soldier to be able to take Rogers out, Barnes must be eliminated.
The Soldier’s vision flickers; he is malfunctioning again. He can see flashes of another life – a small blond boy, a dark-haired girl. A feeling of happiness.
It is foreign to the Soldier. The Soldier does not feel at all, and if he did, there’s no way he would be feeling happiness.
He shivers, but does not turn on the small heater. He does not need it.
The Soldier stares at the page. They have included pictures, and for some reason, they feel familiar. A picture of Barnes and Rogers, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, grinning.
The photo has been restored into colour. The blond of Rogers’ hair tugs at the Soldier’s mind.
Maybe Rogers was there when the Soldier failed to kill Barnes.
The tug grows bigger as the Soldier stares at Barnes. He looks so happy, when he should be dead.
The Soldier closes his eyes. Barnes must die.
He can still see Barnes and Rogers.
To the end of the line.
He blinks.
Where did that come from?
The Soldier knows he’s malfunctioning, but he cannot return to base for maintenance empty-handed.
There is nothing to do but begin. And for that, he needs Banner alone.
Clint has a tracker on his suit, so it’s easy for Tony to track him down to a supposedly abandoned building a four-hour flight away. How Bucky got there so quickly, not even Tony can figure out. But they pile into the quinjet and set off.
They sit in silence. Even Tony can’t seem to find anything to say. They all know they’re about to go up against the Winter Soldier, the most terrifying assassin in the history of ever, except it’s Bucky.
Trying to save an incredibly competent person who doesn’t want to be saved, and a man who can very easily turn into a giant destructive monster. And Clint, but his biggest problem is he never knows when to keep his mouth shut, and ends up getting punched.
There’s nothing that could possibly go wrong.
Nat slinks into the base on her own. Steve had initially protested, but then she’d pointed at that she and Clint were the only ones that were trained spies. Steve had to admit, she had a point. He didn’t do subtlety.
It’s mere minutes later that she informs him, “There’s no way I can get to them on my own. You guys are gonna have to come in the front.”
Steve nods, leaving the quinjet immediately, Sam and Tony close behind him.
Tony delights in blowing a big hole in the front of the base.
In the ensuing chaos, they manage to get a fair way into the base without entangling with too many agents.
Until he’s sent flying across the room from a kick to the stomach so hard it takes the wall behind him crack.
Vision spinning, he looks up to see Bucky fighting Tony and Sam at the same time.
“Nat,” he hisses, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. It’s not helping. “Status?”
“I’ve found him,” she says, “But he’s in a bad way.”
“Get him out,” Steve orders, then runs at Bucky.
Bucky stumbles back a half-step, then attempts to stab him in the head.
“Bucky, it’s me. It’s Steve.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow, and then he kicks Steve in the shin.
Tony grabs Bucky’s right arm, slapping a magcuff on it while Sam puts an arm around Bucky’s throat. Bucky slams his body backwards, knocking Sam unconscious against the wall and simultaneously jerking out of Tony’s grip. Steve takes a swipe at Bucky’s head with the shield, but Bucky dodges, seizing Tony’s wrist and twisting it until it makes a cracking noise. He lunges for Steve next, but freezes short at the sound of a cold voice, speaking Russian.
“Встань, солдат.”
Bucky stands still, arms by his sides, empty eyes staring at nothing. Steve could probably shoot him right now, and he’d barely notice.
“Подойди сюда, солдат.”
Bucky moves to stand beside the man.
“You don’t have to listen to him, Bucky,” Steve says, watching him carefully. “We can help you.”
“Говорите свободно.”
“I must complete my mission,” Bucky says, nervously side-eyeing the man next to him.
“Who are you?” Steve asks. This man needs to go before he has a chance at getting Bucky back.
“The guy who’s going to kill you,” the man answers.
Steve raises his eyebrows. Tony’s laughing behind him. Bucky stays impassive.
“Mark,” the man mumbles.
“Okay, Mark,” Tony says, still laughing. “How about you pass over Terminator over here, and Dr Banner, and there’s a small chance you won’t get decapitated by a giant metal frisbee?”
“You really think we would give up such great assets?” Mark says disdainfully.
He pulls a lever on the wall, and it splits in half, revealing a cell with an iron cot inside.
Shackled to it is Bruce.
There’s a sharp intake of breath behind him.
“It was easy to sedate him,” Mark smirks. “We’ve had plenty of time to perfect it on the Soldier.”
Steve shudders. The footage they’d found in the HYDRA bases – and in the SHIELD data dump – had said enough about what they used him for.
“How’d you even get him?” Steve asks, now playing for time. He can hear Sam stirring behind him. Nat and Clint should be out by now.
“We tag our property,” Mark sneers. “And you may have brought back his memories, but you didn’t break the programming.”
“I’m pretty sure you can’t actually program a human being,” Tony says. “I’m a computer genius. I know these things.”
“What is programming, really?” Mark says. Behind them, Sam pushes to his feet. “You tell a computer, if this happens, do that. And that’s what we’ve done to the Soldier.”
“You haven’t exactly installed a program, though, have you?” Tony says.
“Haven’t we?” Mark turns to Bucky, laying a possessive hand on his shoulder. “Soldier, give them an example.”
“If I get captured, I am to escape,” Bucky says tonelessly. “If escape is not possible, I am to kill myself.”
“See?” Mark says, revelling in their horrified looks. “The only difference between this and a true machine is this one breathes.”
Steve throws his shield at Mark’s head. He’s had enough.
Bucky’s arm snaps out, catching the shield in metal fingers. He hurls it back, sending it into Steve’s chest. He staggers backwards as Sam and Tony surge forwards, Sam using the wings to give him an extra boost of height while Tony goes low with the repulsors. Bucky jumps to avoid them, but he cracks his head on the bottom edge of Sam’s wing.
Beyond a single furious blink, Bucky doesn’t react.
He just draws a gun and fires it directly at Steve’s head. Sam’s wing sweeps down under his feet; he falls back and rolls smoothly to his feet, a grenade in hand. Bucky throws it right at Tony’s armpit, where there’s a tiny crack in his armour. It sticks to the metal plates there, beeping quietly.
It takes Tony three attempts to pull it off while Bucky attacks Steve. Steve manages to shove him away just long enough to trap the grenade under it as it explodes. But then Bucky’s back, grabbing him around the middle with the flesh arm while the metal arm shoots at Tony.
He’s not even looking. Just trying to kill.
Of course, this close, it’s evident how tired Bucky is. His eyes have dark shadows under them, and not from the raccoon war paint. His skin’s paler – paler than it was on the bridge, and sweaty. Not from exertion.
Steve grabs Bucky’s hips, trying to push him away.
His finger gets caught on Bucky’s tac belt. And then he notices three little loopy straps.
Two of them have syringes of dark purple liquid. The third is empty.
Steve looks over Bucky’s shoulder.
Bruce still hasn’t moved, but there’s an IV line running into the back of his hand.
Filled with dark purple liquid.
Bucky’s beyond reasoning. Steve doesn’t have a choice.
It doesn’t make him hate it any less.
He takes a syringe from Bucky’s belt, pulls his high collar down and shoves the needle in, just below the mask.
Bucky collapses forwards, eyes shuttering. Steve catches him just in time.
Natasha insists on shutting Bucky in the Hulk containment room. Steve initially put up a fight, but even he’s forced to admit she may have a point. Clint, Sam and Bruce are still in Medical. Tony’s got a splinted wrist.
“What are we going to do?” Steve asks quietly. Bucky sits in one corner, frozen except for tiny shivers. Steve avoids looking at the magcuffs on his wrists.
Natasha shrugs. It’s rare she admits to not having a plan.
“We can’t just leave him there.”
“No,” Natasha agrees.
“I’m getting him out now.”
“Be careful,” she warns, like she think he’s gonna be an idiot.
JARVIS opens the door to the cell, and Steve steps inside. Bucky doesn’t react.
“Bucky?” he says tentatively.
He comes closer. Bucky still doesn’t move.
“Bucky?” Steve stops about a metre away from Bucky, and crouches down. “Soldier?”
Bucky raises his head, looking directly at Steve’s collarbone. “Ready to comply.”
Steve flinches.
Bucky curls in on himself, his eyes widening in fear.
“Sorry,” Steve says, leaning forwards to pat Bucky on the arm. Bucky cringes away from him. Steve jerks his hand away. “Sorry.”
He watches Bucky for a few minutes. Bucky seems like he’s waiting, no, bracing, himself for something to happen.
“Are you okay?” Steve finally asks, then winces. Seventy years being tortured, there’s no way Bucky’s okay.
“I am fully functional, sir,” Bucky says.
That answers that question, even if Bucky doesn’t agree with him.
“If I take the cuffs off, what are you going to do?” Steve asks.
“Ready to comply,” Bucky answers.
Steve would almost prefer Bucky was fighting back. This broken shell of a person is much worse.
He deactivates the magnetic function of the cuffs, but leaves them on. It makes his stomach twist, but Nat had made him agree.
“He’s not Bucky,” she had said. “The Winter Soldier programming is back, Steve, and that’s a fact. He is dangerous.”
“He wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Steve had argued.
“Maybe not intentionally,” she’d said quietly. Knowingly. “But I think he would appreciate us preventing him from hurting anyone else.”
That, Steve could agree with. The Winter Soldier has killed over seven hundred people, and that’s just the official mission targets. Not the bystanders.
Both cuffs have a hidden needle ready to inject a sedative if Bucky gets dangerous, and reactivate the magnetic function.
It’s unlikely Bucky’s going to be dangerous.
“You’re not a prisoner,” Steve says, which is technically true, although the chances of Hill letting him leave the Tower are low. “The cuffs are just a precaution. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.”
“Do you remember me?” Steve can’t help but ask.
“No sir.”
And it’s clear as day this time: Bucky’s terrified of Steve’s reaction.
“That’s okay, Bucky,” he says, squashing his disappointment. Back at square one. “You will.”
Bucky’s like a ghost. At Steve’s instruction, he changes out of his Winter Soldier tac gear (which stinks of blood and sweat and piss), and into a grey hoodie and black tracksuit pants.
He spends his days in his room, sitting on the armchair in the corner and staring vacantly into space.
Sometimes Steve drags him out into the main floors, where Bucky stands in the corners and watches them vigilantly without ever making eye contact.
He’s scarily polite, never raises his voice, and never does anything violent.
He hides his head in the hood of his hoodie, hair in his face, never does anything without being prompted (ordered), and doesn’t speak without being spoken to.
He goes days without eating, then throws up a single mouthful.
And then the memories return.
It gets even worse.
Two floors down, Steve can hear Bucky’s screams.
Night after night, the memories come back as nightmares.
And Bucky is terror incarnate, cowering in the corner of his room, not letting anyone close.
It gets better after a while. Bucky seems to finally believe they’re not going to hurt him. Memories return less frequently, and less painfully.
The cuffs come off.
“Why didn’t you attack me?” Sam asks at dinner one night. “You attacked the others, but not me until I was right in the way. Not that I’m complaining, but…”
“The mission was to kill the Avengers,” Bucky says quietly. “You weren’t technically an Avenger.”
One day, Steve walks into the kitchen to find Clint and Bucky sitting at the kitchen table, playing cards.
Bucky’s got a small smile on his face, the first in seventy years.
He’s getting better.