Chapter Text
The Soldier sat stiffly on the tiny cot that decorated his cell. In his mind, he always referred to it as his cell. His handlers called it his room, but it couldn’t be called a room. Not with the concrete walls and reinforced bars. Not with the lack of a blanket and pillow. Not with the metal toilet in the corner next to the sink with no mirror.
Regardless of who called it what, it was where the Soldier was allowed to stay when he wasn’t in his cryochamber, and anything was better than that, so he supposed he should be grateful.
The Soldier’s routine was being thrown completely out of whack. He rarely remembered much, but he did remember his routine: cryochamber, unthaw, Chair, Words, assignment, mission, debriefing, punishment, Chair, Words, and cryochamber.
This particular sequence of his routine had been going much more abnormally than usual. Frankly, there wasn’t much about Hydra that could be considered “normal,” but they were typically a lot more careful about how they handled the Soldier, given his tendencies to glitch.
When the Soldier had come to, everything had been in complete disarray. Papers were flying and people were shouting. His flustered handlers had been nearly tripping over themselves, rushing him through his routine.
Given how much emphasis Hydra put on control, the alarming behavior had been making the Soldier incredibly anxious. He made an effort to suppress his fears, as any display of such limiting emotions would not be tolerated by his handlers.
Based on what little intel the Soldier had managed to gather from his handlers and the surrounding Hydra agents, he was to be deployed to New York City. Apparently, there was some kind of alien army there that needed to be stopped.
The Soldier had been a part of more than his fair share of weird missions. Weird enough that he actually managed to hold onto the details even after countless mindwipes, but aliens took the cake.
The Soldier was supposed to provide aid in the fight against the alien fleet. He hadn’t heard anything about which branch of the military he’d be fighting alongside, but there would have to be somebody, right? Surely Hydra wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he’d be able to take down an alien army single handedly?!
It hardly mattered now. They’d thawed him out, intending to send him on what was likely a suicide mission, but then, they’d suddenly stopped, and had thrown the Soldier into his cell… room… whatever.
The Soldier didn’t dare ask any questions, as his handlers obviously had much more important matters to attend to than him. So now, he was just sitting here quietly, a few shivers coursing through his body every now and then, as the effects of his cryochamber hadn’t quite worn off yet.
The Soldier knew he was never permitted to eavesdrop, but this time around, he couldn’t help it. It’s not like it was his fault that his handlers had chosen to converse a mere ten feet away from him.
All eavesdropping, intentional or otherwise, immediately ceased as soon as Secretary Pierce came strolling into the base. The Soldier snapped to attention, rising from his seated position on the cot.
Pierce’s crisp grey suit stood out starkly in comparison to the black tac gear Rumlow, Rollins, and the Soldier were all dressed in. It wasn’t just their physical appearances that set them so far apart either. Unlike everybody else’s earlier frantic actions, Pierce was only displaying the same calm, cool, and collected air that he always did.
And that was the key difference between Alexander Pierce and every other Hydra agent who ever lived. That’s why he was their leader. Pierce was never flustered. And why would he be?! He was always in control.
The Soldier couldn’t help but find himself lowering his gaze, averting his eyes away from the powerful, domineering presence that was Secretary Pierce. Again, it hardly mattered. It’s not like Pierce was paying him any attention.
“So who stopped them?” Rumlow asked loudly. It was a bold move on his part, speaking before Pierce. Lucky for him, Pierce didn’t give any indication that he was upset… outwardly at least.
“The Avengers,” Pierce sneered. “Fury’s little pet project.”
Rumlow scoffed. “Iron man? Captain America? Those yahoos?”
Pierce gave a little chuckle at that, his hands slipping into his pockets. “Turns out they were of some use to us after all.”
Rumlow and Pierce kept talking, and Rollins offered the occasional comment, but the Soldier was stuck on one of the titles Rumlow had just mentioned. Why did he know Captain America? Where had he heard that name before?
Captain America… Captain America… Captain America… “Hey! Let’s hear it for Captain America!” A fractured fragment of a flashback suddenly invaded the Soldier’s mind. He shook his head, physically trying to dispel the painful, foreign memory. These sorts of visions plagued him from time to time, and it never led to anything pleasant for him.
But… that was him talking. He must’ve known this “Captain America.” He must’ve been cheering for him.
The Soldier tuned back into the conversation, just in time to hear Pierce’s closing remarks “-imperative that we recover the Tesseract, the Scepter that Loki was wielding also possesses power vital to Hydra’s advancement. I don’t want either of these items falling into the wrong hands. Time is of the essence here, so let’s move out.”
“And what about the Asset?” Rumlow asked, jabbing a thumb in the Soldier’s direction.
Pierce frowned, looking into the cell. He hadn’t even noticed that the Soldier was there. With little thought, he gave a disinterested shrug. “Put him back on ice. We won’t need him for this. Hell, once we have the Scepter, this might just be the end of the line for the Winter-”
Pierce kept monologuing, droning on about how the Soldier was getting close to outliving his usefulness, but the Soldier didn’t hear him. He found himself thrust back into another flashback.
“I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.”
That was him again. Talking to somebody. Somebody small.
“I thought you were smaller.”
Captain America… pal… punk.
“Jerk.”
Who was that? …Steve? Steve?!
“Steve from Ohio?”
Steve!
Flashes of blond hair and blue eyes. A body that changed, but a face and personality that stayed the same.
“You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”
“Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight? I’m following him."
The memories were jumping around, pinballing so much that it was impossible to keep track of everything. First he was in a military camp. Then it was some cheap, old apartment complex. Next was some kind of laboratory, a location he was painfully familiar with now.
He was even catching glimpses of an old Stark Expo. Stark… Howard Stark… I killed him, didn’t I? Why did I kill him?! Not allowing himself to fall any further into the mental trap associated with the Stark name, he did his best to instead focus on that last conversation he’d remembered.
He’d been sitting at a bar, downing glasses of whiskey as easily as if they were mere shots. This had been after the laboratory, he was almost sure of it, his mind trying desperately to construct a weak timeline.
He had said that he would follow Steve, who was Captain America, into the jaws of death. And even well before that, he’d said that he was with Steve to the end of the line.
So… what had changed? What had happened? Why was he now following Pierce, and by proxy, Hydra?
None of this was making sense. None of it was adding up. Bucky wasn’t sure what to think anymore.
Whoa, where the hell did that come from?! Bucky?! Who the hell is Bucky? …Am I Bucky? Was that right? It didn’t sound wrong, but it’s not like he was playing with a full deck right now.
As Bucky struggled to keep his skull from splitting open and spilling his scrambled brains out all over the floor, Pierce, Rumlow, and Rollins began making their exit. By the time they were gone, Bucky’d gotten his head straightened out enough to know that he couldn’t afford to stay here in this cell. He needed to go and find Steve.
With his new goal in mind and recovered identity in place, Bucky took stock of himself and his surroundings. It felt as though he was seeing everything clearly for the first time in decades.
While his handlers had had him change into his tac gear, they had yet to equip him with any weapons. No knives, guns, or grenades of any kind. He silently cursed his luck, only to quickly remember that he was in fact armed… with his arm.
Bucky lifted the metal appendage out in front of him, rotating it this way and that way to thoroughly inspect it. The prosthesis was constantly undergoing various alterations as time passed. Through the years, new technologies were always being developed that aided in turning the arm into an even more lethal weapon that it already was. The idea made Bucky sick to his stomach.
While Bucky gave notice to the most recent updates made to his arm, the pair of insultingly low ranking Hydra agents who’d been left in charge of him were desperately trying to figure out how to manage and maintain the Winter Soldier.
One was flipping through the torn, weathered pages of his Little Red Book, looking for instructions on how to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. The other kept sending nervous glances Bucky’s way.
Bucky listened intently as one of the agents fumbled his way through the list of Bucky’s Words. The attempt was so poor, so butchered, that the Words didn’t even make a dent in Bucky’s mind. He felt none of the usual stabbing, blinding pain associated with them. His mind wasn’t abruptly overshadowed with an overwhelming, undeniable urge to obey.
Given that these two agents obviously had no idea what they were doing, Bucky knew he was safe… for now. He needed to seize his moment though. If he wasn’t long gone by the time Pierce came back, he could kiss his one chance at freedom goodbye. Hell, he could probably kiss his entire existence goodbye if Hydra actually managed to get their grubby fingers on the Tesseract and the Scepter.
Calm, cool, and collected, Bucky used his metal arm to grab hold of the barred door of his cell. It was his turn to be the one in control. His turn to be the one all of the Hydra agents feared and respected. He was no longer the Soldier they could just order around and abuse.
With a quick tug, Bucky wrenched the door open, busting the lock and completely pulling it off of its hinges.
The agent who hadn’t been feathering through the Little Red Book yelped, stumbling backwards and reaching blindly for the gun tucked away in his thigh holster. He aimed it at Bucky with shaking hands. The safety was still on.
Bucky smirked. Really? You’re gonna take me out? Yeah, not likely, pal.
“Dude, hurry up!”
“I know! I know!” The other agent was nearly tearing the pages out at this point. “I can’t read any of this shit!”
“Well figure it out! He’s coming!”
“Just shoot him then!”
The armed agent looked to be really considering it. If Bucky were to guess, he’d assume that the gun had mainly been for show. It had been nothing but an empty threat.
It’s not like hurting the Winter Soldier was off limits. Quite the opposite in fact. Pierce seemed to actively encourage it. However, it was one thing to rough the Soldier up a bit. It was another thing entirely to send a bullet straight through his torso. Pierce wouldn’t be too happy about it. Severe injuries of that nature were reserved for punishment sessions only.
The thought of punishment gave Bucky pause. God, if Pierce finds out about this… If I don’t escape…
With Bucky distracted, the armed agent had made up his mind. Evidently, he’d decided he would rather deal with an angry Pierce than a homicidal Winter Soldier. He pulled the trigger… and nothing happened.
“What the hell!? I said shoot him!”
“I did! I’m trying!” The agent started tapping on the side of the gun, like that was going to achieve anything. “The gun’s jammed or something.”
Or something. The safety’s still on, dipshit. Honestly, I’m shocked you haven’t tried looking straight down into the barrel yet.
Luckily, the circus act by Dumb and Dumber had been just enough to pull Bucky’s train of thought back on track. He couldn’t afford to worry about Pierce or the man's punishments right now. He needed to focus on his current self-appointed mission.
With that in mind, Bucky began stalking forward. With each advancing step, the agents’ eyes widened more and more, their frames trembling as they clutched at each other. He reveled in their fear. Good. You should be afraid of me.
The armed agent gasped out an aborted “please” just as Bucky bashed the two agents’ heads together, effectively knocking them out. The agents slumped to the floor, and he watched with morbid fascination as blood began spilling in great pools around them.
Maybe he hadn’t knocked them out. Maybe he’d killed them. It’s not like Bucky had been keeping a firm grip on his superhuman strength.
Bucky found that he didn’t really care either way though, and that realization scared him.
Killing wasn’t a foreign concept to Bucky. Well before he was forced to become the Winter Soldier, he’d done more than his fair share. He’d killed in order to defend and serve his country. More importantly, in his eyes, he’d killed in order to protect Steve. Never mind that Steve no longer really needed to be protected.
In all of those instances, Bucky’d merely been doing his job. Performing his duty to Steve and the United States army. But this? Hurting, possibly killing these agents? This had felt different.
Bucky had been unnecessarily merciless and cruel. He’d been purposefully scaring them. Toying with them. Enjoying it even. That wasn’t him. That wasn’t Bucky. That was the Winter Soldier. Did that mean he was still the Soldier?! Was he somebody in between?! He just wanted to be Bucky again!
Steve would know what to do. Steve always knew what to do. He was the Star Spangled Man with a Plan! Steve would know how to help him. He’d show Bucky how to be.
Bucky needed to get to Steve.