Chapter Text
Three months after the helicarriers had fallen, and the Soldier had still not managed to make it out of America.
Europe was his goal. In Europe, the Soldier could find safety. He could get to Europe, as long as he could hijack a boat.
The outgoing boats from this dock had a regular pattern, the Soldier had noticed. A regular pattern, and strict security principles. The best way to get on one of the boats would be to sneak into the cargo hold. He couldn't try and be staff. International travel had too many thorough checks and his Hydra-created passport wouldn't stand up to them, not anymore. Not after the files got leaked.
He couldn't afford to stay here long term. This motel was cash only and discreet, likely due to the large number of rich men using this place as a way to have sexual affairs. The fact that the Soldier had been here alone for nearly a week now must have been noticed by the receptionists. The Soldier would have to make a decision soon. Try and leave without adequate preparation and get found by port security, or stay in this motel and have the receptionists call for support.
Part of him still thought he should return to base. That option wasn't an option anymore. No bases were secure. The Soldier could be captured.
And that was beside the point that the Soldier didn't want to work for Hydra anymore. It wasn't so much of a realisation, more of a deep burning deep in his mind that Hydra would not have him again. It was a dissonant emotion, as his operational orders hadn't been revoked, and he had no reason to leave Hydra. Hydra was in dire straits. They would need all their weapons, and the Soldier was denying them the right to use him.
This dissonance within him had started when he'd seen the face of his target. Captain America. Steve Rogers.
It had been nearly a month since his last cryofreeze and the Soldier knew that leaving it this long would leave him vulnerable to poisonous thoughts, the kind that would require correction. And yet, the Soldier was oddly not afraid. Another example of that dissonance.
The Soldier left his position spying on the docks to prepare sustenance. He missed the protein packs Hydra had provided him with. They were an efficient way to ingest the calories he needed. He had had to learn how to make food that met his dietary requirements himself. There were so many small things that Hydra had prepared for him, given to him, that the Soldier was now responsible for himself, and none of them were even interesting. The Soldier's mind was built for studying weaponry, for analysing a fight and knowing exactly where to hit to kill the target in one blow. Not for figuring out how much protein was output from a recipe he'd found on the internet.
It was while he was preparing sustenance, there was a knock on the door. The Soldier's hand went to his gun, angled it towards the door. He did not receive room service as he had told them he couldn't be disturbed. Anyone who would want to see him could not be trusted.
"I have a job offer," a voice called. A man's voice, deep and scratchy. The Soldier did not recognise the voice, but that did not mean much. There were many voices of people he should know that he didn't recognise. Memories were - had been - irrelevant to the workings of the Soldier, but in this past month, he'd found that gap in his head more and more obnoxious.
"Let me in and I'll talk shop," the man called. "I know who you are."
The Soldier considered his position. It was unlikely that the man would be stronger than the Soldier. The Soldier had many weapons hidden around the motel room. Even if the man disarmed this gun, there were twenty-four more ways the Soldier could kill him.
The Soldier undid the latch. He stepped away from the door, held his gun out to the floor. He did not remove his fingers from the trigger.
The man stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.
"Better not to make a scene, right?" the man grinned at him. The Soldier stared back at him flatly.
"Not one for small talk, eh? That's fine, I can work with that. My team needs a super soldier, and I hear you're capable enough. The job will pay well, if you're even looking. If not, well," the man motioned to the docks outside. "You're here for a way out, right? We basically own this place. I can get you a ride, if you help us out with this one thing."
The Soldier considered this. The man did not appear to be Hydra, otherwise he would know the Soldier did not take or reject jobs. He did as he was ordered for the benefit of Hydra's continued operations. The Soldier did need an in to get onto one of those boats. He had no qualms for the moral circumstances of what this man was trying to get him to do. The Soldier was capable of anything.
"What's the job?" the Soldier asked. He put his gun down on the table next to him to show he was being compliant. It didn't matter that he could grab it and shoot within a second if things turned worse. It was about the appearance of obedience.
"We caught a fish that's a bit slippery to handle, if you get my drift." The man chuckled.
"Speak plainly," the Soldier said.
"Sheesh. Plain it is. We need someone to handle Captain America."
It was a good thing he'd placed the gun down, for his fingers twitched at the words There was no reason for the spasm, but like the dissonance that had infected the Soldier's mind since he saw Captain America, there had been a lot of unreasonable things happening since he'd left Hydra.
"You are planning to take him down?" The Soldier asked. The question sounded stupid even as he said it aloud. Of course they wanted to take Captain America down. Captain America is a target. The target.
The man grinned and the light glinted off his teeth.
"We already have him," the man said.
The Soldier's heart jolted out of his chest. There were too many emotions in him to describe, too many thoughts in a head so used to the quiet, and it was hard to breathe past the strangling sensation in his body.
"I'll take the job," the Soldier said. There was no thought in it, no logic, no planning.
The Soldier knew, with a deep-seated driving need, that he could not say no. He could not leave Captain America alone. But he also could not let Captain America see his face.
After pulling himself from the soggy, waterlogged banks of the Potomac river after Captain America had kicked him off the helicarrier, it had taken the Soldier a while to realise what had happened.
His exit team was unreachable, and Hydra was all over the news. So was he. His masked face, his metal arm. Dangerous, the newscasters said. Dangerous, avoid.
The Soldier had to hide himself. Outstanding orders. Lie low until exfiltration.
It took him a week longer to realise exfiltration was never going to happen.
During that time, the Soldier could not stop thinking about Captain America. It was logical to think about him. That was his final mission that had been interrupted. He had failed. Captain America had kicked him out of the helicarrier and the Soldier had been unable to avoid the blow.
The Soldier had been fighting erratically. He hadn't punched as hard as he could have, hesitated in moments he should not have, reacted stronger to blows than he used to. He needed someone to explain to him why. There was no one to do so, so the Soldier surmised there must be something about Captain America himself. Nothing that could indicate a weakness like this had been covered in his mission prep. More research was needed.
The Soldier spent the next few weeks hidden down in someone’s attic, stealing wifi from the neighbours on a laptop he’d found in a dumpster. He looked into interviews with the people that knew him, anything to understand the effect the Captain was having over him. The Soldier could find nothing to prove his theory, but he did find something else.
James Barnes. That person had initially seemed unimportant to him, just another long dead member of the Captain's team. He'd brushed him over like all the rest. That was until the Soldier had caught sight of his own reflection, his face staring back at him out of the glassy walls of a storefront.
The Soldier hadn't considered he didn't know what he looked like until he came up stark against the evidence that he didn't. He'd stood there, middle of a busy sidewalk, staring at those eyes he'd just seen printed next to Captain America.
He'd had to find a bathroom with a mirror to get a better look. The resemblance was uncanny, but it did not make sense. This James Barnes had died many years ago. The Soldier was only The Soldier. There was no start or end to his creation, there was simply existence.
It was impossible for him to be Barnes, and equally impossible for him to be a relative. Perhaps his face had been modelled in equal design after Barnes.
After that, it was harder to stop the flashes of memories running through his head. These memories troubled him, for they did not make sense. Memories of him standing next to Captain America, standing in the same place that Barnes had been in those photos. Captain America talking to him. Calling him a name that could not possibly be his, but left his brain sparking wildly, every noise too loud whenever he would wake gasping in the middle of the night.
The Soldier was used to thoughts out of order and not making sense. The Soldier existed only in the now, and whatever knowledge he needed for the mission was given to him when the technicians prepped him. Other people had memories. People with lives, with families. The Soldier did not have these things. He had only one thing, and that was his purpose, to fight, to survive, to exist until he found his next mission. He was a weapon, a human body enhanced beyond normal capabilities. Things like him did not have memories. These images he was now seeing must have been the result of a past mission that Hydra had implanted in him.
Other memories made sense - the tangy pain of the electrical shocks, the ache of punishment, the desperate need for approval from his handlers - the Soldier could accept those. They made sense to have happened to him, the weapon that he was. But the memories of Barnes?
The Soldier was not and never had been Captain America's best friend. The very idea was illogical.
He did understand that these memories and this face he wore made him a danger. He could be used against Captain America, the very act of recognition a weakness. It could not be allowed to happen. The idea of Captain America seeing his face, recognising James Barnes in the Soldier hurt like shards of glass trapped under his skin.
There was only one solution. The Soldier had to leave the country. And that was how the Soldier made his way to the docks.
The prison base was hidden under office blocks, a bustling suburbia right above. The Soldier saw all this through the windows of the jeep that drove them into the shielded carpark.
The man was still trying to talk to the Soldier. He wanted to know about Hydra, about what it had been like to work for such an organisation. The Soldier did not answer him. He preferred to glare out of the window.
Images of what they might have done with Captain America flashed through his head. The pain he felt over what he imagined was illogical. The Soldier had done much the same to him on the helicarrier. He had shot him, attempted to kill him. And yet now the idea of the Captain's death filled him with a great anxiety, much the same as if his target was about to slip from his grasp.
The Soldier had his mask and goggles strapped to his face. The man had no objections to this. The Soldier did not intend to take them off even if the man asked.
They led him out of the jeep and down a set of stairs. The Soldier ran calculations of how deep they were down under the earth. Deep enough that no one above would hear, concrete thick enough to ensure security. It was familiar. This was not a Hydra base, but it was built like one, and that oddly set the Soldier at ease. He knew what he was dealing with. He knew how to fight in bases like this. Both from what HYDRA had taught him, and from his newfound sprouts of memories before his last wipe.
The Soldier had remembered enough to know he'd tried to escape them, multiple times. He was strong, stronger than any single man that tried to cage him, and the idea that so many times he'd let them strap him back into his chair and take the bite guard now filled him with revulsion.
Hydra would not have him. These men would not have Captain America either.
This was not a mission given to the Soldier, but it felt like one nonetheless. A mission he could not fail.
They entered a long room with two tall tubes that stood in the centre. One of them was filled with a person, strapped inside with heavy bands of metal. The Soldier recognised him from the helicarrier. The flying man, Sam Wilson.
That was the first thing he saw, but that was not what drew his attention.
A group of people dressed like the man who had given him the job were standing around the corner of the room. The Soldier saw a flash of red, white and blue, and walked over, drawn by the sight.
The group parted, and he heard whispers as he stepped by, but he ignored them all.
There was Captain America, Steve Rogers. He was cuffed to the wall by his neck and arm. His legs and spare arm were free. The cuffs were the magnetic type, and this wall did not seem to be the final intended place for the Captain. The Soldier could read a long protracted fight in grooves in the floor, the splashes of blood. There were red lines dug into the Captain's neck, as if he'd tried to remove the cuff by clawing it off. Clearly he had failed at that.
The Captain looked at the Soldier and his expression curled. The Captain remembered the Soldier from the helicarrier. The last thing the Captain must have seen of him was the Soldier flying off into the distance, after he had kicked him away.
"Got him this far before he woke up, and this was the most we could manage. Need to move him into that tube, just like Wilson. Got that?" the man asked the Soldier.
The Soldier looked back at the tube. It had wheels on the base so once someone was inside, they would not need to be let out to move them wherever was needed. The restraints were heavy. The Soldier could tell that a super soldier like Captain America would not be able to dislodge them.
This group of armed people had not been enough to get him into the tube. The Soldier could track several guns and stun batons. He could also track injuries and an overall weariness that hung over the group. It would not be impossible to take them all on. If that was what the Soldier was here to do. He had not been given orders to come here, but had taken the job on an irrational instinct. He did not know what other irrational instincts would spur him on to do next.
Another man stepped over. He had a red mark on his face the shape of a boot.
"So you managed to hire someone who can get this done, huh?" The man looked at Captain America. "Good thing for it. I want to give this bastard a piece of my mind."
The man stood over Captain America, and the Soldier noticed the distance was not enough to be reached by the Captain. The man stood over the Captain, opened his mouth, and in one painfully crystal moment, spat at him.
The Soldier's gun was in his hand and firing before he could even process the thought. The man's brains splattered hot red against the grey wall.
The Soldier did not need to think to understand what came next. Everything that came after was motions, motions his body knew in the rhythm of him, decisions made that he did not even have to decide. This was a fight, and the Soldier knew how to fight.
He stripped the dead body of the man he'd shot for ammo, and threw him down over the Captain in one smooth motion. They were in close quarters, and the Soldier would work better without fearing risk of bullets hitting astray. He did not take a second to stop before moving onto the next.
His thoughts ran like a river from one act to the next. Shoot here, dodge a blow with his metal arm, grab the gun, bend the arm back, shoot - block the knife coming for him, steal it, send it back, right through the head, just like that yes you've got it now - kick that one into the wall, don't let the one behind you take the shot, cut his ankles, slam his head to the floor - grab the next one, bring him down, shoot, shoot again, reload, shoot -
One final bullet fired and the room was quiet except for the drip drip of blood hitting the floor. The Soldier stood in a wreckage of carnage. It had not even been difficult.
The tubes were flecked with blood, but it did not cover Sam Wilson's expression. The Soldier had assumed the tubes would be strong enough to handle bullet fire, and he was right. None had penetrated the outer coating.
A soft wheeze came from Captain America as he pushed the dead body off him. He was still cuffed to the wall and couldn't move away from the body - bodies - surrounding him. The Captain looked up at the Soldier, expression open in shock and disbelief.
Those blue eyes looked at the Soldier, covered in blood, and the Soldier could not help but look back.
Blue eyes, looking down at him. An arm over his shoulder. A gun in his hands, that was expected, but this was not a mission, this was protection, protection for blue eyes big hands blonde hair - no, thin man, small man, coughing man? Man looking at him with trust, with horror, man looking at him and seeing - seeing -
Blood. Carnage. Wreckage.
There was a wall behind the Soldier and the Soldier could not remember how he got here on the floor, breathing into his knees. His mind felt like it was about to shatter, too full of images that didn't make sense. This was the Captain's fault, it had to be.
The Captain. Steve. Steve, a voice whispered. A voice shouted. Steve.
Captain Steve was doing something to him. There was a pain in the Soldier, a pain that had not been there before. People around him were dead, brutally so, and that fact had never bothered him before, but now, it hurt. It hurt like electricity. It hurt like a bullet. It hurt that Captain Steve was there seeing him like this, seeing him be this, and was still here, and wait - Captain Steve was saying something now.
" - ey! Hey!" Captain Steve was saying.
The Soldier raised his head and looked at the Captain. He could not see any signs of spit left on him, and that thought brought him tremendous glee. The man who had done that was dead.
Dead, and the Soldier had chucked his dead body over Steve like it was nothing -
The Soldier focused in on the present to stop himself from falling into his thoughts, the rapid pace of his breathing a metronome reminding himself where he was.
Now the Soldier was looking at the Captain, he didn't seem sure what to say next. His eyes flicked warily to the Soldier's gun. It had fallen to the floor at some point. It must have been during the time went the world blanked out and the Soldier found himself against the wall.
"Are you here with Hydra?" the Captain asked. This was the Captain's words when said in that firm tone, orders in war, march with him, march forward for him -
Stop.
The Soldier had to answer. He was not ordered to, but he could not leave the Captain's question unanswered.
"I'm not with Hydra," the Soldier said. "I will never work with Hydra again."
The Captain's eyebrows raised in surprise, but he quickly covered that expression.
"Alright," Captain Steve said. "So you're here on your own?"
The Soldier nodded.
"Okay, okay," the Captain muttered to himself. He seemed confused, as confused as the Soldier was about his own irrational actions.
The Captain shifted as much as he could, muscles in his neck twisting against the metal restraint as he pulled against it. It occurred to the Soldier that this position couldn't be comfortable for him. It kept his neck up slightly too high for him to sit flat on the floor. One leg was bent just to keep him raised enough not to strangle himself. The other leg was stuck straight out, and now the room was still and quiet, the Soldier could see there something wrong in the pose.
The Captain slumped, unable to release the magnetism. He grabbed onto the metal cuff, but did not try to pull it away, leaning his weight against the arm in a bid for comfort.
"I will take off the cuffs," the Soldier said. It was an answer that came as easy to him as the urge to fight had, although he could not understand why he had not thought of doing so earlier. It was irrational, but in that irrational urge, it seemed totally, completely normal. The Soldier was letting Steve go free.
"Steve," Sam Wilson in the tube said. "Don't let him close to you. Are you insane?"
"I don't think he's going to hurt me. He could have done so already." Steve's words were for Sam, but his eyes were held firmly on the Soldier. Did he know? Could he see, that under the mask, was a face so familiar to him?
The Soldier felt that painful dissonance spark through him. He wanted to remove the mask, wanted to reach close and show Steve what he had found, and yet a horrible part of him wanted to walk away and never let Steve know.
The Soldier compromised. He moved closer to Steve, and did not remove the mask.
He placed his metal hand on the cuff, moving slowly not to scare Steve. It did not look like Steve was going to be scared, but the Soldier could not fight the urge to avoid making things worse.
The Soldier tugged at the cuff, but it did not budge. He could feel the electric hum of the magnets work in overtime against the Soldier's grip.
"There's a key card. Man over there with the - the knife in his head," Steve said.
That made sense. They had wanted the Soldier to move Captain America. They would have needed a way to release him.
The Soldier moved over to the body, pilfered through his pockets. The body's arm fell over to one side and the Soldier tugged it away, ignoring the blood that pooled over the floor and dampened his knees. He had found the key card.
He came back to the cuff and placed it first against the one at Steve's throat. The mag cuff fell off the wall into Steve's lap, and the Soldier pressed the key card to the other one.
Steve pulled his wrist away and flexed it, cracked his neck to one side. There were red marks all along his neck and the Soldier had a sudden vivid flash of fingers rubbing along his neck, soothing out the pain.
The closer the Soldier got to the Captain, the more these flashes appeared. He was affecting him, able to place memories in his mind without even the use of the chair. A truly formidable opponent.
"What happens now?" The Captain asked.
The Soldier looked at him blankly.
"What do you want?" The Captain added.
"I want to get you out here," the Soldier said.
"And then what? To where?" The Captain was rubbing at his wrist, stretching out his fingers. He was tense, as if about to jump into a fight.
"Outside," the Soldier said.
"And then what?" The Captain asked, exasperated.
The Soldier did not have an answer for that.
"I want to get you outside," he repeated. Anything after that was blank white fog. He did not have orders. He was giving himself orders as he went, and with no mission report, he was not sure on the best operation. He did not think taking Captain America with him to Europe was a good idea, but he also did not want to leave Captain America alone. If Captain America made a motion in any particular direction, then the Soldier would follow that.
"Any room for me in this plan?" came from the tube.
"He is irrelevant," the Soldier said.
Steve's face went stern, and the Soldier couldn't help but feel reprimanded, the echo of an shadow of an emotion.
"He is not irrelevant. If you want me outside, he's coming with us." The words left no room for doubt.
The Soldier obeyed, standing up and walking over to the tube. These restraints were internal, so theoretically the door would be weaker than the cuffs.
The Soldier punched through the door lock with ease, theory proven right. He swivelled his hand around and crushed the inner electronics in his metal fingers. The door popped open with a hiss and the restraints opened. Sam Wilson pushed himself out, and collapsed onto his knees on the open ground.
Out of the tube, it was clear to see he had sustained a great many injuries. Bruising around his neck and blood trickling down his arms from deep gashes. He did not have the same capacity for healing as Captain America so these injuries would persist.
"Sam!" Captain America pushed himself forwards. His own leg still hung forward strangely, but he ignored it. He reached out to grasp Sam's arm, hooking it around his shoulders as he pulled them upright.
The Soldier was strong enough to carry Sam on his own, but he did not tell them that. The Soldier thought that whatever was wrong with the Captain's leg, that was more important. Sam Wilson's health was irrelevant.
The Captain and Sam stood up together, an unsteady pair. Unsteady, but they were standing.
The Soldier grabbed a gun from the floor and stole ammo from the pockets of the dead men. He walked towards the door, not looking back to see if the Captain and Sam were following. He could hear them scrape their way across the floor and that was enough.
The stairs took a while. The Soldier could have cleared them with ease, but he had to stop and wait for the others to catch up. Each time, he heard them whisper to each other. They did not say anything that could been relevant, just words of encouragement. Of aid, to help them push past the injuries keeping them from ascending the stairs.
This annoyed the Soldier. Another irrational emotion. He had images of himself in that position, at the Captain's side. Words of encouragement passed between each others lips. Sam Wilson was now taking that place in reality, but the vision wouldn't stop flickering before the Soldier's eyes.
His head hurt, pain growing stronger and more intense with each passing step.
They reached the top of the stairs. The Captain lifted Sam up past the final step.
He looked at the carpark, the wide open door to the outside, and muttered to Sam "We made it out, pal - "
" - made it out, pal."
"Sure, and I suppose those men over there don't count," Bucky chuckled.
Steve hefted his shield in one hand. Bucky was injured, leaning on him for support, but Steve was the best support he could have asked for. This had been a good day for the Commandos, until Bucky nearly got his leg blown off by a landmine. It hadn't even been planted, just a prototype in a lab.
"I can take 'em," Steve said, before he threw the shield. It rebounded off the soldier's gun, knocking the shot into another while the shield curved back to Steve, ready to be thrown again, and Bucky watched in wonder, just like he always did when his friend fought. Just like the awe that came bubbling out of him at the work of art science had made his friend, the hero in body that his heart had always been, and even then, Bucky was still here, still following him, still helping him in the best way he could -
The gun was in the Soldier's hand and it was aimed at the Captain.
"What did you do to me?" he snarled. His hand was shaking and he could not make it stop.
"Put the gun down and we can talk this through." The Captain's voice was steady even as he held himself tense and still, grasping onto Sam as if dropping him would make a difference.
"Tell me what you did to me!" The Soldier pressed his free hand to his head. It hurt so much, but he could not feel any injuries on the outside. It was all inside, all the wrongness in him that needed to be wiped, but it couldn't be just that because the Soldier could not be James Barnes so that meant someone had put those memories inside him and there was only one person that that could be and he was standing at the end of the Soldier's gun and one shot could clear it but he couldn't take the shot he couldn't ever take that shot and it hurt -
"I didn't do anything to you," the Captain insisted. His voice was raised, clear and steady with intent. Not a lie, or at most, not sounding like a lie.
It had to be a lie. What else was this, what else was this rolling wrongness inside the Soldier, ever since he'd left Hydra. What was this? What was this Barnes, that phantom, that figure he saw in the mirror? Why? What for?
"The memories in my head," the Soldier said. His gun hand waved towards his head and the Captain looked nervous at the motion, as if the Soldier had ever slipped on a shot, as if he were able. "The memories you keep showing me. Make them stop."
"Look, man, we don't know what the hell you're talking about. You wanted us outside, we can go outside. But you have to put the gun down." That was the irrelevant Sam Wilson. Not the Captain. For the Captain's mouth was open, but no words were coming, because he just looked confused.
The Captain had to understand. The Soldier would make him understand.
He ripped the mask off his face. It fell to the floor with a rattling thunk. Fresh air touched his skin, cold and welcoming. Exposure at last.
The Captain's eyes widened with shock and horror.
Finally, he understood.
"You know this face. Why do I have this face?" The Soldier stalked forward. Something in him was drawing him closer. Was that the Captain’s doing too?
"…Bucky?" The Captain reached out but his hand stopped half way, dangling by his shoulder.
"Did I work for you before? Did you put the memories in me?" The Soldier was so close now, muzzle of the gun only a few steps away from touching the Captain. He could hear his own rasping breath. His head hurt and it wouldn't stop, and the Soldier wanted the Captain to make it stop.
"You don’t remember me?”
"Steve," Sam Wilson said. “You have to get the gun off him.”
"I'm sorry," the Captain said. "Oh god, Bucky, I'm so sorry - "
"Then make it stop!" The Soldier grabbed at his hair. His head hurt so much, but the external pain helped release it, helped distract him from the pain inside him. He yanked it harder. Pain was a focus, it was a release. He did not want to work for HYDRA ever again, but they had known this would settle the aching in his head.
"Stop! Don't hurt yourself." The Captain made a move forward, and the Soldier flinched back. Too close, too close. The Captain stopped and his expression looked utterly shattered. Pain, too strong in his eyes. Did this hurt him like it hurt the Soldier? Why would it do that? The Captain must be involved in his face and the images. Why would he not make the pain stop?
There was a noise from outside. A man in police uniform running down the stairs. The Soldier turned. A witness that had to be disposed of. He aimed his gun.
Something heavy collided with him - the Captain - and together they fell to the ground.
"Go! I've got this under control!" the Captain yelled at the policeman.
The Soldier heard footsteps. A coward fleeing the scene. The Soldier did not look away, not from the Captain, so close to him. They were touching now, and the feeling burned hot through every point of his body. The Soldier could not stop his lungs from gasping for air. He was drowning in the sensation, in the echo of memories brought from the touch.
"Steve, make it stop, Steve please," the Soldier was gasping. He was barely conscious of it, outside himself. There was a ringing in his ears and his head hurt, and he couldn't breathe but the Captain was here but Steve was here and his job was to keep him safe not to fall apart and yet that was what he was doing and this was wrong all wrong -
The Captain held him steady in his arms and breathed with him.
"One, two, in, out, okay?" He could feel Steve's voice vibrate in his chest. "Bucky, are you with me?"
All of this was irrational, it did not make mission sense. Steve was talking to him as if he was Bucky, as if he was that man. That would have been the intention of a copy with the same face, but then if so why had Hydra not used that against him? Why had they kept him in the mask? If this was a weapon, why not use it?
Why did being called Bucky in that voice sound so right?
"Who am I?" the Soldier whispered.
"You're Bucky," came Steve's voice, solid, instant. "James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. My friend."
"I hurt you." The Soldier closed his eyes and it was warm and safe in the darkness. "It hurts."
"I know, I know. We'll figure this out."
The buzzing lessened in his head. If he just accepted the images, the memories, they flowed through him. Trying to resist what they showed him hurt more. He wanted to be that man Steve saw, that man that hung onto Steve's arm like it was the only place in the world he belonged.
But the Soldier knew that was impossible. The Soldier had been born for HYDRA’s mission, no beginning, no end. That mission he now denied, but that did not change how the Soldier had been created. He was not like the others. He was not a person, with memories and friends and family.
Wherever these memories had come from, they had not come from Steve. He knew that now. Steve did not mean to harm him. They must have come from somewhere else. The Soldier needed more intel before he could understand.
"Bucky." Steve's voice grew intent. The Soldier knew in that way when he knew without knowing why that that meant Steve had focused on something, something important. He did not argue back against the name. He was hurting too much to make the effort. "Is there anyone else coming here? From Cerberus?"
"What's Cerberus?"
"That's the group that caught us. You didn't know? That doesn't - that doesn't matter. But no one else is coming?"
The Soldier shook his head. It rubbed against where Steve held him.
"How did you find us?"
"They hired me. Had to come get you."
Steve went quiet. The Soldier could feel his breathing move rhythmically against him, a soft grounding pattern in the darkness of his closed eyes.
"You came to help me, didn't you?"
“Couldn’t let them take you,” the Soldier said.
"And you did," Steve's voice sounded choked. "You got me out."
"I don't want to interrupt, but I think we should be getting out of here. If that policeman brings backup, I can't imagine that ending well."
The Soldier opened his eyes to glare at Sam Wilson. It had been nice when he had been quiet. The Soldier had been able to ignore his presence.
Steve shifted back, letting go of the Soldier. The Soldier felt faint without him, but did not let it show, resting back on his arms. The pain was not so bad now, and he did not feel himself drifting away in the past like he had been a few moments ago.
"There's a phone over there - if you send a code to Stark's number, he'll send over a quinjet, here, I'll show you." Steve went over to Sam, who had lowered himself onto the floor, braced against the wall. The Soldier felt adrift without the anchor of human weight right next to him.
“We’re bringing him?” Sam glared at the Soldier.
“I’m not leaving him behind,” Steve said, resolute. “Can you tell the others to expect him?”
Sam sighed, but complied. He typed away at the phone. Task completed, Steve returned to the Soldier. The Soldier had not realised he had not expected Steve to return until the very minute he did, and happy surprise blossomed in the Soldier's mind. The Soldier was not Barnes, but Steve was… Steve was something good. It did not matter if this good thing was not supposed to belong to the Soldier. The Soldier wanted it, in a way he had not ever felt. He’d decided to go to Europe, pragmatically, responsibly, but he had not wanted. Not like this.
He wanted to give something good back to Steve in return. His gaze turned to the way Steve was half dragging himself across the floor, leg unable to bend.
"It's healed in the wrong position," Steve explained, catching him looking. "I'll need to reset it but I don't think I can manage that right now."
"I can do it," the Soldier said, prompt before his brain could catch up. Was it wise to put his hands on Steve in a way that could injure him further? Did the Soldier trust his own hands, made for handling weaponry, to fix this?
Steve blinked at him. "If you think you can…"
"I can," the Soldier said, strong and clear. He reached out with his hands, slow and tentative. He felt the bone, felt how it had twisted itself out of place, locking straight up. The Soldier understood this all in reverse. He knew how to break, how to cause harm that could not be so easily fixed but would not immediately kill. It was easy to reverse the idea, to imagine the motions necessary.
The Soldier let his hands move and the bone slipped into place. Steve's face twisted in agony, but he did not scream out, did not tell the Soldier to stop, so the Soldier continued.
Steve let out a ragged gasp when it was all over. Sweat pooled on his cheeks and neck, but he looked profoundly grateful.
"Jet's here," Sam said. The Soldier could hear it now he was looking for it, a soft humming in the air of the motors.
Steve looked at the Soldier, and his expression was cautious. The Soldier wanted his expression to be happy, to not be filled with that doubt, but the Soldier could not think of anything he could do to change it.
"Are you going to come with us?"
The Soldier was wrong, he realised. There was something he could do to change it.
"Yes," the Soldier said. "I am not leaving you."
The smile breaking out over Steve's face was just as good as the Soldier imagined it to be.