Chapter Text
Steve inserts the last chip and sighs in relief, slumping against the console. The speaker in his ear crackles to life as Hill's voice sounds.
"Okay Steve, get out of there."
Steve raises his wrist to his mouth, knowing they can't afford to wait. "Fire now. I'll find a way out."
There's a slight pause on the line. "Steve, are you sure?"
"I'm sure. Do it. Fire now."
There's a pause, and then the sound of the Helicarriers shifting, guns locking into place. Steve makes his way down to the glass floor, where the Winter Soldier lies limp and unmoving, as explosions sound and the Helicarrier rocks around him, making him stumble. He crouches down next to the unconscious form, cautiously pressing two fingers to the Soldier's neck.
A pulse flutters under his fingers, slow and shallow. Not dead, then. Steve had choked him unconscious to get the chip, not caring if he'd killed him, but if he's alive then Steve can't just leave him here. He's dangerous, and will surely work to rebuild Hydra in the wake of the Helicarriers. No, he needs to be taken in. But where? SHIELD is compromised, is going up in flames along with Hydra. Steve's not sure who he can trust. He needs somewhere that will hold a supersoldier, if that's what the soldier is, and that Hydra can't find him to rescue him.
The idea comes to him. Tony. The tower is the safest place imaginable, and Stark has rooms built to contain the Hulk. Even if the Winter Soldier is a supersoldier like Steve, he won't be able to break free.
The Helicarrier rumbles and pieces of metal crash down around them, making Steve duck. First he needs to get out of here. He crouches, manhandling the soldier's limp body into a fireman's carry over his shoulder before standing. The Soldier is heavy, especially with the metal arm, but it's still nothing for Steve's enhanced body. He makes his way to the edge of the fishbowl, peering over the side that's been ripped away by falling shrapnel. The water of the Potomac flows beneath him, already filled with debris but a better alternative than land.
Steve rearranges the Soldier so he's carrying him bridal style, tucking him close to his body. It's strange, holding the deadly assassin so intimately in his arms, but he can't risk losing him to the water. The soldier is warm against him, face strangely peaceful in unconsciousness and long hair spilling over Steve's shoulder. He looks young, and vulnerable, and Steve has to remind himself that he's a bloodthirsty assassin who shot Fury and tried to kill him multiple times. There's nothing innocent about him. Steve shoves the thoughts down, focusing on getting them both out. He steps to the edge, takes a deep breath, and jumps.
He hits the water hard, immediately kicking out with his feet to propel him to the surface. He readjusts his grip on the Soldier, looping his arms around him from the back and kicking backwards, making sure his head is clear of the water. He makes it to shore, dodging falling debris, and drags the Soldier up onto the bank. He pauses only a moment to rest before slinging the Soldier over his shoulder again and setting off, feet squishing in his wet boots.
He sticks to the shadows, not wanting anyone to see him. Even SHIELD. It's better if no one knows that he's captured the Winter Soldier. Safer. He sends a silent apology to Sam, swearing he'll call him and Hill as soon as he gets a phone. Right now, he doesn't have time to let them know he's alive. The Soldier could wake up any minute.
He makes his way to the road and finds someone's vehicle, abandoned in favor of videotaping the destruction. People are standing on the bank gawping, phones raised, and the don't notice as Steve circles behind them and slips into one of the cars, finding the keys still in the ignition. He sets the Soldier down in the backseat and takes off his shield harness, managing to rig it into a makeshift restraint that wraps around the Soldier's mismatched wrists. He pats the Soldier down for weapons, removing no less than six knives from various places and two more guns. He puts the weapons in the trunk and then slides into the driver's seat and starts the car, driving away.
The Soldier wakes an hour into the drive, the sound of his breathing changing the only warning Steve gets before he jolts upwards and kicks the door out with his feet as Steve screeches the car to a halt on the side of the road. Steve jumps out and runs to the side nearest the Soldier's head, managing to get his arm around the Soldier's neck as he thrashes, silent as always. He squeezes until the Soldier goes limp again, sighing in relief. He lets the Soldier fall limp against the seat again, moving to close the door he'd kicked out, though the locking mechanism is broken. He climbs into the car again and keeps driving.
He stops for gas once, and has to knock the Soldier out two more times before they arrive at the Tower. He pulls up to where he knows the underground parking structure is, waiting for the camera to recognize him. After a minute, the wall moves and an opening emerges, Steve driving through into the structure as it closes behind him. He stops next to the elevator and gets out, grabbing the Soldier and slinging him over his shoulder before stepping into the elevator.
"Good evening, Captain Rogers," JARVIS says, voice cool and crisp as always. "May I inquire as to the nature of your visit?"
"Hello JARVIS," Steve replies. "I need a secure room to hold an enhanced prisoner."
"Floor fifty-two. Sir has taken the initiative to build a secure cell and interrogation room. Shall I tell him that you're here?"
"Yeah. And I'll need to make a couple calls."
"Of course, Captain Rogers. I shall inform Sir of your arrival."
"Thanks, JARVIS."
The elevator ascends and stops with a ding on floor fifty-two, Steve stepping off. He finds the cell JARVIS talked about, which adjoins to an interrogation room complete with a reinforced chair and manacles and a two-way mirror. He sets the Soldier into the chair and restrains him with magnetic cuffs around his wrists and ankles that attach to the chair, the chair itself bolted to the floor. The Soldier's head lolls limply, chin touching his chest and tangled hair dangling around his face. He smells like river water and sweat, and Steve knows he smells no better. He's still in his uniform, the straps stiffening from the water and starting to chafe. He desperately needs a shower and clean clothes, but he has to make sure everything is taken care of first.
The elevator dings and Steve turns, seeing Tony step through.
"Cap! I'm almost glad to see you. Almost. What happened in DC? Apparently you broke the government or something? Why wasn't I invited?"
Steve sighs, feeling almost glad to see Tony as well. Almost. "SHIELD was Hydra," he explains wearily. "Tried to take over the world with Project Insight. I didn't have time to call you, and besides, didn't you say you were retired?"
Tony waves a hand. "Seriously? Hydra? And whatever. I mean, yes, I did trash all my suits and have open-heart surgery, but I'm still offended you didn't call me. I helped design those Helicarriers, you know. Anyways, what are you doing here? JARVIS says you have a prisoner?"
Steve nods. "You ever heard of the Winter Soldier?"
Steve steps out of the shower, luxuriating in the feeling of being clean. He towels off and dresses in the clothes awaiting him in his room, which has already been set up for him. Apparently he has his own floor that Tony had wanted him to move into. He feels slightly bad. Tony obviously cares, in his own way.
After he'd explained everything in DC to Tony, he'd called Sam and Hill and informed them of what happened. Tony had found the person whose car he'd stolen and sent them money, and sent a quinjet to pick Hill and Sam up. They should be here any minute. The Soldier had woken up a little while ago, but after a brief spike in vitals he'd simply stared into space. Steve still hasn't heard him make a sound. It was eerie, fighting him, the only sound the Soldier's sharp breathing through the mask. Even when Steve had landed a hit, the Soldier hadn't so much as grunted. It's like he didn't even feel the hits, though he must have. And his eyes are so dead, his face so blank. Without the mask it's almost even more unsettling. The Soldier is oddly beautiful, Steve thinks, with his blue eyes and soft features and long hair, but he lacks the warmth of expression. He looks like an automaton, like there's not actually a person behind his eyes, like his soul has been sucked out and replaced with nothing but the imperative to fight. He's a ruthless and efficient fighter, certainly a match for Steve. Maybe better. Steve fights to injure usually, and reacts to pain. The Soldier fights to kill, and as if he doesn't care what happens to him. He uses his body as a weapon, without care for injury, and that's what makes him dangerous. Given time, a small voice tells Steve that the Soldier might win against him.
After grabbing a bite to eat, Steve makes his way to the fifty-second floor again. Tony is watching the Soldier, tapping on a tablet as he peers at him inquisitively. Steve steps up next to him, seeing what looks like notes and a schematic of a cybernetic arm on the tablet before he glances at the Soldier. The Soldier doesn't appear to have moved a muscle, still sitting silent and motionless as he stares ahead blankly. His gaze lands just to the left of Steve through the glass, and even though Steve knows it's two-way it still feels like he can see straight through him. It's unsettling. He doesn't even blink, just stares ahead with dead eyes. Steve starts to worry about brain damage from choking him out multiple times.
The elevator dings and Sam and Hill step through, looking exhausted. Sam's face is slightly bruised, but both of them look relatively uninjured and have even changed their clothes.
"Romanoff is staying to help clean things up," is the first thing Hill says. "I'll probably be needed back there, but I want to process him first." She jerks her head towards the still figure in the interrogation room.
Steve nods. "Sounds good. Thanks for coming." He addresses Sam. "You didn't have to come."
Sam shrugs. "Sounded like fun. It's crazy in DC, I can stand to be away for a few days."
Tony steps forwards, extending a hand. "Tony Stark."
Sam takes it. "Sam Wilson. Nice to meet you."
"I hear you were part of the Falcon program."
Sam nods, then grimaces. "Yeah, but the last pair are destroyed. By him." He nods towards the Soldier.
Tony grins. "Oh, I think I can make much better ones."
"Later, boys," Hill admonishes tiredly. "Let's get this done. He's secure?"
Steve nods. "And no weapons. Besides the arm, of course."
"Then let's get him printed and see if we can get an identity. Stark, do you have a fingerprint scanner?"
Tony scoffs. "You have to ask? Cabinet over there, top left drawer."
Hill walks over to the cabinet and withdraws an electronic fingerprint scanner before stepping to the door. She pushes it open, Steve close behind her. The Soldier's eyes snap to them but he doesn't move, expression staying blank. Hill sets the scanner on the table in front of him.
"Okay, here's how this is going to go. Hydra is going down, the Helicarriers are destroyed, and we've got you in custody. No one knows you're here, and you can bet this isn't through the legal system. You're a terrorist and an assassin. You don't have rights. If you comply, maybe we'll go easy on you."
Steve swallows down his discomfort. He knows part of Hill's speech is a bluff, or at least he hopes so. No matter what the Soldier has done, he still has rights and deserves fair treatment. They're certainly not going to torture him.
"Do you understand?" Hill questions.
The Soldier's blank stare flicks between Steve and Hill, and then he nods slightly, a short jerk of his head. Hill pushes the fingerprint scanner towards his right hand.
"Okay, set your fingers on here."
The Soldier extends his fingers and rests them on the scanner, range of motion limited by the cuffs. The scanner lights up and then beeps, and Hill pulls it back.
"We're going to run your prints, and if that doesn't work we'll use facial recognition. Either way, we'll figure out your identity. But we could save time if you just tell us. What's your name?"
The Soldier's stare returns to the middle distance. Steve feels a spark frustration. Apparently the Soldier doesn't intend to cooperate. He should have expected that. No doubt he's extremely loyal to Hydra given his record, though Steve had checked for fake teeth and cyanide but found none. So the Soldier has no intention of dying, which seems strange given the way he fights. Something feels off, though Steve can't put his finger on it.
Hill puts her hands on the table and leans in, posture slightly threatening. "You're not doing yourself any favors by staying silent. Like I told you, we'll find out eventually. You might as well tell us."
The Soldier doesn't so much as blink. Steve sighs internally.
Hill pats the table with a hand. "Alright, if that's how you want to play it. We'll be back." She leaves the room, Steve glancing back at the Soldier before following. Tony and Sam are standing outside, watching through the window.
"Anything yet?" Hill asks.
Tony shakes his head, looking down at his tablet. "Nope. No hits yet. I'm guessing we won't get one, though, considering who he is. He's careful."
"What about facial recognition?"
"Trying that too. Nothing yet."
They all fall silent, settling in to wait as Tony's tablet flashes through potential matches. Sam and Hill set their stuff in their rooms and shower as Steve watches the Soldier, who doesn't even shift as the minutes tick by. It's like he's not human. An hour passes, then another. They order Thai food and eat it, and still the Soldier doesn't move. He must be hungry or at least thirsty, but he shows no sign of discomfort. His vitals remain steady. Steve debates offering him water or food, but Hill rejects it. The more uncomfortable he is, the more likely he is to talk.
"We're not going to torture him," she says, "but we can make him pretty uncomfortable."
Steve agrees. He has no sympathy for the Soldier. He had chosen to work for Hydra, to kill dozens of people for them. He's not a good guy, and though Steve won't condone torture he doesn't really care for the Soldier's comfort.
Tony's tablet dings at the three hour mark and he frowns.
"What?" Steve questions.
Tony shakes his head. "There's nothing. No hits on fingerprints or facial recognition. It's impossible. I went through every security camera, every photo database, every digital high school yearbook, everything."
Steve thinks of Natasha's words. Over two dozen assassinations in the past fifty years. He thought that maybe the Winter Soldier was a title, passed on from operative to operative, but what if it's been the same person all along? Steve had survived almost seventy years in the ice, if the Soldier is enhanced as well he could have undergone something similar.
"Try going back fifty years," Steve says slowly. "The Winter Soldier's been active for fifty years, maybe he's older than he looks."
"The problem is that there's no way to check fifty years ago," Tony responds. "There wasn't really security cameras back then, or police databases. I don't have every high school yearbook or photograph on file to look through."
Steve sighs in frustration. Without knowing an identity, they don't have much to go on. There's little to no information on the Soldier anywhere, even in the top security agencies in the world. It's like he doesn't exist, and yet he's sitting right in front of them. He has to be someone. He had to come from somewhere.
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. "Let me talk to him."
Hill shrugs. "You can try." She holds out an earpiece. "We'll monitor his vitals, tell you if we get a reaction."
Steve takes the earpiece, tucking it into place. "Wish me luck."
"Good luck," they chorus, as Steve takes a breath and pushes through the door. The Soldier's gaze snaps to his in that disconcerting way again, following him as he sinks down into a chair across the table from him.
"I'm Steve," Steve says, "but I'm sure you already know that, given you tried to kill me." He gives a wry smile. The Soldier just stares at him blankly. "You must be thirsty," Steve continues. "Want some water?"
The Soldier doesn't respond. Steve forges ahead.
"I'm sure we could get you some, if you answered a couple of questions first. You're really not doing anything by staying silent. Hydra is going down. You understand? It's gone, and you're never going to see the light of day again. You'll never go back to Hydra again. You might as well tell us what you know."
The Soldier stays silent, but Hill speaks softly in Steve's ear. "His vitals spiked slightly."
Steve files this information away, figuring out where to press. "So, how long have you been working for Hydra? A long time, I'm guessing. All that for nothing, huh."
The Soldier's right hand twitches, fingers curling and meeting his thumb to make an "o." It's a deliberate gesture, like a sign, but it makes no sense. Zero years?
Steve frowns. "What are you doing?"
The Soldier looks at him, and then wiggles his fingers. There's the faintest crease in his brow.
"His vitals are elevated," Hill informs Steve.
Steve takes a breath. "Okay, I don't know what you're trying to do. Just talk to me."
The Soldier's mouth pinches downwards and he makes a series of movements with his right hand.
"His vitals are really spiking," Hill says.
None of this makes sense. Steve tries to order his thoughts. The Soldier obviously doesn't want to talk, but he has no idea what the hand movements are. It's not ASL, because Steve knows that, and it's not any military signs he recognizes. He's not sure if the Soldier is playing with him, or something else is going on. The Soldier is smart and ruthless, so Steve opts for the former. He's probably toying with him, having no intention of breaking under interrogation. It's evening now, and Steve is exhausted. Maybe morning will bring better results.
Steve stands up abruptly. "Alright, if you're not going to cooperate I'm done. I'll let you think this over for a while. Right now, you're going to go into a cell for the night. You try anything, this room fills with knockout gas. Got it?"
The Soldier gives a sharp nod. Steve gets up and crosses the room, opening the door to the cell. Then he unlocks the cuffs from the Soldier's legs and detaches the wrist ones from the chair, snapping the Soldier's wrists together in front of him. He takes him by the arm and leads him to the cell, shutting him in and opening the small slot in the middle.
"Put your wrists here."
The Soldier places his cuffed wrists on the small ledge and Steve unlocks the cuffs as Hill walks in, passing him a bundle of white scrubs. Steve passes them through the slot into the Soldier's hands.
"Put these on, and give your old clothes to me."
There's the sound of rustling and a minute later the Soldier's tac gear is passed through the slot, damp with sweat and smelling like river-water. Steve closes the slot, putting the magcuffs back on the chair and exiting the room. The door is locked and reinforced, and JARVIS is monitoring the cell. The Soldier isn't going anywhere. Steve passes the others, setting the tac gear on a table.
"Come on. Let's get some rest. We'll deal with him in the morning."
The others mumble agreement and follow him, splitting off to their respective floors. Steve gets ready and falls into bed, lying awake for a while with mind spinning with the events of the day before he finally drops off into a restless sleep.
Steve peers at the screen showing the cell, the Soldier sitting on the bed motionless. "So, what did he do last night?"
"According to JARVIS, he just sat there," Tony replies. "Didn't sleep at all. We gave him some food and water this morning, but he didn't touch it."
Steve presses his lips together. Well, the Soldier might not have had a cyanide capsule, but it seems he's trying to kill himself slowly regardless. Hunger strike. This might be harder than they thought.
"I'll try to talk to him again," Steve says tiredly. "Find anything on his identity?"
Tony shakes his head. "Still nothing."
Steve sighs, and then heads into the room, picking up the magcuffs and opening the slot on the cell door.
"Wrists here," he intones.
He hears the Soldier get up and his quiet footsteps approach before two mismatched wrists are shoved through the slot, hands curled loosely. Steve snaps the cuffs over his wrists and waits for him to withdraw before opening the door. The Soldier heads right for the chair, sinking into it without resistance as Steve cuffs his ankles and separates his wrists, activating the magnets on the cuffs again to attach them to the arms of the chair. He takes the chair opposite, studying the Soldier. He's wearing the white scrubs, revealing a scar in the hollow of his throat. His skin looks pale and clammy, hair limp and tangled with sweat, and he has dark circles under his eyes. He looks almost ill, or like he hasn't seen the sun in years. How long? Steve wonders. How long has he been working for Hydra? Years? Decades?
"Good morning," Steve starts. "You thought any further about cooperating?"
The Soldier's hand makes a strange movement again.
"I don't know what you're trying to say unless you talk to me."
The Soldier's hand moves again, motions jerky, a crease appearing on his forehead.
"His vitals are spiking," Hill says. Steve stares at the scar on the Soldier's throat, and has a strange suspicion.
"Can you speak?" Steve asks.
The Soldier shakes his head sharply. Steve blinks.
"You can't speak at all?"
The Soldier shakes his head again. Steve considers. The Winter Soldier is a high-level operative, and if Steve is right, has been operating for decades. If he was caught, Hydra would want to ensure he couldn't spill any secrets. It makes sense, and also makes sense why he doesn't have a cyanide capsule. He doesn't need to die if he can't speak. The Soldier probably volunteered for the operation. God, Hydra is twisted.
"Do you know ASL?" Steve asks. The Soldier has to communicate somehow.
The Soldier shakes his head.
"Can you write?"
The Soldier hesitates, then nods. Steve gets up.
"Okay, I'm going to be right back." He exits the room, seeing the others with similar expressions of realization. Hill quickly hands him a notepad and a pen, unscrewing the pen so it's only the tip. That way the Soldier can't use it as a weapon. Steve goes back into the room, placing the pen and notepad within easy reach of the Soldier's right hand.
"Okay, write your name."
The soldier picks up the pen, only able to reach the bottom half of the notepad given the cuffs. He holds the pen awkwardly, pressing the tip to the paper and then beginning to write in shaky block letters, like those of a child.
I DON'T HAVE A NAME, he writes slowly, barely legible. It looks like he's never held a pen before.
Steve stares. "You don't have a name?" he asks incredulously.
The Soldier shakes his head.
Steve sighs. "So you're still not cooperating."
The Soldier frowns slightly and crooks his pointer finger, other fingers curled inwards. Steve thinks he's using some sort of sign language, only he doesn't know what it is. Maybe it's custom, one only Hydra understands. He decides to just keep going.
"How long have you been working for Hydra?"
The Soldier lowers the pen to the paper again and writes laboriously.
I DON'T KNOW
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. "How do you not know? It's a simple question. Stop playing games. At least give me an approximation. Twenty years, thirty? Forty? Fifty?"
The Soldier hesitates.
"His vitals are spiking," Hill says.
The Soldier nods slightly.
"Yes what?" Steve presses. "Which number?"
The Soldier points the pen at the paper again, at the writing. I don't know. He hesitates again, eyes darting to the side, before pressing the pen to the paper.
>20? he writes.
"More than twenty years?" Steve questions.
The Soldier nods.
"How? You look pretty young."
The Soldier writes. CRYOFREEZE.
Steve nods. That makes sense. It's what he'd thought. And at least the Soldier is cooperating slightly.
"You're enhanced, then?"
The Soldier points to the paper with the pen. I don't know. His gaze flicks to his metal arm and then away. Steve feels frustration build.
"You don't know? How do you not know?"
The Soldier's face tightens slightly. It's the most expression he's shown so far.
"He's really agitated," Hill warns in Steve's ear. "Vitals are skyrocketing."
"How did you become enhanced?" Steve presses. "Was it Hydra?"
The Soldier blinks, and then nods sharply. Steve can see the traces of distress in his dilated pupils, the way his nostrils flare slightly as he takes shallow breaths. Something about this is making him agitated.
"What did they do to you?"
The Soldier flips the pen in his grip so he's holding it like a knife. Steve tenses, but the Soldier only lowers it to the paper, underlining his previous words with a shaky line. I DON'T KNOW.
"His heart rate is very high," Hill says.
Steve decides to keep pressing. At least they're finally getting somewhere, causing a reaction.
"How did you get the metal arm?"
The Soldier underlines the words again, more viciously. He's still holding the pen like a knife in his clenched fist.
"I think you do," Steve says. "What aren't you telling me?"
The Soldier underlines again, and Hill tells Steve his vitals are through the roof.
Steve stands up, slamming his hands onto the table. "Stop lying to me!"
The Soldier stills and his eyes go glassy and distant. The pen slips from his hand and rolls on the table, clicking softly.
"His vitals are slowing," Hill informs him. Steve looks at him for a moment, his vacant stare, and then leaves the room, closing the door behind him. He leans on the wall, heaving a frustrated breath.
"Something's not right," Sam muses slowly.
Hill frowns. "Like what?"
Sam shakes his head. "I'm not sure, but I don't like it."
Steve turns to watch the Soldier through the window, seeing him sitting still and silent. His vitals have dropped again, slow and steady. "Yeah, you and me both," he replies.
Around noon Steve brings water and food into the interrogation room, setting them on the table. The Soldier has been sitting still for hours, staring ahead, no sign that he's even cognizant. Steve estimates that he hasn't had food or water in over 24 hours. He detaches the wrist cuffs from the chair and snaps them together in front of the Soldier, the Soldier staying limp and pliant; Steve doesn't even think he's blinked.
"Go ahead," Steve says, hoping the Soldier isn't still on his hunger strike. "Remember, you try anything, the room fills with gas."
The Soldier reaches forwards with both hands, grabbing the plastic cup of water and raising it to his mouth. He drinks quickly, gulping down the water as some spills over his chin and he chokes slightly. When he's done he sets the cup down, breathing deeply as a crease in his forehead smooths out. He must have been thirsty, Steve thinks. He wonders why he hadn't drank before.
The Soldier sets his cuffed wrists carefully on the table but doesn't touch the food or even look at it. Still on his hunger strike, then.
Steve sighs. "You know, if you don't eat, eventually we'll have to make you. It would be easier for everyone if you just ate."
The Soldier frowns slightly and makes a circle with his fingers in the same motion as before.
"I don't know what that means," Steve says.
The Soldier looks frustrated. He pulls over the paper from before and points to the underlined words. I DON'T KNOW.
"You don't know..." Steve shakes his head. "What don't you know?"
The Soldier's mouth presses into a line. Slowly, he points to the food and then shakes his head.
"You don't...know how to eat?"
The Soldier shakes his head, then nods. Then he touches the back of his right hand with his metal one, pushing a finger emphatically over the vein. It suddenly clicks.
"IV?" Steve questions. "You're fed through an IV?"
The Soldier nods, something like relief in his eyes.
"Why?" Steve asks.
The Soldier points to the paper again. I don't know.
That seems...strange. Why would he not know why he's being fed that way? That's a pretty serious medical decision to not know. But at least it solves the problem of what Steve thought was a hunger strike. They'll have to figure out how to get the Soldier nutrients, and what's wrong with him that he can't eat food. And why he can't speak.
Hill's voice in his ear startles him out of his thoughts. "We should get blood and scans," she says. "Now that we know he's cooperating."
"We should get blood and scans," Steve repeats for the Soldier's benefit. "I'll be right back."
He takes the tray of food and the water cup and exits the room, setting them down outside.
"He can't speak, and he's fed through an IV," Sam says. "Something about this really doesn't feel right."
Steve nods. "I agree. Let's get some scans."
Hill finds a needle and vials for taking blood, and Tony brings in a handheld scanner. Sam volunteers to draw blood, as he's had training, and Tony won't let anyone else touch his scanners. They troop into the room as Hill waits outside to keep monitoring the Soldier, who hasn't moved from the position Steve left him in even though his arms are relatively more free.
Sam sets the blood kit on the table, prepping a needle, as Steve cuffs the Soldier's wrists to the chair again. Sam feels for a vein and ties a band around the Soldier's right arm before sliding the needle in. The Soldier doesn't even blink, staring into the middle-distance. Steve supposes he's used to needles. Sam draws two vials before withdrawing the needle and taping gauze over the tiny pinprick as Tony steps forwards with the scanner.
"I'll need him standing," Tony murmurs.
Steve nods and turns to the Soldier. "Okay, I'm going to uncuff you and let you stand up. Don't try anything."
He uncuffs the Soldier's ankles and wrists, the Soldier standing up but not making a move. Tony waves him into an open area of the room, gesturing with his hands.
"Okay, arms out to the side."
The Soldier complies, standing with feet shoulder-width apart and arms outstretched, expression distant, as Tony starts to wave the long, cylindrical device over him. He runs up each arm and down his legs, scanning every inch of his body as the Soldier stands unmoving. Tony spends especially long on the metal arm, making circles around it as the device beeps. Finally he steps back, nodding.
"Okay. All done."
The Soldier drops his arms but doesn't move. Steve moves towards the cell and opens the door.
"We can be done for the day. We'll figure out how to get you food soon."
The Soldier walks into the cell and Steve closes the door behind him, locking it securely.
"Alright, let's figure out what's going on."
"Holy shit," Sam breathes, peering at the screen. Steve is inclined to echo the sentiment.
"What are all these?" he questions, reading the list of unfamiliar words.
Sam clears his throat. "Fentanyl is a powerful opioid, which relieves pain. Amphetamine is a stimulant. Caffeine is also a stimulant. Um, amitriptyline is an antidepressant. Almotriptan would be a triptan. I think they have something to do with migraines. Atenolol is a beta-blocker. Divalproex sodium, um, I'm not sure-"
"Depakote," Hill interrupts.
Sam snaps his fingers. "Oh. Right, Depakote. That's an anticonvulsant or a mood stabilizer. Uh, Clozapine. That's a-that's a fucking antipsychotic. It's for treating schizophrenia. Jesus, how insane is this guy? This combination of meds, he probably should be dead right now. At the very least, he's seriously fucked up."
Steve runs a hand over his face. The feeling of wrongness intensifies. Something about this isn't right. The Soldier can't speak, can't eat, and is on enough psych medications that he shouldn't even be functioning. It doesn't seem like the sort of thing you do to a valuable operative, even if they have been cryogenically frozen over the years.
Tony jogs into the room, waving his tablet. "Okay, so I got the scans. First of all, that arm..." he shakes his head. "I'm no doctor, but that thing must be causing him constant pain. I mean, it's a marvel of engineering, but the way they attached it..." He shudders. "Anyway, so he's got two trackers in him, one in his thigh and one in the arm. Luckily this tower is a Faraday cage so that's not a problem. When you get deeper, that's when it gets worse. I mean, if you're right and this guy is over seventy years old, he must have seen a lot of action. It looks like every bone in his body has been broken at least once. Also, he's missing his voice box. Like, the whole thing is just gone, surgically. He physically can't speak. So that's messed up. But it's his brain that really interests me." Tony moves closer so they can all see the tablet, where an image of a brain revolves on the screen. Even Steve can tell that something is wrong based on the holes and white spots clustered in the middle.
"Is that-" Sam starts, voice aghast.
"Yup. That's our good old assassin's brain," Tony proclaims. "It looks like Swiss cheese. From my best guess, his memory centers are severely damaged. That might be why he kept saying he didn't know. He might not remember. I'm thinking a head injury of some sort? Maybe he even got shot in the head."
"That might explain the medications," Sam muses. "At least some of them. The migraine medication would help with pain and inflammation from the brain damage, and the anticonvulsant might be for the brain damage also. The beta-blocker can be used be for migraines as well. The opioid could be for the arm, and the stimulants might just be performance enhancing. The antipsychotic and antidepressant I'm not sure about, but who knows? Maybe he has schizophrenia."
Steve feels a trickle of relief. This makes sense. The Soldier had a brain injury, and the medications are to counter that. He feels guilty for having felt bad for the Soldier before. He signed up for this, he reminds himself. The Soldier is a bad guy, bottom line. He needs to stop getting lost in those wide blue eyes that seem so innocent and young. The Soldier is a murderer, a fucking Nazi. Just because he can't speak doesn't mean he deserves to be coddled. Steve hardens his resolve, determined not to show the Soldier any sympathy. He's been going easy on him, but not anymore. He's going to get some answers, whatever it takes.