Chapter Text
The Winter Soldier’s mission had gone well. Target eliminated. On the quinjet back to base, the men who made up the Winter Soldier’s escort were in high spirits. They were talking and laughing while the Soldier sat, shackled to the wall and still bleeding. He’d been working solo and after a higher number of reinforcements than initially suspected, he’d been shot twice. No one had treated the wounds. The bullet was still in one. Shackled as he was, he couldn’t even tend to the wounds himself. That meant when they finally got back to base, the Soldier would be sent to the lab.
As he suspected, an hour later, with his wounds already on the mend, he was escorted into the lab. Outwardly, he showed no signs of discomfort. Internally, he was preparing for whatever pain was to come. A visit to the lab never ended with just tending his wounds.
“Get it up on the table,” one of the two white-coated scientists said as the Soldier entered the bright lab with his armed escort.
“Soldier, on the table!” his handler barked.
Obediently, the Soldier walked over to the table and sat down. The scientists removed his shackles and then proceeded to strip him down. He was then forced back onto the customized table where several new shackles were snapped into place.
“You might as well go make your report, Rumlow,” the scientist with the bowtie said.
“It’s only two bullets. I could remove them with my knife in seconds,” his handler growled.
“Yeah, but we have orders from on high,” the scientist with the thick glasses said with a sigh. “We’ve got a few experiments to run.”
“Fucking scientists and your fucking experiments.” His handler groaned. “Fine. Soldier, do not move from the table until I return. Come on Rollins, let’s hit the showers. You know how much I hate sand.”
“You hate everything, Rumlow.”
“That is a lie!”
“You hate cake! Who the fuck hates cake?”
The Soldier listened to his handler and Rollins argue as they retreated down the corridor. Once their voices were gone, he surreptitiously glanced at what Glasses and Bowtie were doing. Glasses was preparing some sort of injection as well as an IV. Bowtie was doing something on the computer. Based on what he could see, the Soldier figured this might take a while.
The scientists chatted while they secured the IV to the Soldier’s arm and injected him with an odd blue liquid. Once the IV was in place, they checked both bullet wounds and had to cut open one wound to remove the bullet. They didn’t use anesthesia.
“So, what exactly are we pumping into our highly volatile weapon this time?” Bowtie asked. “Something fun? Or do they just want to see if he can fight off something else, like when they asked us to expose him to scarlet fever?” The Soldier didn’t remember that.
“Don’t know,” Glasses said with a shrug. “Just an order from above. Secure the Soldier, pump this shit into its veins and make sure it doesn’t die.”
“I mean, can he die?” Bowtie asked. “He recovers from anything not immediately fatal.”
“I don’t ask questions,” Glasses said as he jotted something down on a clipboard. “You shouldn’t either.”
“Sheesh,” Bowtie said with a huff. “Hey, Soldier, what’s—”
“Stop it!” Glasses shouted. “Don’t talk to it.”
“Why not?” Bowtie said as he stepped over to the table. He placed two fingers on the Soldier’s metal arm. “He’s shackled down. Even the metal arm can’t break through this.”
“For the last time, it’s not a he. It’s a weapon. Get that straight. If Rumlow hears you call it a he, he might shoot you,” Glasses said.
“Fine. Whatever you say.” Bowtie gave a sloppy salute. “I’ll start the report.”
After that, the Soldier was left in relative silence. Both scientists started tapping away at their computers. The Soldier could feel whatever was in that IV seeping into his veins and bringing heat with it. The heat spread and started to burn. He grit his teeth, holding back any signs of discomfort. The pain just got worse. Soon, it started to interfere with his senses and eventually his thoughts.
He lost himself in the pain. Lost any sense of time or place. He blinked and the bright lab morphed into a darker version of a lab. There was a sound, a sort of pulse, in his ears.
Thump thump. Thump thump. Thu-thump thump. Thump thump.
What was that? Was it… words? Was someone talking? The Soldier strained to look around, but he was shackled securely and could only move his eyes enough to verify there was no one in the lab. Well, no one in the dark lab. The Soldier was currently existing in two places at once: the dark lab, where he was alone, and the bright lab, where Glasses and Bowtie were tapping away at their computers.
The thumping was a voice but the Soldier was fairly certain it wasn’t a real voice. At least not one the scientists could hear. That did not bode well for the Soldier. If he admitted to it, and he would have to answer truthfully if asked, it would mean immediate recalibration. Still, he couldn’t do anything about it. So, he focused on the voice instead of the pain. It was scratchy and after listening for a while, the Soldier realized it was repeating.
Thump thump. Thump thump. Thu-thump thump. Thump thump.
Sometimes it sped up or slowed down but it was always the same repetition. He focused harder.
Thump thump. Five five. Thu-thump thump. Thump thump.
The repetition of the two sounds allowed him to decipher the words. Five five? Two numbers? Were they the only two numbers or was it a string? Listening for numbers, he concentrated again.
Three Thump. Five five. Thu-thump oh. Three eight.
Definitely a string of numbers. After a dozen more repetitions, he finally deciphered the string.
Three two. Five five. Seven oh. Three eight.
Once he’d deciphered it, it was utterly obvious what was being said and he couldn't not hear the numbers anymore.
Someone entered the dark lab. The Soldier strained to glance over. The man was short and wore a lab coat and glasses. The Soldier felt like he should recognize this man but his memory had always been unreliable. The sneering, little man approached the table and looked down at the Soldier.
“Good evening, Sergeant Barnes.” After hearing the voice from above him, he realized that the string of numbers was being said by the Soldier, or at least whoever was laying where the Soldier was.
“Sergeant James Barnes. Three two. Five five. Seven oh. Three eight,” replied the same voice that had been repeating the string of numbers.
None of this made any sense to the Soldier. He didn’t know this scientist. He didn’t know this lab and he didn’t know who the hell Sergeant Barnes—
Oh. Fuck. The Soldier was Sergeant Barnes. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes with the 107th. Howling Commando and—
The flood of information that followed was more painful than the fire raging through his body and the Soldier—no, James—finally gave in and screamed.
The labs around him wavered and the dark lab faded away to reveal both Glasses and Bowtie on their feet and standing beside the table.
“What the hell happened?!” Bowtie shouted. No, not Bowtie. Clark. That scientist's name was Clark. The Soldier—dammit, James —remembered that. He remembered it all.
“I don’t know!” Glasses—Martin—answered tersely. “The boss wanted to make the Soldier better! Said this stuff would do it! What’re its vitals?!”
“Off the charts, even for him,” Clark tapped at the keyboard quickly. “Maybe this is supposed to happen?”
James was both in agony and felt fantastic at the same time. His entire body was on fire but every sense was sharper than ever before. His pain was offset by a fierce desire to move. Fueled by rage this time, he howled again. As he roared, he writhed against the shackles. The ones securing the metal arm didn’t budge. The single one around his flesh arm creaked warningly.
A split second passed. James made eye contact with Martin and then put everything he had against the restraints holding his flesh arm. The shackles buckled. Then his arm was free. He grabbed Martin’s throat and crushed. Clark moved toward the place where James knew an alarm was hidden.
“If you hit that alarm,” James coughed out, “I will take my time killing you.”
Clark paused with his hand on the button. “You’re still restrained—”
James interrupted him by grabbing the heavy metal cuff around his metal arm with his flesh hand. Then, using the strength of both arms, he tore free. It took only a few more moments for James to be completely free and roll off the table. Clark still hadn’t hit the button. James locked eyes with him.
“I’m dead either way,” Clark said and pushed the button. The alarm blared and James grabbed Clark by the head and shattered his skull against the wall. His time was limited but the fire inside had worn down with the exertion. The dull heat was no longer agony.
A quick glance around the room revealed the Winter Soldier’s bloody armor in a heap on the floor. It would have to do. There were no weapons though. But the Winter Soldier didn’t need a weapon to be deadly. By the time he was geared up, he could hear the HYDRA soldiers in the hallway. Before they burst in, James took a moment to shake his head and clear his mind. His senses were running in overdrive. He could smell the aftershave on two different men in the hall. He could smell the stench of cigarettes wafting off Rollins. He could hear a dozen panicked heartbeats. It was nearly too much. He focused and brought up the cold detachment of the Winter Soldier. Then he laced that icy determination with his burning rage.
HYDRA had half a dozen different Winter Soldier containment protocols. But they all boiled down to either trigger words or doing enough damage to the Soldier to get him off his feet. The damage came in many forms: bullets, caustic gas, cattle prods, explosives. Anything goes, really. Before the lab door was kicked in, they went with the less violent option.
James heard the lab’s PA system crackle to life. “Sputnik!” The word rolled over James like oil, slimy and uncomfortable, but the feeling eventually passed. James grinned maliciously and kicked his way through the lab door and out into the hallway. STRIKE Alpha was thoroughly surprised.
Rumlow—James refused to refer to that sadist as handler ever again—tried for the safer tactic a second time. “Желание!” he called out the Russian word and James only staggered because he expected to. There was no compulsion behind the word. But his stagger made STRIKE Alpha relax. “Ржавый!” The second word did nothing and James used the advantage to charge into melee range with the STRIKE team.
It was over quickly. STRIKE Alpha may have trained with the Winter Soldier. They may have considered themselves the foremost authorities on the Winter Soldier. But they had never once had to deal with the Winter Soldier when he had truly slipped his leash. The Russians might have managed to contain him. They knew what the Winter Soldier was really capable of and the measures that had to be taken when he went wild. But this wasn’t Russia.
It only took a single strike to end each member of the STRIKE team. A blow to the head or chest with the metal arm was fatal. He only pulled one punch, breaking ribs instead of pulping organs. James hauled up the broken body of Rumlow and pinned him against the wall. If he’d had time, James would have made this last, but he didn’t. The base was already alerted and they had probably initiated a lockdown.
“Семнадцать…” Rumlow barely managed to cough out the third trigger word.
“Your Russian is terrible,” James drawled.
Rumlow’s eyes widened a bit, likely at the entirely out-of-character answer from the Winter Soldier. “Go to hell…” Rumlow, eloquent as always.
James gave him a predatory grin. “You first.” He killed Rumlow with his own knife. The knife that he liked to tell stories about, elaborating on all the horrible things he’d done with it.
With STRIKE Alpha dead, more men would be on the way. But wouldn’t you know it, Rumlow and his men were kind enough to bring an entire arsenal right to James. He took the time to arm himself. The gear was familiar, all HYDRA standard issue. He took every knife, except the one he left in Rumlow, half a dozen handguns and an assault rifle along with all the spare ammo he could fit into his gear, which was a lot.
James knew the base was already in lockdown. The minute Clark hit that particular alarm, it had been initiated. The lockdown was to keep the Winter Soldier contained long enough to get him back under control or for backup to arrive. He was stuck inside, fully armed, in control of his mind and surrounded by the people who’d been torturing him for decades.
James rampaged. He killed everyone. Soldiers, scientists, researchers; they all died violently. James knew this base. Over the years and between various mind wipes, he’d seen it all. Now, with everything back in place in his mind, he fit the pieces together and knew the full layout of the base. As he started clearing floors, he realized that whatever it was Martin had injected him with had somehow, inadvertently, fixed his memory. Not only that, but the two bullet wounds were gone. Not even a scar left behind. On top of that, James could now hear the panicked heartbeats of the scientists hiding in their labs. He had no idea if this was permanent or how long it would last. He was stronger and faster. He needed to use that advantage while he had it. In less than an hour, James was fairly certain that he was the only thing left alive in the base. Well, him and the dozen or so weird color-changing lizards he’d found in one of the labs. He didn’t kill them but he did let them out of their cages. There was something to be said for prisoner solidarity.
James’s second step was to properly arm himself. He headed to the Winter Soldier’s armory and proceeded to get himself battle ready. Once fully armed, he grabbed one of the STRIKE helmets from the adjacent armory. The Winter Soldier was always sent out without a helmet. Who sent an operative out without a helmet? James was a sniper. He’d be practically giddy whenever some macho idiot decided to take to the field without a helmet.
Next, he managed to find a few laptops in the labs and a few portable hard drives. He set the entire contents of the base’s mainframe to download while he skimmed the files. He pulled up a few files on this particular base. Apparently, he was in New Jersey. Ew. Some decidedly Brooklyn part of him cringed at that. This base was some sort of special weapons repository for SHIELD. It took a bit of digging to find out that SHIELD was the reimaginings of the SSR and absolutely infested with HYDRA. That explained a lot. Over the years, he noticed that sometimes he worked for SHIELD and sometimes against. Well, now he knew why. It wasn’t just SHIELD that was corrupt, either. There were reports marked with FBI, CIA and several other alphabet soup agencies, including organizations in other countries, like the British MI6 and the Russian FSB. Fuck, how far had HYDRA spread?
He wanted to dig further into the files but also wanted to check the Vault. That was where HYDRA kept its weapons projects. He left the files to download and headed to the Vault. Even though it was called the Vault, it wasn’t actually a vault. It was just a large and very organized storage room. It turned out whoever was the stickler for organization extended that to not only properly categorizing all the weapons but also including basic information on the item in the same box.
There were a lot of boxes to go through and while he was only looking for one particular item, James couldn’t help opening most of the boxes. He found all manner of wild and creative weapons, each with proper documentation.
Pyrrhic Gauntlet: It was a ridiculous looking weapon, all wires and tubes that you had to stick your whole arm inside to fire. The documents were labeled with huge red warnings: KILLS USER UPON FIRING. Yeah, not interested.
Tesseract Cannon: This one James recognized and he nearly dropped the lid when he cracked open the box. He’d seen a lot of these during World War Two. According to the documentation, it was here because there was no ammunition to be found for it. There was a note, however, indicating where more of the cannons were located and that attempts were being made to refine more ammo. Did that mean HYDRA had the Tesseract? During the war, James had seen the unsettling blue cube a few times. Even touched the thing, not that he’d wanted to. That bastard Zola had pressed the damn thing against his chest, all the while talking about Vita rays. He’d thought he heard it was aboard the Valkyrie when—
James cut off the thought and went back to the boxes. Now was not the time. If he was going to survive and stay free, he needed every edge.
Tellor rifle: James didn’t need to read the notes on this one (but he did anyway). The Tellor Rifle was a Stark Industries gem. It was one of the most powerful sniper rifles the Winter Soldier had ever had the pleasure of wielding. According to the notes, it was here so the research and development team could reverse-engineer it in order to replicate it, since Stark Industries no longer produced weapons. James hung the heavy rifle over his shoulder. He wouldn’t be able to fight with it there, it was actually taller than him, but he was not leaving it behind. If he needed to fight, the Tellor was sturdy enough that he could throw it clear.
Ah, there was what he’d been looking for!
Photostatic Cloak: It was a sort of short cape. One side was darkened fabric and the other side was glossy white. There were wires running through the fabric and James knew from having tested it himself that this cloak provided active camouflage. It was a sniper’s wet dream. It wasn’t large, barely big enough to cover him from the waist up, but used effectively, he could become invisible.
He pilfered everything he wanted from the Vault, but only what he could carry while leaving his hands free.
It was time for James to make his escape. He had a couple ideas. He assumed it would take a few more hours for HYDRA to mount enough forces to take him down. It had only been two hours so far. He could wait until they came in. HYDRA had been completely reliant on the trigger words to control their Soldier for a long time. He suspected they didn’t even know he’d managed to overcome them yet. They would probably start with that. But waiting left him vulnerable to whatever surprise they put together.
James gathered every explosive in the armory. He used his considerable knowledge of the base to rig it to implode. He spared a few explosives to make sure the Recalibration Chair and the cryo unit got a properly explosive send off as well. He even went so far as to find the combustibles in the labs and add them to the mix. He rigged the main blast door last.
Fully armed, with a backpack full of stolen hard drives and experimental tech, James hit the detonator about three hours after he’d broken his chains. He’d rigged a cascading blast that would take out the blast door and give him six seconds to get out before the hallway collapsed behind him and the charges deeper inside the base went off in succession. He rushed out though the blast door and into the ambush he was expecting; thirty men against the Winter Soldier. He kept the fight contained in the warehouse. Oh, except that guy, he was now outside, but dead, so still contained.
When the fight was over, James stood amid a field of bodies. Blood had long since soaked through his armor, gunpowder tickled his nose and his ears were still ringing from the gunshots and explosions. He looked around.
This was the Winter Soldier’s—the fist of HYDRA’s—gruesome artwork. James was free, his mind was his own, yet still, still, he was the Winter Soldier. Still, he fell back on HYDRA’s orders. Decades he’d followed orders to kill, for both HYDRA and the US Army. So deeply ingrained was that mindset that even free, he’d fallen back on it. He’d killed, down in that base and up here on the surface. Not just in self-defense. Some of those scientists had begged. It was revenge and murder, bloody and feral. HYDRA had turned him into a monster. There was no doubt about that. But while they held his leash, he was contained and directed. He followed orders. He didn’t rage through the streets, gorged on bloodlust. Without those orders, he had rampaged. If he walked away from this battlefield, would he just be unleashing another monster on the world?
James looked down at his blood-soaked hands. Maybe he should end it. Kill a monster and save the world. HYDRA was still out there. Another monster that needed to be slain. Is that what he needed to do? Pit monster against monster and watch them destroy each other? James was fairly certain there was nothing left in him worth saving. He was more monster than man. This warehouse full of corpses proved it. The question was, where did he go from here?
He wanted HYDRA to pay. If nothing else, the world shouldn’t have to suffer with that parasite for a moment longer. If James embraced the monster, maybe he could manage it. He could fight HYDRA. He could use every trick they’d taught him to make the rivers run red. It wouldn’t be easy. He’d have to kill thousands, tens of thousands. He would become synonymous with death. Civilians would be caught in the crossfire but HYDRA would burn. The cost would be his humanity, or rather, what tattered pieces of it remained. There would be nothing left of James Buchanan Barnes after that. And once HYDRA was gone, would he be able to stop? Would there be someone strong enough to put him down if he couldn’t? Would he become a threat worse than HYDRA?
What if he killed the monster, right here, right now? Slayed the monster to save the man. No more killing. Find another way. What else was there? People like HYDRA didn’t just stop if you asked them nicely. Death was the only way to guarantee it. Was it even possible to stop them without killing them? Even if he found irrefutable evidence of HYDRA’s crimes, was there anyone left to turn it over to? Would anyone seek justice? Or was the corruption too far-reaching? With HYDRA so widespread, would it be possible to turn the branches of HYDRA against themselves? Could he bring the world together against HYDRA?
James stood in the warehouse full of corpses, looking down at his hands. He was at a crossroads. On one metal hand was the monster, feral and bloodthirsty. On the other flesh hand was James Buchanan Barnes, the man, desperate and determined. He needed to make a choice. Whichever he embraced, he needed to commit to it fully. Blurring the line would render both of them ineffective. Monster or man. Time to choose.