Chapter Text
“You. Are. My. Mission!”
Screams. Pain. Anger. Confusion. The Winter Soldier was beating him as hard as he could. The man lying before him, helpless, dying, bleeding. But he was still alive. Just like the memories. The memories that were impossible. The Soldier did not know him. He was just a target. And this target had caused the Winter Soldier so much pain. He wanted this to be over. He wanted things simple again. He wanted the target dead.
“Then… finish it…”
The target was dying. The mission was almost over. Never before had the Winter Soldier wanted a job done so badly. Never before had he been so… happy to kill. He had never been so glad to watch a life beat from someone’s body. But something was wrong. Something wasn’t tight. Why did he still feel so much confusion and pain? It was what the target looked like. What he was saying. The target could barely speak. But he was. What was he saying?
“Cuz I’m with you… till the end… of the line…”
Burning and crashing. Debris was falling. But the Soldier barely noticed. His mind fell apart. His world… broke. He could barely breathe. His body and mind were beaten and fractured. Those words. They broke him. They didn’t make sense in how well he knew them. His emotions drowned him, burned him, crushed him. He was afraid and horrified and confused. The Winter Soldier wasn’t supposed to feel any of those things. He wasn’t. But he was. His heart was supposed to be made of ice. But his heart was breaking. The pain in his body was a joke compared to in his mind. Those words. No, he doesn’t- they… he had said them. He had said them.
I’m with you, till the end of the line, pal.
The Soldier had already pulled back for a final blow. This one would kill the target. He was good at knowing when someone was going to die. But he couldn’t do it. The man below him, who had spoken, couldn’t die. He couldn’t kill him. Why? The blond American, bleeding and broken, who had caused him so much trouble, who had opened something in the Soldier’s mind, who had caused the Soldier to be hurt, who the Soldier wasn’t supposed to remember, had changed him.
No. The target hadn’t changed him. He’d woken him up. He wasn’t the Soldier. He had been- he was- James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky Barnes. That name belonged to someone the Soldier had been. But- but- Bucky Barnes knew Steve Rogers. Captain America. Now the Soldier was kneeling on Captain America, a man who was beaten bloody. A man who refused to fight back, who was bleeding and dying because… because of… The Soldier stared down in horror. His eyes felt hot with tears. No. No. No. The target. The man. The captain. Steve. Steve Rogers. Bucky Barnes’s best friend.
That little kid from Brooklyn, who was too dumb not to run away from a fight.
Seconds seemed to crawl by. His breath dragged. This wasn’t a target. This was- this was-
Then it hit him. Bucky Barnes was in him, a part of him, hurt and confused. What was he about to do? What had he been doing? What was he doing? Bucky Barnes looked down at Steve Rogers and screamed. He screamed because the Soldier had almost killed his best friend.
The ship crashed into itself. The ground shattered away beneath the Soldier. Instinctively, he grabbed the metal support and hung on by his arm. The pain of the jerking and smashing barely registered in his mind. He swung, chaos all around, but within there was numb silence. He watched as the debris fell, as the floor beneath him disappeared to fall far, far below to the glittering water. He watched as Steve Rogers fell, unconscious, beaten, dying. Limp and helpless. Because he wouldn’t fight back. The Soldier didn’t understand. Bucky Barnes screamed. The Soldier knew he was too late. But Bucky Barnes screamed anyway.
Years ago, Bucky Barnes had fallen. Steve had watched. Now Steve was falling and the Soldier watched. Bucky Barnes tried to fight for control, and tried to go to his friend. The Soldier watched until Steve Rogers fell into the water and disappeared into its depths. Debris showered into the river. The two other ships were already sinking rapidly. The Soldier stared after Steve Rogers. He was too late.
That little kid from Brooklyn, who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I’m following him.
That was what he did. He followed him. Even if he was too late. So the Soldier let go.
He fell into the cold, foaming water. The pain in his dislocated shoulder was horrible, but the Soldier knew pain like this as a friend. The pain inside him was so raw and unforgiving and unfamiliar. He could see Steve Rogers, sinking, bubbles escaping his cut lip. His eyes fluttered, then fell shut finally. The bubbles stopped, and so did the Soldier’s heart. He began to swim. The Soldier had never before fought so hard to get to someone before. He reached out, kicking down, forcing his hurt arm to help push him downward. His metal hand stretched out towards the man as he sank. He couldn’t be too late.
His metal hand didn’t actually feel anything as he grabbed Steve Rogers’ collar. But it almost seemed like he did. He pulled Steve Rogers forward, pressing him against his chest. He was limp and his blood escaped into the river water as it churned chaotically around them. It filled his eyes and mouth, metallic and choking. The Soldier, hugging the captain close to him, kicked towards the surface. It seemed so far above. So impossible to reach. It was impossible. Light and breath and life. He was so late. But he went towards it, because he now knew only one thing clearly.
Get out of here! Go!
No! Not without you!
He swam until he broke the surface. He gasped in air and dragged Steve Rogers up, shoving his head above water. There was danger all around, rubble crashing into the water. The Soldier dragged Steve away from the danger, swimming, grunting, and fighting. Fighting was all he knew how to do, so he would do it now. Finally, he made it away from the crash. Wet ground came beneath his feet. Exhausted, barely able to drag breath into his lungs, he staggered up the riverbank, dragging the frail prize behind him. He limped onto the mud, pulling Steve to shore. He stumbled back, his whole body exhausted and his mind reeling. He pressed his arm against his chest, the aching pain sharp and throbbing.
The Soldier turned to Steve. His face was pale and cut and bruised badly. Each one was his fault. He knew that now. His fault. He wanted to throw up. He felt sick and horrified. His own skin was like a trap. But he swallowed and just looked and waited. He was bad at saving lives. He didn’t know how to do it. If he had been too late, there was nothing he could do. Panic clawed at his chest like a wild animal. If he was too late…
Steve finally shuddered, turning, still unconscious, but his chest heaved with heavy breaths. Water spilled out of his mouth, and he gulped in air. The Soldier’s body sagged with relief. He didn’t understand what was happening. Bucky Barnes was alive and horrified and the Soldier was angry and confused. They were both in so much pain. But there was one thing that he, no matter who he was, understood clearly right now. This man, this pale, bleeding man, this stupid kid, this… this punk who wouldn’t run away and who wouldn’t fight him was supposed to be safe. He was supposed to protect him. He was supposed to keep him safe. He was supposed to keep him alive. And he had.
The Soldier stepped back and looked up. Hydra had failed, he knew that. He had failed Hydra. He felt… strange. Bitter disappointment and utter relief. He didn’t know what to do now. He wanted to run. He wanted to turn and run and keep running until he was in a safehouse or back in his room. Someone would come and tell him what to do. No. He didn’t want that. He wanted to run until he found himself. He wanted to run until the Soldier was far behind. He wanted to find Bucky Barnes. He wanted to hide from this all.
He started to turn. He knew that whoever was left wouldn’t stop searching until they found Captain America. It’s what these people did, because they loved him. So they would find Steve Rogers, and he would be okay.They’d take care of him. People would come find Steve Rogers to rescue him and care for him. No one would come looking to rescue Bucky Barnes. They would come to find the Winter Soldier to kill him. He couldn’t stay. He had to run, before they came for him.
Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.
How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.
Bucky stopped. He stood perfectly still. He remembered walking into the darkness and leaving Steve behind once before. That had led to so much pain. He had hated leaving Steve then. He couldn’t leave now. Bucky couldn’t leave. He turned sharply, looking back at Steve’s still body, his chest heaving. Before he could change his mind, Bucky sat down next to Steve on the damp riverbank. He curled his legs up against his chest, cradling his arm with his cold metal one. His hair clung to his forehead damply. He was cold, he realized numbly. The ship was still crashing, there were sirens in the city, and even birds chirping behind him. But all he could hear was the shallow breaths of the man beside him.
He stared down at Steve steadily. He would stay. He would keep him safe. Whoever this was, Captain America, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes’s friend, he was the only person in the world who made any sense. He was the only one who wanted Bucky Barnes and the only one who wouldn’t hurt the Soldier.
He didn’t care what would happen when they came for Steve Rogers. He didn’t care if they would kill the Soldier or lock him up or hurt him again. He knew they would. But Steve was the only constant he had in the world left. Without him, Bucky was lost. As long as whoever came for them let him know Steve was okay, he didn’t care what would happen. So he stayed.