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A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant	By : TheConstant1944 Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Captain America Views: 2391 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel characters. They are solely owned by Marvel and MCU. No money is made from this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter Three
The American

Part One - Steve Rogers
Steve picks up a table and chair and stands them straight. Crocker’s Folly - the English pub he found himself in and the one that had become their drinking house for the time they were posted here, hadn't received a direct hit, but it had been close enough that it had almost been destroyed. It would take a lot to get it back on its feet but for now it is quiet, deserted, and just what Steve needs.
He walks over to behind the bar. There are some bottles that have survived the blast and he picks up one of them, finds a glass, blows the dirt out and pours a drink - and because he is Steve Rogers he places some money on top of the cash register.
He moves to walk back to the table, but instead changes his mind. He pulls out some more money, adds it to the bit he has already paid and grabs the bottle and the glass and goes and sits down.
Okay so he can't get drunk - but he can damn well try.
“Dammit what a mess,” he says, and he is not talking about the pub.
He closes his eyes. “To you Buck.”
And he takes a drink. Tries to pretend that Bucky is there sat next to him as he was the last time they were in here.
He opens his eyes. They are full of unshed tears. How is he meant to do this? How does he go on without James Barnes? How does he stop himself from seeing him stretch out his hand and not being able to stop Bucky from falling? He can't. He sees terrible images of Bucky's body lost in the wilderness never to be found. He couldn't even bring him home for burial. He doesn't even know where his final resting place is.
His stomach clenches from the thought of never seeing Bucky again, and his hand closes around the glass so tight that if he hadn't realised he would have broken it. He puts the glass down, and for God knows how many more times he thinks of the last mission and the if onlys. It had happened in seconds, seconds that couldn't be changed.
They had talked about how one day they may not come back. He had argued over it with Bucky.
And then he remembered their last conversation.
“I don't wanna talk about it Steve,” Bucky had grumbled.
“Why not?” Steve had asked innocently.
James Barnes had been so quiet that Steve didn't think he had heard him. He looked at his friend, only to find him staring back.
“Don't you think I know I've already lost you?” Bucky had said quietly.
Since Steve and Bucky had finally talked about what had happened with Zola, Bucky had been prone to fits of melancholy. Steve knows now why Bucky had thought he had lost him. James had been trying to push him away - not because he didn’t love Steve, but because he thought Steve wanted Peggy.
“Buck...” Steve had started to say.
“Don't.”
“We have to talk, I know why you think that, why you think I don't love you any more, I do, don't you understand?”
Bucky had gone to walk away, but Steve wouldn't let him.
“Buck, I like Peggy, I like her a lot, I can't explain it. But it's you I love.”
“Yeah, Steve? And whose picture do you carry around with you huh? Mine or hers?”
Bucky had pushed him away and walked off, leaving Steve without any idea of what to do.
In the present, as he sits in the pub, Steve murmurs.“Why didn't I tell you Buck, why didn't I put you right?”
He carries a photograph of Peggy in his compass. She means a lot to him, and if he had never known Bucky, if Bucky wasn't there, then yes - he thinks there may have been something. But James Barnes means so much to him.
Meant so much to him.
“Oh Christ.” The truth hits him again, Bucky isn't here, he's gone, he will never see him again.
Steve bows his head. “I should have told him...why didn't I tell him?”
James Barnes was wrong. Peggy's was not the only photograph that Steve carried around with him. When they made his Captain America suit, he had asked them to sew an inside pocket in over his left breast. They never knew why, and they never asked, but if anyone was to look in there they would find a picture of James Barnes.
If only he had told Bucky it was there, that this is how much James means to him. He keeps it close to his heart so James is always with him.
'Will always be with me,' he murmurs, and takes another drink.
He hears a sound and glances around.
Peggy's British accent sounds through the pub. “I thought I might find you in here.”
Steve sighs. “Doctor Erskine said that the serum wouldn't just affect my muscles, it would affect my cells. Create a protective system of regeneration and healing. Which means um...I can't get drunk. Did you know that?”
“Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person. He thought it could be one of the side effects.” Peggy knows everything about Project Rebirth, more than Steve himself. She knows that he can't even lose himself in the alcohol he is consuming.
She looks at him then sits down next to him.
“It wasn't your fault.”
“Did you read the reports?”
She nods. “Yes.”
“Then you know that's not true.”
“You did everything you could. Did you believe in your friend? Did you respect him?” Her voice demands an answer and Steve looks back at her. He doesn't need to reply, she can see it in his eyes, she can see how much he loved his friend.

“Then stop blaming yourself. Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it.”
“I'm going after Schmidt. I'm not gonna stop until all of Hydra is dead or captured.”
“You won't be alone.”
They drink in silence, sharing the same glass.
Peggy knows she has to say something. Has to get it out in the open.
“I know about you and Barnes,“ she says quietly, looking at the table.
He glances at her. “About?”
“Steve, I may be British but I'm not blind. We do know about the world you know, even though we are this tiny island in the middle of no where according to you Yanks.” She tries to smile and leans towards him. “You loved James Barnes. You were more than friends.” She studies him.
Steve tries to smile back but instead his eyes tear up.
“Its all right. Hey, come on cry if you want to, I'm a good listener.”
He shakes his head and takes another drink. It is to soon, and he doesn't want to share Bucky with anyone, not yet.
“You know he came to see me?” Peggy asked, leaning back in her chair.
“What? When?”
“He never told you?” she asks, knowing the answer already.
“Just after that night I came to see you and we talked about going dancing.”
She laughs. “He told me if I had any problems getting stockings, underwear, perfume, for my date with you then to let him know and he would arrange it.”
“What! What did you say?”
“I told him not to be so damn impertinent.”
Steve laughs, and shakes his head.
They are quiet for a moment.
“And he told me to make sure I got that dance.” She reaches over, takes the glass from Steve's hand and drinks.
“Peggy...”
“Listen Steve, I'm not good with...knowing the right thing to say in situations like this. I'd rather clap you on the back and tell you you'll be all right but...I liked Bucky, and I could see he loved you and I didn't want to barge in on that. It was if he was giving me permission, thats how much he cared about you.”
Steve looks at her.
“So, I'm going to get that dance from you but not until you're ready and then...then we can see what the future holds but lets just take it a bit at a time okay?”
She smiles and picks up the bottle, fills the glass then lifts it.
“To James Barnes,” she says. She sips the drink then passes it to Steve.
He takes it and stares into the amber fluid then lifts the glass.
“To my friend. To Buck. I miss you pal.”
He drinks down the liquid and they sit there for a while listening to the sounds out in the street, comfortable in each others company.
*
Part Two - The Nurse
How can you have been so stupid to think he would be safe in the field hospital? He is an American for God sake. A foreigner in a strange country, they may be allies but he is still somewhere he shouldn't be.
The doctors do not know how he is still alive. He must have fallen a great distance and he should have been dead the minute he hit the ground. Every part of his body is broken, and the diagnosis is not good. Internal organs are pierced by the broken bones - splinters that are as long and wide as your fingers – and there is internal bleeding that should have killed him outright, bled him dry.
The worst damage is that to his left arm, which has also caused the most blood loss. You and Doctor Bethune work on it trying to make some sense of what is left. The lower part of his arm, the elbow and hand, have been literally torn off - but not by an explosion. It must have happened when he fell. You have both worked on many wounds like this, and you recognise the teeth marks of a wolf. It must have found him first and take advantage of the open wound and chewed at the flesh and bone making what was left worse.
How you wish you knew what had happened. How did he come to be in such a bad way? Where did he fall from, and how far? He has a piece of branch actually embedded in his back, going almost all the way through - but just missing the spine thank God. If it had not stayed jammed in there, he would have bled to death. They had to be so careful when removing it.
So much bruising, so many broken ribs; two not just broken but torn apart. An actual bruise showing a footprint on his chest where someone had stamped on him. Splinters of wood, bullet holes, the fingers on his right hand broken, heavy bruising to his face, blood flecked eyes.
This man should not be alive - but he is.
They had taken him back to the recovery tent after removing the bullets, working on the stump of what is left of his arm and trying to straighten out some of the broken bones. You have been awake for an additional 12 hours. You had never gotten back to your tent. You didn't want to leave him, and you don't want to leave him now. There is something about him that is eating away at you, something that makes you feel sick when you look at him, something that makes your stomach drop and your heart race.
You do not recognise your own symptoms.
Doctor Bethune persuades you to change your clothes and have something to eat. He remains at the patient's bedside until you return. When you return you check on him, to make sure the drip is running, you find you can't understand how this patient is affecting you. You don't want to be apart from him. The thought of being away from him makes you panic. You look at him and you feel sick again; your heart starts to beat too fast and the thought of him dying takes your breath away and leaves nothing but a huge hole filled with pain. You sit down and take his hand and you are crying, quietly and softly so no one else can hear you.
You have never been in love before and you do not realise you are now.
For the next few days you sit by his bedside, convinced he will not make it. You don’t want him to die alone, and that is your excuse, so you stay and eventually you fall asleep with your hand holding his.
Doctor Bethune, your friend and mentor, tries to get you to go back to your bunk but you won't go. He knows not to push you. He thinks you are close to having a nervous collapse. You are investing too much time in one patient, but the truth is you don’t want to leave this vulnerable man. You are sure that if you leave him something awful will happen.
You know that the doctors are unsettled. For the past day a heat has been emanating from the young man's body as if something within him is at work. You keep cool water by his bedside and a cloth on his forehead and wrist to try and keep his temperature down. You are worried that the heat will be too much for his mind. From time to time he seems to be dreaming (or having nightmares) and he calls out the name 'Steve' several times.
You try to keep him still so no stitches are pulled. You tell him gently to be calm. You tell him everything will be all right.
There is something about this man that has gotten to you and you don’t realise you have already lost your heart to him. You don’t know that eventually you will lose your whole life to him, and that he will become your whole world for what will seem like eternity.
You are so like your father in that way.
*
Over the next few days, the doctors struggle to keep up with the patients injuries and each day they are amazed he is still holding on. They begin to talk amongst themselves - there is something wrong here, could it be something the Americans have been working on? There have been wild reports about a so-called 'Captain' in the American army who has become something of a legend over night, could this be him?
But it can't be him, the Nurse tells Doctor Bethune. She points out his dog tags say he is a Sergeant, not a Captain.
Darker things have been heard. Whispers of an organisation called Hydra, and the scientist Zola. The other doctors begin to fear for themselves. Should they report it? If they do will they be safe, or will they all be disposed off quietly whilst the American is made to disappear? In the end, several doctors decide they won’t report his bodies remarkable ability to live despite the terrible life threatening injuries, but just let it be known a captured American soldier is in the camp. He will be taken away to be questioned eventually, let the authorities sort it out.
*
He comes around twice on the second day, barely conscious - as if struggling to keep his eyes open. Seeing you sat there, but looking beyond your shoulder. He is searching for someone else and you believe it must be the man called Steve. You wonder who this Steve is. He must mean a lot to this man. A twinge of jealousy runs through you and you don’t know why, you must just be tired and out of sorts.
Your father is English and so you speak the Americans language. You try to talk to him, to reassure him but you know he is still a long way from taking anything in and you are not sure if he hears what you say before he closes his eyes again. You don't ask him any questions, he is to unfocused, you don't want to tire him.
Over the next few days they allow you stay with him. You clean him up, dress his wounds. The doctor tuts to see you there, but you will only leave him for minutes at a time, You sleep in a chair by his bedside, change his drip, wake him to take small amounts of water which he chokes down and then falls asleep again, murmuring words that frighten you.
He is weak and cannot stay conscious for long, but the doctors realise it will take a lot more than what has happened to kill this man. Even in the short time they have treated him his bones seem to begin to repair, his wounds appear to start to heal. They have never seen this happen before and you begin to worry at their fear and quietness when they examine him, remarking quietly again and again about the strange heat that emanates from him.
The doctor who has ties to the black market starts to take an interest in him. You do not trust this man. You remove James's dog tags and hide them, but you now know this will not keep him safe. There has already been a file created on him. He has already entered the system.
He starts to come around for short periods of time, and now when his eyes open he looks for you because you are always there. For a brief time he looks beyond you, still looking for his friend, but his eyes always return to you as there is never anyone there.
Doctor Bethune starts to believe this man will survive, but he shakes his head and says he doesn't know how. “Someone up there must like him,” he jokes.
*
Doctor Bethune goes back to his tent and, after taking a long swig of vodka he starts to alter the file kept on the American. He does not want either his name or the nurses to appear in it. He is trying to protect both of them. He has heard what the other doctors are saying - they cannot keep it quiet for much longer, and he knows she has not realised this. She thinks the American is safe because he is so badly injured. He cannot tell her he isn't because he knows if he did she would try and do something stupid.
*
You start talking to James, and he tries to focus on what you are saying. His replies don't make sense; you know he is in a great deal of pain, confused and you try to make sense of it - but you can't. You know from his dog tags what division he is with, there is even an 'indentation' of a howling wolf on the tags, but you have no one you can ask. You begin to realise you need to think about getting him out of here, but he is still so badly injured that to move him would be to kill him. What do you do? How can you get help? You have no money and there is nothing you have that the black market doctor would want.
Later these thoughts will come back to haunt you and will be with you for the rest of your life.
If only you had done something.
You will never believe the truth, that there is nothing you can do to protect this man.
*
Three days later, they come for him. It is late in the afternoon - just as it is getting dark. There is one truck with six soldiers.
Someone in the camp has reported the American soldier.
*
You hear the truck approach. You are in your tent. Doctor Bethune persuaded you to leave your only patient for a few minutes so you can change into clean clothes. At the sound of the engine, your heart drops to your stomach. You know it is not incoming wounded as you have not had a report of any fighting nearby.
As you run back to the recovery tent two of the soldiers are holding him between them, pulling him out of the tent. He is barely conscious. They have torn out the drips, and the doctor is arguing with them.
“No! Let him go! No!” You run up to them, try to get them to release him; but one of the soldiers takes your arm, hits you hard and flings you away. When you try to get up, he kicks you in the stomach and, frightened they are going to kill you, Doctor Bethune crouches down and holds you so you cannot move. You are weeping, begging them to let your patient go.
The last you see of James Barnes is when they manhandle him into the back of the truck, throwing him on the floor before getting in behind him. Doctor Bethune's grip is tight. He will not let you go.
Two days later you leave the field hospital, Doctor Bethune is the one sending you away.
*
Doctor Bethune will also disappear when he can. He has not told her, but when they came for the American they took his files. He has seen this happen before and knows time is now running out for the both of them. He was glad he had changed the details on the files, they now carried the names of a different doctor and nurse.
Doctor Bethune returns to his family and arranges for them to be smuggled out of the country.
He never finds out who this American is, but he is important to someone. Later, he hears how in the field hospital the doctor involved with the black market and a nurse that helped him pilfer the medical supplies have been found shot in the forest. No one but Doctor Bethune knows why, it was their names he used to replace his own and the nurse, retribution he thinks, for the wrong they had done to the world.
He keeps a diary and years later, close to his death he asks his son to keep his diaries safe and tells him about the American soldier and the nurse and swears him to secrecy. He doesn't know why he just knows someone should know the truth.
He says a prayer for her and hopes she found peace.
*
You return to your parents, broken in spirit and in heart.
You begin work at the local hospital and under the floorboards of your bedroom you hide James' dog tags. You feel empty and you find it difficult to sleep. The days are long and you keep as busy as you can, trying not to think of him. How can someone you have known for such a short time affect you this way?
You say a prayer every night for James, but no one at the moment is listening.
The truth is that there is an evil growing in the world, getting stronger every day, and it will threaten to engulf everything you have ever known. You have already become a part of it and at this moment in time there is nothing and no one that can stop it.
Maybe in the future the world will find its champions and their names will include two that you have already heard - but until then there is nothing that can be done to stop it.
Hydra has its foothold, and that is all it needed.
*
Part Three - Bucky Barnes
There is deep mind-numbing pain every time he comes around.
There is always someone with him. He is not alone.
But, there is no Steve.
The first time he comes around properly, he thinks he might be at home - albeit in hospital. He tries to ask the nurse for Steve, but her face reflects his disappointment and very soon he begins to realise although this is a hospital, it is not a proper one.
He has seen field camps before, taken men there to be sewn up, put back together or simply to be sent home for burial.
He can hear the wind whip around the material of the tent. Snow fall blocks out the light and makes the place seem so quiet, so hushed. All it is is a collection of tents out in the field, somewhere in Russia. How he got here he isn't sure. He has vague memories of a group of Russian soldiers, but he tries not to think of that - it makes him break out in a hot sweat and panic closes in around him.
The nurse bends over him, her uniform is so different to that of American nurses. She smiles and rests her hand on his.
“Try to drink some water.” She offers him a beaker, helping him so he doesn't end up with it all down his hospital gown. Just moving slightly and drinking tires him out and makes him ache. His throat is sore and his ears hum.
The next time he remembers more. He thought he should be dead, if not by the fall then by the Russian soldiers' cruelty. How did he go from being shot to being here? He tries to ask but he can't formulate the words. He feels so tired all the time.
“Sshh, its all right, you need to try and sleep...I'll be here don't worry.” The nurse takes his pulse, checks the drip then pulls the covers up to his shoulders.
He has to escape. He needs to get back home, but he can't move, his mind cannot formulate a plan, the pain is immense and he knows deep down that he is too broken to do anything.
He looks up. The canvas is totally dark; the light in the tent is coming from hurricane lamps. It must be night. He listens to the wind, and before he knows it he is asleep again.
He doesn't know what wakes him.
He opens his eyes and guesses by the light trying to get through the canvas it is day. He doesn’t know how long he has lain here - he just knows the pain is getting worse. The nurse who is always here is asleep, she is resting her head on her arms on the side of his bed. He doesn't want to disturb her.
He looks to the other side and feels like he has been punched in the gut, he keeps forgetting. All there is of his left arm slightly above the elbow is a stump, dressed in bandages - but he can visualise ugly stitches holding a flap of skin over the end.
Sweat breaks out on his forehead. Jesus, don't think about it Barnes.
But he feels he can't drag his gaze away, and he moves what is left of the arm, thinking it can't be his own - but it moves when he asks it to and he thinks he is going to scream.
His right hand clenches, sending pain through the fingers that are trying to mend. He feels so hot, as if something is inside him, almost burning him in places. He begins to think it has something to do with Zola. Ever since he returned from that laboratory he has not been right and has spent the time trying to hide it from everyone, everyone but Steve that is. What has Zola done to him?
Gulping, he turns his head away. Concentrate on something else, anything, anything.
His eyes flit around the tent, and then back to the woman asleep by his side.
The nurse. She is always with him, she speaks to him, tells him to sleep. Her English is near perfect, and he is not sure if she is Russian or not. Her hands are always gentle, and he tries to ask her to help him, but he can't keep hold of any thought long enough for it to make sense. The heat overtakes his body and he becomes almost delirious, his thoughts are completely lost to him.
When she is talking to him, her eyes are always full of compassion. They are so large and blue. Deeper than Steve's.
Steve, help me. Please. You helped me before when I was lost - oh God. Is it too much to ask for another miracle?
He feels something well up in his chest. His mind doesn't want to think of Steve again, it hurts too much.
He swallows, and concentrates on the nurse. She is asleep, barely breathing, quiet. Her hair looks so soft. Her fringe needs cutting and she has the longest plait he has ever seen. That sounds like it should be a song, he thinks, crazily. The plait reaches down to her waist, and she usually has it looped up at the back - but it has come undone and is lying next to him. He moves his right hand to bring the plait closer to him without waking her.
Its as thick as his wrist - my right one of course, I haven't got a left one any more.
He feels hysteria bubble up. Breathe...don't think...don't think.
Pain hits him then, and he can barely catch his breath. He clenches his hand holding the braid. He needs to think of something to block the pain out. He doesn't want to think of home, of Steve, of anything.
He unclenches his fist.
He looks back at her hair.
The plait is so long. He begins to count the chevrons in it; they remind him of the Sergeant stripes on his old uniform. It takes him a while, and quite a few tries, because he keeps losing count. There are about 36 of them, give or take, so if each one is about an inch then it must be just over 35 inches long. God how much brushing must that take.
At the end of that he is exhausted and closes his eyes and breathes as deeply as he can. The pain starts to build again and he grits his teeth, the heat makes him sweat and he opens his eyes and takes hold of the plait again.
He sees it is bound at the bottom with string, and wincing, he pulls the band off. It seems to take forever to do such a simple thing and he has to stop as darkness threatens and sweat runs down his face.
Mustn’t move too fast, he thinks grimly. God it hurts.
The hair becomes loose at the end. He loosens it more, so there is enough for him to run his fingers through. It's so soft, like sable. He remembers a teacher that he and Steve had at art college. He would not paint with anything but sable brushes. Bucky used to love sweeping the expensive soft sable hair over the palm of his hand, and Steve was always taking them off him, putting them back in the pot before the teacher saw.
Buck!
He hears Steve's voice as if he is next to him.
His hand clenches for a moment as not only the memories but intense pain runs through his mind and body. Will he ever get back there? Will he ever see Steve again? Does Steve know where he is? There is so much for him to think about but with the pain he is in his brain doesn't want to think any further ahead than the next few minutes.
Another stupid thought shows itself; he normally shoots using his left hand - he is ambidextrous when it comes to weapons - but in the main he is right handed.
Lucky huh?
Always falling back on your bad sense of humour Buck? Never serious? He can hear his father's voice now running through his mind and that nearly breaks him.
Don't think about it, Barnes.
He brings her hair closer, making sure he doesn’t disturb her. If she wakes up, he is convinced she will leave and he doesn't want her to, he doesn't want to be alone. The colours in her hair are amazing: smoky, blonds, browns, even silver. How can anyone ever think hair is just one colour?
Out of no where comes an image of a grey wolf, the markings of its coat beautiful despite its being deadly. Yellow eyes watching him. He seems to remember it was a threat - a big one. Greedy eyes looking to...
His mind skirts away from that thought.
He is suddenly so tired again. He closes his eyes for a moment but his hand still holds the plait, running his fingers through the softness. The deep pain that has been growing in his bones is intense. Without warning, it hits him full force and he groans and moves to sit up but instead his body curls around itself.
She is awake in an instant.
She is flustered she didn't mean to sleep.
He is clutching at what is left of his left arm, and she knows he is feeling phantom pain - despite there being nothing from the elbow down. She looks at the drip. It has run out, and therefore so has the morphine. She curses.
"Try and lie back, James." She tries to get him to uncurl, she doesn't want him to pull the drip out. She places her cool hand on his forehead and he allows her to bring him to lie straight.
"It hurts, God it hurts," he whimpers, not liking the sound of his own voice.
"I know, I know, I'm so sorry."
She turns to walk away from the bed, but he grabs her hand.
"Don't leave..." he was going to add the word me, but he doesn't want to beg.
She clasps his hand with both of hers and looks at him, his beautiful eyes watching her, pleading with her.
"I'm won't, I promise. I'm just fetching another drip bottle, its just over there. I promise, I won't leave you."
Then she is walking to the other side of the tent. He can see her. She is not leaving. Within seconds she is back and is fiddling with the drip, changing the bottles over.
She then injects something into the bottle.
Moments later he feels a cool rush into his right arm as the liquid flows, and then some of the pain begins to recede.
He can breath again.
He keeps his eyes closed whilst he breathes in and out. The humming in his ears calms, and the pain becomes just about manageable again. He opens his eyes when he feels her take his wrist. She is checking his pulse, and she smiles down at him.
"Better?" she asks. He had thought she was English, but no, there is an accent there. She puts his hand back down.
Then something catches her eye and she frowns. Her hair is unravelling. How did that happen? She catches hold of the plait before it can unravel any further and, looking around, sees the string on the bed. She picks it up.
He watches her re-plait it and bind her hair back up. He wants to ask her what her name is, tell her what beautiful hair she has and ask her how long it took to grow that long but he is so tired, the morphine is doing its job and his eye's close as she sits back down.
Within seconds, he is fast asleep again.
*
There is shouting. Loud words he doesn't understand. Then hands are grabbing at him, pulling him from the bed, pain as the drip needle is pulled out. He tries to make sense of what is happening. He crashes into a table and nearly falls, but strong hands have him on both sides, on the left squeezing the stump and breaking the skin open again.
He is being dragged out of the tent. His mind is still a blur, but he knows he is in danger. He has no strength but he tries to fight back. It is pitiful.
The light blinds him and the cold hits him hard as he is dragged into the open and towards a truck. His bare feet scuffing the snow on the ground, they are going so fast he can't stop the momentum.
He hears the doctor shouting in Russian, and he realises it is soldiers dragging him along. He hasn't time to think. He tries to slow them down but a soldier hits him in the stomach with his rifle butt and that winds him.
He hears a woman and he knows it is the nurse. He tries to say ”no!” as he sees them hit and push her away and then they are lifting him, throwing him into the back of the lorry onto the cold metal floor.
Before the back of the truck is put up, he sees the field hospital for the first time. Tents, a white flag flying with a red crescent sheltering a red cross, and the nurse kneeling on the ground being held there by one of the doctors but fighting to get away. She is sobbing. Then one of the soldiers hits him on the back of the head with the rifle butt and everything goes dark.
*
Hours later the cold has sunk through to his very marrow. He is still lying on the floor of the truck. He only has on the hospital gown he was wearing when they took him. His feet are tied, rope binds the top of his arms backwards, and it is so tight it is stopping his circulation. He feels he has no hands at all.
There is a hood over his face. The material stinks and he realises he has been sick, just bile and water as there is nothing else in his stomach.
No one has moved him, his joints are stiff, his muscles seized. In the middle of his back a weight, someone has their foot pressed down so he cannot move. He feels nauseous, his body hurts, his ears hum. He can hear voices murmuring and feels the vehicle they are in coming to a halt. The weight disappears and hands pull him up, the voices full of disgust, he passes out.
Next time he regains consciousness he is in the dark, still bound, still hooded, still cold. He is tied to a chair. He tries to call out but he has no voice, his mouth is dry and tastes of vomit. He senses he is alone.
Then total darkness again as he passes out.
Someone is shaking him and then suddenly he is drenched in cold freezing water. He is no longer wearing the hood but he is still tied to the chair. He splutters and opens his eyes. Pain everywhere. The gown is now sodden.
He looks up. There are two guards ahead of him, and another man sat on a similar chair opposite him, smoking. The room is sparse, filthy, blood on the floor and the walls - old blood, and the pit of his stomach falls.
Interrogation.
He swallows, he is so thirsty and he knows already he is weak and injured. Inside he prays.
Don't let me tell them anything, please God help me.
The man sits there staring through the cigarette smoke at him. Bucky wishes he could crack a joke, be cool, do something so this man cannot see the terror he is feeling. A wild thought goes through his mind, Steve and the others crashing through the door to save him, Steve in his Captain America uniform, red white and blue, they have found him, finally and although he doesn't realise it he lets out a sob.
It will never happen.
He breathes in, telling himself not to let them see him cowed. He tries to sit up as straight as he can and pain lances through his chest, his broken ribs that were healing so well aren't healing any more and he has two more to join them.
The man seems to enjoy seeing him in pain. He smiles.
"Water?" Bucky asks, his voice hardly making any sound, he tries so hard to put confidence in his request.
The man actually turns to the soldiers and nods. The two of them walk forward with a bucket grinning. Instead of offering him water, one holds the bucket whilst the other one grabs Bucky's hair and tries to drown him in it. He comes back up spluttering and desperately trying to breathe, gulping in air.
"Not enough for you?" the man asks in accented English, nodding to the soldiers. They repeat the dunking. This time when they bring his head back up he has blacked out.
The man throws the butt of his cigarette on the floor, gets up, leaves the room. The two soldiers return to their post at the door leaving Bucky, soaked and unconscious tied to the chair.
Over the next few days the only thing he tells them is his rank, name and serial number - which is what they were expecting. What they want to know is what an American is doing so far behind their lines? Normal interrogation procedures are followed but it is obvious they are not going to get the information they want. Feelers are put out to see if anything can be found, but the Camp Commander is amazed when nothing comes back: no file on the man, no covert operation known, nothing.
He begins to feel uneasy.
What they don't realise is how close Bucky is to breaking. He is a mess. His throat is so sore from screaming he cannot talk any more. He mumbles his name, rank and serial number. He can barely swallow, bruising on his throat shows where they have throttled him. He doesn’t think he has eaten in days, it could be weeks, not that he could even keep food down. He doesn’t know how long he has been here or how long he was in the hospital field camp. He doesn't even know if it is night or day.
His left stump is infected. Three four inch nails have been driven up into the end, one into the very marrow of the bone itself, it is now weeping pus and blood. His right arm is broken, more fingers on his right hand broken and all the nails missing.
His rib cage isn't just broken, it is out of alignment - courtesy of the sever beatings from the guards. One of the broken ribs is very close to being pushed into his heart. Even for Bucky, in the state he is in, it would be instant death. When he wouldn't do what they said they drove a knife between the separate ribs and forced them apart, and every time he breathes it is agony.
One knee is smashed. One foot lacerated and the toes crushed, most of his toe nails missing. His face so badly swollen even Steve wouldn't recognise him. His nose is broken, smashed into his face. His left cheekbone broken, his eyes bloodshot, one closed and infected with a chance of him losing it.
He is naked. Cigarette burns where they can hurt the most, in the most delicate places. His scrotum swollen, his genitals covered in the small round burns causing the swellings, some now cracked open and bleeding.
They shaved his head. They cut the hair out in clumps and then shaved it with a sharp knife and water, gashes have bled and spilt the skin. In one place you can see under the dried blood to the white of his skull. Bruising makes you think he has various tattoos but it is just where he has continually been beaten and couldn't protect his head.
God alone knows the damage inside his body.
He lays on the concrete floor, shivering and naked. In his mind he is concentrating, concentrating so very hard on that plait, the hair wound up in it, the colours, he can almost feel the softness again. The way the nurse chased it around to get hold of it and then re-plaited it, tying it back up. He had started by trying to think of Steve and of home, his parents, his brothers, but those memories hurt more than the pain of his body and his mind keeps skirting away from them. He can't even see their faces any more.
To Bucky though the worst of the treatment is what the guards do to him after the sessions. The guards have been using him for their own pleasure. 'Takiye dovol'no amerikanskiy mal'chik '- Such a pretty American boy.
They had brought a cot in after the first day, five of them. He could barely fight but he tried. They held him down, pushing his face into the material of the dirty mattress so his screams could not be heard. They raped him one by one.
He has no chance against them, but every single time he fights. When he tries to move they can hear the broken bones in his body grating as he tries to keep them away. Some of the other guards like to watch, their hands down their trousers as they enjoy watching the American being mauled and sodomised.
The interrogator also likes to sit and watch, always smoking, always ready to listen if Bucky finally decides he wants to talk. Always ready to hand over a lit cigarette so the guards can add more burns.
One guard wants more, he wants the Americans mouth but he knows he will bite. He will show the American just what they think of him and his countrymen. So instead he gets the others to hold Bucky down, and masturbates over him. 'Eto to, chto my dumayem o vas, amerikantsev' - That is what we think of you Americans, he says laughing as he spills himself.
Bucky prays he will die. Prays for an end. But Zola has even taken that choice away from him. The Russians are aware of the heat emanating from him but have put it down to infections rife in his body.
All the while Zola's formula races through his body, slowly trying to repair the damage done - but it is just not powerful enough. Instead it is just keeping his nerve endings raw, keeping it so he feels everything.
Then one day, when the door opens, it is not the guards but three men and the Camp Commander. One of the men is KGB and the Commander is nervous. Why are they taking such an interest in this man? Who are the other two men?
Bucky is too far gone to notice any difference.
The two men cover their noses. The smell in the room is making them feel sick and the poor wretch at their feet cannot be who they think it is. One man looks at the prisoner. He cannot recognise any features and looks again at the photo in his hand.
"Are you sure?" he questions.
The Commander nods, embarrassed. If he had known they were coming, he would have cleaned the prisoner up. He goes back to the door and tells the guards to fetch some buckets of water. When they come back they throw the freezing water over the prone man. He groans and tries to move but can't.
The KGB man walks forward and using his foot shoves Bucky over onto his back. One of the other men joins him. The second man was reluctant to step forward but when he does, that is when he feels the intense heat radiating from Bucky's body. It could be infection but at that temperature it could be Zola's serum trying to work its magic.
At the end of the day, anyone who has suffered as much as this poor soul has would be dead. And he is still alive.
The other man nods.
"We'll take him...” he says. "Can you…clean him up a bit and dress him in something?" He then signals to leave the room before he is sick.
Even if it isn't their man, at least he has saved the poor wretch from any further pain. They will have him shot through the head and buried quietly when they get back to their facility.
The Commander tries to find out more information. Where are they taking him? Why are they interested in him? But his visitors are tight-lipped. The KGB officer leans in close to the man and tells him he should know better than to ask questions.
The guards are disappointed to have lost their plaything. A lottery had been held, the winner being the one who would put the American out of his misery. They all have their different methods, cruel, sick. The guard who won was going to use a heated bayonet still attached to his rifle, he spent several nights dreaming about it.
If the men had come two days later, Bucky would have been dead.
That night, after dark, the facility Bucky Barnes was held and interrogated in, is razed to the ground, including the loss of all lives: those of the guards, interrogators and the Commander. It is reported as a unfortunate accident, and no investigation is held, all mention of its existence is expunged from the records; something that occurs in Russia with amazing frequency.
The ground is cleared and a new set of buildings built on top. No one from the camp is missed. Their families are told not to ask questions. They wouldn't have anyway. They value their own lives too much.
*
A few weeks later, in the forested area where the hospital field camp lay six miles to the south, a Soviet patrol is walking through the forest. It is eerily quiet and the leader is feeling as if they are the last people alive on the planet.
He and his men soon find out why it is so quiet as they walk straight into an ambush. The men who ambush them wear uniforms they have never seen before, black with some kind of red tentacled monster on the sleeve. They make no noise as they go about their mission.
All of the patrol are killed and those that do not have their features already torn apart by bullets are finished off with a shot to the face.
Ironic really, when you think about it.
Their corpses are stripped, and everything that belonged to them is burnt. Nothing is taken. The bodies are sliced open and left in the cold. There is no need to obliterate the remains, the pack of wolves following in the wake of the slaughter will do that.
Hydra now believes the last link to the fall of James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes has been destroyed.
They believe nothing remains.
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A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant