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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
- 77
- 78
- 79
Chapter Seventy-Eight
The Winter Soldier & Bucky Barnes – The Apartment

The van pulls up outside of the old bank in Washington.
It is night time, quiet, with no-one around to disturb them. They open up the back loading bay door and drive inside. There are three men, not counting the unconscious Soldier. They know the fail-safe command lasts for about six hours so they still have time. They close the bay doors behind them and move the Soldier out and into a loading bay lift, then accompany him down the four floors into the bowls of the earth itself. When he awakens he will recognise where he is.
Did he really think he could escape them?
The inner-city vault has been brought back online but with far fewer staff. For now, there are the five of them, two guards, two technicians and of course the new Winter Soldier's handler - Brock Rumlow. He is not a pretty sight. The left side of his face is badly burnt, still bleeding and oozing from the injuries. The burns run down his left arm and the left side of his chest. His voice is rough where the heat scorched his larynx. The doctors had told him he was lucky to be alive.
He took his survival as divine intervention, he was meant to live, he was meant for greater things. The heat from the fire had also caused brain damage; impaired his reasoning abilities. Anyone else would say the damage to his brain has sent him mad. Given him delusions of grandeur.
They would be right.
He knew about the secret stash of serum held as back-up for emergencies. It does not exist any more; it has all been injected into his body. Even now he believes he can feel the serum repairing his wounds; or, at least, that is what he believes it is doing. It is not. The serum has degraded over time. If he lives he will be a monster. If he dies, he will be lucky.
“Bring him over here,” he tells two of the men. The two guards keep their rifles trained on the unconscious man; they have both seen the Winter Soldier in action. They can also feel the tension in the air from Rumlow; can feel the testosterone, see the sweat rolling of his body. They try not to look at the burnt skin, try to block the foetid odour of it. He dismisses the three men who captured the Soldier. After all, they have other duties to perform. Before they leave they hand him over the tracking unit that gave them the location of the Winter Soldier. Rumlow puts it on the side for now.
“Wake him up,” Rumlow says to one of the technicians.
The man nods, scurries forward and with a hypo gun injects a drug to waken the Soldier. They have placed him on a chair and his metal arm has been powered down. He looks like shit. Rumlow crouches down in front him, takes a handful of his hair, and pulls his head back.
“Come on sleeping beauty. You've had your nap, now it's time for work,” he says and he sees the Soldier's eyes flutter as regains consciousness.
Rumlow slaps him hard and is finally rewarded when the Winter Soldier looks up at him, looks around the room, sums up the two guards, the technicians, and his own peril. But Rumlow can also see a difference in his gaze: the person they have is Bucky Barnes. There is hardly any sign of the Soldier in him.
Rumlow is an extremely angry man. He is just about keeping his temper from exploding. The guards feel as if they have to walk on eggshells around him, and the technicians are terrified of him. They have heard his ravings about how he is going to be the new leader of Hydra, he will lead them back to greatness. He is also to be made into a new and improved Winter Soldier only he will not have the Soldier's weaknesses, just his strengths. He won't be like any other human, and they believe him when he says that. You only have to look into his blood-flecked eyes to see he is no longer that.
“How did you find me?” Bucky asks, wanting to double check that it was the tracking device that betrayed his whereabouts; he is answered when Rumlow picks up the scanner and waggles it in the air.
“The magic of technology,” he puts the box back down.
Bucky is on the point of collapse. He had been so close, so close to Steve he had been able to reach out and touch him. And now he is back in the inner-city vault, back in the main room, back in the wiping room. And the chair sits there waiting for him, the machine already humming. Rumlow sees him looking at it.
“I see you've guessed we are going to take all your troubles away from you...again,” he says, goading this poor specimen of a Soldier in front of him.
Bucky tries to say something but his voice is too low for Rumlow to hear and so he pulls at Bucky's hair again makes eye contact, peering questioningly at him.
“I said...” Bucky's voice is as hard as he can make it. “Fuck off!”
Rumlow laughs, releases Bucky and lifts his arms up as if to encompass all of the people in the room.
“Do you hear what he says to us? This excuse for a soldier, this traitor, this filth?” His face hardens and he looks at Bucky who is struggling to keep up straight in the chair. He is trying to guess the odds. Who is he trying to kid? And Rumlow sees his shoulders slump, can see the man is ready to give up.
Without warning he hits Bucky so hard that it knocks him from the seat onto the floor and Bucky finds his head ringing. He tries to shake the impact off; it has made his ears ring, made his jaw ache. He slowly reaches out and uses the chair to get up and back into it whilst Rumlow looks at him.
“That the best you've got?” he murmurs and Rumlow hits him again.
“I'm just getting started,” he growls, picking Bucky up by the front of his shirt but Bucky is laughing; his mind just cannot cope with this. He is back with Hydra, how could he have ever thought he could get away?
Rumlow forces him back on to the chair whilst the technicians begin to set the dials to prepare the wipe process. They will then move Bucky to the wiping chair and clamp him down.
Rumlow leans over really close to Bucky, so close that he can smell his bad breath, can see the burn injuries up close. “See what your friend Rogers did to me?” He draws a finger down the left side of his face so that the skin bursts open in places and for a moment Bucky thinks he is going to be sick as fluid leaks through the jagged line.
“Him and his friend Wilson. Pretty isn't it?” And then he laughs, Bucky can see the glint of madness in his eyes, he knows what to look for because he has seen it in his own eyes often enough.
“Ready sir,” one of the technicians says and Bucky cannot help but look at the wipe chair. His stomach lurches. He doesn't want to be imprisoned in it. Doesn't want to forget any of what he has remembered, no matter how small the memory might be. Rumlow sees that look of fear.
“You belong to us. You are going to complete your mission. You are going to see Rogers; you will be nice and friendly and when you are up close like the pals you are, you will gut him and you won't be able to stop yourself...we own you. We decide what you will do. You will do what we want.” And Bucky sees in his mind himself walking up to Steve, Steve smiling and then Bucky plunging a knife into his friend's belly and the look of shock on his face.
“No!” he cries out shaking his head to clear the vision.
“You don't own me. I won't do it. I didn't last time, I won't this time.”
But Rumlow laughs again. It is a nasty laugh. He looks back into Bucky's eyes.
“He has to pay for this. He will pay for this,” and Rumlow indicates his face again. “Do you know what it is like to burn? Do you? I'll tell you, it fucking hurts,” and laughing out loud he straightens up and motions for the two guards to join in with the laugh. They look uneasy; the laughter is maniacal, disturbing but then he is looking back at Barnes again.
“But of course you could always ask your Constant how it feels couldn't you? If of course she was still alive.” He sees the look in Barnes' eyes: pure shock at the mention of the woman, he then walks back several steps and indicates the guards to come forward and take Barnes to the chair.
“I spoke to the guards who had to clear up your...mess. You didn't even fulfil that mission! You were supposed to have killed her but they told me that you couldn't even do that, they told me she was still alive when they fed her into the furnace....” The shock on Bucky's face turns into horror. “Oh yes, she was alive and awake as she burned. They said she cried for you to help her, screamed to the end. It took a long time for her to die and hours for her body to be consumed by the flames. I would hate to think though that she was alive all of the time, until there was nothing left of her. The pain would have been indescribable, but not just the physical pain, but your betrayal to her as well. She really did love you, you know.” Now Rumlow moves closer as the guards haul the Soldier up and over to the chair. Rumlow cannot stop picking away at it, doesn't know when to stop. He wants the Soldier to hurt.
“You think the evidence they showed you was real? She wouldn't of even known what you were accusing her of.” He nods at the guards to place Bucky in the chair, but he doesn't see the look change in the Soldier's eyes. He doesn't realise that he has pushed too far.
Not until he hears a gun shot and one of the guards staggers back, shot with his own gun, and then there is a second shot as the other guard falls away and then the Winter Soldier is turning towards Rumlow with such fury in his eyes. He grabs the front of Rumlow's tee shirt, bunches it in his hand and without stopping swings him around and into the wipe chair. As soon as Rumlow puts his arms out to steady himself the clamps whirl and clamp him into the chair.
“You want to be me so badly? Well, welcome to my life,” the Soldier's voice is cold, but his eyes are even colder.
A look of panic shows on Rumlow's face as he hears what the Soldier demands of the technician. The technician looks from the Soldier to Rumlow and back to the Soldier, but doesn't move. Bucky brings up the gun and shoots the man dead and then aims the gun at the second technician.
“Now!” he snaps and the remaining technician in panic sets the machine to run.
Rumlow feels the chair moving back, hears the whirl of the plates, and screams. “Get me the fuck out of here...now! I order you...I...” But by then the plates have covered his face, he realises he is trapped and his threats turn to panicked screams.
Withno further warning Bucky shoots the remaining technician dead, he doesn't want anyone left alive. He goes over to the panel and puts the dial up as high as it can go and Rumlow's screams increase in pitch. He switches on more dials and sets them at their highest to create a major overload.
He leans over so that Rumlow can see him, but Rumlow has his eyes screwed shut as the pain in his head begins to build, as the heat from the plates begins to burn his face. But he can still hear the words the Soldier says.
“She was mine!”
Before the Soldier leaves the room, he takes the tracking box that led them to him and crushes it under foot.
It takes the Soldier no time at all to find what had been his shared quarters. He can smell the blood as he enters and sees it smeared on the walls and pooled in the bathroom, dried but still sticky even after all this time. Embedded glass, black now with dried blood. He turns for a minute, has to hang onto the door frame. He sees the suitcase on the bed. Someone has already rifled through it. He empties it out and carries it through the door and back into the corridor to the supply room. He helps himself to supplies and then calls the lift. As he is waiting he can no longer hear Rumlow's scream...but he can smell burning. The machine will eventually implode taking everything with it.
Good riddance to bad rubbish.
He isn't worried about anyone he may come across whilst attempting to leave: the gun in his hand will take care of them. Indeed, the few people he comes across do not impede him for long. Two hours ago he was in the back of a van pulling into the bank, and now he is a free man.
He is two blocks away looking for a car he can steal when he hears what appears to be a loud rumble followed by a short earthquake. Several car alarms start bleating and a shop window cracks and shatters but no one is hurt – unless you count Hydra personnel.
And, of course, Brock Rumlow.
*
The Winter Soldier has gotten him this far, but Bucky Barnes is unable to hold up any more. So much pain, so many thoughts going around and around. One he is trying to fight from letting in.
She was alive when they burnt her. When he told them to burn her.
He makes it to the Greyhound Station, locks himself in one of the toilets, and takes account of the state he is in. He looks in the mirror. He looks bad.
“Shit, I can't rely on you like this,” he says angrily...but also quietly. He is still dressed in sweatshirt and jeans from this morning. His gloves have gone, he needed to replace those which luckily enough he has done from the store cupboard. There are several more pairs in the suitcase he has with him. He washes his face. There is nothing he can do about the bruising but at least most of the blood has gone. He runs his hands though his hair but decides that it makes it worse so he flattens it with water.
“And you think that looks any better?” he mutters.
“I'm fucking trying aren't I?” he snaps back at himself.
He looks away from the mirror, leans his hands on the sink, and breathes deeply.
“She was alive,” he murmurs, and the Winter Soldier feels nauseous.
For once it is Bucky who tells him to pull himself together. “When we get back to New York we'll think about it then but for now...” and he doesn't need to say any more. They need a plan.
He buys a ticket for New York, feeling a sense of deja vu as he is climbing onto the bus. He drinks from a bottle of water and keeps his hand on the suitcase at his side but before long the rhythm of the bus and the pain and fear catch up with him and he falls asleep.
He doesn't dream. He doesn't wake until the bus driver himself shakes him awake.
“Hey buddy, we're here.” He awakens quickly and the bus driver steps back hurriedly. The driver thinks the man in front of him must be an ex-forces veteran; they have the same look when you wake them from a deep sleep. The driver holds his hands up in apology and Bucky nods, tries to smile, tries to apologise.
*
The Winter Soldier sits in a diner drinking coffee. The suitcase down by his feet. He knows several things.
Hydra will come looking for him, and Hydra will find him with the tracking device in his hip giving out its signal.
He needs somewhere he can shelter. Somewhere safe.
He needs to stow the suitcase in the storage facility which means he has to risk going back to the hotel to retrieve the keys.
He cannot ask Steve for help. It is too dangerous. There is no one that can help him. He is in this alone.
For that night he uses a random hotel, one that doesn't worry about names as long as you have cash up front. He barely sleeps but he knows one thing when the break of dawn comes through. He has a plan. Not a brilliant one but one which should work nevertheless.
*
The next morning he feels stiff, uncoordinated. The first thing he does is go to the hotel. He cannot see anyone who shouldn't be there but he still chooses to go in via the fire exit. Clears out his room and is back out on the street within minutes. He visits the storage unit, swaps a few items about, and leaves with the back pack.
It will take him an hour to get to where he is going and he believes where he is going will be safe to do what he needs to do.
He approaches the brown stone building, looking around. He has already previously staked out the building in his previous life, knows the ins and outs, knows the vulnerable points – after all that was what he had been looking for at the time. This is where he had tracked Nick Fury to. This is where he was to shoot him dead.
Steve Roger's apartment.
*
He stands on the fire escape and looks through the apartment window and into the kitchen, then further into the living room. He has watched the place for two days and no one has visited or even tried to enter it. It is deserted. In that time he has not been taking care of himself. At night he continued to still watch the apartment, had fallen asleep, freezing cold, crouched down in the alley across the street. Last night it had rained and he got drenched. Drying out now, he feels chesty. His wound keeps twinging, itching, he just cannot get it to repair. Still lucky he guesses, as he is about to put a larger hole in there.
Looking through the window he can see the items in the apartment. He knows Steve still lives here but is staying at Stark's Tower for the time being.
More memories of and about Steve are coming back to him. Some make sense, some do not. One he is hoping is still true and as he feels under the window sill he smiles to himself. Steve always, always leaves a key hidden just outside wherever he lives. He retrieves a small metal tobacco tin and liberates the keys. There are two: one for the main entrance, and one for the apartment door. He has a story prepared if he runs into anyone: he is a cousin from Alabama visiting the great city for a few days and Rogers has said he can crash at his place whilst it is empty. He doesn't realise how he looks, how someone would disbelieve the story within seconds and be all the more likely to call the police. Lucky for him he doesn't encounter anyone.
He unlocks the door and opens it slowly and enters. He can hear nothing; even the air is still. He closes the door behind him. Takes a step forward.
“Hello?” He calls out just in case even though he would have been amazed to get a reply. He doesn't. The apartment is quiet. The air is dusty and smells of cleaning fluid. Unknown to Bucky, Sam had hired a professional cleaning firm to clean up Nick Fury's blood for when Steve finally returns, if he ever does. A glazier has also repaired the windows.
The carpet softens his footfalls. The first thing he does is go around the apartment and pull the curtains almost all the way across the windows. He leaves the kitchen window as it looks out onto the fire escape, and the blank wall of the building next door.. No one can see in unless they are stood on the fire escape itself.
He prowls around slowly this time. Besides the kitchen and the open-plan living room there is a bedroom and a bathroom. A closet in the hallway. The apartment is Steve's there is no doubt about it. He wants to keep looking, wants to rummage, but he knows he needs food and sleep but before he heads into the kitchen something stops him.
(Authors note: Please seefor photo: http://i.imgur.com/jzvCBqP.png)
A photograph.
It is stood on the sideboard and it is of him and Steve. As he walks over to it he sees two more stood behind it. When Steve disappeared his effects were put into storage and then forgotten until Phil Coulson found them and returned them to their rightful owner.
He picks it up and studies it. They thought they had been through the worst, thought they were near the end: but they weren't, they were just at the beginning. He thinks he remembers the photo being taken but he is not sure, he is not sure of anything any more and his head begins to ache. He feels faint. This is where he doesn't realise how much his thinking is impaired. He has watched the apartment. He has his backpack with him, his notepad, everything he thought he would need including cash. But he has forgotten food; for the last two days he has barely eaten not wanting to leave the closeness of the apartment, his safety net. His body feels as if it is on its last legs.
He heads for the kitchen and opens the fridge, but other than a few small items it is empty. He opens the cupboards, swearing to himself. “You never got your fucking food priorities right Stevie, never looked after yourself,” he mumbles.
He finds an opened box of cereals in the cupboard with some long life milk. He takes the packet, meaning to find a bowl, but suddenly his stomach reminds him of how hungry it is and without thinking he starts to stuff cereal into his mouth, it has lost its crispness, has started to go off. He grabs one of the long life milk cartons, rummages around for scissors and finally uses his metal hand to tear the corner off and drinks some of the white liquid down which makes him choke along with the dry cereal. He slides down the kitchen unit to the floor still stuffing the cereal in his mouth. Within minutes the packet is almost empty and he upends it. He looks at the floor and scoops a handful of the fallen cereal and puts it in his mouth.
What a fuckin' mess. He doesn't know if he means the floor or himself. He closes his eyes for a moment and the packet falls out of his hand. He is asleep within seconds.
When he awakens, it takes a couple of seconds to remember where he is. It is dark outside and the apartment only lets in a small amount of light from the outside lamps. He feels stiff, cold and as he stands there is crunching under foot where he dropped cereal on the floor. His right foot has gone to sleep and he needs a few minutes to come around, hopping as he does. His hip hurts like crazy and his eyes feel as though they have grit in them. He leans forward and fumbles for the light switch and it makes him squint when it finally comes on.
He opens a cupboard and finds a box of Advil, swallows four of them with water from the tap.
He is still hungry. His body doesn't care what it eats as long as it is something.
He finds raw vegetables and fruit and whilst the fruit is soft the vegetables are okay and he bites into a raw potato, his stomach growling and slides down the unit again. The food makes his mouth water and his legs go weak. He sits there chewing seemingly staring into space, eat, chew, swallow.
He thinks of food as being a necessity and not a treat - but then he has a memory of a diner. How long ago was that? His memories of it mixed with another memory and merging into one and he stops eating. He rubs his left eye with the heel of his hand. He doesn't know any more what are real memories, what he is to think and sometimes it hurts so much to think, just not the pain in his head but pain in the pit of his stomach.
He is still not used to having emotions and they overwhelm him; he drops what is left of the potato and hugs his arms round his body and weeps.
He doesn't know how much time goes by, he loses entire blocks of it. Things go dark and when he comes out of the darkness it takes a moment for him to remember again where he is. He starts up and the pain in his hip reminds him of why he is there. He didn't mean to lose time – he knows it is running out, and he knows what he needs to do next before anything else.
The tracking device.
His attempts at gouging it out didn't work; it is firmly embedded in his hip bone. He could see it but couldn't get the knife into the bone as part of the bone had grown over it. He is sure once he has gotten rid of it the serum will repair him, but he has not thought this through enough. His body is undernourished, dehydrated. The serum can only do so much; if it has no building blocks it can do very little but help him survive. And surviving is not the same as living.
He finds his back pack and unzips it, taking out a small calibre gun fitted with a silencer that he had taken from the store room back at the bank and stares at it in the subdued lighting.
“This isn't getting the job done,” he tries to tell himself. He stumbles to the bathroom, double checking that the gun is loaded, that the silencer is screwed properly in place.
In the bathroom he has already pulled the blind down, and he switches on the light. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and looks away; he really doesn't want to look. After seeing the photographs he doesn't want to see what they turned him into any more.
He undresses, shivering because despite the warm weather outside it is still tepid in the bathroom. The bath is at the side of the room with a shower attached to it and a shower door. He looks around and reaches over and takes up two towels which are on the rack. He is so sure that this is the right thing to do, that it will take hardly any time to heal.
Thinking he looks around the bathroom, then takes the mirror off the wall and leans it in the sink, working out the correct angle. He places his knife on the edge of the basin.
Gun in hand, he then climbs naked into the bath. It is slippery. He kneels but with his body in the upright position and for one second his mind asks him if it wouldn't be easier if he didn't just put the bullet in his brain.
He unpicks the sodden bandages over the wound on his hip and wrinkles his nose at the smell; there isn't just blood under the bandage.
He picks up one of the towels wads it up and bites down on it. Then he places the gun against his hip where he has gouged out the flesh. He takes a deep breath, his hand is shaking. He can feel the muzzle on his skin. He looks down and moves the barrel slightly until he gets what he thinks is the right angle and then he fires.
The thump of the bullet and the pain push him backwards and he hits the edge of the bath. Even though he has used the silencer the gun shot was still loud in the confines of the bathroom and it makes his ears ring. The pain is indescribable, and he nearly passes out. He kneels, in agony, trying to take deep breathes even though he is still biting hard on the towel to stop the scream welling up inside him. He looks down at the mess he has created and the smell and shock make him gag and he finds himself moving forward and being sick. He can smell burnt bone and flesh.
“Oh jesus, oh jesus.” He knew it would hurt but if he had stopped to think about how much he wouldn't have had the courage to do it.
Somehow he struggles to stand up using the wall for support. He needs to get to the mirror, he is not sure how he does it but he does. He stands there unsteadily and blinking. He is trying to take deep breathes, the last thing he needs is to pass out. He looks at his reflection in the mirror and the area of his hip that he has just fired into. Using his fingers and the tip of his knife he searches the wound; the bullet is lodged into the bone. He has to clear away some of the splintered bone and marrow first. He then uses the knife to prise out the metal and behind the bullet is what is left of the device. The smashed appliance falls into the sink with a clink. It is completely destroyed, no longer sending out any signals, no longer giving him away.
But his brain is fast becoming the same.
The pain and shock is too much and going down hard, he falls unconscious.
*
“Hello, we haven't seen much of you the last few weeks.”
Steve turns around and sees Dot and smiles. “Oh, you know busy doing this and that,” he says indicating to the Barista that he would like to order a coffee. He also orders a sandwich and a cake.
“Do you want to sit outside?” Dot asks, and offers to bring it out to him when it is ready.
Steve usually sits in the same seat every time, not through deliberation it just seems to be the one he heads to. He is a creature of habit, Tony has told him that a million times. You need to spice your life up a bit, do something unexpected, live a little...heck, live a lot! Surprise us!
Dot brings his food and drink out five minutes later and then leaves him in peace to enjoy the sandwich.
As he gets up to go she trots outside to bring someone else's food and whilst she is there loads her tray with Steve's empty plate and cup. Being Steve Rogers, he naturally helps.
“Did your friend catch up with you the other day?” she asks as she is clearing away and Steve frowns to say he doesn't understand.
“Friend?”
“Yes, he missed you in the park and was hoping you would come out again.” Steve shakes his head.
“No, did he have a name?”
This time it is Dot's turn to shake her head. “No but he seems a nice guy. Looks unwell though, apparently he suffers from migraines. Um, longish brown hair, polite, um always wears a jacket and...oh gloves as well. I wondered if he has a skin allergy as he is always covered up even on hot days.” And when Steve hears the description his stomach falls and his heart starts to beat faster. Dot sees the seriousness of what she has said written on Steve's face. “Oh Lord, I did wrong didn't I?” she asks.
“In what way?”
“Well I told him you were living at the tower...” her voice shows her worry and Steve wants to put her at ease, persuade her she didn't do the wrong thing.
“It sounds like an old army buddy of mine. Was he about my height and dark hair you said. Did he say anything else?”
“No, but...I'll be honest: he looks so unwell I was worried about him. He's come here quite a few times but the last time was four days ago and he looked, well, he just looked awful.”
Steve reaches into his pocket and pulls a card out of his wallet, passes it to Dot.
“If you see him again will you phone me as soon as you can? Or even ask him to phone me, give him the card? Tell him I really need to see him?” he asks and she takes the card and nods.
Bucky. It has to be Bucky. He is here in New York. How the hell does he track him down? He was going to return to the tower but now, now he feels unsettled, as if he is wasting time - time that could be used to bring his friend home.
His first thought is to ring Sam and he gets out his phone but then stops. What does he say? It could be that the man is someone entirely different, nothing to do with Bucky. He finds himself walking around the city instead looking at everyone as they walk by him. He realises how idiotic he is being. He isn't going to find him by just wandering around. He needs a plan. He is not yet ready to return to the tower, not ready to sit and do nothing. He finds he is just a few blocks from his apartment. He should see if there is any post. He has been trying to avoid going back there for as long as he can because it is so empty there but now he finds himself unlocking the door to the building. He checks his pigeon-hole; there are a few envelopes for him, a utility bill overdue. He puts them in his pocket and turns to go but something makes him decide that whilst he is here he should really check the apartment, make sure everything is okay, maybe pick up a few items to take back with him. He makes his way up to the floor on which he lives.
The moment he unlocks the door and opens it he knows there is something wrong. Sam had arranged for the apartment to be professionally cleaned so he shouldn't still be able to smell blood. There is also some other underlying smell, like rotting meat. Maybe he left food in the kitchen that has gone off? Yet the cleaning firm would have picked that up when they were here.
It is mid-afternoon and a narrow shaft of sunlight is streaming into the living room where the curtains have been pulled almost closed and he can see the dust motes in the air.
He glances into the kitchen and frowns when he sees the mess. Cereal scattered and trodden on, a carton of long life milk almost destroyed, lying on its side with the contents pooling on the surface of the kitchen top. A cupboard open, a glass of water and a box of Advil lying next to it. He is tempted to call the police or even Sam...but first he wants to find out what is happening.
The door to the bedroom is closed. He goes to open it but finds it won't budge. He pushes against it again then knocks.
“Hey, anyone in there?” Then to himself: “Of course there is Rogers, don't be so stupid.” He puts his shoulder and his whole weight against the door and it starts to give. As he pushes his way in he can see someone has put one of the dining room chairs under the handle, barricading themselves in.
The noise he made was tremendous and yet in the bedroom no one moves. The smell here is terrible. Blood, infection, and urine. He can see someone is lying in his bed. The curtains are drawn but there is enough light to see who it is.
It is James Barnes.
The Winter Soldier.
Bucky.
Steve stops for a moment, heart thumping but not because he is afraid. He looks around but sees no danger. The room is hot and airless and he can hear the rasping breath of someone trying to breathe, a sound he knows all to well. The first thing he does is open the curtains a bit and nudge the window open. The curtains begin to flutter in the gentle breeze. He can see a bit better now.
The Soldier is lying curled up on his right side on the bed, naked. Most of the bed clothes are on the floor. Underneath him you would think the sheet is red and black, but it was once white. The terrible colours are blood and Steve doesn't want to think of what else.
Looking at the Soldier he can see how intrusive the metal arm is and the terrible scarring around the plates that hold it to his body. He can also see other scarring and as he gets closer he realises the Soldier has lost a lot of weight since he last saw him.
The Soldier is still. His body is flushed pink from the heat it is generating, and yet his lips are grey, there are black circles under his closed eyes. Steve can see he is clutching something to his chest, it is something material. He walks closer and he realises that what Bucky is holding is one of Steve's grey tee shirts. It is the one that Steve keeps tucked under his pillow to sleep in.
Steve is finding it difficult to breath because of the smell and his eyes are smarting but he draws closer. A fly buzzes angry at being disturbed and Steve bats it away. He kneels at the bedside and puts his hand out and touches the man's left shoulder. The metal is warm, slick. The soldier's hair is greasy and wet from sweat. Sweat is dribbling down his chest. The wheezing sound is the Soldier trying to breath.
His eyes are drawn to a terrible wound on the Soldier's left hip: gaping, angry flesh. Discoloured. It looks as if he has been shot and Steve can see the colour of bone through the distended flesh, splinters of bone poke out of the damage. The wound is still oozing and is what has bled so heavily onto the sheets. He looks over onto the Soldier's back but there is no exit wound, although the area that corresponds is black with bruising.
“Buck? Buck can you hear me?” His voice is soft. “Buck...what the hell happened?”
The Soldier's eyes flicker as he struggles to open them and Steve gently pushes Bucky's hair away from his face. The eyes, when they open, are bloodshot, the whites yellowed.
He tries to move and Steve can see his body tense, the panic in his eyes. He tries to say something.
“No Bucky don't move, don't move!” He lays his hand on Bucky's arm and gets closer. “It's me, its Steve.”
The words are so low he barely hears them. “Don't take me back.”
“No one will take you back. You're safe now.” Steve finds there is a lump in his throat, the words had such desperation in them. He can't even begin to think of what James Barnes has been through the last seventy years.
But there is no further response from the Soldier. He has fallen unconscious once more and the room is filled with the terrible rasping noise.
Steve takes a moment to sit back on his heels. Bucky needs a doctor, but all doctors have to report gun wounds. He cannot take him to the emergency room. He stands up and gets his phone out and looks at it. Then dials. If there is one person who is likely to know a doctor it is Natasha.
“Nat, I need your help but I need you to keep it between you and me. No one else. Not even Sam,” he looks around the room. Where does he begin?
*
God almighty, talk about having mixed feelings. Even a year ago she would not have done this for anyone, and yet here she is not only with a struck off doctor next to her but going to save the life of her worst nightmare. “Steve, you owe me more than big time,” she murmurs and the doctor turns to look at her.
Steve Rogers means a lot to her – in an entirely platonic way - well, she argues, almost as much as Clint of course but that goes without saying. And then theres Nick Fury. She has never had friends before that would die for her and she knows Steve Rogers would if he had to. Friendship and loyalty are becoming big issues in Nat's life, ones she doesn't mind having to deal with, it's just she doesn't always know how to deal with it. The people she is now with, the Avengers, are a mixed bunch but they all believe in the same thing and for their friendship they expect nothing from her for it, and that took time to get used to. Someone has always wanted something from her. There has always been a price to pay.
When she enters the apartment with her doctor her heart is hammering and she has her gun tucked under her shirt and a knife in her boot. She would never trust the Winter Soldier. Never. But she does trust Steve.
He is there to meet them.
“This way,” he says but it's not necessary - Nat can already smell the blood. She doesn't know if she wants to see, wants to get that involved. But she cannot help her curiosity and she follows Steve into the bedroom and stands at the end of the bed as the doctor crouches down next to the wounded man.
She expected to feel fear, hatred, but what she feels is pity for the son of a bitch. Steve has tried to clean the wound as much as he can and has wiped down the Soldier's body with a cool cloth. He has attempted to get him to drink water but without any luck. He has also moved the Soldier on to his back with two pillows under his head. His body is covered in bruises, cuts, and scrapes but it is the scarring that makes her breathe in deeply. She has scars of her own. Deep below the surface. He is in a bad way: his ribs are showing, the terrible wound on his hip, his flesh is mottled, pink and grey in places. Large black bags under his eyes which as the doctor peers into she sees are blood flecked.
This is her nightmare made human, and it is a pitiable sight.
Steve cannot stay still and she catches his arm and pulls him to stand with her.
“What happened?”
Steve blows out air, lifts his hands in a search-me gesture. “Sounds crazy but I think he shot himself,” he says and she frowns. He takes her into the bathroom and she sees the state of the bath, the gun lying on the floor, the bloodied knife in the sink and hand prints where he used the walls to try and help him walk.
Nat goes over to the sink and picks up the two bloodied bits of metal. One is a bullet but then she recognises in part what the second one is.
“Tracking device,” she says showing it to Steve and it becomes clear.
“Why didn't he come to me?” Steve says, knowing the answer already from what Dot had said. He had tried.
They go back to the bedroom together. The doctor Natasha has brought is a good one; a man struck off in his own country for doing the right thing. They cannot tell him about the serum in the Winter Soldier's blood stream but he can see with his own eyes this is no ordinary human. He knows Natasha well; she saved his life helped him come to this country where he now works as a qualified vet of all things.
“We need to clean up his surroundings. The wound has got infected, badly infected, the flesh around it is festering. I need to cut some of it away so I need a sterile place...” He looks at Steve, “and I'm guessing we cannot take him anywhere else? I don't think moving him would be a good idea anyway.” He sighs. In truth he has worked in far worse conditions before.
He gives Nat a list of things he needs from his practice, gives her his keys and sends her away to fetch them. He gives Steve the job of coming up with clean bedding, towelling and an area he can work in to try and save the Soldier.
It takes them over five solid hours and when he has finally finished the Soldier is in a clean bed, is more comfortable. Natasha has gone to fetch food for them to eat and the doctor is clearing away his tools of the trade. He has even been able to put Bucky on a drip to try and help with the dehydration. He sees Steve looking at the tools.
“You're lucky I deal with large animals as well as small,” he says and smiles, and Steve nods. He cannot help but like and respect the man; Nat told him the doctor's story and he is happy for Bucky to be in such safe hands.
“I owe you,” Steve says and shakes hands with the man as if sealing a deal. The doctor continues to put his implements away “That arm of his is an amazing piece of technology and going by the red star I would say it is Russian. Would I be right?” For a moment Steve hesitates - but then finally nods.
“Your own story is amazing as well,” the doctor says, looking at him. “I have heard it of course as everyone else has but Natasha has told me a little more. I have been in this country more than fifteen years now and yet you Americans still find ways of surprising me,” and he smiles; it is a compliment he is paying Steve.
Steve smiles back and the doctor can see how tired he is. “I don't even know your name,” Steve says to him realising he has been so wrapped up in Bucky he didn't even ask
“Ales Novak.”
Steve holds out his hand and shakes hands again with Ales. “Thank you, sir.”
*
It is late. Nat has left taking Ales with her but he has promised to visit the next day to see how his patient is doing. Bucky's breathing is better. He has a drip feeding into his right arm. Ales has cleaned the wound, he needed to remove parts of bone that had splintered and when he fretted about the damage Steve tried to reassure him that Bucky's body would heal. He also had to snip parts of the diseased flesh away and then sew up the remaining flaps. He has given Bucky antibiotics and pain killers and covered the wound.
Ales and Natasha had persuaded Steve to eat, and Nat knows he will not move from Bucky's side so she had also pulled a comfy armchair into the bedroom and placed it next to the bed.
“You know me so well,” Steve had said. She has also persuaded Steve to allow her to tell Sam about the Winter Soldier but they have agreed not to tell anyone else. Nat will tell Tony that Steve is just sorting some things out at his apartment so will be staying there for the next few days.
He is glad now that it is just he and Bucky left. Bucky is no longer unconscious but he is in a deep sleep and every so often his body twitches. When he does, Steve leans forward and places his hand on Bucky's arm and tells him everything is all right. He doesn't know if Bucky can hear him but he doesn't want him thinking he is alone. Ales had said that the wound was at least several days old which means Bucky was here alone and in pain all of that time...and the rest Steve murmurs to himself – over seventy years in total.
Despite his worry, Steve also needs to sleep and so he pulls a blanket over and props his feet up on the bed and closes his eyes.
*
It is past 3am when a noise wakes him. He sits up abruptly and immediately looks to the bed and Bucky. The Soldier is moving, trying to wake, trying to get up.
“Hey no, don't. You need to stay still. Don't worry, you're safe.” He keeps his voice gentle, soft, non-threatening and is rewarded by Bucky focusing on him, his body seeming to relax.
“I know you,” his voice is rough, croaky and his eyes roam Steve's face.
“I should hope so,” Steve says smiling. “You need to rest, you're in a bit of a bad way...”
“The transmitter...” Bucky suddenly says, tensing again.
Steve holds up his hand. “It's gone, you're okay, you're with friends.”
Bucky cannot stop blinking; he is so tired, his eyes feel as if they are full of grit and he is convinced he is dreaming. He looks back at Steve.
“Stay with me until I'm asleep,” he says, fearful the apparition will fade as the Howling Commandos had.
Steve moves to sit on the edge of the bed and Bucky leans back against the pillow. Steve watches him and then smiles, reaches forward without thinking and tucks Bucky's hair behind his ear.
“Hey didn't I tell you I'm with you till the end of the line...”And he sees Bucky's eyes widen, sees him swallow. “Never seen you with such long hair though. Can't decide if it suits you or not,” Steve smiles that special smile of his.
Bucky puts his own hand on Steve's face as if trying to prove he is real, draws his finger down the side and Steve turns slightly and kisses the palm. The gesture is so personal, so intimate, it is as if they had never been parted. Taking Bucky's hand he puts it back down on the cover.
“Go to sleep, that's an order. I'm just here and I won't be moving, you're safe. I won't let anyone take you.”
It is one order the Winter Soldier is happy to follow. He looks at the man beside him, he has found him at last. Bucky feels safe, he feels warm inside and it has been such a long time since he has felt that way.
Steve watches him fall asleep, studies his face. He has such mixed emotions. Who is this man? Is he Bucky Barnes or is he the Winter Soldier? Or is he a hybrid of the two? If so how does he cope with him? How does he bring him back into society?
He gets up, stretches and then sits back down in the chair. So many questions and they can all wait. For now they both need to sleep. And thats an order he is also happy to follow.
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A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant