Chapter 7
It was a painstakingly slow awakening. The tips of his toes were the first sense to return, outside of the foggy sound of beeping echoing through his ears. Strings of lights flew across his vision as he forced his heavy eyelids open to a slit. He sucked in air through his nose, moving thick and heavy in the back of his throat.
That’s when it truly crashed into him. The sharp, agonising pain radiating from his gut. No, not his gut- his hip.
The sensation trickled into his right hand, allowing him to move it. Barely. Shakily, he reached down to the origin of his agony. He fumbled on the corner of the bandage, his eyes finally focusing enough for him to see what he was reaching for. After a few failed attempts, he hesitantly peeled back the gauze.
There was an ugly line of staples, grotesque and swollen and staring at him. The surrounding skin was an angry red.
This shouldn’t be happening. He was… he was shot.
He was shot but he should’ve healed.
Bucky was finally slammed with the realisation.
He was shot.
Sam. Sarah. AJ. Cass.
He pushed himself up from the bed.
No. He tried to push himself up from the bed, but instead he uncoordinatedly toppled onto his side. His eyes went as wide as they could muster as he looked down to his left.
There was an empty void where his vibranium arm should be.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no-
His heart hammered in his chest, beating against his sternum and pulsing in his ears. He let out a pained groan, repositioning his right arm underneath him. He then pushed himself up, turning so his legs hung off the side of the bed.
A petite woman slipped in through the sliding door that Bucky hadn’t noticed was there until now. She was dressed in light blue, head to toe scrubs.
“Oh Mr Barnes, you’re awake.” She tried to hide her surprise, but not hard enough. She looked apprehensive, nervous even. Bucky didn’t acknowledge her words, staggering onto his feet as she spoke. He pulled on the cord that sat under his nose, sucking in breaths as deep as his lungs would let him. “Just relax Mr Barnes,” The woman cooed, “I need you to lie back down for me.”
Bucky eased his bare feet onto the cold floor, rising from the mattress. The world tilted back and forth, but he fought to remain standing. His eyes flashed in and out of focus, but he clutched enough clarity to watch her reach for something on the distant table.
She ripped off a plastic sleeve, letting it flutter to the floor. She held a long-pointed needle in front of her chest. Her voice snapped from gentle guidance to stern as she took a step forward, “Lie down, Soldat.”
Bucky froze for a moment. That word caught him off guard. He only let himself process it for half a second. He knew he had to move fast.
He rushed forward despite the pain in his front and the subtle numbness left in all his limbs. He could only manage to shove her backward, slamming her into a wall of cabinets. She sunk heavy to the floor. An array of items clattered down, along with a small rolling cart that she’d collapsed on top of.
Too many thoughts were racing through Bucky head for him to lock in on any at all. Instead, he tried to focus on where the hell he was and what the hell he was going to do next.
The small room looked like a normal hospital suite at first glance, but it was… off. It was cold. Not just the temperature, which had goosebumps covering his skin, but there were no windows. The walls were a dark grey concrete, a stark contrast to the white tiled flooring.
It looked nothing like the hospital he went to with Sam. The one that Sam made him go to.
“SAM, run!”
Bucky stumbled, his forearm bracing him against the wall. He needed to think this through, but his mind felt cloudy. Something was definitely wrong with him. This shouldn’t be happening. He hadn’t felt this level of brain-fog since…
As silently as he could muster, he pushed the sliding door open. Just enough to peak his head out into the narrow hallway.
It was quiet. Quiet besides the blurry figures down the end of the hall.
If he could just find… if he could just find Sam. Find an exit. Find a phone. Then he could go back to sleep. Away from the haze. Away from the pain in his front that wouldn’t simmer down no matter how much he begged it to.
He didn’t have time to wait, he knew that much. He crept into the hallway with barely a sound, even in his current condition, and slipped into a neighbouring room. As he stepped inside, he pulled the door closed behind him. He then slowly turned to survey what exactly he’d sneaked into.
The room was still. Laboured, mechanical breathing combined with an even, pulsating beep filled the air. It was around the same size as Bucky’s with the layout being slightly different.
There was a man lying straight ahead of him. Hospital sheets were wrapped neatly over his torso. His arms and hands were on top of the fabric, tucked by his sides. Bulky machinery equipment sat behind the bedhead. Cords and wires were connected to different places all over the man’s body; patches on his head, needles in the crease of his arms, and other lines disappearing underneath his thin gown that Bucky’s eyes couldn’t follow.
He analysed the unconscious form, realising after a moment that the man was staring back at him. His eyes were half lidded, but his pupils were moving. They followed along as he tentatively rounded the bed.
Bucky looked to the machines. He’d seen so many in his lifetime, but their actual purposes remained so foreign to him. Still, something stood out. There were two identical stands situated on either side of the bed, each with a large bag of red liquid hanging from the top. Almost all the tubes led back to those bags, including the two thicker ones inserted into the crook of both the man’s elbows.
Bucky’s bare feet padded forward, the pain in his hip still nagging in the back of his mind. He gripped the bag, angling it up so he could read the label with his still struggling vision: W.S 1-07.
His gut twisted, eyes falling to the crook of his own arm; the smallest red dot stared back at him. He could’ve sworn it healed as he watched, leaving his arm spotless. His muddled mind felt a phantom pin prick where the mark had been.
Bucky dropped the bag, frantically rubbing his inner arm against his side. Trying to scrub away the feeling, like he could erase what had already been done. His eyes were wide with panic, his shallow breaths echoing in his ears. There was a crash of items tumbling onto the floor as Bucky stumbled back against a row of shelving in desperation.
He froze. He waited until the clang of metal settled to nothing, to know if it was safe to move again. But in the quiet of the room, that’s when he finally heard it. The man in the bed. He was whispering.
His breaths still heaving in his chest, Bucky bent over and crept forward, eyes on the man’s barely moving lips. Even with his enhanced hearing, he had to get within inches to make out the words.
“Help… me…”
Bucky felt a pang as the man’s eyes bore into his own. They were pleading. Scared. Pained.
“I-I”, Bucky stuttered as he fought for the words he needed, “I don’t know how.” He watched a tear trail down the man’s cheek. He looked so young. So terrified.
He looked sick. His pale complexion combined with the heavy, black bags under his eyes reminded him of a young Steve battling with illness after illness.
He knew he needed to do something- anything.
Bucky scanned the equipment, hand shakily hovering over all the different options. He didn’t want to make anything worse. His vision shifted back to the desperate eyes on the bed in front of him.
Fuck it.
Bucky yanked the IV out of the man’s right arm, before dropping the needle and doing the same on his other side. A generous amount of red liquid trickled out of the pin pricks left behind, but he couldn’t tell if it was the man’s blood or from the IV itself – probably a mix of both.
Bucky reached for the chords slipped beneath the man’s sheets when siren’s blasted into his ears, making him flinch. Red and white lights flashed above him, synced with the alarms.
Picking up speed, he tore the cables out from the machine they lead back to. He then grabbed onto the thick tube that ran under the young man’s nose and pulled it back over his head. He then slid his arm behind the man’s shoulders and assisted him in sitting up. The man released a strangled groan as he moved.
Bucky’s head snapped to attention when the sliding door to the room was dragged open. The nurse from earlier was back. She looked dishevelled and pissed off. Guess she didn’t appreciate becoming one with the cabinets.
“Found him! Get in here!” The woman screeched out into the hallway before stepping back into it. Hearing an array of footsteps swarming closer, Bucky pulled his only hand back from the man and to his aching hip.
He stood hunched, watching with daggers as two armed men marched in. Instead of approaching Bucky, they opted to stand just inside the room by either side of the door. They held heavy guns, pointed directly at him.
I’m not walking out of this room.
The slow click of dress shoes grew closer. Despite himself, Bucky felt his skin crawl. It was almost muscle memory. He could feel the deep terror in his gut before he knew why.
His breaths grew thin in his throat as his eyes went wide, stuck on the white coat that entered the small room. Chills wracked down his spine and shook his core.
This cannot be real.
No. NO. NO.
He should be- He was- He can’t be-
Bucky’s voice came out so small, he didn’t recognise it as his own.
“Zola.”
The man on the bed groaned in pain, but Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away from the ghost looming ahead. The short man didn’t shift his gaze either. He simply stood straight, analysing him like he was some animal in a lab.
Just like he used to.
“Willkommen zu Hause, Soldat.” Zola chided. “Your services have been missed.”
Bucky kept his eyes on the smaller man, trying not to give away the fear in his chest or the throbbing pain in his hip.
“You died.” Bucky murmured, remaining still.
“You were dead once too, Soldat. Aber hier sind wir.” Silence hung heavy in the air, until the click of the two men’s weapons broke through. They let out a steady, low buzz in anticipation of releasing whatever they were loaded with. Clearly not normal weapons. Bucky stiffened.
“What are you doing with my blood?” he grunted out. Zola squinted, looking up at Bucky through his small circular lenses.
“Hm. It seems you’ve been sticking your nose where it does not belong.” Bucky clenched his jaw as the smaller man scowled him in his thick German accent. “You really should rest, Soldat.” Zola’s eyes flashed to Bucky’s hip with a knowing look. “We need you healthy for what is to come.”
Before Bucky could ask what the hell that meant, the two men fired. Both darts lodged themselves into his skin, no vibranium arm present to deflect them. One was lodged in the side of his neck and the other in his right shoulder.
Bucky reached up to grab the metal from his neck, but an overwhelming weakness in his muscles forced his arm back down. A deep ache flooded through him as any energy he had was drained away.
A loud grunt of pain escaped his throat as the searing pain that radiated from his hip and abdomen intensified. His head drooped forward, eyes dropping down to his front. A heavy stream of blood seeped through the shirt he was wearing and covered his palm.
The world spun, his head dizzy with a growing nausea.
He had to get away. He knew he had to. He tried to step back, but his heavy feet stumbled and sent him crashing hard into the tiles. His lower back and hip collided with the floor, forcing a shout of pain from his throat.
The room was twisting now, twisting with white and black and everything in-between.
Weakly, he reached for the dart in his neck. He managed to pull it out roughly, squinting as he tried to focus his eyes on the metal. It was no use. Everything around him was viciously obscured.
But that smell… he recognised it. It was vile. A putrid mix of rotting flesh and blood.
There was a deep burning sensation that had climbed to the forefront of Bucky’s mind, pushing to meet with the pain in his hip.
His neck. His arm.
His head tipped back against the cold floor as his eyes fell closed. He only had the strength to force them open one last time.
The man responsible for his creation stared down at him through thick glasses.
“Schlaf gut, Sargant Barnes.” Bucky could hear the man’s smirk even through his fogged vision. The doctor had always been so smug. Always believed he was doing what science required, no matter how many innocent people he had to mutilate and murder to get there.
Zola loomed overhead, adjusting his frames as he spoke. “Bis bald, Soldat.”
All Bucky could do in that moment was pray. Pray that the boys- that Sam and Sarah… that everyone was okay. Pray that they were safe.
Pray that he wouldn’t become that thing again. Pray that he wouldn’t lose himself.
He was dragged into darkness, his prayers left unanswered.