Chapter 17
Now:
Sam and Bucky unloaded the target from the van. Someone had shoved a bag over his head to blindfold him.
Bucky felt that same lingering doubt that had been plaguing him since the beginning of this mission. Wasn’t he a good guy now? Good guys didn’t drag men from their hotel rooms to some dingy basement off the grid. Good guys didn’t kill security guards. Why had he ever thought he could be a good guy?
Zemo threw Bucky the keys to the door they’d just entered by.
“What are you doing?”
“My doctor doesn’t make house calls,” Zemo said. “I’m going to take the van and Nat to him so she can get medical attention.”
“It’s fine,” said Nat, her weak voice betraying the extent of her injuries. “I’ll be fine.”
“Nat,” said Bucky. He didn’t know how to express his unease at leaving her with Zemo. What could he do for her here? He looked pleadingly at Sam.
“I’ll go with her,” said Sam. “Make sure they get where they’re going.” He answered Bucky’s anxious look with a nod. “I’ll bring the van right back.”
Bucky swallowed hard. Then he nodded. He was grateful for Sam’s offer, but was still anxious to be alone. I’ll take care of him here, he decided. No sense in making someone else get their hands dirty, when he had killed hundreds.
—
The guy had seen their faces - all of their faces, Bucky thought. There was no other way to play this but to end it.
“Is that James?” said the voice from behind the mask. “Sorry, “Bucky” now, is it?”
“No talking,” Bucky grunted.
“Ah yes. I recognize that sweet voice anywhere,” said the man. “But to me, you will always be Soldat.”
Bucky tore the man’s blindfold off. “You’d better shut the fuck up. Before I make you.”
“There you are,” said the man. His fleshy lips parted with a crooked grin. “Just as beautiful and stupid as you’ve always looked.”
Bucky felt his chest freeze. He knew the man. He knew the voice.
“Oh, you don’t remember me?” said the man, faux-wounded. “I remember you so well, Bucky”
Bucky felt his chest constrict. It was a fight/flight response, he observed, echoing the concept that his therapist had explained to him when discussing his panic attacks.
It did feel like panic. Seeing the face of this man. Because he’d been one of Bucky’s guards when Bucky was the Winter Soldier. Like a handler, but his job was to keep Bucky at bay. Keep him subjugated. The things he’d done had hurt him mentally and physically in ways he could never forget. The psychic scars were right alongside the physical, and right now, both of them screamed along with the bodily memories.
“You,” he gasped.
“Ah! He remembers me,” said the man.
Bucky stood for a moment as the memories washed over him.
Then he grabbed the man by the throat with his metal arm, and began to squeeze.