Undisclosed Location
He could only see the lamp... swinging back and forth. It was a simple movement, it was almost calming to focus on that instead of his body. The relief didn’t stay… someone moved it, they fixed the loose screw. Now the light shone fully into his face… it hurt his exhausted eyes, and he felt too hot. It made him remember the deep aching. He was so tired... but when he wasn’t here, he was in the chair...
Hadn’t he come back from that? He didn’t remember getting here, sometimes that happened. A different light broke through the usual one. From somewhere to his left, he couldn’t move his head to look just now. It let Bucky suddenly see that he was lying on his back, his chest was strapped down to this table. Boots clattered noisily, unlike what he was used to and two men showed up in his peripheral vision. It hurt to look that way, though and he returned his gaze to the light. Until one blocked it out, looking down at him. Bucky stared up blankly.
No… he did recognize their coats. They set up the paddles. No, no… it was too soon for this yet…
Hadn’t they just stopped? Longing! His body jumped slightly at the sudden shout in the back of his mind.
"Kapitän Amerika, ja," One said, and even far away in a language he had no idea what it meant but he picked up the name. Steve? Yeah… Steve. He let his eyes slid closed. Steve…
They… they were trying to… stop Zola… right. Bucky remembered now, in the Alps. He was here now… because… he searched for the idea lingering on the outskirts of his exhausted mind. He fell. That’s what happened…
Wait why were talking about Steve? What were they saying? He heard them say Captain America, they had a newspaper.... what were they talking about? Steve was always in the newspapers, but why were they grinning? One gestured to him and he noticed rather than felt the second man shift the metal abomination attached to his shoulder.
Yeah… that was right. They wanted him to turn, to comply. Steve… it’d been so long since he’d seen his friend. Surely they should have found him by now… if they were looking. They weren’t, though, were they? Bucky groaned around his raw throat.
No, it didn’t matter. He wouldn't turn, even if he was doomed here forever. He didn't care what they would keep doing to him. Bucky would never be a tool for Hydra, no matter how hard it was to stay awake... no matter what Zola did to him, he'd hang on…
‘Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the107th regiment… 325557038… Howling Commando… Brooklyn, N.Y. …. ’
He chanted the information that was on his dog tags in his mind all the way to the chair. He used to do that, but he’d forgotten to keep it up. Well, they couldn’t stop that, could they? Still, his breathing picked up as the clamps screwed down around his arms and the paddles were positioned around his head and James’ heart beat sped up drastically.
Again and again he felt pain he’d never known, he passed out most of the time. His body couldn’t handle the sort of pain that came from the electricity charging through every muscle.
Again and again… and his chant lost bits and bits each time, ”Longing!” ‘James…’ “Rusted!” ‘Commando…’ “Furnace!” ‘3255……’ “Daybreak!” ‘Steve…'
He stayed awake the next time they did it, and he almost wished his body had passed out.
“James…’ “Seventeen!” ‘3255….’ “Benign!” … ’S…’ “Nine!” ‘S…’” “Homecoming!”…. ‘Steve…’
The lights came in and out again, suddenly bright and then rushing to dimness.
“One!” ‘3255….’ “Freight Car!” ‘3255….’
“Longing!” ‘3255….’
“Rusted!” ‘32…. Steve.’
“Furnace!” ‘… S… S… 32…’
“Daybreak!” ‘… 55…’
“Seventeen!” ‘5….’
The longer it went on the more he couldn’t think and as it shut off all he could focus on was his heavy breathes and the twitching in his muscles.
He tried to remember his mantra… so he could tune out the words. The same exact thing every day, minute after minute. If it wasn’t the electricity it was those words. At some point someone new said it, said them in another language… but it was the same. He knew.
He tried to tune out what he knew they wanted him to say… over and over they kept shouting it in his ear and he couldn’t hardly remember his own name... no someone else's... it was lost over the shouts that made his already tender head ache all the more.
He stayed awake the next time too, and this time, his mantra and the words were gone. There was nothing but pain, until the words came… then, at the last word... it was over. It happened again and again, the pain from the chair and then the last word… and the pain stopped.
The old soldier forgot there ever had been other words than the ones he heard after.
“We can’t do it a third time today Zola, it will cause long term brain damage.”
“Hush General, let us see how it went zis time,” Zola waved a hand out towards the man, who began to repeat the conditioning words they’d been drilling into the American for the last month. They all waited around the man strapped to the metal chair. “General? Ze sequence.”
“Тоска. Ржавые. Печи. Рассвете. Семнадцать. Доброкачественные. Девять. вернуться домой. Одной. Грузовой автомобиль.”
“Солдат?” (Soldier?) The Russian general asked once again. Finally... the man once known as Bucky, the Allied forces favorite sidekick, answered as he should.
“Готовы к соблюдению.” (Ready to comply.)