Wilder: An Altered Civil War

Chapter 9- People need to stop attacking Bucky

Sometime later

I was sitting with Sam and Steve at a table in a glass room. A man was interrogating Bucky in the other room, but we couldn't hear anything that was going on, and the only thing we could see was in the security room in front of us.

Sharon Carter walked in with a couple of sheets of paper.

"Here's the receipt for your gear," she said, passing Sam the paper. He took one look at it, before rolling his eyes.

"Bird costume?" he asked in a 'seriously?' tone.

"I didn't write it," she protested.

After a few moments, she hit a button on the center control panel on the desk, and out of the corner of the room, something played through the speakers of a small TV.

"I'm not here to judge you," someone said. The TV showed Bucky in his glass confinement cell.

I glanced at Sharon, who quickly glanced down.

"I'm just here to ask you a few questions," said the interrogator. "Do you know where you are, James?"

Bucky remained silent, staring into his lap.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James," added the interrogator.

"My name is Bucky," Bucky uttered roughly.

I watched for Steve's reaction. He simply turned and picked up the photo the task force had sent out of Bucky before he supposedly bombed Vienna.

"Why would the task force release this photo to begin with?" he asked.

"To get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can," Sharon replied. 

"Right," Steve said quietly. "It's a good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. You've got seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier,"

I quickly realized what Steve was hinting towards.

"You're saying someone framed him to find him?" Sharon questioned quietly.

"Steve," Sam interjected, "We looked for the guy for two years and found nothing,"

"We didn't bomb the UN," Steve responded. "That turns a lot of heads,"

"Yeah, but that doesn't guarantee that whoever framed him would get him, it guarantees that we would,"

Sharon's words helped something click in my head. Steve seemed to realize it too, glancing back up at the TV.

It guarantees that we would.

It sounded crazy in my head, but when I went over it again, it all made sense.

There was an imposter among us.

"Yeah," Steve said softly. 

Sharon quickly turned up the volume on the TV, and we watched with much more intent.

"Tell me, Bucky," said the interrogator, "You've seen a great deal, haven't you?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," Bucky mumbled.

"You feel that, if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop," added the interrogator.

Bucky said nothing in reply.

"Don't worry," the interrogator reassured him, "We only have to talk about one,"

I leaned forward on my seat just as the room went pitch black.

I lept to my feet. With the lights out, barely anyone could see a thing. 

I felt Sharon grab me from behind. 

"Hold still," she hissed. I heard something tear, a couple of clicks, and suddenly, she was ripping my arms out of the straightjacket.

"Sublevel five, east wing," she said to Steve as she pulled the gag from my mouth.

"Thank you," I choked as she dropped it on the floor.

Steve started for the door. I tried to follow, but he shoved me back. 

"NO!" he shouted at me. "Don't move! You are NOT getting hurt again!" 

I nodded and let him run with Sam. 

I turned to walk back into the room, but Sharon blocked me off.

"I never finished my quote from Aunt Peggy at her funeral," she said quietly. "The rest of it was, 'And if they're telling you to stay put and getting in your way? Walk around them,'"

Quickly realizing that she was telling me to go help them, I nodded, whispering, "Thank you,"

"Go be a heroine," she replied.

I didn't have to be told twice. I spun on my heel and sprinted after Steve and Sam.

Sublevel five, east wing, I told myself as I sprinted down the rectangular-shaped stairwell. Sublevel five, sublevel five-

I hadn't even reached the east wing when I was smashed into the wall.

I swiftly recovered, almost getting hit in the face by the metal arm of Bucky Barnes.

I ducked, bear-hugging his waist and sending us sprawling down the stairs in a tackle. I almost pinned him to the ground, but his metal arm was far stronger than any grip I could ever place. He quickly broke out and punched me in the gut, sending me flying at a terrifying speed and landing me against the stairs. 

He apparently wasn't satisfied, because he lifted up his boot to stomp on my stomach. I caught his foot before it landed in my gut, but my strength was wavering and he was relentlessly trying to smash my ribcage.

"BUCKY, STOP!" I shouted at him. "YOU WEREN'T ABOUT TO HURT ME A COUPLE OF HOURS AGO!!"

He growled in my face and stopped forcing his boot against my hands, retracting it and instead deciding to kick me in the chin. My head snapped back, giving me both whiplash and a hard thump on the head against the stairs.

While I was still recovering from this, he took the time to press his boot into my shoulder. 

Specifically, my wounded shoulder.

I screamed in agony, clawing and kicking at him as he continued to put weight on it. The only thing I could think of was the horrid pain in my shoulder, so I did the only thing that came to mind- imagined him imploding with equally terrible pain.

Bucky recoiled dramatically, stepping away from me and clutching his stomach, but only for a few seconds before scowling at me and continuing to charge up the stairs.

I rolled to my front, clutching my shoulder and using the railings to push myself to my feet. I wasn't done. I wasn't done. I wasn't done.

"Kid?"

I turned, finding Sam running up the stairs to me. He looped his arm around my waist and helped me walk. Getting my head hit must have thrown off my coordination because I kept stumbling as he helped me walk up the stairs.

"What now, Uncle Sam?" I asked faintly.

"Now," he replied, "We find Steve,"