Aquaman? Whoops, Wrong Universe: A Percy Jackson Marvel Crossover

Chapter 12: The Winter Soldier

It was nearing midnight as the Winter Soldier crouched on a New York skyline rooftop, facing the cursed Avengers Tower. He didn't quite know why, but he got an unsettling feeling every time he laid eyes on the building.

He cleared the thoughts from his head as he refocused on his objective: Get the boy. That was all that mattered. Everything else was white noise, trying to drown out his concentration.

Get the boy.

Get the boy.

Get the boy.

The man only wished the teenager was in an easier accessed location. He didn't particularly want to cross the Avengers. He knew they were strong. Perhaps too strong for him to face on his own.

No. I am the Winter Soldier. The greatest one man army ever. No one... no one can stop me.

He hated when that happened. When he began to doubt himself. It only clouded his mind. Made him weak. And if the man was one thing... it wasn't weak. He may have barely known himself anymore, but he knew that fact surer than anything else in the world. And he knew he would always complete his missions.

No matter the cost.

No matter the pain.

He would do it.

His mask itched his jaw, but he didn't remove it. He liked it better on. It provided the fear factor and anonymity that his boss so loved to give his hits before the light left their eyes. As for the long hair, refusing to be held in a ponytail? Perhaps he left it that way to give a semblance of freedom.

His eyes scrutinized the tower, lingering on the telltale "A" branding, showcasing for one and all the heroes' headquarters. Were they even heroes? The Winter Soldier decided he didn't care who they were. Or who the boy was. The only thing that existed in his mind was the job. The only thought racing through his brain was his motivation. His goal. His purpose. 

After all, what was he without an objective?

A swelling voice inside him said, Nothing. You are nothing without a purpose, soldier.

But a much, much smaller one said, Bucky Barnes. Your name is Bucky Barnes.

The Winter Soldier did not acknowledge the small voice. It felt treacherous to even have an inkling of the thought. Bucky Barnes was an alien name. He did not know who that was. He knew for certain that wasn't who he was. 

He thought he caught sight of a room glowing with light, with unknown yet painfully familiar faces smiling, laughing, having fun.

When was the last time he had experienced that feeling? The soldier decided he did not know, and he did not care. Peace, happiness. He could sacrifice those things for the greater good. It was his duty. His obligation.

And he had no regrets.

The Winter Soldier felt along his waist with his metal arm for the grappling hook he had packed in a utility belt before he left. Speaking of the metal arm, the man did not remember what had happened to his arm. Did he lose it, or had he been born like this? He only knew the newly improved arm had been a gift from his superiors. A way to redeem himself. A way to gain power back. A way to crush his past into the dust, leaving no trail. 

That sounded good to the Winter Soldier. Although he didn't know much about himself, a primal part of his mind did not want to remember. He was reborn now. Into a much, much  better body, brimming with power.

The machine gun slung across his back jutted uncomfortably into his vertebrae, but he ignored it, something the Winter Soldier had become much accustomed to. Ignoring things was easy. Squash the itch, defeat it. Don't give in. That was his motto. If something unsettling dashed through his memory? Simply kill it. Ignore it. Make it powerless. It was only when the itch wouldn't relent, when the tiny voice in his head wouldn't stop talking, that it made the Winter Soldier feel out of his mind.