Captain America Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Steve Rogers Fan Fic - The Constant

Chapter Fifty-Five:The Winter Soldier & His Constant - Hail Hydra!

The Winter Soldier & His Constant - Hail Hydra!

He has been woken up and programmed. The programming was hard this time: they have added a new layer, one to try and see if it will extend the life of the programming. It has made him colder, harder, more dangerous, more violent. When he comes out from the suite he feels nothing but contempt for the whole world around him. The only ones who can save this world are his proprietors. Hydra.

Hail Hydra!

He returns to his quarters and meets the whore who looks after him. He is utterly dead inside. He knows his mission and that is all that matters.

Hail Hydra!

It doesn't stop him from getting angry though. Angry and frustrated. He needs an outlet; they have found they need to leave that in so it works to help him achieve his mission, his goal. Until the mission is due, he needs to take his rage out on something or someone. After all, that is why he has his Constant, that is why she is his and no one else's.

Hail Hydra!

Despite the programming being hard on him, he is hyperactive and tense when he gets back to his room. At first, the Constant tries to talk to him but she can see the coldness in his eyes, it is even deeper than normal and she is wary, holds herself back. There is a disgust in his eyes for her and she flinches away from him when he gets too close and raises his hand. He looks at her and sneers.

Hail Hydra!

*

Breathing deeply, you push the blade further in and the Winter Soldier staggers back from you.

Blood runs down your hand, onto your arm. It drips to the floor. You push the knife in further, until the blade is buried deep within him. He watches it disappear into his stomach, feeling it enter him. His eyes are wide in disbelief. He looks at you, into your eyes. He is trying to ask you why as he staggers and drops to his knees, the weight of his body taking you with him so you are both kneeling. You push it further grunting with the effort, turning it as you do so that it will cause greater damage. Then, using all of your strength, you pull it upwards - hopefully into his heart.

His lips are blistering and you know the blade isn't all that is causing him agony. The drink you just gave him was laced with potassium chloride and it is burning him inside, the liquid bubbling through his mouth, down his throat stripping his skin and muscle.

He has made no effort to stop you. His hands stay at his side, it is because he is in shock. Shock that the only person he has ever trusted is you and it is you that is killing him.

He falls away from you, onto his back. As he falls the knife slides out of him and is left, bloody, in your hand.

You throw it away from you. You haven't finished yet. Your hands are covered in blood; a pool is gathering around where you are knelt. Where he is lying. His eyes are still open and his hands clutch at the terrible wound in his stomach.

You stumble up and backwards to the table where your cardigan lies. Under it is the loaded gun which you take up.

He should never have had you trained to use one.

You kneel back down, next to him. Your knees slide in the blood but you are steady. You have to be. You have to finish this.

He is looking at you trying to say something, trying again to ask you why. Blood and tissue run out of his mouth. The acid was a strong one and has already burnt away everything it has touched. The agony showing in his eyes is tremendous...but it is not just physical.