The Ghost [Marvel | Steve Rogers]

Chapter 40

Dresden, Germany

Spring 2016

He needed to...not escape, but he needed to get out of there. He needed time alone.

He...God, she thought it was her fault! Bucky felt sick.

It was jarring in the worst possible way.

Nadya—Nadine felt responsible for what had happened all those years ago.

Even disoriented as he'd been coming to in the abandoned factory Steve had secreted him away to after what happened in the JCTC, assaulted as he was with the reemergence of the disjointed memories from what he'd done while once more at the mercy of HYDRA's damned programming even as his mind was struggling to reorient after being scrambled—even if only partially as compared to how it used to be—once more? The realization that one of his worst nightmares since coming out of his programming in DC had become reality? That his programming had been activated again and he'd once more been forced into becoming little more than a human machine bent on violence and destruction? Even that hadn't shaken him as much.

Hell, only the revelation that he hadn't imagined Iris' presence back at the JCTC and the assurance that she was safe and unhurt had came anywhere close.

That had been a relief beyond any he could've hoped for after what he distantly remembered happening. But as his scattered thoughts and memories had reorganized once more and the sequence of events had come back into focus, that relief has dimmed considerably to a small beacon of brightness amid the grim reality of what he'd done.

What he'd been forced to do...

How he'd hoped...

Of course, the hope that he'd never again have to experience the forceful subjugation of his body and mind to his programming had been beyond his grasp. He'd always expected it would happen eventually, but he'd fought to stave it off for as long as possible. To keep out of reach of anyone who might try to use him that way. And when it had become clear that it was about to be forced upon him once again? He'd fought it for as long as he could.

Of course, it hadn't been enough. He was stronger than he had been thanks to his time out of cryo, time without the agony of the memory modifications and the time he'd had to begin rebuilding his sense of self, but he still hadn't been strong enough.

But still...Bucky had never been one to just give up.

A futile fight as it had been, he'd fought regardless, even when the cruel hooks of those damned words had latched with remorseless, familiar efficiency into his brain, dragging him down so deep within the furthest confines of his own mind as his programming took over that his conscious mind had only just been aware enough to watch, helpless, barely comprehending what the Winter Soldier—what he was doing.

One that was all the more crushing when images of the people he'd hurt flooded his mind's eye.

It was at least a small consolation to learn that he hadn't been wholly consumed, managing at least a flicker of awareness, of control. Enough to react, instinctive as it may have been, to try in however small a way to protect Iris from getting caught up in the middle of his rampage. Not that he could entirely fight the lurching, wretched feeling that he might have injured her to do it.

But she was safe, now. That was what mattered. Steve's companion, Wilson, for all that he managed to wear at Bucky's patience, had made sure of that, and for that he was grateful. More grateful than he could say. Certainly more grateful than he seemed capable of showing at the moment. There was simply too much else on his mind.