My Name Is Bucky

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Pain.

A word I was all too familiar with. I had just woke up from a bad dream, or so I thought. I turned my head to look for Steve when I was met with chains and a dark room.

It wasn't a dream. I forced myself to keep my breathing calm and to not alert my handlers that I was awake. Two people were speaking Russian, but they were too far away and I wasn't able to hear them.

Asses your injuries

I looked at my left arm first, as it wouldn't scar me to see shattered metal. It looked shiny, and it reflected the warehouse lights that hung above me. The red star seemed to have gotten a paint job, and it felt good as new.

My legs were fine, just a few bruises on my knees and shins from rolling and landing on them wrong. My left foot felt strange but I was able to move and bend it.

My real arm was scraped up. A long scrape was apparent on my bicep. I don't know what happened that gave me such a cut, but I forced myself to move on. I examined my fingers and decided that one or two of them might've been broken.

I couldn't see my chest or stomach, but I forced deep breaths in and felt my lungs heaving with effort. Not a great sign, but I've been worse. I mean, I've died a few times.

One of my handlers walked in, wearing a lab coat as if he were helpful and not torturing me. He made sure my restraints were working and tapped on my head.

"Hm, what did you do, soldat?"

I growl in response, earning a shock up my arm. I try not to yelp in pain as I glare at my handler. I can't wait to kill him later. He grabs my metal hand and examines it.

"Stark did a decent job," he smirks, "but he will never understand our technology." He turns to a computer, typing commands I can't see before turning around and jabbing a needle into my real arm. "Just to reinstate your training programs," he sneers.

They've got control of me again. All someone has to do is say the words and then I'm their puppet. I think about how to get out of my chains as the handler smirks and continues to jab at me.

"I'll kill you," I growl. "You son of a b*tch."

He chuckles. "Such strong words for a man out of time."

There's a commotion on the other side of the warehouse, and somebody shouts in Russian. My handler stays put.

"Do you want me to mobilize the asset?" He answers in Russian.

"No," the response comes in the same language. "He's too valuable."

About five guards line up around me, speaking to the handler in hushed voices. Somebody's gotten onto their base. Sucks to be them, I guess.

I hear the name Rumlow and the fire inside me ignites. I want to get him. I want revenge for all he's caused me. I shift my weight forward into my hips and on my legs. There's a little extra room in the shackles around my ankles that I can work with. The seat isn't nearly as heavy as I've first suspected, and the bolts seem to be hurting from the floor.

I make sure the handlers and guards are busy before I shift all of my weight forward and kick myself back. The chair, with me still attached, comes undone from the floor and send me about five feet away. The guards are shocked but don't hesitate to try and collect me.

One underestimates my weight, and I slam into him, breaking the back of the chair and most likely his ribs. I have the arms of the chair attached to my own arms, and I use them as batons against the guards that try and stop me. I lean back onto the table the handler was using and kick my feet into the nearest guard, breaking the shackles on my feet.

A girl catches me from behind, hitting my head hard and causing blood to trickle down to my neck. I don't hesitate to slam my metal arm into him and launch him onto the ground before jumping at his team mates and punching them until they are black and blue.

"He's escaped! Don't let him get to-" I don't let the handler finish his sentence before I wrap my metal arm around his throat. I don't like him suffocate, but I don't want him to be able to speak either. I throw him to the ground and head out the warehouse door.

There's a commotion going on in the far west side of the base. People are screaming and shooting, and there's a distinct sound of metal on metal. Rumlow.

Kill him

I look around and spot exactly what I need; rooftop access. I climb onto the ladder and make it to the top of the warehouse. About twenty guards and Rumlow are seen fighting something in the corner. This base is underwhelming. I hop back down and head through the warehouse in which I was being held. I take the guards guns and sprint to the west corner.

I don't make a noise as I sneak up on them. Three shots from the gun take out five men. It's too late before the few that remain standing, they're too tired. Swift punches and kicks cause them to knock their heads on the ground and take a nap.

That's when I see the quinjet, falcon, Steve, and rumlow. An almost animal sound escapes my throat as I advance on Rumlow, whos cornered Steve. His armor is too thick for bullets so I grab the exposed part of his neck with my metal arm and slam him into the pavement.

Steve gives me a relieved look, and I want to say something but I'm interrupted by Rumlow. "Did they fix you yet?" I spin around and ready the attack. That's when the first word leaves his mouth.

"Soldat!" He commands. "Get up!"

It takes my last conscience breath for me to yell, "My name is Bucky!" Before HYDRA takes over me again.

I scream and fall to the ground. The pounding in my head is too much to bear. He's trying to say the words but it's cut off, I hear metal on metal. Somebody's dragging me away as memories flash through my head and my arm convulses. I open my eyes long enough to see Sam, trying to stop something that can't be stopped. It takes one swift motion but I grab my gun and slam it into my head, making sure whatever I was about to do stops.

***

I don't know when I wake up, but I'm in Steve's room and my head is bandaged. My fists are bloody and my temple feels numb, but I'm okay.

Steve hears me shift, and he turns around immediately. I'm about to make some dumb remark about something when he cuts me off and presses his lips onto my own.