Captain America A broken soul

There was nothing but darkness. Cold, pressing, isolating darkness. The darkness broke and faded into a hazy scene. People, sounds, machines. _Where am I? Why am I here?_ He wanted to move, he wanted so badly to get out, run away from these unfamiliar people and their unfamiliar, unfeeling faces. They did not look at him, they did not speak to him. _Where am I? _He tried to sit up. _Why can't I move? Where am I! Why am I here!_ He felt panic boil in his chest and a scream rose in his throat, scraping at his vocal chords as it tried to claw its way out. He couldn't scream, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. Fear settled into his stomach like a frost, eating away at his insides and leaving nothing but its numb cold.

Something else registered in his slow, muddled brain. _Pain._ He looked down at himself with difficulty. So many needles... And one arm made of metal. _What? When did this happen? _He needed to move. He needed to leave, run as fast as he could and never look back. _Move your arm. Come on. Why can't you move! _He felt a paralysing fear quicken his heart. _Slow down. Look around you. _There was a machine watching his heart rate, another flashing for some unknown reason, and another pumping a liquid into his bloodstream. Sedative? It had to be. The people had gone from the room. Did they know he was awake? _Was_ he awake? He had to move. _Just an arm._ The arm stayed by his side, still as a dead man's. _A finger! _His finger stayed where it was, no matter how hard he willed it to move. _Say something. _He tried to open his mouth to scream but no sound came. His lungs burned with the effort. Panic chilled his whole body. _What is happening? Where am I! _Someone came in. _Help me! _He wanted to shout, _Get me out of here! _The man that entered didn't look at him as he passed by. He just pressed a button and the darkness returned.

He awoke for a second time, confusion breaking into fear. _Where am I! _He tried to move his hand. He didn't feel it move, but he saw it before his eyes. _I can move! I'm awake! I'm alive!_ Two mismatched hands stretched themselves in front of his face. One was made of a shiny metal, reflecting the light of the lamp above him. The lamp... the people. People were watching him, like children staring at a snake at the zoo. _I have to get out of here! _He reached out his metal hand, surprised by its own speed, and took one man by his throat. He felt the muscles tense beneath his grasp, yet the fingers did not yield. _I have to get out of here._ The other men fought him, but the metal arm was strong. Stronger than anyone had anticipated. The darkness came back.

"What do you remember?" A voice asks. _What- what do I remember? _He thought back as far as he could think. Darkness, pain, a saw. A saw! The remainder of his arm being cut and replaced by metal. Yes, he remembered the agony of the saw biting into his flesh and gnawing through his bone and muscle excruciatingly slowly.

"No – Nothing." His voice felt unfamiliar, alien. It was rough and hoarse. _Water. I need water. _He thought it better not to ask. The man in front of him was a stranger. He'd never seen him before. The man looked at him with a cold, disconnected contempt. It was unsettling.

"What is your name?" _I don't know... _He searched frantically inside him memory. _What's my name? Think, just think! _Nothing surfaced above the mess of shattered memories. The older man rephrased the question, his cold eyes boring into his, causing a surge of fear and panic. "Who are you?"

"I am-" There had to be something! He had to be someone! "I- I don't know." The words felt painful on his tongue. It left a raw-feeling hole in his heart, like a part of him had just been sliced out. _You have a name. You have a name. You have a name. James- Yes! James Barnes, Sergeant, serial number__32557241\. _He felt an almost surreal feeling of pride and accomplishment. He remembered! He kept his breathing measured. Something inside him told him to keep the information to himself. _James Barnes, Sergeant, serial number 32557241. _

"Good." His eyes bore into Barnes' skull once again. "Where do you come from?" Again he drew a blank. He tried to force himself to remember. Something, anything! A house, a friend, a parent, a flag! A sickly blonde kid, bruised and bloody. Excitement flowed through his veins. _Hold in there. I won't forget you._ He told the image. He grasped the boy in his mind like a lifeline. _Don't leave! Please!_

"I- I can't remember." He lied. The man nodded as if that was exactly what he wanted to hear. He glanced quickly up at the surveillance camera. Had they believed him? Had it worked?

"Where am I? Why am I here? Who are-"

"Shut up." The man snarled. "You don't ask questions." But there were so many questions he needed to ask, so much he longed to know. "How can you speak Russian?" _We're speaking Russian? _He felt confused once again. _James Barnes, Sergeant, serial number 32557241. _He let the words soothe him. _I know who I am._

"I don't know." He said truthfully. He hadn't realized he'd been speaking Russian, it just came naturally after hearing the other man speak. He didn't know why.

"Interesting." The man nodded. "Why did you attack a doctor?" A memory flashed. His hand reaching for the doctor's throat, his fingers feeling the man's body try to free itself. He'd enjoyed it. A sick feeling rose inside of him that he couldn't place.

"I thought- I was afraid of- I thought he would hurt me." He said, hoping it was the right answer. The man smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was frightening and disconcerting.

"Oh _he _won't hurt you." Fear reached out with its icy fingers and clutched at his heart. He couldn't find the strength to shake it off.

He awoke to a dark, bare cell. How long had he been here? Hours, days, weeks? He hugged his knees to his chest and leaned against the wall. _Just let me out. Please someone let me out. _

_ James Barnes, Sergeant, serial number 32557241. 32557241. 32557241._

_ James Barnes, Sergeant, serial number 3255741_

The door banged open. He didn't know whether to be afraid or relieved. A memory flashed in his mind. A tall, blond man rescuing him from a facility. He briefly re-lived the feeling of elation and freedom and gratefulness until strong, harsh arms pulled him roughly to his feet. The two men jerked his arms behind his back and one of them applied pressure to his neck so he wouldn't think of acting out. _Where are you taking me? _The question died on his lips as they entered a wide but empty chamber. He dug his heels into the ground as he saw what lay inside. _No! Oh no. Nononononono!_

A short man with spectacles greeted him as the men dragged him in. He used all his strength and military reflexes to twist the arm of one of the men and dislocate the other's, becoming momentarily free. He turned to run, but found himself held backwards by at least four replacements. _No! You can't do this! _

"Good morning Codename: Winter Soldier." The small man said. His voice was calm and cold and his Russian held traces of German. It sent shivers down Barnes' spine. "I am Dr. Zola. You are my patient." Dr. Zola ignored the young man's struggling and shouting. "Shall we begin?"

They strapped him into a chair. He fought and screamed and hit and even bit to keep their hands off him. He knew what kind of a chair this was. He knew why it was connected to the wall and why it flashed. The instant the metal restraints clicked, his eyes filled with fear.

"Why are you doing this to me? What did I do?" He shouted, tears stinging his eyes. _I need to get out of this chair._ He strained with all the strength he possessed, the muscles in his neck aching from the effort. _Let me out! Let me out! Let me out! _Dr. Zola watched in amusement, like a fisherman watching his fish struggle before slicing off its head with a butcher knife. Someone shoved a rubber bit between his teeth. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't spit it out. It tasted like salt and something stale. He screamed through it, the muffled sound of desperation causing Zola to smile. The doctor flicked the switch.

Pain. Nothing but pain. His whole body was on fire, rebelling against him, hating him. Light erupted behind his eyes and shook his very brain. _No! Stop! Please! Stop! _He screamed without knowing he was screaming, his vocal chords tearing and chafing. The fire spread from his head to his chest through his legs and arms. It was too much. Too much pain. It exploded like bullets, tearing through his body and filling their paths of destruction with nothing but agony.

"You are HYDRA's special weapon, Codename: Winter Soldier. You will change the face of this world."

_James Barnes, Sergeant, serial number 3255741_

_ James Barnes, Sergeant, serial number 3255- 3255- 3255471_

_ You are something. You are someone._

The young blond man stayed in his memory. His smile spreading like the light of a sunrise, his body warm, his voice comforting. He was always there in his dreams, through all the pain. _Don't leave me. Stay, please. _He begged the memory. The others were slowly slipping away, the electrocution burning them to ash.

"Stop resisting us, Winter Soldier. You are HYDRA's _asset_."

_No! I don't belong to you! You can't have me! _

The electrocution continued, scraping his mind raw. He didn't fight the guards anymore. He no longer tried to spit out the bit they gave him. He no longer asked questions. But he held on to as much of his memory as he could, clenching his jaw in quiet rebellion. The blond man stayed in his mind, the face that felt so familiar and looked at him with kindness instead of cold hatred and detachment.

_You can't have him! You can't take him away from me! He's mine, not yours, _mine_! _

His body became pain. The shocks bit into him with sharp, burning blasts, ripping his brain into pieces. Every time his heart pounded against his chest, filling his ears with its need for escape. The bit became so accustomed to him that the rubber moulded itself for his bite.

_James Barnes, Sergeant, serial number 3225471_

_ James Barnes, Sergeant, serial number 3- _

_ James Barnes, Sergeant- was there more?_

_ Somebody help _me_!_

He was in the cold darkness of the cell once again, his body rebelling against him. Ever so often, a spasm would wrack through his body, leaving him a shivering, whimpering mess. He reached out in the darkness for the man from his memories. He pictured- he pictured- he saw nothing but Zola. He strained to remember the colour of his eyes, his shirt, what did his smile look like? _No! Give him back! Come back! Don't leave me here! _He pleaded, looking up into the darkness as if someone would drop down and help him, take him back to wherever he came from and stop this nightmare. _Don't forget me! Give him back... please?_

He trained. He shot. He killed. He ran. His muscles remembered their purpose. His eyes knew the lies of men's faces. He knew the false begging, pleading for their life. Men were wicked, dirty creatures. Him most of all. The Winter Soldier knew this. He was told every day.

"You are nothing! You are not a man, you are our asset!"

He killed a man without thought, the bullet ripping through his chest, blood spraying unto the pavement beneath his feet. _This is wrong! Stop! Fight it!_

"You do not feel! You do not question!"

A woman, a child. Their blank, glassy eyes stared up at him. _You did this. You are a monster. _

"You are nothing but a _tool_."

He felt himself unravelling. Blood stained his hands, seeped through his clothes. He was neck-deep in blood. He searched desperately for his humanity. _I am not lost. I am human. I am _human_! _All he saw was death, brutality, what he had caused with his own two hands. _But I don't want- I don't want to hurt didn't do anything to me!  
_

"Weapons do not have desires. Humans have desires. You are not a _human_, you are-"

_I am a weapon._

The air-tight cylinder around him shut with a hiss. He closed his eyes and fought the rising claustrophobia. The Winter Soldier was not a man. The Winter Soldier did not fear. He breathed the freezing air, feeling it claw its way down his throat and find his lungs. It was so cold it burned. It burned his eyes and lips and fingers, yet he did not scream. He was not a man. He did not fear. He welcomed the familiar darkness. It was something he knew. Just like he welcomed pain. He knew pain.

The Winter Soldier no longer feared death. He and death were friends, they walked the same path, side-by-side, so close they could almost reach out and touch one another. He had seen death, he had felt death, and he allowed others the pleasure quite often. Death did not want him. Death had sent him back and kept him away. The Winter Soldier had come near death many times, but each time death had rejected him, setting him back on his path of self-destruction and devastation.

Pieces re-surfaced from his fragmented memories, eating at his mind like an earwig. Something he said, a face he can't remember, a name he can't place. Sometimes he remembered terrible things he'd done. _Don't think. Don't feel._ _Weapons don't feel. The Winter Soldier is a weapon._ Every time, Zola would fry his mind to an obedient mush and return him to stasis. But sometimes, the memories stayed long enough to consume the Winter Soldier like an infectious disease. _You do not deserve to live_, it would say, _you are a monster._

_ You are not broken! Don't let them control you! _The Winter Soldier ran his metal fingers along his right arm and felt a small prick. He frowned. He should get one of his technicians to fix it. He did it again and felt a sort of... satisfaction. _I am in control._ He found the sharp end of one of the fingers and dug it into his bicep. He ripped it down, tearing the flesh and letting loose a river of blood. It was surprising how much came out. Every drop satisfied him. _I control my pain. _He sliced across his chest, crying out at the pain it caused, but smiling. Zola wasn't causing this, his handlers weren't causing this, _he _was causing this. The door slammed open and he was dragged to his feet, dripping blood unto the floor. The anger on their faces satisfied him even further._ Dr. Zola, you should be more careful..._

Blood wiped away all thoughts of rebellion. His blood and the blood of his targets. The Winter Soldier fulfilled his purpose, becoming the greatest weapon HYDRA had ever possessed. He killed, he destroyed, he assassinated, yet death kept away from him, watching him at a distance. His movements, his orders, and his handlers became familiar. It became routine. Seeing the pride of his handlers made the Winter Soldier... what was the word- _glad?_ No, the Winter Soldier did not feel emotions. Weapons _do not feel! _

One of his handlers explained something to Zola, 'trigger words' he said and 'Pavlov's theory'. The Winter Soldier knew enough about Pavlov's work. It had been used on him countless times. The handler demonstrated by offering the rubber bit. The Winter Soldier complied immediately, opening his mouth for the coming punishment, accepting it like the mindless creature he knew he'd become. The metal restraints came again. He did not fight them. His eyes were fearful, but he knew his place and did nothing but scream as his body yet again overflowed with excruciating pain. He was nothing. He was a tool. He was broken.

There was something he wanted to remember. He'd written it on his floor with blood. It was now unreadable and he didn't care. It had probably been a counteractive trigger phrase of his own creation, now nothing but lost letters and smudged numbers. The Winter Soldier almost laughed at his stupidity. He didn't need to counteract his system. He accepted it. He had become what he was meant to be. A weapon. A killer. An assassin. He didn't need humanity. Humanity was weakness. Weakness made you ineffective. What good was an ineffective weapon? The Winter Soldier was far from ineffective. He did everything he was told. He was the perfect assassin. He thrilled his handlers and that was all there was: fulfilling his missions.

_I am the Winter Soldier. I am not human. I am HYDRA's asset._

_ I was made to be this way. _


End file.

Captain America, Angst