Regeneration (Winter Soldier fan fiction)

Trap

He leaned his head agianst the wall, not moving, not showing.

He was a shadow.

He watched as his target walked into the abandoned building, wires and old pieces of drywall hanging off the ceiling.

Try to feel.

Bucky told him, whispering in his mind.

You don't have to do this, you could just disappear.

But the other part of him, the monster that he dealt with every day, was telling him to rip out this man's throat.

He deserves it.

So do you.

The man on the bridge showed you mercy, why can't you?

Because, they turned you into this. Why not cause them the same pain? Why not force them on their knees forever?

His head ached as he fought with himself.

It hurt.

It hurt not knowing where you were, who you were. It hurt not knowing what to feel, or what it even was to feel. Over the course of three weeks he had experienced feelings he didn't know existed.

It hurt so bad.

The man's slick shoes made a tapping sound on the cracked cement floor, drawing ever closer to where he was hidden behind a support beam.

It was now or never.

He grabbed the man's arm and twisted it, a satisfying pop reaching his ears. He cried out, But Winter Soldier didn't bother to muffle it. They were hopeless alone, and the man knew it.

Winter Soldier flipped the man onto his back, and he yelled as his back hit the cement with a loud crack.

"Are you going to talk or am I going to have to dislocate your other limbs first?" He spoke in Russian, his tongue twisting into the words easily. All HYDRA agents spoke it, this he knew, it was necessary.

Blood was seeping through the man's white dress shirt, no doubt a broken rib had pierced through the skin. He tried to sit up, but Winter Soldier shoved him back down with his boot, holding down his left shoulder.

"Last chance" He warned, drawing a knife from his hip.

"Fool" The man spoke with a slight accent, clearly he was a Soviet. "You're senses are dimming from lack of training"

Men dressed in full out body armor with machine guns in their hands surrounded him. They came out from behind pillers, some even pushing up through a large crack in the floor.  They shouted orders, but he didn't hear them. His mind was setting into a state of panic.

Want you back.

Whips and needles.

Memory wipe.

Cold, he was so cold.

Can't go back, can't go back.

CAN'T GO BACK!

Kill.

Them.

All.

He saw red. Crimson tinged the edge of his vision as he lashed out.

Knives sunk into hearts and necks snapped, blood coating his hands.

He stabbed through their chests easily, they trained him well, how to find the brinks and weak spots in the armor.