Experiments ◇ Bucky Barnes

5 ◇ Gone

When Wynter woke, she wasn't sure how much time had passed. Hell, she was barely even sure of where she was. All she knew was that the blood the had pooled under her head was dry and the loudness of the commotion in the hallways caused her ears to ring.

She sat up slowly, trying to be as careful as possible with her fragile head as she tried to gain her bearings. Before she even had a chance to, the door to the room swung open and two armed guards came in with Brock slung over their shoulders.

He looked like he had been through hell. He was covered in dust and dirt, blood covering his whole body and his clothes tattered to rags. Half of his face was badly torn apart, bits of shrapnel and what could only be drywall and glass sticking from the wounds. Bile rose up in Wynter's throat, she had never seen such horrendous injuries, but she forced it back down and got to her feet.

As much as she didn't want to help Brock, she couldn't stand to see him in pain. Deep in her heart, some twisted part of her still cared about the truly vile man in front of her and she couldn't sit by while he suffered.

It took hours, many long and torturous hours, but finally she had made some headway in actually fixing the damage done. Wynter had finally managed to collect all the stray pieces of glass and drywall, no matter how small, from the gashes on his face. She wondered briefly if there was any hope for saving his eye, but when she saw that it was seemingly unaffected by all the other wounds, she knew he'd be fine.

Unfortunately for Wynter, the recovery process for Brock took a lot less time than she was hoping it would. Before she knew it, he was on his feet again, barking orders and going out on missions. The Winter Soldier had gone missing in the midst of whatever took half of Brock's face and, of course, all fingers pointed to Wynter.

The beatings she had received in the past seemed like child's play, two siblings rough housing in comparison to what Brock was putting her through now. It was an everyday occurrence from the moment James had gone missing. He would bust into her room in the morning, drag her out by her hair and try to get her to talk.

Of course, there was nothing for Wynter to say. She didn't help the soldier escape, as much as she wanted to, and she certainly didn't jog his memory. She knew as much as everyone else around the compound but that answer wasn't enough for Brock.

"I know you know where he went!" Brock hissed into her ear as she sat in a chair, blood dripping from a large gash above her black eye. He never took a day off from torturing her, so her body never had time to recover. She was stuck in a perpetual loop of being in pain all because she had more of a heart than anyone around her.

"I told you, I. Don't. Know!" Wynter spoke through gritted teeth, preemptively preparing herself for the hit she knew was coming.

That night, all she could do as she laid in her bed was hope that wherever James was, he was finally safe.

He stood in front of a museum plaque of one James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes. For the life of him, he couldn't remember this person. This person who seemed so vaguely familiar but so completely otherworldly. A face that was so similar to his own, yet a face he had never seen before.

"Is it confusing?" A deep voice resounded behind him but the ex-assassin refused to turn around. He didn't want to show his face to anyone who could potentially be Hydra. And with Hydra invading Shield, that could be anyone.

"I'm sorry, I don't have any idea what you're talking about," James spoke lowly, turning on his heel and trying to escape back through the front door. Before he could get too far, a hand landed on his shoulder, causing him to flinch.

"Bucky, come with me, it will be safer for you," a shudder ran down the ex-assassins spine as he turned slightly to see Captain America, Steve Rogers, staring him dead in the eyes. He wanted to say no, he wanted to run, but he also wanted to know about his past. He wanted to learn all that he could.