Pre War Bucky Barnes One Shots

Training or Torture?

Similar to 'Winters Arrival' this one is set in the time where Bucky is being trained to be The Winter Soldier.

The soldier lays trembling violently in the metal chair. His arms, hands, feet and torso now all unclamped, the thing that covers his head removed, but he just can't bring himself to move. The pain is too much to do anything but lie there trembling, gasping in short, sharp breaths.

Once again he is here. Unable to think straight, unable to walk straight, unable to talk straight. Hindered useless by the contraption that they use to wipe away his 'memories', whatever they are.

He doesn't care though. It's all he's ever known. He gets woken up, wiped, given an order, carries it out with absolute precision, returns to base to give his mission report, receives no reward bar a 'good job soldier' for his efforts, has any repairs needed done on his metal arm, gets wiped again, goes back into cryostasis until they find another job for him.

It's simple really. Unless he fails to complete his mission. Then he faces consequences that make him want to just run away. Not just because of the torturous pain that those sessions bring on but the way that they make him think.

They flood his mind with all kinds of questions about why he is here and it just makes him all frustrated and confused. Surely this isn't right, to treat a human like this? Is he even human though? It causes him to think back to a time before all of this. He could swear he had a life far better than this one. But the fuzzy images remain just out of his reach, too far in the deep end of the pool.

These thoughts really aggravate him and he becomes dangerous. He doesn't like the way his handlers are treating him and he lashes out. They call it his training time, but he knows it's not. They are ruthless with him. Training? More like torture.

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His face meets the brutal, cold, hard concrete once again as he's shoved to the ground. For a brief second he could swear the image of a small little blonde boy hitting the concrete after being shoved over comes to mind but it is gone before he could even comprehend it.

Who was that? Was it even real? Why did the soldier imagine that?

Anger boils up inside him. He shouldn't be thinking this way. He shouldn't find something familiar. For god's sake, he doesn't even know what familiarity is.

It's almost becoming familiar now the amount of times he's been pushed down in just this one session. But it's the same every single time.

A sharp, metallic taste floods his mouth. Once again he drags himself up begrudgingly and regains his stance, spitting out blood as he eyes glaring at his trainer.

As much as it hurts, as much as his head is spinning, he can't give up, he can't give in. This is a test.

His exposed, flesh hand reaching for a new knife from his pocket while the robotic, metal one stays ready to block anything that comes his way. As he feel the rubber grip as his hand clamps around it tightly he charges forward at the man in the shadows.

He does not know who he is. He hardly even remembers what he looks like. It seems to be a new person every time because he always ends up injuring the last one. However whenever he gets hurt they don't seem to care.

He blocks the first strike and as he quickly goes at another angle he simply grabs his arm, twists him around so that it is behind his back and he is helpless, his knife pressing softly against his spine. Oh so helpless. One little nudge, one tiny push and this man would be paralysed. His spinal cord sliced, severed completely.