Hearing was the first sense to return. Specifically he could hear voices. There were at least four that he could identify, but they weren't speaking English or even French, which he knew enough of that he could communicate if needed. After listening for several minutes, as he kept his breathing steady, he finally figured it out. They were speaking Russian. Regardless of how he got… whatever he was (because he obviously wasn't on the plane anymore even if he was still freezing) Russian was a bad sign.

Slowly, as subtly as he could, he started wiggling his fingers and toes. Testing to see how much strength he had and if he could fight his way out if he had to. As he did, he listened closely for anyone that may have noticed him moving. With him focusing so intensely on his hearing it got more powerful until he could even hear each individual heartbeat in the room. There were four close to him (the people occasionally poking or prodding at him, he assumed) but further away there were seven more. Six were evenly spaced and equal distance away. Guards, most likely.

But the last was by far the most interesting. Everyone else he could hear had increased heart rates, from excitement or nerves or just adrenaline, maybe. The ones near him conversed in undertones and he could hear the familiar scritch-scratch of a multiple pens on paper. The guards would occasionally shuffle their feet or adjust their grip on a gun. But this seventh heartbeat was slow and steady, never faltering, and the individual made no other noise. Like a statue with a beating heart. Strangely, he could feel eyes on him from that direction. Consistent and different somehow from the others, like the individual was looking into his soul or puzzling out all his secrets. It was slightly disconcerting.

Before he could consider it further something happened which made the ones near him speak louder and move away. With them distracted, and enough feeling back in his limbs to be reasonably confident in his strength, he decided to make his move. Using the sound to guide him he flipped up from the table and kicked one man (a doctor in a white coat) across the room. As he did, his eyes rapidly took in the details he hadn't been able to notice by sound.

There were three other doctors, all closer to the table and easy enough to take down. There were the six guards around the room he had noticed before who, even though they had guns aimed at him, weren't shooting. The room was on the smaller side, with steel coated walls and a heavy vault door. There was the table he'd lain on (which he threw with surprising strength into two of the guards and silently thanked the serum for his quick recovery) and nearby was a chair with strange mechanical attachments. Otherwise the room was empty of furniture.

He had a split second to remember there was another unknown in the room before said unknown was in front of him. He hadn't heard a thing; it was like the man had teleported. A punch to the chest sent Steve flying back into the wall (and god did that hurt; they hadn't even taken his suit off and he'd definitely gotten a bruised rib or two). As Steve tried to catch his breath he took in the unknown man. He was slightly shorter that Steve (slightly), with shoulder length brown hair that did not look properly cared for, wore a black mask covering the lower half of his face paired with intimidating black body armor, and a metal left arm with a red star near the shoulder.

Steve had seconds to catch his breath, the very few seconds it took the man to stride up to him, before that metal arm was around his throat and he was being pushed against the wall. This close to the other man's face he could see blue eyes, strangely dead blue eyes, that were staring unflinchingly at his face. But he needed to break the man's surprisingly powerful grip quick or this was going to be the shortest escape attempt ever. He felt slightly guilty for it, but a carefully placed kick to the groin (not at full strength; he wasn't rude enough to do that even to Russian kidnappers) got him free.

He followed it up with a punch to the face that was, to his complete and utter shock, blocked by the metal arm. He had expected the kick to put the man out of commission for at least a few seconds longer even if he was enhanced. The man used his momentary shock to throw Steve to the ground and, after an embarrassingly brief struggle, had locked him in a choke hold.

Steve scrambled to find purchase on the metal arm around his neck, but this man's legs were more than strong enough to keep down the rest of him too. So he went for the face. Tried to find eyes or anything he could use to get the man to let go. He was already fighting dirty so it was what it was. But the man obviously knew what he was trying to do and would pull his head away before Steve could get close. Never once did he loosen his grip, not even when Steve clawed at his cheeks hard enough to draw blood.

Steve's vision was starting to go fuzzy around the edges when he finally got a hold of the mask and yanked it off. The man tightened his grip and Steve choked for real. The mask fell to the floor as he tried to pull the man's metal arm off with both of his. He couldn't. It was like trying to bend his shield (which he'd tried out of curiosity's sake one night and found he couldn't even make the metal creak). For the briefest moment he thought he was going to die as black encroached on his vision and his entire body went tingly and numb.

"солдат." That sharp word cut through the room and immediately the grip around Steve's neck loosened. Not enough he could break free, but enough he could take in a few desperate gasping breaths. It was like having an asthma attack. He felt the metal arm loosen further as he did, but this time it felt less intentional since it gave him a tiny bit of wiggle room (not that he could actually get free). The speaker said a few more things in Russian, always with that sharp bark that made it sound like an order.

Then the speaker moved to stand where Steve could see him. He looked mildly different from everyone else. He wasn't a doctor or a guard or like the man pinning him (though Steve was fairly sure there was no one like the man pinning him). Instead the speaker wore a suit and a decidedly victorious smile that edged towards cocky. "Hello, Captain. Welcome back to the land of the living." The man said, a Russian accent tinting his words.

"Where am I?" Steve growled, though he had an idea already. He emphasized his point with another attempt to break free that yielded no different results than it had previously. Whoever it was they had holding him down was skilled and strong, at least as strong as him.

"Siberia, Captain. In a HYDRA base." The man said and Steve froze.

"I destroyed HYDRA." Steve objected and the man nodded.

"You certainly tried your best to. But if you cut off one head…" The man didn't have to finish. Steve finished it for him.

"Two more grow back." Steve had never heard himself speak with so much malice.

The man smiled. "Yes. Now…" He straightened up and barked another order to someone in the room behind Steve. To Steve's shock he felt the man holding him flinch: it was subtle enough no one else would have noticed but they were so close he couldn't help but. They were more or less ignored, though, as the others moved around in the room no doubt following the suited man's orders. Steve made a few more attempts to get free, but just like before the man holding him was a statue. Powerful, unmoving, and utterly silent.

After a brief couple of minutes someone approached them holding what Steve thought had to be handcuffs, but they were unlike any handcuffs he had ever seen. They were bulky, made in two separate pieces, and had blue streaks around the outside cracking with what Steve thought might be electricity. He put up a fight as they clipped them on, but it made no difference. After they were on, he was dragged to his feet by two guards and he tried to pull free. The metal creaked but didn't give and Steve was surprised to realize his wrists were probably going to break before the metal did.

"You can stop trying, captain. Those cuffs were designed for and tested on a super soldier just like you. They won't break. Sit him down." The man ordered, in English this time. Steve was dragged over to the chair and forced to sit in it. He glared at everyone, but the hands on his shoulders were almost as unrelenting as the man in the mask, though not as strong.

Said man had gotten to his feet once they had taken Steve from his hold and was now standing, still as a statue, a few steps behind the man in the suit with a blank expression on his face. There were claw marks on his cheek from Steve, from which blood had covered the rest of his cheek and down part of his neck. But none of that registered because looking back at him was Bucky's face!

"Bucky." He whispered. The man barely even reacted, beyond a slight twitch as he met Steve's eyes. "Bucky!" Steve struggled seriously this time, threw his shoulders, whatever he could to break free and get to his friend. To no avail. "What did you do to him, you bastards!? What have you done to him?!" Steve screamed.

Two more guards rushed forward and helped hold him down, pushing him until his back was pressed against the seat back, but still he fought. Even when metal cuffs clinked shut around his ankles and the handcuffs separated only to stick to the metal of the chair while two more cuffs closed around his biceps. He tried hard to pull free but couldn't.

And all the while Bucky stood there, watching expressionless as Steve struggled. The man in the suit set a hand on Bucky's human shoulder with a dark smile on his face. "Remarkable, isn't it? What proper training can do." He said and for the briefest moment Steve saw fear flash in Bucky's eyes at the word 'training'. "He's been our loyal Asset for 25 years. Our Winter Soldier. You'd be proud though. It took us nearly fifteen to break and train him."

Steve's entire world narrowed down to a pinprick as the words sank in. "Forty years? I missed forty years?" He whispered and the man nodded.

"You've been dead for forty years. No one would imagine you could have survived this long. And I think you'll make a wonderful counterpart to our soldier." The man actually ran his fingers down Bucky's uninjured cheek. Bucky blinked, and it was slightly slower than before like he wanted to close his eyes or flinch or pull away. But he didn't.

Steve was trying to break free before he could even help it. He was furious that this man would dare touch Bucky like that. His Bucky, who he'd already failed because apparently somehow HYDRA had kept him prisoner for forty years. The man just laughed. "That's sweet, captain. How much you care about him. I wasn't there, it was before my time, but I heard he begged for you. But now I think it's time to start your own training. Wipe him." The suited man ordered one of the men in a lab coat. And Bucky definitely flinched at that order.

The doctor was hesitant to approach the chair but took up a post at the computer attached to it and started typing. He paused as the metal plated over Steve's head started crackling with electricity. To apparently everyone's surprise, Bucky took a half step forward. The man in the suit looked at Bucky and crossed his arms.

"проблема, солдат?" The man asked in Russian.

Bucky blinked a few times as he finally broke that stoic mask. He looked confused, unsure before he shook his head. "нет." He answered softly, his voice gravely and raw, as he took a step back and his expression went blank again.

The man in the suit studied him before he walked over and picked something up from a tray one of the men in a lab coat was holding. Which he gave to Bucky. "We wouldn't want the captain to bite his tongue now, would we?" He said. Bucky shook his head stiffly, like he wasn't totally sure. Whether in his answer or because he was answering at all Steve had no idea. Either way the slight shake was ignored. "Give it to him." The man ordered.

Like a marionette Bucky accepted the thing, walked over to him, and held out what Steve could now see was a blue curved piece of plastic. "Open." Bucky ordered. It was sharp and cold. Totally unlike anything he'd heard from Bucky ever before.

"Bucky." Steve pleaded softly, but his expression didn't change in the slightest. He just held out the thing and waited. "Come on, Buck, please." Steve pleaded again and this time Bucky's expression furrowed slightly.

"Open." He repeated, more firmly. Steve felt his heart sink but cautiously opened his mouth. Bucky set the thing inside fairly gently, on his lower teeth rather than shoving it down his throat like Steve almost half expected. Bucky stepped back and that's when Steve realized that the cuts on his cheek had already almost healed. They were just thin pink lines. Just as his brain thought up the question of 'how' he thought up the answer: Zola, and Azzano.

It was almost impossible to talk with the thing in his mouth but as tempted as he was to ask, he didn't risk spitting it out because they'd just put it back in. Probably dirty and Steve didn't want to know what was on the floor and definitely didn't want it in his mouth, serum or no. The man in the suit smiled. "You asked what we did to your friend, captain? You're about to find out first hand." He nodded at the man on the computer.

One of the guards pushed his head back until it was against the headrest and then the metal plates were lowering. Steve thought he knew what pain was after getting the serum. Or even after watching Bucky fall (especially now that he knew what had come since). But when those plates touched he knew he'd been wrong. This… this was agony. He lasted mere minutes before everything went black.