#verse; codename

" -------- what d'ya think, Tasha?"

          The anger boiled inside him.

                He was unable to contain it.

Without her, he was a savage animal, let loose to cause havoc, once again. His green eyes were filled with rage, his lips pressed into a thin line. He concentrated hard, not letting anything else fill his mind, other than the mission at hand.

He raised his right arm, his finger pulling the trigger on the gun immediately and he saw the man fall, from the corner of his eye. Dean quickly whipped around to face the man behind him. There were faint mechanical whirrs as the silver arm took hold of the man's firearm and ripped it from his grasp, looking him straight in the eye as he raised the gun to his head and pulled the trigger without a second thought.

The soldier heard the dull thud of the body hitting the ground, but he merely stepped over it. He had a goal in mind and he planned to fulfill it. No complications, no distractions.

          Business.

                Pure and simple.

He wasn't counting, but six more men soon laid on the ground in the path behind him, either dead or unconcious. He didn't toss a second glance to them. They were none of his concern.

Looking into his eyes now, you wouldn't see Dean Winchester. You wouldn't see a man who once loved and was loved himself. You wouldn't see a man who smiled or laughed. You would only see a machine, programmed to kill.

          You would see the Winter Soldier.

There were a few weak groans behind him and Dean stopped dead in his tracks, his grip tightening on his gun. As he turned around, he was ready to shoot.

          A gunshot rang out.

                Then a second.

                      But they didn't come from his gun.

He could see one of the men he thought dead lying among the others, holding a gun and staring at the soldier, giving a small sigh of relief.

It took him a moment, but the pain soon began to manifest deep in his middle, spreading like a fire. His breath caught in his throat for a moment before he glanced down at his abdomen. He could see a small streams of deep red blood dripping from the wounds.

He fell to his knees, giving a small cough before he took a deep breath. Dean tipped forward and caught himself with his hands, but he could feel his muscles growing weak through the pain. His eyes stared aimlessly at the ground before he pushed himself to fall on his side, then rolling onto his back. He took his hands and covered the bullet wounds, pressing lightly. His mouth opened in a silent cry of grief and pain.

Dean released the pressure and stared at the ceiling above him. He could feel his head spinning, his vision becoming blurry as he fought more and more to catch a breath.

"No..." was all he managed to whisper with a weak breath.

He closed his eyes tight in pain, waiting for it to get worse, but he could feel some of the pain lift almost instantly. His eyes opened again and he didn't beleive what he saw at first.

It was her.

She sat with him, cradeling his head and holding his hand tightly, smiling down at him. "Nata..sha," he breathed, managing a weak grin. Another wave of pain came over him and he shut his eyes again.

"You're safe now." Her voice comforted him, taking the pain away, leaving him in a dizzy bliss. "I've got you, Soldier."

Dean's eyes remained closed as he could feel his breathing begin to slow. "я тебя люблю."

"And I love you." His eyes opened to find her smiling down at him. "I'll always love you. And now we won't ever have to be apart."

More pain rushed through him before absolute peace came over him. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, but the beating soon slowed to a stop and his could felt his last breath leave his body.

          Silence.

                Darkness.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring a familiar ceiling. The soldier's brow furrowed before he sat up in the bed, looking around in confusion. He saw someone stir in the bed beside him from the corner of his eye and his head turned, just as the figure rolled over.

He was greeted by bright eyes and a tired smile. "Morning," Natasha said. "Did you sleep okay?"

Dean swallowed and thought for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I... I just had a weird dream."

Natasha sat up and looked at him with a comforting gaze. "It was just a dream," she promised him. "You don't need to worry about it anymore."

His head turned to look her in the face. He still felt...in the dark about what was happening, but Natasha had soon leaned forward and given him a quick kiss. She then pulled away and said, "I'm going to go make coffee."

He smiled at her and nodded. "I'll be out in a minute." He watched her get out of bed and leave the room before he let out a breath and looked around the room once last night.

He didn't feel quite as confused as he felt peaceful.

          He could hear her voice in his head.

                            "It's okay."

                He could feel her hand gripping onto him.

                      It was too much.

The soldier sat up in bed, abruptly, covered in a cold sweat, bare chest heaving greatly as he looked around the dark room. The moonlight shone through the window and he glanced at his side, seeing but an empty space on the bed.

          She was gone.

                There was no getting her back.

Slowly, yet surely, the tears began to slip down his cheeks. He sat in that bed, not even attempting to stop the tears. The darkness encircled him and he could feel it suffocating him with every breath he took.

          He was so lost.

                So alone without her.

She'd always been the one to help him through everything. She was always there for him, through every nightmare and through every broken bone. But now he had no one. She'd been the only person he felt he could trust.

          There was no one left.

A part of him wished to have his memories wiped. He wouldn't mind the pain in doing so. As long as he could stop watching her die. The scene plagued his mind and he wanted it to end. This was a fate worse than death, to be haunted by the memories of someone you loved with your whole mind, body, and soul, but you couldn't be with them.

          You couldn't touch them...

                ...hear their laughter...

                      ...see them smile.

                            You were alone.

                                  Dean was alone.

He felt hollow inside, like he had so many times before, acting as a weapon for HYDRA. He was a broken, cracked, shattered shell of a man with no direction in his life anymore.

His mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts per minute. He process what he'd seen today.

              The bridge.

The man he saw. He knew him. Dean knew it, but he didn't know why. It was a truth lost to him; a truth he wanted to find. He could tell this man was important to him, but the one thought plaguing his mind more than ever--the woman. The red-haired woman he'd seen on the bridge. He recognize her and saw her as a threat, but there was something else there. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

              And so came the questioning.

                      A mission report.

His words were few and not what Pearce or anyone was looking for.

His mind was, of course, elsewhere. He couldn't get the red-haired woman's face out of his head. He'd seen her as a threat and tried to take her out. But the entire time he shot, a part of him screamed for him to stop. He didn't know why.

Then came those two little words that struck fear into his chest, allowing pre-mature pain to spread before anything happened.

              "Wipe him."

He knew what came next. He never remembered much of it, but he always remembered the pain. He always remembered screaming, but never fightning. He was a soldier and he was taught to obey. So that's what he'd do.

They leaned him back, strapped him down as he awaited the pressure on his mind as it squeezed out every memory he had of the day.

And in the last seconds before the memories were ripped from his grasp, he pictured the red-haired woman's face in his mind, and, somehow, heard her voice. He couldn't understand what she was saying, but he knew her. He knew her voice.

              One last thought before agonizing pain--