The Winter Soldier blinked when the new Asset came in. It had always been the only Asset of H.Y.D.R.A. However, it seemed as though that was changing. The new Asset was bulky, muscle expanding instead of compacting. The new Asset had blond hair that appeared to be windswept, and blue eyes with tiny specks of red lurking in the background. It wore a black mission suit with two horizontal red lines across the chest, only stopped by a red circle in the middle that held the H.Y.D.R.A. logo. A black cowl rested under its arm with a red H etched onto it, and the other hand held one of the straps of a shield. The shield itself had alternating red and black rings, and at the center there was the same H.Y.D.R.A. logo that rested on the new Asset’s chest. The new Asset seemed familiar somehow. . .
“Asset!” The Soldier stood still.
“Ready to comply.” It told its Handler.
“Register new mission partner. Title: Captain Hydra. Mission: Train the new Asset. File retrieval: Red Room training. Access code 616131941.”
The Soldier stared forward and waited as flashes of young girls and forms and one named Natalia flew behind its eyes.
“File retrieved.”
“Good. Start training now.” The Handler left the charging area.
The Soldier toed off its shoes and socks before falling into first position. “We start with ballet. Mimic form.” It grunted. The Captain followed perfectly. The Soldier switched to second position. The Captain followed. The Soldier’s eyes caught on the Captain’s shoulder.
“Stay.” It commanded before stalking behind the Captain.
“Shoulders must be relaxed. Calm down.”
“The Captain is trying.”
(‘Just relax!’
‘I’m trying!’
‘No you’re not!’
‘Well maybe your hands on me would help. . .’
‘Oh? You asking for a massage, or a massage?’
‘I can’t decide, your hands are a miracle for getting the knots out!’
‘Punk.’)
The Soldier went and knocked on the door. No one answered. The Soldier knocked harder. The Handler opened the door. “What?” She snapped.
“The Soldier requires oil and four towels.”
“What?” She asked again, more confused than angry this time.
“Oil and four towels. Captain Hydra is too tense. It cannot perform its training at full capacity like this.” The Handler assessed it for 56 seconds before leaving. The Handler returned 3 minutes and 27 seconds later with requested items in hand. The Soldier took it with a nod and ushered her out the door, shutting it. It took a pillow off of one of the charging stations, and spread the largest towel on the floor, covering the pillow. “Strip, then lay on the towel. Chest must be on the pillow.” It ordered the Captain. The Captain complied, and the Soldier covered its legs with another towel. The Soldier paused, then frowned. The Captain’s arms were spread out. The Soldier moved them to be parallel to the Captain’s vessel. Better. Another, smaller towel was placed under the Captain’s forehead, and an additional one under its ankles. “Malfunctions must be reported immediately.” The Soldier informed it. The Captain made a muffled noise of confirmation.
The Soldier turned away, grabbing its leather glove for the metal arm. It opened the oil bottle and squirted some in its palm and rubbed its hands together, warming up the oil. The Soldier then proceeded to spread it methodically over the Captain’s back, making sure to cover the Captain’s neck and shoulders as well. The Captain shivered at the touch, making a tiny movement, as though it was about to arch into the movement. The Soldier ignored this, placing its metal hand on the Captain’s lower back, and its flesh hand on top of the metal one. It pressed down gently, moving its hands in small circles up and down the Captain’s back, creating the movement in its waist and not its arms. It did this once, twice, thrice before stopping.
The Soldier did not pause before moving onto the next step. Creating an L with his hands, it moved them so that the Captain’s back would be in between its thumb and pointer finger. It moved its hand up the Captain’s back and made the same movement back down with its other hand. The Captain groaned. The Soldier stopped.
“Are there malfunctions?” It looked for the information.
“No. It simply relieved much of the Captain’s back tension.” The Soldier processed this, then continued. It did three rounds of the motion before changing its hands again. The Soldier formed a loose fist and rubbed it lightly up and down the Captain’s back, avoiding its lower back and spine. It did this multiple times before using an L shaped hand to massage the Captain’s trapezius before moving to the other side. It repeated the motion on the other side of the Captain’s trapezius before repeating its other motions down the other side of its back. Afterwards, it stroked its thumb up the area in between the shoulder blade and the backbone. Then, it slowly switched over to the other side.
After a few seconds, it pressed both of its thumbs on either side of the Captain’s backbone and moved down the back very slowly, lightening the pressure near the lower back, pausing at the hips. It repeated this twice, moving further to the side each time. The Captain groaned again. The Soldier noted that this technique was working, cementing the knowledge that it should continue. It put its hands on either side of the Captain’s waist and moved them both to the other side slowly. It repeated these motions over and over up and down the shoulder area thrice. It concluded that it had spent too long lingering on the other Asset's back, and moved to wrap up the massage. "Rest for the rest of the day." It ordered, and went to its charging station.
“Soldier! Captain!” The Handler snapped when she entered the charging area. The Handler was accompanied by a third Asset. This one had brown hair and was significantly shorter than the Captain and the Soldier. Its eyes were completely normal, a bland shade of brown. Yet, there was something about those eyes. . .
The Soldier refocused on the Handler. Only a half a second of processing had occurred.
“Ready to comply.”
“Ready to comply.”
“Register new mission partner. Title: Iron Mechanic. It will be working on your arm from now on, however, on non-stealth missions it will be joining you in flying armor. It also requires the same training as the Captain.” The Soldier almost frowned. The familiar face and the flying machine almost triggered something in the back of its head but. . .
“Understood.”
“Understood.” The Captain repeated, obviously having the same problem. The corner of its mouth had turned down a fraction, but the Handler hadn’t noticed. The Handler was appearing very incompetent. The Soldier immediately stiffened at the conclusion, knowing it was going to have to include that in its eventual report.
The Handler nodded, satisfied. The Iron Mechanic sat on its designated resting station, staring at the Soldier and the Captain. The Mechanic’s leg started bouncing. The Handler didn’t notice, or didn’t give any indications that she had. The Handler left, and the Soldier started to mentally count.
. . . Odin (The Soldier did not twitch. It did not)
. . . Dva
. . . Tri
. . . Chetyre
. . . Piat’
. . . Shest’
. . . Sem’
. . . Vosem’
. . . Devyat’ (The Soldier had just noticed hostile-looking movement from the Mechanic. That was all.)
. . . Desiat’
. . . Odinnadtsat’
. . . Dvenadtsat'
. . . Trinadtsat’
. . .Chetyrnadtsat’
. . . Pyatnadtsat'
. . . Shestnadtsat’
. . . Semnadtsat’ (The Soldier was not human. It could not fear anything, much less a word)
. . . Vosemnadtsat’
. . . Devyatnadtsat'
. . . Dvadtsat'
The Handler did not return.
“Your leg is moving. If you do not stop, the Handlers will punish you.” The Soldier informed the Mechanic.
The Mechanic smiled grimly. “They already tried. My body simply cannot stop.”
“One day the Handlers will not accept that as an answer. The body you inhabit is no excuse for weakness.”
The Mechanic glared at the Soldier. “I am still when it is needed. I am here to build their weapons, and that is all.”
“It is 21:30. We must shut down.” The Captain interrupted. The Mechanic turned its glare at the Captain before complying and laying down. The Soldier sat at the corner of its charging station, back to the corner of the wall before shutting down, eyes still open.
The base’s alarms went off not four weeks after the Mechanic’s registration. The Soldier was the first one at attention, followed shortly by the Captain and the Mechanic. The Handler stormed inside. “Soldier! Captain! The base is under attack. Go out and stall the intruder. He’s in a large metal suit that can shoot lasers. Go, now!”
The Soldier and the Captain left. It was only the Soldier’s large range of hearing that allowed it to catch the Handler’s next words. “Mechanic! You will create an EMP that will shut down the suit, and when the intruder is brought in, you will repair the suit for our purposes.” The Soldier stalked forward and followed the sounds of the screams. It burst into the main control rooms, the Captain right on its heels. The man in the metal suit froze at the sight of the Captain, and the Captain did the same. The Soldier, however, took advantage of the moment of stillness by jumping forward and throwing a punch at the armored man with its metal hand.
The man in the suit snapped into action, raising a hand toward the Soldier. The circle at the center flared with a blue light, shooting a laser like blast at the Soldier’s metal arm, blasting it off. The Captain came in and threw its shield at the metal man’s chest, where a similar blue light glowed. The man couldn’t move fast enough and the dark, tentacle covered shield hit him square in the chest. The man grunted, but before he could do anything in retaliation, the Mechanic came in with an EMP and triggered it, shutting down both the suit and the Soldier’s arm.
It also shut down the glowing light in the Mechanic’s chest. The Mechanic moved on autopilot, removing the glowing device from its chest and baring a wire cord that had been plugged into a computer. The Mechanic touched the cord to the device, jump starting it before the Mechanic put the device back in its chest. The Mechanic gasped for air and several H.Y.D.R.A. agents came in to take the man out of the suit and whisked him away. The Captain and the Soldier were brought one way, while the Mechanic was brought another way. The Soldier squatted on its corner of its resting station, staring into the distance as it was embraced by the coolness of shutting down.
The Soldier blinked from its corner of the charging station. It watched idly as the door opened. The Handler’s footsteps had not been loud and angry, so standing at attention was not required. The Mechanic was tossed harshly onto the floor. It pushed itself up and limped over to its assigned resting station.
‘Teammates take care of each other.’ A voice resounded in the back of the Soldier’s head.
New sub-mission: Take care of mission partners.
It was not time for training yet. The Soldier stood and approached the Mechanic. The Mechanic stifled a yelp expertly when the Soldier lifted it up, easing the Mechanic (like a doll, flashes of curly brown hair and eyes as blue as its own glistening in joy at the sight of it-) onto its resting station. The Soldier scanned the Mechanic for injuries. A bruise in the shape of a hand on the Mechanic’s arm, and deep gash on its leg. Stitches required.
The Soldier walked over to its resting station and lifted up the floorboard by it. It grabbed a first aid kit that a technician had approved for it to take. It opened the case and unfolded an alcohol wipe, and a corner of the Mechanic’s mouth turned down. The Soldier cleaned the wound on the Mechanic’s leg before pulling out the needle and the lighter, sterilizing the needle. It then proceeded to give the Mechanic three stitches, all dissolvable.
“Do not put too much weight on this leg for 1 to 2 weeks.” It grunted, putting away the first aid kit. The Soldier took its position on its charging station and started to shut down, and the last thing it heard was a quiet “Thank you.”
The door slammed open, and this time the Captain and the Soldier were both at attention in the same second. A tiny flare of something warm towards the Captain sparked (the same feeling as watching curly hair as brown as its own take her first steps towards it-) before it was doused by seeing how the Mechanic hobbled in order to stand at attention (but still fast enough, the Mechanic would not be harmed today-). The Handler looked angry, like if she could set fire to things with her eyes, the building would be burning down. The Soldier stiffened, ready to take the hits of an angry Handler and make itself look - and sound - pathetic in order to satisfy the Handler.
“Move now! Building is compromised!” The Handler snapped. The Soldier spared half a second of processing on the first aid kit under its resting station before leaving the charging area. The Soldier held its less mechanical arm for injection, and a paralyzation similar to shutting down overcame it. It collapsed, only barely being able to see through its eyelashes. The Captain and the Mechanic both froze before the Handler snapped at them to put out their arms too.
The Mechanic was a second too slow. It was slapped.
(Sub-mission: ‘Take care of mission partners’ violated. Suggested action: put cream on the Mechanic’s face.)
(Suggested action rejected. Primary mission: Evacuate building. Secondary suggested action: Execute the one who harmed the Mechanic)
(Secondary suggested action rejected. Top priority: Serve H.Y.D.R.A. (Handlers). Handlers are not permitted to be harmed unless they have betrayed H.Y.D.R.A. Tertiary suggested action: Treat the Mechanic’s wounds at the new base.)
(Tertiary action accepted.)
The Soldier distantly registered the twins thumps (not the thump thump thumping of small feet running up to it, begging it to play with them, but close enough to remind it of them) of the Captain and the Mechanic falling. The Soldier entered a mode similar to shut down as the long drive to the next base started.
The Soldier reactivated in a charging area that looks extremely similar to its former charging area. A small, nondescript, gray room. It had multiple small charging stations, but the one in the far corner did not have the small indent in the furthest corner from its squatting there night after night. The Soldier tensed. This felt off, so the Handlers might be traitors.
(Harm towards the Handler is now on. Reason: Very strong possibility of being a traitor.)
“Possibility of compromised Handler. Do not confront, but the following of orders is not necessary should confrontation happen.” It told the others, as it went for the cream in its pouch, slathering the substance over the Mechanic’s face.
“Orders registered.”
“Orders registered.”
Not two seconds after the orders had been registered and the ointment had been put away, a small, wiry being was marched in. It had curly black hair, and brown eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. Its shirt was torn, and it was wearing loose-fitting purple pants. There was a device around its ankle emitting a small green light. The most noticeable part however, was the muzzle covering the lower half of its face. It looked similar to the Soldier’s own muzzle, but the slight bulge of the Asset’s cheeks told the Soldier that there was a gag attached to the muzzle meant to keep it from speaking. For a moment, the Soldier almost felt something (sadness and endless anger at watching her cry, unable to do anything to the man who had hurt her the way it had been hurt by him). The Handler spoke.
“Register new mission partner. Title: The Oracle.
The Oracle is not allowed to speak. The removal of its muzzle will result in punishment for all. It is not allowed to have any objects unless given permission otherwise. If it is given anything at all, the Asset that provided it will be punished.”
“Understood.”
“Understood.”
“Understood.”
The Soldier Asset inspected the Oracle Asset consideringly. It raised its hands slowly before shaping them into the necessary forms.
‘Do you know ASL?’
The Oracle blinked, a mixture of surprise and confusion filling its expression.
‘Yes. I thought you weren’t supposed to communicate with me?’ It tilted its head forward and to the side, eyebrows scrunched together and up to indicate the question.
‘The Assets are not allowed to let the Oracle speak, remove the muzzle, or give the Oracle objects. She said nothing about signing. Handlers are possibly compromised. Malicious obedience and disobeying are allowed in such scenarios.’
The Oracle looked around, breath hitching as it saw the Mechanic, and eyes producing tears at the sight of the Captain.
‘Do you. . .’ Its hands faltered. ‘Do you know who you are?’
They all nodded. ‘This Asset is titled The Winter Soldier.’
‘This Asset is titled Captain Hydra.’
‘This Asset is titled The Iron Mechanic.’ The Mechanic’s hands faltered for a second before picking back up.
‘There is a hint of a memory file of a young boy speaking to the Mechanic and referring to it as such before H.Y.D.R.A. did so. Are we to report these malfunctions while handlers are compromised?’ It aimed the final query towards the Soldier, who had been feeling the warring orders since the first malfunction, during the massage. It finally prioritized one order over the other, ending the pain in the back of its head.
‘No. The malfunctions are likely being caused by having false handlers. The Assets escape, and the malfunctions go away.’
The Captain turned an assessing pair of eyes towards it. ‘Is the Soldier experiencing malfunctions?’
‘Yes. Memory files of a tiny man calling the Soldier a “j-e-r-k” and two small girls wanting to play with the Asset, calling it “brother” have been unlocking themselves.’ (It didn’t mention the memory files of being beaten into the ground by one who called it ‘son’, or or having to stand by as he did the same to the girls, until one day it didn’t stand by and made its first kill. The cover story of the man running away with another woman, the girls confirming the story. The way it had frantically tried to get the blood out from under its nails. The sobbing prayers to Delva, begging her to understand and forgive it.)
‘Return to training.’ It ordered the Captain.
The Captain glared at it, but went back to where it left off, feet facing away from each other, one arm at a perfect 90 degree angle, and the other curving above its head. The only interaction they had until shutting down was the Soldier correcting the Captain’s position on occasion. It rarely had to do so. This was good, it meant that it would be ready for a knife soon. This was a good thing. This. . . Was a good thing? . . . This wasn’t a good thing. Knife training meant that if the Captain failed, not-H.Y.D.R.A. would kill it.
It wouldn’t let not-H.Y.D.R.A. kill its Captain.
For once, its shut down wasn’t blank. The processing center of its brain kept on feeding it more and more from it’s past(?) (Tiny little feet pit-patting going to big feet stomping against the old, creaky floorboards, the desperation of trying and trying but it was alone now and the then-tiny-now-big feet didn’t seem to appreciate its efforts but they still didn’t leave they couldn’t leave it wouldn’t let them they needed to stay with it stay safe he would kill for them when no one else would they had to stay) until it was jerked out of its shut down by the sound of the not-Handler coming in. For once, it was the slowest Asset to get up. The not-Handler was sharper than normal, and it immediately got slapped for the delay.
It knew for sure that something was wrong when yet another new Asset walked in. It was average height, close-cropped hair, and most importantly, the same smell that the man in the armor had.
It didn’t move a muscle until it had to register the War Machine, and it noted the minuscule twitch of the Mechanic’s eye. The Soldier initiated the Compromised Handler Protocol in the Machine as well, if more hesitantly. The Machine was slightly bulkier than the Soldier would have expected, meaning that its armor had been a tight fit. The Soldier turned to its teammates. “Compromised handlers confirmed. Wait for the optimal opportunity for breaking out, do not do so without permission from the Soldier. Captain! Resume training!”
The Captain started its practice without further prompting from the Soldier. There was no music, but one would not be able to tell that from watching the Captain. It moved as if there was music to guide its limbs, as if there were no audience to be conscious of. The Soldier could see how it would be aesthetically pleasing, and the Mechanic watched almost as closely as the Soldier was. At the end of its routine, the Soldier clapped its shoulder, almost without processing that it had done so. “Excellent form.” It muttered into the Captain’s ear.
The Mechanic clapped quietly. “Wonderful performance.” It agreed.
‘In another life, you could have been a dancer.’
(‘In another life, you would have been a famous artist.’
‘Aw Buck, thanks. That’ll have to wait for after the war, though.’)
The Soldier turned away. These malfunctions would be dealt with soon (it didn’t want them to go).
“Again.”
Almost three weeks had passed before another intruder appeared. This one was large, larger than everyone else, and was making it rain with the large hammer of his. They had to move bases again, and the Mechanic was sent every day to figure out how the hammer worked. Every day the Mechanic was dragged back in and thrown to the floor, and the Soldier would pick it back up and tend to any wounds acquired during the day. Singed palms, bleeding foreheads, bruised ribs, it tended to them all.
. . . The Soldier was running low on burn cream and bandages. It would have to steal more soon. So, during its shutdown time, it went against protocol. It didn’t shut down. Instead, it crept through the door, and slipped silently down the halls, making its way to the infirmary. Quietly, it traded out the old case for a new one and traipsed back the way it came. It put the kit under the same floorboard before taking up its position on the corner of the pillow. Everything was enveloped in darkness once more.
It came online once more earlier than expected, being dragged down the hallway. It stayed limp, not knowing what to expect. It only stiffened when the chair came up, the only reaction it had never been able to get a hold of (it remembered it was remembering now, he had been screaming out calling for Steve, for anyone to come help him save himhe wouldn’t even be able to save Steve now by God they had Steve) and he was shoved in the chair roughly. “No!” He shouted. “No no no PLEASE!” They shoved a gag in his mouth and the Handler sneered as she turned on the machine.
“Do not forget your place, Soldier.”
He forgot everything. (The Soldier remembered everything, and then it didn’t.)
The Soldier came online once more. It looked around, taking in its surroundings. It knew these Assets, and yet. . . There were no code words.
False handlers. It had to escape and free the other Assets as well, then. It knew what to do. Time passed, more Assets were introduced. The Silent Archer joined, and nothing changed.
The addition of the Wicked Witch made it feel the first glimmer of emotion it had in. . . It didn’t know. But it knew it had been long.
The new Asset being put in the charging area with everyone else made a building issue apparent to the not-Handler. They were crowded into the charging area, barely enough room to stand according to protocol. The not-Handler sighed. “You all will be split into two groups. Captain, War Machine, Wicked Witch and Silent Archer - follow me to the new charging area.”
Something deep in its gut started to move, boiling and growling. As the Assets started to move, the gut movement became louder, bigger, like it was trying to crawl up its lungs. It vaguely analyzed that this might be what puking lava might feel like, and it was experiencing this strongly enough that it had flashes of aiming that lava (and its fists) at the not-Handler. Its Captain couldn’t be removed from it-!
And suddenly it went from spewing lava to treading in the ocean, legs growing ever more tired, a cold trickle down its spine. Even if this was not-H.Y.D.R.A., and a not-Handler, the Captain couldn’t possibly belong to it. Assets didn’t have things, much less other Assets.
The only thing, it analyzed, keeping it from collapsing on the spot, was the not-Handler and the mission. This was a test, it deduced. Take the teammates away and see if it reacted. Anyone who knew so much about the protocols to follow them so closely would also know about the self-termination protocols in place if the enemy ever tried to reprogram it. So, they were waiting for it to mess up. They were waiting for an opportunity to disguise the reprogramming as a punishment.
After the four Assets trickled out, it went to its charging station and crawled into its corner, pulling its legs up closer than normal. What seemed to be a program inserted itself neatly into its thought process, keeping it from thinking about the other Assets by causing pain whenever it tried. Not knowing how to not set off the program, it started to shut down early.
Things moved on with not-H.Y.D.R.A. More Assets came - the Sonic Speedster, the Red Falcon, the Fire Ant, The Growing Giant - and the Assets were split up yet again. The Soldier didn’t get to stay with the Mechanic this time, instead being assigned the Thunderer, the Fire Ant, and the Oracle. It didn’t get to see the people it had occupied a charging area with before unless it was time for nutritional intake, and it happened to line up with theirs.
One look at the Mechanic was enough to show it that no one else had thought to treat its wounds. Old burns were layered over one another, cuts crossing from repeated falls starting to scar, all of it pointed to an unhealthy Mechanic (it all reminded it of a young boy, coughing and tired and yet so full of life and spite - maybe this was the same boy as the young girl? Had it known a shapeshifter? That was the only possible conclusion).
(Mission: Escape not-H.Y.D.R.A.
Mission update: Creating timeline
Mission timeline: 2 months.)
(It didn’t think the Mechanic could survive more)
The two months felt like they dragged on forever. Yet more Assets arrived. The Serial Spider stirred. . . something up in its guts, but not as much as the Mechanic and the Captain did. Many things that triggered the feelings were similar things that the Mechanic did. The Spider bounced its leg in the same manner that the Mechanic did, and the swoops of its hair were reminiscent of the Mechanic’s.
An Asset whose suit was made of pure nanotech vibranium spent much time with the Mechanic, once it was integrated into the Asset roster. The Soldier had a stirring - more of a swirling, really, not the feeling of light filling its stomach - every time the Black Panther was sent off to the Mechanic. It had no technological advancements to be dissected and offered up to this Not-H.Y.D.R.A., but it still processed that it belonged in the Mechanic’s lab. (Maybe it had originally been intended for security purposes?)
An Asset that utilized a pulsing warmth in its trembling hands was sent to the Mechanic as well, coming back with cuts all over its body. The Soldier automatically dug up the kit, repairing the damage as best it could, the pulsing warmth taking over the rest overnight (If it couldn’t take care of the Mechanic, it would take care of its projects).
Then, at last, an Asset that got introduced as the final one. The retrieved files of the Red Room training told it in flashes that it was not only the final Asset, but one of the first. With this confirmation that the Black Widow was the final Asset, it started serious prep with only a week left on its self-assigned timeline.
The teams were split in two one last time, and with this reshuffling, all four leaders were gathered in one place. The Soldier gave the signal to the Captain, the Mechanic, and the Oracle, who repeated the signal to their teams. All of them leapt into action, the Not-H.Y.D.R.A. group unable to withstand their combined strength. The Soldier felt an abnormal growth of the heart upon seeing the other Assets utilize its training, even if not passed down first hand - a medical concern that could be investigated later.
Between the 16 of them, the base was soon slaughtered and destroyed. Ever loyal, the Soldier sent off a message to the real H.Y.D.R.A. organization (but not before it was encrypted by the Mechanic).
Now knowing where they were, the Soldier led the way to the nearest safehouse, filled with warmth at having finally freed his the Assets.
There weren’t nearly enough charging stations for all 16 of them, but they made due, squeezing themselves into the same bed as another, the least injured sleeping on the floor. The Oracle’s muzzle was removed, although the device on its ankle would take a little more time. They did their best to stay low, but after a few days, they were caught by the local police. Not willing to draw more attention than they already had, they went along with the police - they could effortlessly slip out of any jail, of course.
What it had failed to consider was the strawberry blond woman who made the Mechanic’s breath hitch. Despite the makeup covering her face, the Soldier could still see the bag under her eyes that spoke to weeks, if not months, of bad sleep. Her hair was slightly frazzled, and her lips slightly indented, indicating dehydration. Her eyes were red around the edges, and light dried tracks spoke to tears being shed (Maybe a family member or a friend had been a target?).
The Mechanic broke unspoken orders, stepping closer to the woman. “I know you. . .” The other Asset said breathily, practically at a whisper, yet it seemed to echo throughout the room - only barely quieter than the beating of the Soldier’s heart.
The woman reached out to touch the Mechanic, but stopped when it flinched. The hand that had been so close to tracing its face went back to her own, covering her mouth as new tears escaped her eyes.
The Mechanic looked like it wanted to say a multitude of things, but in the end, it was the woman who spoke. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. Do you know my name?” The Mechanic silently shook its head. “My name is Virginia Potts,” She said. “But my friends call me-”
“Pepper.” The Mechanic spoke as if having a revelation. She smiled, and the Soldier couldn’t help but conclude that this was the start to the end of everything they knew.
At the Compound, they were told a very nicely fabricated story about how they hadn’t always been H.Y.D.R.A. Assets, how they had been people before, most of them Avengers. It was a nice story, but like all, horrendously untrue. However, the Soldier couldn’t make itself say this to the other Assets (but it could tell from some of the older ones' faces that they didn’t believe this either).
This belief was challenged in a matter of days. As the youngest and the one with the strongest healing factor, the Serial Spider (Peter it had to remember its - his - name is Peter) was the first to regain a good amount of memories. The Spi- Peter was eager to talk with the Oracle (Bruce his name is Bruce) about science, many of the topics beyond the Soldier’s grasp - but not the Mechanic’s.
If given long enough to just listen to the other two talk, the Mechanic would eventually join in the conversation, and soon all three would be chattering at a pace few could keep up with.
They had all been given names, but the Soldier was hesitant to use them. One accurate guess did not knowledge make.
It would start using names if three were right.
The Soldier was ripped out of the depths of darkness by a scream, resounding through the night. It didn’t even bother with opening the door, it just busted the door down in one go. The scream had come from Peter’s room. It was the first to reach Peter’s door, taking care to actually open this one, and the footsteps behind it told it that it wasn’t the only one who was ready to protect him (it could be Hydra, ready to reclaim a false Asset, and it would not let them).
The room was more bare than the Soldier had believed it would be, the only person in there Peter. He was in his room alone, covers pulled up to his chin and eyes screwed closed.
Conclusion: Peter had had a nightmare.
Without processing, its body moved towards Peter, shushing his whimpers and petting his hair before it picked him up. He tensed against it for a second, but soon relaxed. With only a moment’s hesitation, it wrapped Peter up in his blanket. Continuing to stroke his hair, it turned towards the door, which had Assets and people alike crowding around it. A glare had them all backing away from the doorway, letting it carry Peter out and towards the kitchen.
Doing its best not to disturb the trembling boy, it found a pot, some milk, and some chocolate, moving on autopilot to make the child hot chocolate. A taste test was conducted to see if the drink was the optimal temperature, and upon finding it was, the drink was tipped lightly into Peter’s mouth, a sip at a time. He drank it greedily, whining when the drink was taken away. Once more the Soldier shushed it. “We’re saving the rest of it for after we talk about your nightmare.”
Peter blinked. “You’re from Brooklyn?”
The Soldier parsed through the interaction and the few malfunctions it had experienced. “Apparently. Not relevant. Nightmare.”
Peter pressed his face into its chest. “They were drowning the Mechanic again.”
Those six words were enough to have it handing the hot chocolate back. Peter drank gratefully while the Soldier’s heart squeezed.
The Mechanic stepped into the kitchen and away from the crowd. The Mechanic stroked Peter’s hair, before deciding that wasn’t good enough. The Mechanic’s hand cradled the back of Peter’s head and it put its face in his hair. “The Mechanic is here bambino, and it will not be drowned again.”
Peter finished off the hot chocolate and sniffled. “I really hope you’re right.”
The Soldier hesitated to break up the moment, but Peter needed to get back to bed. “Are you ready to go back to sleep?”
Peter bit his lip. “Maybe if you two slept with me? I don’t think I can handle being alone right now. . .”
The Mechanic and Soldier didn’t even need to say anything to each other, they simply started moving in sync back towards Peter’s room. The crowd had dispersed, everyone going back to their respective areas, leaving the hallway clear. When the Soldier tried to crouch on the corner, Peter refused and had it lie down next to him. Its arms seemed to move on their own, wrapping around the child, who soon fell asleep. It took a bit longer for the Soldier to be enveloped back into the darkness, but it was easy with the faces of the Mechanic and Peter easing the squeezing of its heart.
There was no time to dwell on what had happened with Peter, because that next morning, the Ӕsir landed on the roof. The indents made the Mechanic twitch, but the otherwise lack of response made Pepper slump. She let the Ӕsir in, and they quickly drew the Thunderer to the side. It went quietly, making the black-haired Ӕsir sigh in sadness.
The man with the black hair put his fingertips to the Thunderer’s head and closed his eyes, concentrating. Slowly, the Thunderer’s eyes fluttered shut as well. The other two each grabbed one of its hands and their breathing became labored. A few minutes passed like this, and then the Thunderer opened its eyes again.
“Loki. . .” It breathed, pulling its hands free to clutch the man’s face.
The man teared up. “Thor!”
The Thunderer hugged Loki. “I’m so sorry brother, I remember now. I am Thor, and you are Loki.”
And so, they were two names in.
The Ӕsir were unable to help the others, however. They were not trained in the human brain, and the only ones who had bothered to check had checked ages ago, when humans were barely out of their more monkey-like forms. There were simply too many possible differences in the brain and too much risk. However, inspired, Pepper called in the Sorcerers of Kamar Taj to help.
Wong came when called, but had mixed news to bear. “I didn’t think it could be done, but decided to check anyway. He is our Sorcerer Supreme, after all. We can restore his memories, but only because he voluntarily locked them away so he couldn’t compromise the Order. We’re sorcerers, not neuroscientists. We don’t know what to do about the electricity, but Stephen might.”
And so James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes accepted the accuracy of three names.
Wong hadn’t been incorrect in his assumptions. The addition of Stephen’s knowledge had been a great help, pushing the research past their sticking point. The Mech- Tony, Tony would come back from long days in the lab gushing over the man’s intellect.
It made the Sol- Bucky’s stomach clench uncomfortably. It had started to prod the voice in the ceiling about these bodily reactions, and the voice was quick to help him assign them to feelings. The Bucky hadn’t known it could have feelings. According to the voice, this gut clenching could be either jealousy or fear - and it did not fear the Sorcerer. Further consulting of the voice gave it a strategy.
It hovered by the entrance of the lab, unsure if it should truly interrupt such an important process. But the more it thought, the more it realized that this action was one that was genuinely needed. It rapped on the door.
“Come in!” The Tony shouted. The doors opened and it walked in. It looked around the room and froze at the sight of a stranger. The Tony noticed the freezing and followed its gaze, smiling. “No need to be worried, Bucky, that’s just Helen Cho. She’s here to help with the programming.”
The Bucky smiled back, a weak one, but a smile nonetheless. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I’ve realized that we don’t know what’s in my arm. Trackers, bombs, a kill switch. . .”
The Tony was out of his seat in a second, shoving the Bucky onto a stool and prying the arm open. “Jarvis, scan the arm in depth, tell me everything.” He ordered. Being manhandled so effortlessly caught the Bucky a bit off guard, but it went with the actions. The Tony would know best, and it could spend time with him. Over the course of the next four hours, the Tony found three vials of poison, five shock charges, ten trackers, and one wad of chewed bubblegum.
(They decided not to question the bubblegum.)
(It was still a novel experience that it got to decide.)
It turned to go once the last device was gone, but the Tony stopped it. “You can stay if you want.” He offered.
The Bucky gave a small smile, and sat back down on the stool, just watching him work.
The Tony seemed to not find the Bucky’s presence bothersome, so it continued to watch the scientists work. And yet, something about it was off. It hadn’t been able to place what it was until the Steve walked in, looking disgruntled.
That was it! The missing piece! Before it worked up the nerve to come down to the Tony, it had been spending its days with the Steve. The Steve went unacknowledged, and sat down on the couch next to the Bucky. Together, they watched ideas being created and disposed of at the drop of a hat. The terms flew over their heads, but it was entrancing nonetheless.
The Steve’s hands twitched, and without missing a beat, the Tony slid a spare piece of paper and a pencil over to him. The Steve picked the items up and began to sketch what they saw before them. The Tony sent him a quick smile before turning back to Helen, the Bruce, and the Stephen. The smile hadn’t even been aimed at it, and yet it sent that fluttering feeling off in its stomach. According to the voice - J.A.RV.I.S., it now knew - this was love, or at least the beginnings of it. The Tony’s hands flew as he talked, and the Steve leaned further and further across the Bucky as he sketched. Soon, the Steve was practically draped across the Bucky’s lap, and it was idly stroking his hair like it had done this a million times before.
(And maybe it had)
With the ambient noises of the Tony talking and the gentle scratch of a pencil on paper, the Bucky’s eyes drifted close.
Bucky woke up to a crick in its neck, a paper in its lap, and a dark lab. It took a minute for its eyes to adjust to the dimness, but it was soon able to make out the paper. It was a detailed sketch of itself sleeping, with a small note at the bottom corner.
‘Didn’t want to wake you up, you looked really deep in sleep. I made a quick doodle of it. You drool. - SGR’
It swiped a thumb along its chin, confirming the presence of dried drool. It went to clean off its face in its bathroom, and then paused at the concept. It had its own bathroom. Pepper hadn’t been kidding when she promised that the accommodations, at least, would be far better than anything H.Y.D.R.A. provided. It didn’t think it would grow used to the novelty anytime soon.
It washed off its face, pinned the drawing to the corkboard it had been given, and went to seek out Tony and Steve, missing them already. Bucky found them in the kitchen, preparing a large meal for the others. They were moving around each other naturally, like they had been doing this for years. The others were already spread across the large room, and it was the last to take a seat. A large plate was put down in front of it, and Tony and Steve finally stopped what they were doing. Tony turned towards the rest of the room. “We’ve made a big breakthrough, and we think that we can start clearing up some of our heads soon. We want to start off with T’Challa, since he was the most recently wiped one.”
T’Challa nodded in acknowledgement, then went back to his food, clearly having nothing to add. Bucky, on the other hand, didn’t know how to feel about this revelation. It could get its memories back! . . . But would it really be worth it? What if this state of purgatory was the best it could get?
With the memories would come the comfort of knowing exactly who it had been, and no longer only having snippets to put together, but also world-shattering revelations.
And so it spoke, but hesitantly, not wanting to upset Tony. “Do we need the machines? I’m already starting to get some memories back on my own. . .”
Tony perked up. “You are? Fascinating!” He whipped out a pencil and paper from an unknown location. “Tell me about it?” He pleaded, pouting lightly.
Bucky nodded. “I think I was a higher up agent before I messed up. I had the name of Bucky before the wipes, and I even got the privilege of a friend! He liked to shapeshift often, sometimes looking like a younger, more feminine version of me, and sometimes more like a scrawny young blond boy.”
Tony scribbled down the information almost as fast as he was receiving it. “And how do these memories feel when they return? Is there a tingling sensation, burning, a headache?”
Bucky shook its head. “No, nothing like that. They just feel like a whisper in my ear, maybe a bit of a color film if they’re a visual memory.”
Tony made an interested noise and finished writing before putting his pencil away. He tapped the table in front of T’Challa. “Come on kitty cat, time to go.”
T’Challa cast a longing look at the pot of leftovers, but went anyway.
(Bucky tried to ignore the feeling that J.A.R.V.I.S. had called jealousy.)
When the news broke that T’Challa had regained his memories, Bucky hadn’t been the first to know. It hadn’t been the last, but it hadn’t been the first, because it and Steve had been kicked out for the process. The reason cited was that the process would be unpleasant to watch, and Tony later confirmed that it had been very disturbing to watch. Bucky, who committed atrocities that made grown men scream and cry and wet themselves, vehemently disagreed that watching would disturb it. It hadn’t convinced Tony before the work on T’Challa was done, but it did midway through Peter’s retrieval. It immediately wished it hadn’t.
The boy was sitting in a chair, eerily still with a helmet covering the top half of his head. Every once in a while, a tiny zapping sound could be heard, and Peter twitched. Faint sound could be heard coming from the helmet, and occasionally Peter would scream. It couldn’t stomach much, and left.
(It didn’t want its memories back if more electricity was what it took.)
When Tony asked if Bucky was okay being last in the order (newest Asset to oldest), it readily agreed. Being last gave it more time to think of a way out of what looked like it would be a requirement. It enjoyed making Tony and Steve happy, but it didn’t think it could do this. Anything but this.
The natural way was working for it - it was starting to get memories back in its sleep. Sure, none of them were pleasant, but that’s just what it was when most of its life had been spent torturing and killing.
(It would take waking up screaming over more electricity any day.)
J.A.R.V.I.S. seemed to be the only one who caught onto its conundrum, and was constantly looking to give advice. However, before he could say anything, Bucky would shut down that line of discussion.
But, as the weeks passed and its turn grew closer, it decided to let him speak. The advice, in its opinion, was bullshit. Utter bullshit! Talk with Tony about the process and its uncertainty, bah, what a foolish opinion!
And yet, that’s what it did anyway. Talking with Tony had never been a hardship, but this time, it was.
While hard, the talk was helpful, and Tony assuaged its fears. It wouldn’t feel the electricity - Peter attested to this - and the screams were caused purely by bad memories. The chair would undoubtedly bring back a myriad of bad memories, so it could sit on something else, like the cot Tony would sleep on in the lab. In the end, everyone else had found the memories worth it. T’Challa reunited with his mother and sister, and Peter with his aunt, and both were recovering slowly from the traumatizing events in the comfort and safety of their homes. Its breath hitched at the idea of finding its shapeshifting friend. It adored Steve and Tony, it really did, but it needed to find Becca. And so it agreed.
As the person who had been an Asset the longest, the process took the most time for Bucky. It was hard, and the mental strain only increased as memories of who it had been before H.Y.D.R.A. returned, and it found that the shapeshifting friend had not been a shapeshifter after all. Tony and Steve had been there for it every step of the way, giving it - him? - exactly what it needed. It’s (his?) adoration grew, only to be dashed as it (he?) walked in on them kissing. It (he?) tried to pretend that everything was normal, but as usual, Steve saw right through him.
“What happened Buck? You know you can tell me anything.” Steve said, eyes wide.
Bucky thought. “I don’t know if I should say it.”
“Why?”
“It would ruin everything, and I like how close we are.” Bucky looked down, hair covering eyes.
Steve tilted Bucky’s chin up. “Nothing you say could ruin it.”
Bucky’s eyes searched Steve’s face, and finding nothing but earnesty, leaned in to kiss his cheek. Bucky pulled away with a sad smile, not knowing how to feel about Steve’s shocked face. “This is what I can’t even try to talk about. I won’t ruin what you and Tony have.”
And Bucky walked off to sit in a dark room, alone.
Bucky didn’t get to stay alone for long. Tony walked in, and Bucky felt that any hit thrown would be deserved.Tony crouched down next to Bucky, and instead of a blow, spoke softly. “The way you feel about Steve. . . Does that extend to me?”
Bucky nodded in shame. Tony leaned in and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “We were wondering. . . Do you want to be our boyfriend?”
Bucky’s nose scrunched in a look of distaste that couldn’t be helped. “I’d love to date you, but. . . Could I not be called your boyfriend?”
Tony nodded. “What would you like to be called instead then?”
“Just your partner. I don’t. . . J.A.R.V.I.S. helped me do some research. J., can you show him?” Bucky looked desperately into one of the cameras, and J.A.R.V.I.S. helpfully projected a page summary of agender.
Tony read through it carefully and nodded. “I can do that. Do you want Steve to know?”
Bucky nodded. Not telling Steve hadn’t even registered as an option. They shared everything - apparently even partners now. Tony sent the page off to Steve with a short note, and then brought Bucky back to their room. Steve looked up from the page, and smiled at both of them. “There are my partners! Come on, I was getting cold.” Steve patted the bed next to him.
Bucky didn’t even have to touch Steve to know that it was a bold-faced lie - ever since the serum, Steve had run as hot as a furnace, and given Tony’s snort, he knew it too. But still, Bucky crawled in the bed, happy to hold the two that Bucky loved.
“Thank you for joining us today.” Steve started. “As you all know, the Avengers were taken one by one by H.Y.D.R.A. After countless days of being brainwashed, we managed to escape and return home. We’ve gone through years of therapy, both individually and as a group, and I’m proud to say that we’re all capable and ready to be Avengers once more. We hope that you’ll all accept us back.” As if on cue, their alarms went off simultaneously, and the Avengers assembled once more.