James watches Dr. Banner from the corner of his eye. Halfway across the medbay, the man nervously fumbles with his hands. Picking at his cuticles, shifting his eyes, flinching when the surgical tray to his left is jostled by a careless nurse. By all accounts, he looks to be on the verge of a panic attack. Sweat stains at his rumpled collar and even James, from the other side of the room, can pinpoint the tremble of his skin.
A voice that is not James's own sounds through his head. They are not helping. There's a russian twang to the words, more pronounced than usual due to the battle fought mere hours ago.
No, they aren't. James thinks back, his eyes flitting between the various medical personnel wandering about. All of who purposefully avoid the small corner that Banner has claimed, where he now paces back and forth in quick, short steps. They spare glances, every now and then. Nervous, Winter notes. They're afriad. Of Banner- or, rather, the Hulk. Neither men could exactly blame them for the fear. Just like they can't blame the mistrust that's directed toward themselves. There are members on the team who are more dangerous than others, more unpredictable. The Winter Solider and the Hulk are of the few that fall into that category.
But there are protocols in place for... situations, where things may get out of hand. To utterly ignore one's hippocratic oath, a patient clearly in need, out of fear? James can't be the only one disgusted here, can he? He's worked with nurses and doctors who would rush into an open battle field before letting a patient get left behind. These ones won't even stand within a two feet radius of one of their own.
Fear is natural. They are only ensuring their survival, The soldier reminds monotonously. James scoffs and shakes his head. They may share a body, a mind, but there are little other things that they share. A moral compass, for example.
It's caused many disputes in the past. James had reluctantly accepted his other-half's differences decades ago. The Winter Solider was not created to be human, or experience humanity. His primary mission has always been about survival. Prioritzing that above all else, no matter who or what needs to be sacrified. Again, James has accepted this. While there has been improvements now that they're in a relatively safe, stable environment, he's stopped pushing back against Winter's undeniable programming.
... Certain others have not.
He's clearly having a tough go right now, the poor guy. He needs help, notapprehension. James has half a mind to get up and go get the job done himself. He doesn't know the man too well, he'll admit. After his deprogamming, he was almost immediately thrust into the politics of pardons and avenging and Steve's "It'll be just like old times, right? Fighting side by side together again, Buck!". Except it wasn't like any old times at all, because the second the media-labelled 'Rogue Avengers' set foot onto American soil, they were hit with an entirely new reality.
There were new teams, many new teams, all sanctioned under the Avengers. New leaders, new personnel, new compounds. Steve, James, and the rest of them were put under a new lead (much to Steve's disdain). Captain Marvel was a force to be reckoned with, but she was efficient. And, most importantly, fair- despite her clear dislike of most of the team and their actions.
There wasn't much interaction between the Rogues and other teams, which James silently appreciated. He didn't think he was stable enough to handle all the new environments, new people, new factors. Winter had barely been able to hold the body together after leaving the comfortable familiarity of Wakanda.
That was the status quo for a good few months. Wake up in the same compound, train in the same compound, accept orders from the same leader, interact with the same people. There was routine, which James and the Soldier thrived off of. That was, at least, until a HYDRA base was identified and Colonel Rhodes' team- consisting of Ironman, Banner/Hulk, Dr. Strange, and Hope Van Dyne- had needed someone with... expertise. Someone who already knew the area layout and where all the failsafes would be in case of an attack. It was obvious who they needed to turn to.
Steve was furious. He had ranted and stood his ground on the matter for hours, after Captain Danvers came to James to get his approval for the team-up request. She had stressed it was entirely up to him whether he wanted to go or not, whether he felt okay to go- and in the end, Steve's rambling had been for nothing. James wanted, needed, to do it. HYDRA is his problem and will be until the last of their agents has died by his hands. Steve doesn't understand it. He probably never will.
But James- and Winter- they were the ones strapped to that damned chair. They were the prisoners of war. No one else needs to understand their mission but them.
So, no, Dr. Banner is not someone they're familiar with beyond the stray interactions they had on the field today. The man had stayed behind on the helicarrier working intelligence. He specifically kept in contact with James, who was relaying important information on their targets and how to get past HYDRA's systems without activating a facility shutdown.
For this mission, the Hulk was expected not to be needed. Dr. Banner only. That was, until, a lone HYDRA agent had managed to slip past the Wasp's and Ironman's area surviellance and made their way to the helicarrier. Over the comms, all that could be heard from Banner was a panicked alert that cut off to static. Then, Stark's worried yelling and Rhodes' orders to check on the man. James was too deep into the nest to retreat, but luckily, Stark and Van Dyne were still on perimeter duty. The next thing heard over the comm system was the sound of one lone bullet.
For a brief second, it was silent. And James had the sickening thought that Dr. Banner- the soft spoken, intelligent, kind scientist who stocked the helicarrier full of James's favorite tea the second he heard the team-up request was approved- was dead. Shot and killed. That there was another innocent life lost to the claws of HYDRA.
Winter had mostly taken control of the body, then. Forcing James back into the recession of his own mind before panic could set in and ruin the mission entirely. Luckily, as he later found out when the base had been entirely cleared out, Dr. Banner was fine. Shaken, but fine. He had shot the HYDRA agent seconds before Ironman arrived to help.
The Solider was the last to leave the base after orders from Rhodey. He had made sure to double check every room, regardless of Stark affirming that Friday had detected no other heat signatures in the building. That was part of the mission. Always was. Make sure there was nothing or no one left behind, leave no traces. When he finally emerged from the base, Colonel Rhodes was the first to check on him. Calm, assessing eyes that could only belong to a high-ranking military officer. Peggy Carter used to give the same exact look.
"Mission report, Solider?" He had asked, arms crossed and stance imposing. James had not been entirely cognizant at the time, which only meant the body was more Winter than anything. It probably looked like Winter, too- all stiff stature and cold, slightly murderous gaze. The Colonel had more than likely pinointed the change in person the second it happened. Had probably alerted the rest of the team to the difference, as well. As said, there were protocols for these things. James and Winter had put their two cents into them when they were first created. First addition to it- Winter was a solider, and he needed to be treated as such pre, during, and post-mission.
"Colonel Rhodes. HYDRA Base Omega-7 cleared of all agents through the use of non-lethal force. Twenty-seven captured and three casualties all due to self-sustained gunshot wounds. Systems wiped and shut down without triggering failsafes. Indications of another HYDRA base, labelled Charlie-35, located northeast within a two hundred radius. Information relayed to appropriate personnel. Mission completed with no further objective given." The russian accent that laced the words was thick. It hung heavy in the air. And yet, unlike James's own team, this team did not flinch. There was no cowering nor disapproving, puppy-eyed looks, nor any uncomfortable shuffling.
"And Solider's physical wellbeing?" Rhodes questioned, his eyes drfting to the dried blood that coated Winter's hands. The inquire had the body pausing, and for a second, there was a bit more James than Winter. His other-half didn't exactly understand the question, nor how to answer it. His 'physical wellbeing' was not part of their current mission, nor did it matter.
Still, he reponded, as the good soldier he was created to be. "Bullet wound to the right shoulder. Due to the wound closing, I removed the shell before it could become imbedded. No further medical care required."
Rhodes chuckled at that, suprising the both of them. He shook his head and let his shoulders relax. "Yeah, right. You wish, buddy. You aren't the first on my team to try and deny the medbay," There was a quick, accusing lookback toward red and gold armour, "When we get back to the compound, check in for treatment. Super soldier or not, we still need to make sure you're okay, got it?"
Winter filed away the mission with a nod and then took his seat in the helicarrier. For a while, it was a blur. James coming back and Winter flitting between completing the new mission objective and letting James take back control. Eventually, someone sat down beside them, and the smell of chamomile filled the air.
"Here. Made it fresh." And James had recognized the quiet voice as Dr. Banner. He snapped his eyes over, and the first thing he did was assess for injuries. Besides the pale complexion, there were none. In the man's hands were two cups of tea. One was being held out toward James invitingly.
He cautiously took it, the warmth grounding him from the cloudiness he had been floating in. "... Thank you," He whispered, the words a strange mix of Brooklyn charm and Russian accent.
Banner only gave him a small smile, shakily taking a sip from his own cup. "You looked like you needed it."
So, again, James might not know the doctor as well as his own team, or his past one. But he can recognize a good man when he sees one. And Bruce Banner is a better man than most. Meaning, when his analyzing eyes catching the barest hints of green skin from across the room, he's already making up his mind to help the guy. Return the favor, if he must. He stands from his hospital bed, yanking out and discarding of the I.V. lodged in his skin, and is all set to cross the medbay.
Then Tony Stark walks in.
James stops in his tracks, barely three steps away from his assigned bed. The man is no longer in his armour, and rather, casual clothing. A graphic t-shirt of some modern band James doesn't recognize, jeans, and ruffled hair that looks like it's had a hand run through it a few too many times. James exhales- he's never seen the man so... comfortable. He's barely seen the man at all, and he's sure the only reason he is right now is because he's in their team's assigned medbay, intead of his own.
A few nurses give polite greetings, but Tony only offers them a brief smile before cutting his way through the room. He's moving with a purpose, and James realizes, he's moving toward Banner. Eyes and body set entirely on the man still curling in on himself in the corner. Curious, Winter notes. Banner, once he sees Stark, breathes out a long sigh of... relief. His jaw unclenches and he goes from fiddling with his hands to clasping them together.
Very curious.
James and Winter watch as Stark walks up to the other man with a friendly, knowing smile, and pats him on the back. With his enhanced hearing, he can make out their conversation. "Brucey-bear, sorry for taking so long! DUM-E wouldn't let me leave the lab until I let Rhodey, our mother goose, give me a once over. You know how they can fret."
Banner actually cracks something similar to a smile and leans into Stark's touch. Soothing himself. Winter analyzes the situaiton with a piqued interest. "But, anyway, enough with all the riff raff in here. Jesus, I can barely think with all the heart monitors around. Why don't we go back to my lab? I'm working on a prototype for the Webhead's iron suit and need a new set of eyes."
Hm. Banner looks at Stark with a complexion much less pale than before and nods. His breathing seems to have evened out, his heart rate, too. James watches as the two men walk out the doors of the medbay, still continuing their conversation.
Winter hums in his head, tone muted, how it gets anytime he doesn't exactly understand how to process a situation. He helped.
James sits back down on his bed, something tugging inside his chest that he can't identify. Yeah, he did.
-
From that moment on, James and Winter begin to notice things. A lot of things. Since the small interaction in the medbay, Banner (and particuarly, his relationship with Stark), consumes his thoughts. He finds himself up late in the night, watching interviews and press events. Trying his best to navigate the confusion of social media with the help of Friday, who more than gladly sets up some accounts for him. And... James watches. Winter analyzes.
The press event where Banner was being hackled by some press looking to get their next big headline. How he instinctively hid behind Stark. How Stark squared his shoulders and smoothly changed the topic to something more lighthearted.
The recordings of Hulk that were plastered over various media sites. How Stark was the one to settle him down, how the Hulk let him.
The interview where Banner was asked who he believed was the most valued on the team, and without missing a beat, answered with Tony Stark's name.
James watches when another team-up request comes along to take down the previously identified Charlie-35 HYDRA base, and this time he accepts without hesitation. He watches as Dr. Banner sits besides Stark, who hums the mlody of some pop song. He watches how the other's on the team interact with Banner, and how he interacts with them.
He trusts them, Winter notes, cocking his head to the side.
Not as much as he trusts Stark, James replies.
Which is the truth, as they both come to realize. Months and months of their assessments (they refuse to call it stalking, despite Wilson's teasing and Steve's concerned comments) has led to one logical conclusion. Tony Stark is valued, trusted, and respected above all others- not just by Bruce Bannner, but by the Hulk as well.
For the life of them, they just can't figure out why, though. The other members on Colonel Rhodes' team aren't exactly unvalued by any means. Banner has no qualms sharing philosophical discussions with Strange. No hesitancy in joining Rhodes and Van Dyne for brunch. There are no issues between the team when it's agreed that the Hulk is needed for a mission. Nobody has any problems interacting with Dr. Banner, nor interacting with the Hulk. The dynamic, the bonds, are clear. They trust each other. There is no hidden fear undermining their relationships.
And it's one night when James can't sleep, when the sun is just barely rising and the bags underneath his eyes weigh heavy, that he comes to a realization. His growing obsession with this man- with his relationships, his interactions, his daily life- is more than just curiousity. It's like a punch to the gut. The way his skin burns when he sees Stark give Banner a hug like it's nothing. The way his chest constricts when Van Dyne lightheartedly teases the Hulk for his choice of clothing (or, lack-of). The way nobody flinches when Banner brushes past them.
James, he realizes, is jealous. Winter, he realizes, is resentful.
They don't leave their room for the rest of the day.
-
The crack between Captain Danver's team grows worse, after James processes his emotions. He withdrawls, goes silent, regresses back to his early days of being moved into the compound. He doesn't leave his room unless there's mandated training, or he's being called on for a mission. Any interaction between him and his supposed team members dwindle to nothing but grunts and stunted, two word replies.
Steve's worrying becomes unbearable. He crowds James every chance he gets. Sighing and shaking his head and crossing his arms and "This isn't you, Bucky. Maybe the deprogramming didn't work as well as we hoped." The captain knocks on James's door at least three times a day. Begging him to come out, to come watch a movie with the team, to talk to him. It's suffocating.
Because the second he does decide, for whatever reason, to step outside his room- it's not a team that James and Winter are met with. It's shady looks from Clint everything they're within the vicinity of one another. It's the poorly-concealed grimace from Natasha when someone hands them a weapon. It's the cowering form of Scott whenever they meet gazes. It's the uncomfortableness that radiates off of Wilson when russian words are spoken. It's the smirk from the witch when they tense at the red mist swirling between her fingers. It's the disapproving, saddening nostalgia that Steve can't ever let go of when it comes to James.
They are not a team. At least, not one that James belongs in.
Captain Marvel, to her credit, tries her best to mend the obvious fractues. She doesn't seem surprised at the turn of events, if her knowing glances toward James indicate anything. But no amount of team 'bonding' activies can change the very basics of their dynamics. No one trusts him- the entirety of him, at least. No one values him beyond his past. The only respect anyone can muster up for him comes from either fear or long-lost memories of a war hero. James grows tired of it all.
Winter only grows more hostile.
It all comes to a head one day when the bi-annual Avengers meeting is set to take place. All teams are required to attend, barring anyone with approved special circumstances. And there's nothing like remembering there's a Mad Titan travelling across space to invade Earth and destroy half the universe to put everybody in a bad mood.
This is the first full Avengers meeting that James is attending. The rogues, at this point, have only been back in the country a year, give or take a few weeks. The first meeting held, none of the rogues were permitted to attend due to some red tape with signing the Accords and getting those documents pushed through. Steve had ben particularly upset about that, as had Natasha, knowing they were missing out on important information regarding the imminent invasion of the world. James had been more relieved than anything. He was still barely used to the future at all at that time. But having to walk into a room and come face to face not just with other enhanced individuals, but aliens? From other worlds? He'd probably willingly walk right back to Wakanda and put himself into cryptofreeze again.
This time around, though, is different. Captain Marvel made sure to go over the proper protocols and structure for these meetings in detail. There would be no calling out, interuppting others, speaking over team leads, nothing of the sort. You were only to talk when spoken to, or asked a question. To the rest of the rogues, this seemed outrageous. There were quite a few debates about it the days leading up to the meeting, but as leader, she had put her foot down. Anyone to step out of line, cause a disruption, embarress her and her team, would face harsh disicplinary actions.
To James, it sounded as close to heaven as a superhero meeting could get. He could stand in a back corner in silence the entire three to six hours without worrying about talking or anyone talking to him. He might get a suspicious glance here and there, but he's used enough to those anyway.
"Okay, team, listen up," Captain Danvers calls out as she stands from her seat at the head of the helicarrier. She's suited up, along with everybody else in the ship, radiating a power that has goosebumps trailing James's skin.
"We're in the process of landing at the Avengers headquarters right now. Upon arrival, you'll follow me to our security checks. You will not cause a fuss about giving up any weapons. They will be given back to you after personnel clears you for entry." Clint gives a look like he's sucking on something sour, but wisely doesn't interrupt, "Once we're all cleared, I'll lead you to the meeting room, where you will then take your seats and wait. After all teams have arrived, the meeting will then begin. You will follow my lead. You will remembers the rules we have set in place. As long as we all agree on this, everything should go smoothly. Got it?"
James nods as Winter assesses the mission objectives. Remove weapons on body until reacquired. Trail handler. Assess rooms for threats. Provide information if and when needed. Stay silent. The others on the ship also, however reluctantly, agree to the terms. Danvers seems satisfied enough, curtly nodding before turning around to the exit. The ship lands a few seconds later and the turmac hisses open.
Winter is standing up and flanking the Captain to her left. Steve is up and ready soon after, followed by a gaggle of the rest of the team. "Alright, time to move."
They aren't the first team to arrive, indicated by the two other grounded ships. But they must have arrived a while ago, as the security check-in they are led to is mostly empty. Besides a few personnel, armed U.S. guards, and machinery, it's just the rogues. Captain Danvers is the first to step through the line-up. She gives easy smile to the workers, letting them scan her palms and her eye, easily walking through the metal detector. She doesn't have any weapons on her, but James and Winter both know that's because she doesn't need any. They've seen her prowess on the field countless times before.
Steve goes next. He grimaces through the hand and eye scans, murmuring under his breath in a way only James can hear. "We're the heroes. Why aren't we being treated like ones?" James does not meet his silent look for approval.
Wilson goes next, giving polite smiles to the guards who do not return the pleasure. He goes through much smoother than Steve had, giving up his wings and the two guns he has holstered to his hips. True to the word, they're returned to him the second he passes through the doors to security. Winter relaxes slightly at that. He doesn't like being unarmed for too long.
Clint and Natasha, seemingly used to such security measures, get through the check-in process like a warm knife through butter. They must have done similar motions dozens of times when still under the hand of SHIELD. The witch does not have the same courtesy, grumbling her way through the same as Steve. She has no weapons, either, and James isn't surprised. Her greatest weapon had already been implanted in by HYDRA.
Which leaves James and Winter, who had been silently standing in the corner. Trying to squash down the anxiety of being without weapons and stalling time before needing to do so. "Sergeant Barnes? You're up next." A guard calls, and Winter straightens his body instinctively. Right. The mission. Follow the objectives given.
He trudges to the table where a weapons expert stands side by side two armed security. On the table were all kinds of Stark labelled gadgets that James couldn't even begin to explain the purpose of. But he guesses he doesn't need to know their uses as long as it kept everybody in the compound safe.
"Please deposit all weapons on to the table. Guns in one pile, knives and similar sharp objects in another. Miscellaneous items can be placed inside the box to your right."
Winter begins the process of disarming himself. The assault rifle strapped to his back. The guns on his hips, then the two on his thighs. The beretta tucked near his ankle. The rounds of ammo stored in one palce or another. Then he moves on to his collection of knives. The blades tucked into pockets only he knew about. The ones strapped to his legs, the ones stored inside his boots. Then moving on to the ones on his waist, then his arms, then his chest. Luckily, he hadn't seen a need for any grenades or various other spy tech he had been given access to within the armory. Leading to a total deposit of six guns, three extra rounds of ammo, and seventeen knives. Lighter than usual, he notes, but something about making good first impressions and all that.
Someone to his right, near the door they just came through, whistles. "Woo, quite the collection you have there, buddy. I'm impressed for a born and raised Terran. Where d'you even manage to fit all of 'em?"
Winter snaps his head over and is met with a sight full of humans and not-so-humans. A total of seven bodies ranging in height and strength. The man who spoke that looked entirely human, if not for the space-like garb he was wearing. Stood to his left is a green woman that is analyzing Winter just as he's analyzing her. She seems to have her own assortment of weapons attached to her body as well. Behind those two, are even less-human like beings. A living tree, a.. raccoon on his shoulder? A large, burly man with greyed skin and red markings. Then, a blue woman who seems more machine than anything, and beside her, stands an eerily bug-like lady that radiates calmness.
This must be the team from space that Captain Danvers was talking about, James murmurs inside his head. Winter straightens his posture, his jaw ticking. He doesn't like this. Many new factors to consider. Too much information to process. He doesn't like it.
"Practice." The Soldier finally replies, urged by James to not completely ignore the other team. He doesn't say anything else, nor does he let them get another word in, either. He steps toward the machinery consisting of metal detectors and scanners. The alarms begin to buzz, of course, and the guards quirk their eyebrows. They know why. But they still have their policies to follow. James grimaces.
This is why we hate airports, He sighs. Winter almost feels amused at the comment.
He shrugs off half of his jacket, and the metal of his arm gleams from the natural sunlight pouring in through the windows. The vibranium plates shimmer and flow with motion as James shows it off the guards. They nod, pressing a few buttons on the metal detector before gesturing for him to step through it again. He does, and this time the machine stays silent. James tugs back on his jacket in relief.
From behind him, he can just barely catch some words being exchanged over the rush of blood through his ears. "Is that a metal arm I'm seeing on that guy? Like, detatachble? Fully functioning? Drax, pinch me and make sure I'm not dreaming."
And while Winter doesn't look back, he can visualize the pinch, and hears the yelp that comes from it. "Hey- Ow! What was that for, douchebag?! It's just an expression!"
Then, what sounds like someone slapping the speaker upside the head. "You will behave yourself, Rocket. No stealing, no pestering, and absolutely no bargaining for anybody's body parts this time. Got it?"
Winter tenses. He does not allow himself to turn around nor does he allow himself to feel threatened. He is safe here. It has been clear in the Accords since the beginning. James and Winter get to keep their arm if they so choose. No one is allowed to force that decision away from them.
Guess this is gonna be our new normal, James says, and Winter agrees. But he still doesn't like it. Too many differences. Too many potential threats and not enough knowledge to combat them.
They get through the rest of security without any more issues or interruptions. He's holstering his weapons with practiced ease the second he gets them back. He pretends not to notice Steve's sigh or Natasha's guarded gaze. Captain Danvers nods to him and he nods back. After that, the group of them continue their way to the meeting hall. The way there is mostly empty, besides a stray compound worker passing by now and then. James assumes most of them are vacated from the building, or at least transferred to another wing. Most likely to limit civllians casualities in case of an attack.
"Here is our section. Take a seat. The meeting is due to start within forty five minutes. Bathrooms are to the left and there's complimentary snacks near the back of the room. Don't wander too far, though. Once the doors to this room shut, they aren't to be opened unless absolutely necessary." Danvers claims a seat for herself after her small speech, pulling out a few files and beginning to organize the papers inside of them. James takes the seat closest to the back corner and crosses his arms. Time to prepare for what is possibly going to be the worst next three to six hours of his life.
-
The meeting starts exactly thirty two minutes later. Colonel Rhodes' team in the first to arrive after Captain Danver's. They barely spare a glance to the other team, with the exception of a few smiles and greetings to Danvers herself. James, to his surprise, gets a nod from Banner, to which he gives one back. Steve looks about ready to call out Stark's name- as he almost always does whenever he's within the vicinity of the man- but Natasha is quick to shut him up. James might not like her much, nor respect her, but he can give her credit for her professionalism in times like this. And her ability to keep Steve in line, which very little people have been known to achieve.
The next team to arrive is the Guardians, who bustle into the room with rambunctious laughter and loud conversations. Rocket, the raccoon from earlier, immediately makes his way to Stark and begins to poke fun at the technology in the compound. Stark only laughs it off and offers for Rocket to upgrade it himself, with supervision, of course. The rest of the Guardians take their seats and continue talking amongst one another. It almost reminds James of a family. How he would tease his sisters to the point of arguments, only for them to be laughing and play wrestling minutes later. He looks away from the display and instead fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve.
About fifteen minutes after that, another team comes in. Winter identifies them as Team Red, also called The Defenders. Made up of Deadpool, Spiderman, Daredevil, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, and Danny Rand. James finds them... interesting, to say the least. As with the Guardians, they seem close. Despite the obvious annoyance with Deadpool's unfiltered mouth, they stick beside one another as they walk through the room. A few mingle with the other teams, Stark in specific pairing up with Spiderman. He rustles at the hero's head before pulling him in for a hug. James bites back a smile.
The last of the expected teams come in about ten minutes after that. The Asguardian team, consisting of Thor, Loki, and Valkyrie. Clint gets a particularly harsh glare from Danvers when he mutters something about traitors under his breath. Winter scoffs at the hypocrisy, but bites his tongue. If he doesn't like the Widow, he sure as hell doesn't like her archer counterpart.
It takes a few minutes after that for everyone to quiet down. Colonel Rhodes takes his stand at the head of the table and clears his throat. After that, it's pindrop silent, and James recognizes it as the start of the long awaited meeting. "Good afternoon, everyone. Happy to see everybody's faces again. I want to start today off by thanking the teams for adjusting their schedules and being able to make it today. I know that between ruling nations and travelling through space, it can be hard. Unfortunately, Thanos's invasion doesn't run off of our time."
At the mention of the Mad Titan, the atmosphere drops a good ten degrees. James shuffles in his seat.
"The meeting today is simple. We'll start off with a report from each team, which your team lead should already have put together. After that, we'll transition to a discussion on various topics, concerns, and comments. Then, we'll move on to our plans involving Thanos, to which I hear that the Guardians and Ironman have important information to relay on that front. It's a simple structure, I know, but let's try to keep conversations on hand and not get distracted."
James is almost one hundred percent sure that the last comment there is directed toward the rogues. Not uncalled for, unfortunately.
"Alright, I'll start first then..."
After that, James mostly checks out. He tries not to. But politics have never been his thing and all the sly, whispered comments from his team are entirely too distracting. And disturbing. They can't contain their resentment toward the rest of the Avengers for even a few hours, it seems. He won't even look at us, the coward, Clint muses. Probably too ashamed, tuts the witch. If he's ashamed, he should just apologize. These games are getting out of control, Steve sighs.
He grinds his teeth together. Winter bristles inside their head. Their eyes dart toward the door, a few feet away. They just want to be out of here, already. Back behind the locked door of their room where they don't have to sit in the hypocrisy of it all.
"Captain Danvers, if you will."
Being in here is suffocating. James can barely sit still under the pressure of the atmospehre. And Winter won't stop mapping exits and repeating exit plans to himself for some reason, and it's making the body all the more paranoid. God, it's only been an hour of this. Does James truly need to be here, anyway? He's a semi-retired assassin with a knock off super-serum and a metal arm. What good is he really going to do against a literal world conquering alien? What good were any of the rogues going to do?
"Sergeant Barnes?"
Winter startles inside his head, but James pays no mind. He taps his fingers against the gun holstered on his hip. Repeating the beat of an old war song that his infantry would hum to themselves while holding the line. It was the only way most of them kept themselves sane, back then. When most of their world was gunshots and screams and orders to retreat or push through. When their fingers would go numb during the winter months and the only sensation they could still feel was the trigger of a gun.
"James?"
The man flinches. He's yanked away from the clouds surrounding his head, and it's only then that he's aware of all of the eyes trained on him. The entire room, staring at him wih looks ranging from confusion to conern to apprehension. Winter is pacing like a caged wolf inside his head and the sudden feeling that he's done something wrong, something worth punishing, slams into his gut so hard he feels he may vomit. James looks to his left and sees the rest of his team standing from their seats, the only one out of place being him.
Captain Danvers meets his gaze in concern. There's a hidden question in her eyes. What's going on? Are you okay? But James doesn't know how to answer that. He refuses to look at Steve or Natasha or Sam and he refuses to acknowledge the sudden tension in the air. Focus, Winter snarls, Stand up, soldier.
He stands up. Rising from his seat with an uncertainty that lingers in his kneecaps. His legs shake. He should be running, right now. Right? Everything in him is screaming that he is not safe here. That he needs to survive and the only way to do that is to run. He shouldn't be here. Why is he standing still? There's a door to the right of him. Three sets of windows ten feet off the ground behind him. He could leave. Should he? Yes, he thinks, No, he thinks as well.
From across the table, Banner is still staring at him. So is Stark. James can feel their eyes on him like they're burning holes through his skin.
"... Our team has been involved in a total of seventeen different missions the past six months. No civillian casualties. All mission have been low stakes in accordance with the pardons that my team has recieved. Nothing too drastic to report, besides the HYDRA bases that Colonel Rhodes's team has already covered. Everything else has been smaller takedowns from drug raids to small trafficking rings. All needed information has been passed on to the proper channels. Beyond that, I fear my report is much less interesting and much shorter than all of yours. My apologies, I'm sure you're all extremely disappointed. I have the statisticslisted on page fifty six, under section four, if you would all like to turn there..."
The rustling of papers rings in the air and James takes a breath. Letting the air fill his burning lungs in desperate inhales and long exhales, trying to shake off the creeping feeling of dread that crawls up his spine. He's in a room full of heroes. All sanctioned under the Avengers. He's safe here. He can breathe.
Winter continues to prowl under his skin.
It's only the scrapes of the chairs next to him that signal to James to sit down once more. He looks briefly over just to confirm, and once he sees the others already sitting, he's quick to collapse back into his own seat. He ignores the whisper from Captain Danvers and the nudging hand from Steve. The place where their skin meets tingles, as if the man is brushing past exposed nerves. James flinches and slides his chair two inches to the right. Stop touching, stop touching, stop touching, he wants to say, but his lips stay screwed shut. Mission Objective: Stay silent. Do not speak unless spoken to.
James thinks he's going to vomit.
"Alright, teams. Now that that's over and done with... Time to move on to discussions. From the many, many, emails I've recieved from the Accords Committee... Captain Danvers, it seems your team has quite a few concerns they would like to bring up today." Colonel Rhodes sighs, and he looks as if he's already tired of the conversation before it's even started. James agrees. This isn't going to end well.
Danvers lets out a small sigh, her eyes falling shut as she nods. "Yes, that's correct."
Rhodes gives a short nod. "Okay, then. Before we address the comments from Carol's team... I would like to remind everybody that this is not an Accords meeting, and while we can discuss concerns here, no changes to the Accords nor pardons can be made here. That can only be done in front of the committee, in which there is a scheduled meeting three weeks from now. Do we understand?"
Nobody gives a verbal response. Captain Danvers looks over at her team with a sharp glare before nodding to Rhodes. "Great. Glad that's agreed upon, then. What issue would you guys like to bring up first?"
And from there, everything goes downhill.
Steve does not bother to raise his hand before his mouth is running faster than his mind can think. "Me and my team have more than just concerns, Rhodes. It's time to stop acting like we're some criminals that need to be confined to our cellblock. The world needs us! For heaven's sake, there are bigger and more dangerous things out there that we should be paying attention to!"
And from there, James's attention falls away. He stares at once spot on the table in front of him while his coworker's words go in one ear and out the other. He's heard all of this before. The ranting, the complaining, the "How can they do this to us? We saved New York from an invasion!", he's heard it all. Countless times from countless different mouths in countless different ways. And James knows better than anyone that once Steve gets going like this, it's damn near impossible to stop him.
They never should have come here. They should leave. The doors are locked, but they don't need to stay that way.
Somewhere along the way, Steve's voice gets drowned out by others, and then he's not the only one yelling.
"God, the tin can was right. You really are a massive piece of shit," Rocket says.
"You're a walking talking build-a-bear, dude. You cannot be talking right now," Clint shoots back.
"Everyone, please, can we at least try to keep this professional? We're heroes." Rhodes tries, exasperated.
It doesn't work. Of course it doesn't. Because Steve and Clint and the witch and all the rest of them have been hankering for this. For months, they've been stewing in their own echo chamber. The resentment has festered and festered and festered until it's become the only thing they know how to express. James wonders how he was so blind to it, at first. Perhaps he was too concerned with himself and his own survival to understand just how bad the walls were beginning to crumble down around him.
"Tony, come on, you can't possibly sit across the table and agree with these pardons! With these policies and procedures and protocols! How can we save people if our hands are wrapped in red tape?!" Steve shoots up from his seat and slams his hands down on the table. The sound is so loud, the vibrations so intense, that it ripples through James's skin. He tries not to, but he flinches. A hand that he is not in control of falls toward the glock strapped to his thigh.
The mission, it's.. The mission. I could.. Mission- Objectives: Silent. Trail. Weapons acquired. Winter repeats the utterly incomprehensible mantra inside his head and it's mixing in tandem with James's heartbeat and- He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here. He's stuck sitting in his chair. Follow handler. Gather information. Mission. Follow objectives. The mission. Stay silent. Observe. Quiet.
"Mr. Rogers! You will sit down and remain civil!" Captain Danvers is standing up from her seat now and glaring with such an intensity that even Steve falters. He shakes his head, lowering down back to his seat, but his shoulders remain just as tense. Somewhere through the next few seconds of yelling, James's own name is thrown around.
"Bucky can't keep being confined to that compound! It's killing him! Can't you see that?! Locking himself away in his room, not talking to anybody. He needs more. We all need more! This isn't right!"
Winter callously laughs inside their head. He stalks around as if he's nothing but a wolf locked inside a cage. Baring his teeth at the bars and claws reaching through the small gaps- escaping, escaping, escaping. Hungry. Cornered.
"Sergeant Barnes mental health is being taken seriously, Rogers. Your team lead has already expressed concerns about that and there are talks on further therapy with liscensed professionals trained to deal with PTSD in veterans. But that is not for you to decide for him."
It's not enough for Steve. Nothing is ever enough for Steve. Winters scowls. They will never be enough for Steve. Mission. In the way. He's in the way. Complete the objectives given.
"It's not- You guys don't know him! Not like I do! This is... This is the programming. It's HYDRA! Whatever... Whatever your machine did, Stark, it didn't work! He's only getting worse!"
Worse. Worse. HYDRA. He was strapped to that chair for decades. It was so cold. It was so painful. James shudders. Winter snarls. They can't go back. They won't let themselves go back. Door to his right. Three windows behind him. Gun on his thigh. Three threats to his left. Four rounds in the chamber. Out. Out. Get out.
"James?"
The winters in Russia had been so beautiful. So powerful. So deadly. The biting cold would seep in through the cracks, sometimes, when they were in the chair. When they were screaming in pain and the electrical impulses gave up just enough for them to manage a small breath, they breathed in the winter. It was so numb. They were so numb. So long. So, so long. Decades of nothing and decades of cold. They shiver. They're so cold.
"Steve and I... we have been talking. I understand what the pardons have agreed to but.. I- my powers, if I could just... They could help-" HYDRA.
The Soldier unsheathes the knife strapped to his chest and slams the blade on the table, just narrowly missing the ring finger of the witch. He hisses, lips curling up in disgust as the woman yelps. Target aqcuired. HYDRA agent identified. Lethal force permitted.
"Friday, activate protocol Frostbite." The voice of Stark is briefly registered but immediately thrown out. The Soldier has his eyes locked in on the cowering witch, whose shaking hands are just beginning to swirl with an inky redness. HYDRA. HYDRA. Cut off the head. Grab your gun. Kill her. Mission objective.
The Soldier reaches toward his gun at the same time James panicks. Stop. Stop. We can't. Please. I can't breathe. It's so cold. Please. Door to the right, three windows behind. Six guns, three rounds of ammo, sixteen knives.
"Bucky- Hey, Bucky, stop! This isn't- What are you doing?!" Roger's voice is desperate and pitiful and everything about it grates at Winter's nerves. His eyes shift. To the rest of his team, that either stand with their hands frozen up in fear, or are reaching for their weapons. Widow- standard pistol. Archer- uncocked bow with stun arrow. He squints his eyes at them. Four rounds in the chamber. Enough? The red room. Training. Not enough. Need more space. He looks back toward the witch. There is no more red. Her hands are shaking. There's golden, swirling cuffs around them. No more red.
James clutches at his chest. Winter clutches his metal fist. Too many. There are too many- threats, people, witnesses. Leave no trace. Get out.
"Rogers, stand down, now. We will handle this. You have done enough!" Danvers is roughly tugging Steve backward and stepping in front of him. Winter assesses. Too many. Get out, solider, leave. Get out. Get out. Escape.
They can't get us again.
The Soldier- James?- pulls the knife from where it's imbedded in the table and the shakiness in his kneecaps gets worse. They need to run. Their legs ache for it. Their lungs ache even more. It was so cold, in that chair. James turns his back toward the room and Winter panicks- Threats, stop, stop, turn back around, identify, assess, analyze- but it's too late because they're both making their way toward the door. Shaky kneecaps and even shakier hands, they reach out and yank the door open with enough force that its handle is ripped off and reduced to nothing but a crumpled piece of metal.
The halls are even more deserted than earlier and everything is too white. White walls and white floors and white snow. The chill sinks deeper into their bones and Winter's teeth chatter. Air- blood- rushes past their ears and it's all they can hear. Rushing and rushing and rushing, in tandem with the increasing rate of their heart. Thump, thump, thump.
"It is sixty-three degrees and sunny-" Where are they going? Out. Out. They're getting out. How? James looks to his left and Winter looks to his right. It's all the same. Winding halls and corridors and stairs and- where are they? "The current time is 4:32 PM and it's-"
James can't breathe. His legs tremble so viciously he doesn't even know how he's standing upright. Is he still? Is he walking? Running? His lungs burn. Winter growls. Get up, Soldier. Survive.
No, no, he can't. He's sprawled on the floor with his back against a white wall and he can't breathe. Everything hurts- all of it, his chest, his legs, his head, his arm. Door to his left- right? Three windows behind him. Six guns, three rounds of ammo, seventeen knives. Four rounds in the chamber. HYDRA agent identified. Lethal force. Get up and kill her. Winter is clenching and unclenching their fists over and over and James is crying.
"James? Hey, buddy. Perhaps you'd prefer Winter right now, instead? Hm? You with me, Dairy Queen?" Stark. Level five priority. Feared by HYDRA. Safe.
James tries to speak but all that comes out is a broken, pathetic whine. "Yeah, been there, done that, Frosty. Panic attacks suck. But you aren't my first damsel in distress, don't worry. I got this all handled."
A warm- so, so warm- body sits down beside him. Winter tenses. James shakes his head- no, no, he's too dangerous. They were going to kill the witch. They killed Howard. They killed Maria. Get out, away, don't hurt him, too. Please. Please, just leave him alone. Discard the mission.
"Y'know, today's meeting was such a bore before this whole... shebang. I don't even know why we do them anymore. Half the time it's just Quill finding somebody to flirt with and Wade daring everybody to punch him in the gut as hard as they can. Not to mention whatever Loki and Stephen have going on. I mean, come on, they can be super close magic buddies all they want. I'm not at all jealous, swear! Science is better anyways. But really? Right in front of the dinner table? People have no respect these days, Tasty-freeze."
If James could breathe right now, he'd give a chuckle. But Winter is still too busy counting the exits and repeating the mission objectives and the paranoia is still coursing through their veins like poison. It still burns. So, so cold. They're freezing. And the body next to them is so warm. Safe. Safe. Level five priority. Winter reminds, and James wants to sob. He thinks he might already be.
"And don't even get me started on Spidey. I love that kid to no ends, truly. But he's getting into that phase where he's more concerned with relationships than anything else, right? And guess who he goes to for advice. Stephen Strange! Are you kidding me? I was so betrayed. And offended. That man has maybe one successful relationship under his belt and even that blew up in his face. Me? Sure, maybe I used to be a playboy way back when, but I was almost married to Pepper! I held down that relationship for years! And we split amicably, so I mean, I think the choice is obvious here. I'm clearly superior for relationship advice and Strange's smug face can kiss my ass." Stark shifts his body on the ground and just barely, his hands brush James's.
Warm. Stark runs so warm.
Winter used to set up campfires, decades ago, when he would be stranded deep in russian forests. He'd collect sticks and logs and dry leaves, ignoring the way his feet and hand went numb. He'd sit there, huddling to the warmth, getting as close to the flames as it would allow him. Those nights, when the biting cold was enough to turn his lips blue, the only thing that kept him alive was the fire. He survived. He always did. By any means necessary.
"Apparently, the kid is currently talking to some boy named Barry Allen. Who seems to be interested in forensics, if Friday's totally-not-illegal stalking is correct, which of course it is. Admirable field, sure, I'll admit that. But, no, I don't care how nice the kid seems, he needs to keep his nose in a book and stay away from my poor, naive son. Okay, maybe I'm being overdramatic. Sue me. But the kid's too young to have his first heartbreak, okay? He can date when he's... I don't know, graduated college. Maybe after he's gotten two PhDs. Then, sure, he can do whatever he wants. Friday thinks I'm not being serious when I told all of this to her. Little does she know, I..."
James reaches out to Tony and grabs his hand. It effectively stops the man's rambling, and he instead devolves into a jumbled mess of stammered words. Warm. James's teeth stop chattering. His licks at his lips, dry from his panicked breathing. His lungs stop shivering beneath his ribs. "W... Warm," He whispers, voice breaking.
Tony hums, curious and analyzing. "Hm. That's what helps? Warmth? I thought you were shaking. But you're actually shivering, aren't you?"
Winter stops clenching his metal fist. He taps his fingers against the gun holstered on his hip. Four rounds in the chamber. Safe. "The chair. It was always cold." He says, russian syllables stressed.
Tony nods, gripping their hand tighter. He runs his thumb soothingly over their skin, massaging at the joints of their fingers. "I understand. Russia, Siberia. The chill never really leaves your bones, does it? Friday, baby, please increase the temperature in this hall to seventy two degrees fahrenheit."
"On it, boss."
James, just barely, has enough energy to crack a smile. His heart is still hammering against his chest in rib cracking thumps, but he can breathe. He's warm. He legs aren't aching and Winter has stopped counting exits. "I get it, now."
Tony looks over at him, kind eyes roaming James's face. "Get what, Icy-hot?" The man continues to play with their fingers, and another shiver racks down their spine. This time, it's not a chill, but rather a heat that's hot enough to flush his cheeks.
"Why Dr. Banner and the Hulk value you so much. It's because of this. Because you understand." James slumps further against the wall, thinking back to all the nights he spent obsessing over the why. It had been right in front of him, all this time. Winter settles inside his mind, filing the realization away. The puzzle pieces slide into place. Tony Stark is trusted, valued, and respected above all others. They're starting to agree with that assessment, too.
"Yeah, I get it now."