Forward, Beckon, Rebound

October 3rd, 2005

He can feel cold metal on his fingertips, fog accumulating near his face, and a warm flush of air greeting him from his long slumber. Yellow light loomed from above him, and for a moment; his knees felt weak. He was still tired; he didn’t want to leave the Cryogenic pod because he knew what would follow. It was pain, death, and manipulation. He felt more human here, sleeping without Hydra’s words circling his mind.

Despite his unstable knees; he stepped out of the Cryo-Freezer without the help of the scientist who met him. It wasn't a face he was familiar with, but then again; no face was ever familiar. Even the image of his face slipped his mind now and then.

Without warning, a blonde man, with well-kept hair and a stubbly chin, grabbed him aggressively by the shoulders, forcing the Winter Soldier to face him. He scoffed with great repugnance when he met eyes with the asset. He rolled his eyes, grabbing the man's jaw so he faced back towards the scientists.

“So, the soldat is awake. He has a new mission. Do you fuckers need to do your damn tests on him before I take him to meet the directors or can I take him right away?” The man said with a gravily voice.

A single scientist, a younger man with unkempt brown hair that seemed to be receding and dark circles under his eyes, stepped forward. He looked the asset up and down, lifting his limbs, and circled his form. The soldier felt more like the scientist looked at more with curious interest, like a child looking at a bug under a microscope, rather than a living, breathing, man who assumed the scientist would be looking him over for injury or illness. The man stepped back, then nodded.

He spoke with an excited tremble,” He’s… fine. We don’t need to do tests. I’m just shocked I get to work with the Winter Soldier. It’s just… wow. The work on this program, on his mind is… fascinating…”

The handlers then roughly grabbed the soldier's shirt collar, readying him for transfer to the conference room, and scoffs.”Fascinating? Are you kidding Nigel? This man is crazy; you’re lucky he didn’t rip your head clean off your body!”

“Oh no! No no no! I’m just saying,” the scientist defends his words, stepping back from the taller handler. “Super soldiers and the science that surrounds them is incredibly intuitive. And expensive. I am just… interested. You can take him wherever you need….”

His handler nods, dragging the asset away. They exit the lab, into the dim hallways of the Siberian compound they held him in. The cement walls were well constructed, and reinforced to the point that bombs would have a hard time cracking them. They assisted in securing the compound and prevented people from getting in and others from getting out.

The walls were always familiar, even fresh out of the Mind Crown, because the walk down the corridors was always the same. There was never a conversation, puffs of breath and grunts of men making up for the lack of sound, while heavy boots hit the solid floor. These walls held memories; they had been there as long as he was. They aged with him, evident by the growing layer of grime covering them that was never tended to.

A few more turns and the pair make it to the room. The blonde opens the door, allowing the soldier to step into what they call the conference room. It wasn’t the traditional office meeting room with wheely-chairs, a long table, and a whiteboard. This room held a large screen that projected assignment details, only a handful of seats (none of which were ever reserved for him), and a hologram table that typically projected targets in the middle.

Sometimes, all the chairs would be full of high-ranking Hydra officials. But today, only three men sat at the table, laughing and smoking cigars. One of them, Director Pierce, wore a nice blue suit with a black tie and leather loafers. The other was Agent Sitwell, who looked a little more nervous when the Winter soldier suddenly walked in and became much more interested in his paperwork. There was a mystery man, who had olive-tan skin, a dark-emerald green suit, nice glasses, and snakeskin loafers.

“Ah, my little century-shaper! Here for a new mission!” Pierce stands up, holding open his arms in a presenting sort of manner as if he were showing off his luxury car to the guest. “This, O’Neill, is the Winter Soldier. He’ll help you achieve just what you have asked for with little to no error!”

The asset wasn’t familiar with this ‘O’Neill’, he must be some third-party man whom the Winter Soldier was being pawned off to for the sake of money. Sometimes his skills or person were commoditized for financial gain and he was, woefully, used to that.

“Your task is simple. His boss needs to be elected as the CEO of their business. You need to do the dirty work behind the scenes. If some arms need to be twisted: twist them. If some people need to go ‘missing’: make them disappear. I don’t need to tell you this needs to be quiet work.” Peirce speaks, taking a drag of his cigar. “Understand?”

“I do, Director Pierce. I’ll be ready for transport right away.” The Winter Soldier responded, his voice deep and almost robotic. Almost. There seemed to be a wavering undertone to his voice, perhaps left behind from his old self who would tell him not to listen to these people anymore. He ignores this detail about himself. Pierce doesn’t seem to pick up on it, or if he does; doesn’t comment on it. The director nods, pleased, and sits back down.

A handful of handlers escort the soldier to the weaponry. Some strap him into his leather jacket or smudge his eyes with black paint. Others load his cargo pants with tools he might need and his utility belt with knives, a handgun, and extra ammo. He was given a heavy metal case which held an automatic weapon with all the ammo he would need. He would have other tools available to him, upon request, but he didn't expect he would need them on this assignment.

The last thing they needed to put on him was his mask. It made sure he wouldn’t be able to speak. Sometimes, in the asset's more lucid moments, he would touch the mask and couldn't help but feel it was an extension of his cell.

As he stepped into the halls, and towards the large, heavy, doors that lead to the outside world, he tried to ready himself mentally for his mission. He ignored any internal feelings that, for whatever reason, loomed in his being. They told him to halt in place, fight his handlers and the directors, and escape. But, his programming always won out. His training and guard by Hydra ensured he could never leave without a humongous push. And, unfortunately, that push wouldn’t be coming today.

The handlers shout for the door to be opened by security guards who operate the mechanical components from a different location in the facility. Bright, natural, light begins to cast down on the group. He takes a deep breath, stepping out into the snowy landscape and towards the helicopter that awaits him to take him on his mission.

•°●°•

After two weeks of manipulating the corporate world of a weaponry company; the Winter Soldier was sent back to the Hydra compound for his mission report. He was coming back successful and O’Neill and his boss seemed pretty pleased with his work.

After two weeks out of Cryo-Freeze and without the Mind Crown; his mind felt a little less cloudy. The voice in the back of his mind that told him not to listen was a little louder; the man he thought he used to be pounded on his skull and shredded at his heart. And, in response, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs and fistfight his damn handlers that dragged him closer to the lab. He wasn't sure why he felt these things, or who he used to be, but fighting always seemed better than going willingly.

So, that's what he did.

He grunted, screamed, and begged them not to put him in the chair. His handlers dug their fingers into his arms and tightened their grip so it was easier to drag him along.“He's been out for too long…” they kept saying to each other which only made the asset fight harder.

He dragged himself along knowing that they'd succeed, no matter how much of a fight he put up. He could prolong it, but nothing was going to stop the inevitable. He was going to be strapped to that chair and forget everything again. He’s dragged to his feet, causing the handlers to practically drag him to the lab.

At some point; the one that held his metal arm tripped over his own feet, causing the soldier to fall to his knees. He looked around, noticing they were already in the medical wing though their destination was still a few doors down. This lab happened to have a window facing into it and as the handlers regained their composure; he was dragged up and could view in.

Inside looked nothing like the lab he or the other Winter Soldiers were put in. Whereas that room had pods for each of them, and a side room for the Mind Crown, this room was much smaller. It looked more like the average hospital room (though with much more worn-out pieces of equipment and lab gear).

Inside stood a handful of scientists, some working at their stations while a couple were in front of the subject. There were also a couple of doctors, scampering around the room. What stood out most to the soldier was who the subject was.

In the middle of the room sat a small metal crib and a red mattress to cover the bottom. A light and a camera sat above the crib; likely watching the subject at all times. And, when a scientist moved out of the way, the Winter Soldier could finally see the little guy.

It was a small baby boy; probably only a year old or so. They wore a simple t-shirt and diapers and held a glass bottle in their hand, which they waved in the air as they cried. Their face was a red mess, snot came out of their nose, and tears trickled down their face like a river.

Despite the scientists and doctors in the room; no one made an effort to reach into the crib and pull the baby into their embrace. All of them disregarded the child. Some elected to focus on their work; some simply watched him cry it out. It seemed rather cruel, in the soldier's eyes. He wanted to reach through the glass himself and wrangle the adult's neck Inside and tell them to get off their asses; a baby was crying.

But, he knew couldn't. He was already in heaps of trouble for fighting his handlers earlier and making one of them trip over themselves. He was surely in for it this time when they finally did make it to their lab.

As they walked off, towards his inevitable punishment and brainwashing, he didn’t feel as bad for himself as he typically did. There was an infant right now, trapped in a metal crib, crying their eyes out, and had no one to defend them. The soldier felt some sort of connection to the boy. He wasn't sure why but he remembered something about a baby. Something he was sure was washed away at some point. And now, all he wanted to do was hold the poor thing.

Alas, he couldn't. That baby was Hydra’s and he would never be permitted near the kid, let alone soothe them and protect them from those evil doctors.

That doesn't stop his mind from circling, though, as he's slammed down into the chair. As he strapped in, and as the machine powered on, all he could think about was that baby's eyes. Their little red face and their empty bottle…. It all flashes in his mind as the machine lowers onto his skull.

And, it is the last thing he remembers before his screaming begins. His mind goes blank dark shortly after.

•°●°•

August 20th, 2007

The temperature of his cell was chilly and it made the polyester of his cot frigid. He lay there after a long training session and waited for his handler to bring him his dinner. He hadn’t been punished after his training session tonight; he supposed he must have done well enough to earn his meal.

A week ago; the soldier was taken out of Cryo-Freeze pod with no explanation. He wasn’t given a mission to complete and he wasn’t tasked with brushing up the skills of the other Winter Soldiers so he had no idea why he was out. They just put him on a mundane schedule of waking up, breakfast, intelligence training, a small break, evening training, and then dinner. It wasn’t usual. If he was ever taken out of freeze for training; it would only be for a few days at most. Just enough to brush up on his skills.

The asset was starting to become restless; he wasn’t used to sitting in wait. It made him think too much, which in turn made him want to scream and smash his way through his cranium to tell his inner voice to shut up. It made him dread his existence and feel as if he was in the dark. The only thing that made him feel better was his training sessions in the afternoon and evening because of the monotonous hitting on the punching bag or gunshots drowning out any other sounds.

He hears the footsteps of heavy work boots outside his cell, though unexpectedly; it was not just one set of feet. It must have been two from the sound of it. Typically, it would only be the blonde handler who brought him his meals. He would drop it at the soldier's feet and walk out. He’d give him 30 minutes to eat, then re-enter the cell to take the tray away. But tonight didn’t seem to be following that trend.

He sat up on his cot when he heard the mechanical locks of his cell door twisting out of place, the cogs within unlocking. The door was pulled open by his handler but he didn’t hold his dinner tray in his hand like usual. All he held was a small leather case while the trainee behind him, a younger man with brunette hair, held a folded-up cot.

They entered without a word, gesturing him to stand up and stand along the left wall next to the metal toilet of his cell. He did so, not wanting to be chewed out, and watched the handlers with piqued interest.

His usual handler laid the small suitcase on the chest along the right wall that held some extra clothes for the Winter Soldier. He propped it open, revealing a couple of small-fitting clothes that looked more like they were for a child. The trainee walked towards his cot, moving it so it no longer lined up with the back wall but instead the left one. He unfolded the new cot, laying it down along the right wall so it was parallel to his own.

The soldier had no clue what the purpose of these extra items was for. Were they giving him a roommate? Why were the clothes in the suitcase so small? Maybe they were moving him out of this cell; re-purposing it for new soldiers or captives? But that last idea seemed out of the question because they didn’t move anything of his out of the cell.

The asset was nervous to ask the other men in the room what all of this was for in case they reacted poorly. Though, his curiosity was getting the better of him. Something deep down needed to know who else would be moving into this cell and for what reason. So, he spoke up.

“What is all this?” His voice came out gruff. He was able to maintain a stoic expression despite the anxiety bubbling up in his stomach. His question made the trainee look at the older handler for support who, in return, disregarded the younger man.

The blonde cleared his throat, looking up at the Winter Soldier with a sneer. “You’ll know when we tell you. Simmer down, Soldat! Let's go!” He demands the tense younger man to exit with him, not even looking at the super soldier as the cell door locks in place.

•°●°•

The next night

The halls were foreign to Peter who was dragged through them. He felt intimidated by how tall the walls were and their lack of maintenance. The lights above them seemed to be too far apart, causing some points of the hallway to be darker than others. The floor was a little less clean than what he was used to and instead of lab doors that lined either side of the corridor that he was used to; this unfamiliar one was only lined with heavy metal doors.

On either side of the toddler was two guards holding heavy guns which made the little boy cower a bit. Holding his hand was who the boy typically referred to as the ‘boss’. Though, everyone in his lab usually called him ‘Director Pierce’. He dragged the boy along, walking a bit too quickly which caused the child to stumble over his feet at times.

“Sir? Where are we going?” Peter looked up at the Director. His voice was tiny a scared.

“We’re going to your new room; you’re old enough to move out of the lab. And, I want you to meet someone. They’re going to make you strong.” Director Pierce looked down at the child with a frightening smile on his face.

Peter never liked the boss. He always walked in at the worst of times which caused the boy to associate him with the worst. For example, when Peter got sick from the medicine they gave him: Pierce walked in, clapping his hands together, and congratulated the lab techs who had succeeded in their experiments. Or, like last night, when the doctors forced the very anxious child to sit on the ceiling for a whole two hours despite him telling them he was scared of heights. The boss had walked in, all smiles, saying how thrilled he was that the boy's powers were getting stronger.

And tonight, when after the boy had finished his dinner, he wasn’t given his bath like he was used to. He was told not to lay down yet, either. All the doctors told him was that the boss was coming and he wouldn’t be too happy if he walked in and found Peter asleep. And, after a whole hour past the little boy's bedtime, he finally walked in while the toddler's eyes were beginning to droop.

He kneeled in front of the boy and grabbed him by his waist. Peter was scared, the boss seldom talked to Peter directly, and typically when he did; it was to scold him for doing something wrong.

Pierce smiled his sickening smile and spoke. “Happy birthday, my little spider! Look at how big and strong you’re getting! You’re getting so grown up; you don't have to live in this lab anymore… let’s go on a field trip, huh?”

And that's what led them here, stopping in front of a heavy metal door. Pierce, Peter, and two of the guards stood back while the remaining two guards stepped forward as the door was unlocked. One quickly stepped inside, pulling a very tall man out of bed, and aggressively held him back from the rest of the group. The other stepped in as well, holding the man's other arm. With the man secured, Peter was led in by the boss, stopping only a few feet in front of the man.

The soldier was scarier than the other handlers and guards he was used to seeing. He had longer hair that was messy, he was taller and had more muscle, a mean face, and what was probably the most scary to the toddler; a shiny metal arm with a big red star.

“Sorry for the abrupt entrance but we had important business tonight, Soldat,” Director Pierce insincerely apologized. The other man did not attempt to reply, so the boss kept talking. “This is Project Spider, also called Peter.”

Peter was pulled forward, and forced to stand in front of Pierce. “He will be living in here from now on,” the director continued.

The fierce face of the soldier morphed into one of slight confusion, looking down at the boy momentarily before looking back up at the boss. “How come?”

“Because he is your child! You have a new assignment, we expect you to follow it along with your usual ones,” Pierce began. “He’s a very special subject! He’s made with your DNA and a woman’s who had the perfect genetic makeup to support our new serum. Half a year ago, he was injected with a special serum made from the DNA of a spider to give him special abilities. Now, he’s strong and big enough to begin some simple education and training. We expect you to do the latter.”

Peter didn’t understand what the boss was talking about and tuned out about halfway through his speech. He just looked up at the man whom he was beginning to be a little less afraid of. He didn’t look so frightening after what the director told him. Now, he looked shocked, not taking his eyes off of the toddler.

“Training begins tomorrow morning. He’ll eat breakfast with you, be sent to pre-education while you do training, and in the afternoon; you’ll focus on training him.” After Pierce was done going through their new schedule; he let go of Peter's shoulders. “You’ll still have regular missions, though. And you’ll be put in Cryogenic Freeze or your mind wiped when we feel it is needed.”

Director Pierce suddenly pushed Peter forward, making him fall to the floor in front the the man's combat boots. The guards led Pierce out of the cell, the door slamming shut behind them.

Peter looked up at the man, sitting up on his knees, then scurried away quickly until he hit the cell door. There was nowhere else to go, nowhere to escape if the soldier lashed out. He curled his knees up to his chest, hiding his face, and cried.

He didn’t look up, but he could hear the man's heavy feet moving closer toward him. It made Peter cry harder and when the man sat down in front of the boy, he swatted at him with his tiny hand. “Go away! Don’t hurt me!” Peter cried out.

“Hey! Hey, don’t do that,” the man grabbed his hand softly, preventing him from slapping anymore. Peter looked up, alarm planted on his face. “I’m not going to hurt you,” the soldier clarified quietly, trying to reassure the child. “Are your knees okay? You hit the floor pretty hard,” he questioned with a frown.

Peter glanced at his knees. The fall made them turn red and he was sure they were going to bruise. But, they weren’t bleeding so he nodded. “They’re okay…” He muttered meekly.

“Good! That’s good….” The man replied. He let go of Peter's hand, now sure he wasn’t going to try to do anything more. “I can’t believe they didn’t tell me I had a kid,” he said more to himself than to Peter.

Peter sniffled up the rest of his tears, not as scared of the man in front of him now. If he fell in the lab; he would usually be yelled at for being careless or he would be ignored. He wasn’t used to being asked how he felt after such a small injury. It made him feel a little more comfortable to look up at the stranger, observing his face a little more in the dim light of the room. He had dark bags under his eyes, no facial hair, brown hair, and blue eyes like his own.

“What’s your name?” Peter asked.

The man looked unsure of what to say, furrowing his brow, and looked down at his lap. “I haven't had a real name in a long time,” he said and looked a little sad. “Hydra calls me the Winter Soldier but… I don’t want you to call me that…” He bit his bottom lip, looking back up at Peter.

“So… what do I call you?” Peter asked again, his eyes drooping, his tiredness getting the best of him. It was now way past his bedtime.

The soldier smiled softly, cooing at how cute the little boy was. He thought for a moment, then decided on a name that separated him from his soldier one. One that didn’t hold a history of violence to it. He spoke softly, his eyes tearing up a little. “Just call me Papa.”