Are You Cold?
The Winter Soldier was efficient at its purpose. Murder was second nature to it, whether it be a shot from a rooftop one thousand paces away to a darkened apartment, or crushing a windpipe in its hand. To the Hound however, it was not murder, it was first nature. Hydra only ever sent the Hound on assignment when their target “deserved to suffer first”. After all, the feeling of impending death weighed heavily on a person. The chills that creep up the spine even in warm summer months, eyes following you from an unseen threat. Perhaps the enemy would catch a glimpse of the bloody dark eyes, maybe they’d even see the shadow that didn’t belong, or smell the rot of their future grave. Either way any time the Hound was sent, eviscerated remains were all that were left as evidence.
***
The men in front of him were not the Asset’s designated handlers. The first warning was that he was not hauled into a chair for medical diagnosis. The Asset wasn’t poked and prodded, his left arm never restrained as was protocol after reawakening. He’d been offered a seat on a couch which he’d accepted.
It was better to comply, he remembered.
These men had asked, “Bucky? Are you alright? Do you know what happened to you?” to which the Asset had replied “Who the hell is Bucky?”
The man had taken a step back as if he’d been physically pushed and the shorter dark haired one had sighed heavily.
“Well that was the least reassuring thing I’ve heard all week.”
After a long dialogue, with images placed in front of him, and a folder handed off to the dark haired male by a red haired woman that never took narrowed eyes off of him, the Asset finally had enough information for its mission.
Retrieve James Buchanan Barnes.
***
“You’re honestly going to trust him in his own room his first night here?” Natasha hisses once she’s managed to drag Tony away from introductions.
“Nat you trust us, don’t you?” Her dragon is exhausted, leaning against the wall arms crossed, head thunking back against the hard surface with his eyes shut. “It’s been a long day, let’s not end it on an argument please?”
“Fine. I’ll just tell you you’re an idiot and we’ll leave it at that-” His hum interrupts her and his eyes spark golden for a moment when he opens them before fading back into their darker hue.
“We have Barton’s input. We have Steve across the hall in case of emergency. We have him monitored by JARVIS.” He tilts his head now. “What did SHIELD do with you when Barton finally brought in?” She tenses and he huffs. “Wouldn’t it have been better for you and your trust issues if they hadn’t handcuffed you to a bed and given you flashbacks?” He pushes off of the wall now and extends his hand, which she takes without hesitation.
“Low blow.” Her arms wrap around his neck and she leans into his chest, his hands finding their way to her hips. “I don’t want him to hurt anyone,” she mumbles to his sternum, the dragon rumbles in response to ease the muted distress.
“Trust me sweetheart. It’s not about what we want. It’s about what he needs, huh?” The redhead looks up into his eyes as he brushes a hair behind her ear. “Do me a favor and I’ll do two for you.” She rolls her eyes and he manages a smile. “Do me a favor. If he reaches out, don’t push him away. You’ve got a story a lot like his.”
“Fine. Do me a favor, we’re in my room tonight.” She retorts. The dragon chuckles but nods his agreement.
“I can agree to that, sure. And your second request?”
“To be determined.” She says with a conspiratorial light in her eye. She receives a kiss on her cheek and they’re moving away from the living room where the rest of the team is gathered.
“Yes dear.”
***
He’d been in the tower for a little over a month when he’d realized why he hated nighttime. More accurately, why going to sleep was never on his agenda. Bucky knew a majority of his nightmares were just memories rising to the surface, bubbling through the cracks of his broken mind. When he’d first arrived, he refused to sleep. It was easier to escape the bone deep cold if he didn’t sleep.
Once Steve noticed the bloodshot eyes and fatigue in his frame though, those stupid, sad manipulative eyes had the soldier grumbling a concession to sleep that night. Not even twenty minutes after closing his eyes, his bedside lamp is shattered against the opposite wall. He’s shivering before his eyes are even reopened, sweating and frozen all at once.
Steve doesn’t need to know. He’ll just steer clear of everyone to avoid the inevitability of them voicing their observations to the blond. He winces as an image emerges front and center in his mind’s eye.
He can’t move.
He is restrained.
He feels the freshly thawed water from his cold sleep sliding down his face.
The straps on his flesh are too tight.
‘They are bored,’ he thinks.
One of the technicians smiles and walks off to the side of the room.
‘No diagnostics,’ cold metal buzzes against his temple before the final switch is flipped. He forces his limbs to relax.
‘Only recalibration.’
He’s shoved his way out of his room and stormed down the hall to the elevator before he’s even considered what the hell he’s doing. He knows his breathing has shallowed and his hand shakes when he tries to hit the button that will take him away. He forces himself to make a fist so his fingers can’t tremble. It doesn’t help. He can still feel them betraying his emotion.
His heartbeat drowns out any other noise in the quiet tower. He’s defective.
He can’t betray emotion.
Emotion is a diagnostic.
He’d gotten out.
His handler had been new. Foolish. Looking for recognition quickly.
He’d been out for too long, he’d defected as a result.
“Wipe him. Get the book.” The russian voice demands, followed by a pause. “And a new handler.”
A gunshot sounds.
Footsteps grow distant at the sound of a body impacting the cold ground.
His fist nearly obliterates the elevator’s control panel. The elevator moves upward smoothly despite several broken buttons crumbling to the floor after the offending fist is removed from the dented metal.
“Mr. Barnes do you require assistance?” A disembodied voice questions him. He shakes his head, hair falling in his face. Not a voice. JARVIS. JARVIS runs the tower. JARVIS monitors the tower, keeps everything running.
His voice is quiet when he replies “No.” There’s a rasp to it, although he doesn’t recall straining his vocal cords. There is a pause to allow elaboration. He doesn’t add to it.
“Your respiratory rate and destruction of surroundings indicate you are lying.” It’s said so gently, without judgement, that it manages to add weight to his hunched shoulders. “When you say no to assistance, do you mean you would prefer to be alone, because you are worried you’d harm another?”
He shakes his head again, forcing his hand to steady and taking deeper breaths into his lungs. He closes his eyes, focusing, until he can actually feel his lungs cooperating and his heart rate slowing.
“I just need to clear my head,” he mutters. If he’s caught by Steve in the gym demolishing punching bags in the middle of the night he’ll get that look again and honestly he doesn’t think he can handle that. He managed to memorize the layout of the tower early on, so finding the communal kitchen isn’t difficult. The elevator dings cheerfully at the floor he decides is his exit.
The kitchen will do. The archer is normally awake at this hour. Clint, he reminds himself. They have names. Aliases. Other forms. Steve, Clint, Bruce, Thor, Tony and Natasha. The last two seem to keep their distance.
Steve is always nearby, loyal ‘til the end of the line like a true griffin. Clint, the gargoyle, always reading his surroundings, feeling their intentions, doubts, concerns, etcetera. Bruce had been the kind scientist Steve led him to, a man who’d experimented and bitten off more than he could chew with his own resulting condition. Thor… was something else. The guy, demigod, radiated power. The massive character never seemed to have anything other than a smile on his face. Tony had been there to guide him through this new life the first day, offered assistance in whatever he may need. He was welcoming, kind, warm, but there was an undercurrent of something. The man was vigilant of his surroundings, possessive, his mind supplies. Natasha was the most cautious. The others may not have noticed, but she always carried at least two knives on her person whenever she was in the same room as him. Maybe she’d meant for him to know she had weapons.
“Trouble sleeping?” Bucky just barely holds back his flinch at Natasha’s voice. She has a mug in her hands, taking a sip of the steaming beverage. She’s sitting cross-legged on the counter near the coffee machines. He had known it was her in the kitchen as he rounded the corner. He just hadn’t expected her to speak to him. She’s in an oversized shirt, a man’s. Her eyebrow raises when there is no immediate response. He reminds himself he doesn’t need to analyze everything here and considers his options for a moment. She doesn’t trust him, he knows that. He doesn’t need her reporting his condition back to Steve.
A half-truth should suffice. He decides on ‘Just a late night appetite,’ however what he really says is,
“Yes.”
She hums at the answer. Calculating eyes never leaving his, he decides to go raid the fridge before he fidgets under her gaze. The quiet isn’t uncomfortable. It’s what he was expecting to begin with. Normally Bucky would pick a food that was a process to make, likely a sandwich, however he’d prefer to put distance between himself and the redheaded assassin so he settles on leftover rice and curry to microwave. The only noise is the kitchen is the thrum of the device and the clink of Natasha’s mug being placed on the counter.
“Nightmares?” She queries right before the microwave beeps. He uses the plate in front of him as an excuse to avoid responding immediately. Using a fork to mix the food together. It’s on the tip of his tongue, ‘No, restless energy, that’s all,’ but,
“Memories.” Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. He can acknowledge it’s not a great idea to stay awake as long as he has even with his enhancement but Christ he can’t even manage a fib. He should’ve gone down to the gym. He’ll just escape back to his room.
“Same difference,” There’s something in her eye now, finally something readable. Understanding. “At least for a few of us.” She uncurls herself and hops off the counter, padding over and placing her mug in the sink on bare feet. Her finger taps on the marble. Bucky notices something. She has her back to him. She’s never once done that. Even with others around. She’s close too. They’re only a few feet apart now.
“Why are you awake?” He doesn’t like this. She’s been probing him for answers. He deserves at least one in return. Or maybe this is a test.
“Same as you,” She mutters. She’s facing him now, leaning back against the counter “Everyone here’s got some amount of baggage.” She gestures to Bucky now. “Some more than others.” Natasha smiles now, “No one’s going to punish you for being human here. Everyone manages in their own way. As long as you don’t hurt yourself to cope, it’s none of our business.” She shrugs and begins heading toward the door, stopping at the entryway. “Me personally, I’ll usually be here, or taking a walk. It’s better when you can move around afterwards.”
He just nods. He can’t do much else after she’s gone and he’s left to think what she’s said over. The cold still has a hold on him. Bucky makes his way back to the elevator. Despite the broken buttons the thing moves down to his floor.
“Thank you JARVIS.”
“Of course.”
After he’s back in his room, food eaten and with some mental rallying, he tries to sleep again.
That night, he remembers shooting a bullet through Natasha Romanov into his intended target.
***
He mumbles out a “Sorry I shot you,” the next morning in the kitchen, rubbing at his metal shoulder where it meets flesh.
Everyone else stops moving, taking a look around for an angry dragon that may be ready to murder the soldier. Natasha finishes off her coffee and pushes off the counter, placing her mug in the sink and smiles softly.
“Apology accepted.”
***
Bucky begins testing different ways to combat the nightmares. Not to keep them away, but to bounce back or even dilute their effect on him. He’s managed to keep them from interrupting him while he’s conscious. He’ll concede that sleeping was necessary to accomplish that feat. He’s noticed that his memories attempt to tie to what he’s done during the day.
***
He finally ventured out of the tower with Stevie on one of his morning runs. At least he comprehends how the griffin avoids being stopped for autographs, he just outruns them. They’re matched for speed, but Stevie isn’t expecting Bucky to trip him up when the bet’s placed on who gets to the tower first. At least he’s a good sport about it.
That night he dreamt of chasing down a hostile on four feet and tearing their throat out.
***
Bruce is nearly as quiet as him when the team’s all together. It seems like they both have a method of checking their surroundings before really joining in. It’s while everyone else is chatting about their past enemies from Avengers calls that he finds out Banner has a dry sense of humor. Clint going off on a tangent about the Wrecking Crew,
“I’m just saying, those guys are the most irritating to clean up after-” The doctor leans over to laugh under his breath.
“The Other Guy doesn’t get blamed for the mess when they’re around.” Bucky almost chokes on the chunk of breadstick he was chewing on.
The next nightmare involves a few gallons of gasoline strategically emptied around a mansion. The target lived alone and loved to drink and smoke. It’s no surprise the place went up in flames. His body was found in the cellar, surrounded by bottles. No further investigation was needed.
***
He’s soon allowed access to the armory after ribbing Clint.
“All I’m saying is you might be good with a bow but I’ve seen you with a pistol and I am not impressed.” The blond’s hair somehow ruffles even more at his squawk of outrage and he’s poking a finger into the soldier’s chest.
“Square up motherfucker, we’re going out to the range!” They returned with a petulant looking Clint and a smug Bucky.
That night he remembers shooting a man carrying confidential documents. The man had a photo of his family in the briefcase along with the files.
***
Sparring with Thor was definitely fun. The guy just sort of threw his weight around, any hit that was landed on him never phased him for more than a second. He’d just roll his shoulders and laugh before coming back into the fight swinging. Of course Rogers was roped into it, fighting with Barnes as Barton eeped and made sure to say “Oh look at the time!” before fleeing. Claiming a face too beautiful to be on the other end of a demigod/ supersoldier fist. Bucky can say he appreciates how Thor doesn’t seem to hold back.
That night he’s reminded of a witness he had to murder. Anyone would scream when they saw their husband’s brains on the wall, that’s why he’d had to cut her off with a hand around her throat.
***
The only reason he started spending time with Tony was because he’d just been trying to find Natasha. JARVIS had very vaguely said she was in the workshop. He hadn’t realized he was going to interrupt their time together and immediately tries to backpedal when Stark has thrown an arm around his shoulder and suddenly he’s in a chair being offered food. After a moment of him staring dumbly he hears,
“You look like ‘Does Not Compute’ is flashing in front of your eyes WinterWonder, I didn’t break you did I? Nat, did I break him?” She just smirks over her toast.
That night, there was a vague memory of cold before warmth overtook it.
***
“Rough one?” It was two am when he’d seen the clock before making his way here. Nat wasn’t always here, but when she was he could rely on her. He could be honest.
“Da.” Natasha’s lips purse at the russian, he wouldn’t have realized otherwise. “Yes.” He doesn’t manage another step before sagging onto the couch covering his face with shaking hands, practically gasping for air. He doesn’t hear her move on the carpet, but he feels the hand on his shoulder. He only tenses for a moment before exhaling slowly. Her thumb moves slowly over the shoulder blade for a long time. He loses track. He hadn’t noticed his breathing had evened until the thumb taps.
“I was trying a new method. Do you want to listen with me?” She has an earbud in one ear with another held up in offering. He accepts it and leans closer, glad that she isn’t pushing for details. “Fair warning, it’s Tony’s playlist,” Oh right, he’s out of town. Something to do with that new SI in Florida. A guitar riff greets his ears and he smiles. Good to know Stark’s a fan of Queen too.
***
The nightmares weren’t as bad while he was with Tony and Nat. They were few and far between.
This was the first night in a long time that he woke up cold and shaking, scrambling out of bed. These ones were always the worst. It was one thing as the Soldier. It was a memory, something that translated. Something that screamed at him that it was wrong. As the Hound though, as the Hound it was awful. There was never guilt. There was only ever the next slaughter. Every terror-stricken soul’s last moments stayed in his shift’s consciousness. The curse of a soul claiming creature. Sometimes it bled over. Like it bled over now.
It was only ever cold.
That never registered as a problem.
The image of the next soul had been presented, so the Hound had struck.
The man’s blood was sweet to its tongue.
There was movement in the dark.
A small thing...
It had time for another bite.
The Hound...he grimaces, he wasn’t like that anymore. He listened to his lovers, he was good. He could control himself better. He was shifting more, there hadn’t been any recent incidents. He wouldn’t go feral.
“James?” His lungs fail him at Nat’s voice. A pitiful whimper escapes his throat, “Dammit,” there’s shuffling as the drider attempts to untangle herself from Tony’s limbs. There’s an irritated huff from the dragon who is immediately shushed. It’s quiet for a long time. He needs to move, he needs a distraction, he won’t get that here. He’s about to make his escape when she asks the question, “Are you cold?”
It’s been a thing for a long time. Once Bucky had finally admitted what most of his dreams revolved around, an ever present chill that trickled into reality, that was the wording they used.
His nod has her cluck her tongue in sympathy and reach a hand out.
“Well that won’t do. Come back to bed sweetheart.” Normally Tony would be dead asleep right about now. He has one eye visible and his face mashed into the pillow. Despite the muffle to his voice there’s a low growl edging the words. The dragon isn’t overly fond of his mates being distressed.
The big brunet takes the offered hand and returns to bed looking to his place back on the right side.
Tony’s eyes flicker for a moment before he stretches his own hand out. Once Bucky takes that one however he’s hauled into the center of the bed. His back to Tony and warm breath ghosting over his neck. Nat curls up in front of him, twining her fingers with his on the hand she still holds. Smiling at him before pressing a kiss to his lips.
“You get dibs on middle tonight congrats.” He can’t help but snort. Just glad that he’s finally found his escape from the cold.