"STOP! STOP, JUST- just, STOP!" Brock Rumlow paused, his hands ready to squeeze the scissors around the thick locks of hair.
"What do you want now, Pell?" He asked the scrawny brunet running across the cell towards him. Annoyance laced his voice- he had work to do and this kid was at it again.
The aforementioned Pell, Jackson Pell to be exact, screeched to a halt and stuck his hip out sassily.
"You can NOT waste that magnificent mane. Look at that shit!" Complying, Rumlow looked down to the owner of the fistfull of hair he was holding.
"The asset can work more efficiently without this in his face" the surly Hydra agent grumped.
"No, no, no, but wait! Isn't the whole deali-o with having a 'top secret assasin' and all", he began with air quotes, "to have him be freaky and badass and a terror to his enemies!?" Rumlow pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't give the effeminate manchild the ass kicking he obviously needed because Pell was the son of one of the higher-ups. "I mean, crew cut is tough and all" the boy assured Rumlow with his hands out in a placating manner, looking pointedly at the man's own crew cut. "But- BUT!" he pointed up with an index finger and raised his eyebrows violently, "nothing- and I mean NOTHING- can spread terror like cyborg Jesus" he finished, folding his arms and nodding like he had just made an irrefutable statement.
"Cyborg Jes-!? shit, Pell, he can't see through this thing to shoot people!" Rumlow half yelled. The asset tensed his muscles, prepared to defend the man still holding his hair should the need arise. "Relax" his handler sneered down at him. Reluctantly the assasin obeyed, still eyeballing the boy in case he was a threat in spite of weak appearances.
"But-"
"No! No buts this time, kid! Last big idea you had was to dye all of our toilet water black to appear more sinister, remember how that went?" The black clad Hydra agent asked venemously.
"Yeah, but Brock, SHIELD can't find us by the asset having long hair! And how was I supposed to know they would investigate where all the black dye was coming from!?"
"Don't call me Brock, we aren't friends-"
"Okay but dude, we can hair spray it out of the way!" The skinny kid hauled a knapsack off his shoulder that looked way to heavy for his thin frame. Out came a shiny spring-green can of hair spray. "Look, I use this" he informed the irate man as he shook his ear length mane. "It, like, holds it kinda in place and out of the way but it still can move in the wind and look hella badass".
Rumlow, defeated, sighed and reached out his hand for the canister. At least it's better than the glitter shit he comforted himself. Last time the boy had had an idea and was denied, he went ahead and did it himself. Of course, when reports started coming in that agents that had been forced to suicide had glitter mixed in the foam that came out of their mouthes, everyone knew that it was Pell. Nobody had bothered to switch out their teeth for non- glitter ones.
The kid always got his way.
As Rumlow defeatedly used the hairspray to fix the Winter Soldier's mane out of his face, he thoughtfully ran his tongue over his fake tooth. Silently he prayed that he would not be forced to use it until he had the glitter removed.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Pptht! Ppthhhpht!"
"Pell, just give me the damn scissors."
Rumlow had been forced to bring the brat with him on a mission. The asset kept getting hair in his face and was trying to blow it off.
"Pth! Pthhhttttt!"
Not only that, the little shit had stolen his scissors that he had brought along for just this purpose.
"Phhthhh! Phhhhhh!"
"Give me the scisors before I throw you out the window!" Rumlow roared. Pell scooted further into the corner of the swaying utility van and clutched the scissors tighter.
"There aren't any windows" he said, his tone suggesting he was just having a typical conversation with a friend. Brock unbuckled himself and crawled back into the van. "Wait, wait man! I knew he would do this, I got just the thing. Lookie!" The brunet enthused as he held up what looked like the lower half of a paintball mask. "See, he can't blow it around with this on!" Rumlow lunged for the scissors but the kid rolled between his legs.
"Pppthhht! Phhhhhhfffffffff phfffff pffff!"
"Wait look I brought stronger hair spray!" Pell shouted, pulling it out of the bag in the corner. He grabbed a fistfull of the assets hair and pulled it straight up. He began to spray the underside of the chunk of hair.
"Give me that you little shit!" Rumlow tripped across the van. The kid jerked in shock and turned, accidentally spraying a good amount into the man's eyes. Roaring, he fell on his back.
"Phhht! Ptht!"
After giving the downed agent a concerned look, Pell turned and continued to spray the underside of the asset's hair. Brock swore under his breath and got back up. Bairly noticeable, the asset was flinching as Jackson got spray into his eyes. The chunk of hair that was ACTUALLY a problem was being ignored by the wannabe stylist, so it was still poking him in the eye perfectly.
"You're getting it in his eye!" The man angrily stated.
"Oh, I have some goggles I could use for that..."
"Phht! Phhhhhhhbbbbttthhhhht!"
If Rumlow had had a heart, he would pity the asset right about now.
XXX
The mission wasn't a TOTAL failure, Rumlow supposed. But frankly after sitting on a rooftop for three hours with the asset and the loudmouth kid, any outcome that got him a break was welcome.
A frightening sight indeed, the asset had taken down four highly trained SHEILD agents who had been on to them. He did this while wearing the stupid muzzle, the hairspray fogged goggles, with the one chunk of hair STILL IN HIS FACE and the rest of his hair sticking up at odd, hairspray induced angles.
But the job was done and the few agents who had witnessed the ordeal had been frightened witless by the asset terrifying bed head.
Brock got to go home now and take his damn nap, that was all that mattered. It was better this way anyway- the kid always got what he wanted.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Eyeliner!"
"Hell no!"
"Eyeliner is bae though! It can look tough AND sexy!" Brock turned at this statement.
"You are wearing eyeliner now and neither of those things is true about you" he snarked at his skinny tormenter.
"Yeah but I'm not cyborg Jesus!"
"Drop it, kid!"
"Excuse you, I'm twenty two and a HALF" Pell sassed back. Rumlow sighed.
"Then act like a man and take that stupid ass makeup off. Or at least, quit trying to put it on the weapon."
XXX
Rumlow wasn't gonna admit that the eyeliner was actually a good idea for once. He didn't want to give the kid any encouragement. He didn't know why he tried anymore, really- it made no difference whether he enforced this behavior or not. The kid always got what he wanted.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Listen, Bucky" Jackson said as he sat next to the ridgit, robotic man. "I need you to listen because I can't be seen telling you this shit- here, look at me" he instructed. The asset turned, ready to accept orders. "Ok- I have you assigned to kill this man, Steve Rogers" he said, holding up a stock photo of said person. "You aren't gonna kill him, ok? You're gonna act like it and make it seem real, but this guy is gonna save you, get your butt out of here, you gettin' this?"
Slowly, uncertainly, the broken, abused shell of a man before him nodded. This small kid, he reminded him of... something. Some other skinny guy in his past.
Also, this guy and whomever the memory was- they were the only ones he could remember ever being kind to him. Whatever his orders- whether they wiped his mind again or not, he would be damned if he would let his new, his only friend, down.
Grinning widely, Pell took the asset's human hand and slipped him a tiny packet of glitter.
"For the trip", he told his semi robotic friend. The barest, faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corners of Bucky's lips, and understanding passed between their eyes.
A clatter of footsteps sounded out in the hall, prompting Jackson to pull a stick of chapstick out from his pocket and begin applying it to the asset.
"Oh hell no, Pell! What are you doing now!?" Raged the irate Rumlow.
"Damnit, how can he kick ass when he has chapped lips, huh Brock?" The kid asked, his typical nasally tone returning. Rumlow simply turned around and left the room, missing the smirk on the boy's face. He didn't even try to argue this time.
After all, the boy always got what he wanted.
Thank you all for reading. This is currently a one shot, if people ask for more I will make it a series, but I just got this idea half an hour ago and I had to make it happen.
Also, I am sorry that I posted a one shot but neglected to add a new chapter to my running series, I have that chapter half written and it will come out as scheduled on next Sunday.
Thank ya.
-Stax