For the purposes of this story, please ignore Dr. Garner's fate in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. This fic is a side-project that I'll be working on in spare moments between writing for my main fic, 'We Were Soldiers.' Updates will be a little sporadic.

He Who Fights With Monsters

1. Highly Recommended

Seated behind his polished oak desk at Culver University, Andrew Garner's dark eyes danced over the pages of the report in front of him. It was an incomplete, fragmented thing; in some ways, not unlike the man it described. It had been compiled from various sources, through years' worth of observation, eyewitness accounts and even blind speculation.

The HYDRA reports at the start of the document were the hardest to swallow. Words like neurological conditioning and negative reinforcement made for unpleasant reading, and it didn't get much better when he reached the medical reports about the cybernetic enhancement the patient had been forced to undergo without consent. When he read about how they'd brought him out of cryo and wiped his memory time and time again, erasing the very core of who and what he was, his hands tightened briefly around the pages he held.

He followed the patient's progress through the decades. Law enforcement accounts of men, women and children found dead through gunshot, stab wounds or strangulation. Eyewitness statements of 'something dark and blurry, like a shadow given form.' HYDRA reports of mission successful. Sometimes the accounts, and statements, and reports, came thick and fast, several over the span of a month… and then nothing. Years might pass before the shadow was seen again.

The latest additions to the document were largely speculation. The men and women who'd added to it admitted that their knowledge came from observation, rather than direct interaction. Interaction, they felt, would be counterproductive to the patient's recovery.

He placed the document down on his desk and looked up at the blond-haired man seated opposite. Steve Rogers' head was tilted, his blue eyes staring mistily at the gramophone as he listened to the quiet symphony of Vivaldi's Four Seasons playing in the background. It was currently Summer, the most turbulent of all the Seasons, or so Andrew thought. Where Spring and Autumn were fraught with the emotion of transience, and Winter was bitter, muted melancholy, Summer leapt all over the place, at one moment slow and sedate, the next frantic as a raging storm.

"You like Vivaldi?" he asked the off-duty superhero.

The man formerly known as Captain America gave him a wan smile. Andrew had no idea how Mr. Rogers had re-entered the country undetected by the authorities, but he was risking his own freedom to help a friend. "I'm not much of a fan of classical music. I was actually admiring your gramophone. I was surprised to see it here. When I asked Tony for one for the Avengers' compound, he gave me an iPod and told me it was 'better.' I still haven't figured out how to add things to the playlist. Guess that doesn't matter, now." His blue eyes lowered to the document, a small frown drawing his brows down with them. "So. What do you think?"

Straight to business. Andrew guessed he couldn't blame the guy; this was his best friend since childhood they were talking about. But before he made his decision, he needed to know one thing.

"Why come to me?"

"You came highly recommended."

"By whom?"

Steve Rogers was wore his heart on his sleeve and his thoughts on his face. Andrew read hesitation in the deep breath he took before answering, in the sudden squareness of his broad shoulders, and the way his eyes darted to the right as he tried to figure out the best way to answer.

"I don't know," the man admitted. "I got an anonymous email which told me of your work with Inhumans. I suspect Fury."

Andrew nodded. He didn't suspect Fury. But he wasn't sure whether Captain America knew yet that Phil Coulson was still alive, and it wasn't his place to deliver that particular piece of news.

"I have caveats, Mr. Rogers. Before I agree to this, I want assurances that whatever Mr. Barnes and I discuss will remain private. If I make reports, I'll hand them to Mr. Barnes, and nobody else. The last thing I want is for my work to fall into the hands of these HYDRA people."

"HYDRA are gone," Mr. Rogers said firmly, as Autumn began.

"No offence, but you've believed that before, and look where it got us."

"Point taken. Whatever concessions you require, I'll make sure you get them." Mr. Rogers leant forward in his seat. "According to the email, you're the best at what you do. Right now, we need the best."

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he picked up the document again and thumbed through it, until he reached the report which described how the Winter Soldier could be triggered by the recitation of a specific set of words. A particularly nasty piece of mental conditioning.

"I can't guarantee I can help him overcome his trigger," he said at last.

Mr. Rogers shook his head. "That's not why we need you, Doctor Garner. Others are working at breaking the programming, but it's Bucky's other problems I'm worried about. Nightmares. Depression. Mood swings. One moment he's sullen and silent, the next he's smiling and reminiscing about when we were kids. Then he could be laughing and joking with the rest of the team, and something as simple as a word or a smell might trigger some memory from his time with HYDRA, sending him into a fit of rage." The man blinked rapidly, chasing away the moisture clouding his eyes. "I feel like I'm losing my friend all over again, and the worst part is, I'm not sure how much of my friend is actually left inside him."

Andrew closed the dossier one last time. He'd seen enough. Heard enough. Helping Inhumans through the emotional turmoil of their transition suddenly felt old-hat. He'd never worked with someone who'd been subjected to this level of torture and trauma before, but that simply made it all the more important that he try.

"Alright. When do we start?"

"He'll be difficult," Mr. Rogers warned. "He's not particularly fond of doctors."

"That's understandable."

"And he might tell you he doesn't want help."

"That's his choice."

"And—"

Andrew held up a hand to halt the onslaught. "Mr. Rogers, you're not telling me anything I haven't anticipated or encountered before. Believe it or not, most people are inherently suspicious of psychologists and counsellors. It's nothing unique to Mr. Barnes. And you have my word, I will treat him with the utmost care."

His assurance seemed to relieve some of the superhero's misgivings. His shoulders relaxed as he took a deep breath.

"In that case, you'll need to pack a bag. We have a long journey ahead of us."