Telling Steve about Aron should have been just about the worst decision Clint's made all month. Should have been because Steve should have flipped. Gone mental. Broken down, broken things. Anything, just as long as it would have caused Clint to regret not concealing the information. The thing is, all it's done is send Steve into full on Cap mode. Clint can see him pouring over the files he forwarded, a couple of hours ago, hunched at the crappy kitchen table. Clint thinks this might just make it absolutely the worst decision he's made in at least the year.
They'd arrived at the safe house at _, just _ hours after leaving Thor's seventh game of Irish snap unfinished. It hadn't taken Nat long to disengage the false lock, disarm the laser-beam system around the door (seriously) and kick in the severely disused alarm.
The farmhouse had looked uninhabitable from the outside, creepers climbing up the cracks in walls, windows boarded up and stonework well passed crumbling. On the inside almost entirely empty rooms are framed by whitewashed brickwork or peeling wallpaper with a very 60s pattern. The house its self - four beds, kitchen, utility room and upstairs bathroom - shows no indication that it could ever be a secret spy safe house. That is, other than the small armoury under the floorboards in the once living room.
It's the outbuildings though, that come away with the award for concealed function of the century. The roof on three of the four buildings have fallen in, and the fourth simply doesn't seem to have ever existed.
It's into one of these buildings that Natasha directs Steve, and, in turn, Bucky. Steve's been briefed on the procedure from here on in until the Soldier stands trial in anything up to a months time. 'Bucky' won't be alone without a supervisor at any point, and is prohibited from leaving his holding cell, which is what, in Steve's eyes at least, this outbuilding will be. He doesn't like it. Of course he doesn't, who would? But it's necessary and there's no way Bucky'll get past the government if they don't do as asked of them - now they're actually in the good ol' US of A, that is.
In the barn it's not quite as derelict as it looks. On this level there's bales of hay stacked behind a huge rundown tractor with monitors and recording equipment in them. The tractor, it turns out, has enough explosives in it to take out half of Chicago (ok, maybe he's exaggerating on that a tincy bit) and the armoured power of a small quinjet. Steve sees Bucky, who's being escorted to his 'living quarters', almost choke on a infinitesimal splutter, brows drawing together like he doesn't understand, when Steve's told this. He tries not to think about it too much and focuses instead on distracting the agent who's briefing him. Super soldier hearing or no, Bucky'd always been able to pick up on the smallest sounds when he focused and he'd have definitely been able to hear the agent if he'd wanted to.
Steve's taken back into the house and won't be allowed to see Bucky again until that evening. Since there isn't that much to do other than wait for news on when Bucky's trial will take place he spends the day sweeping the place for bugs with Nat and Clint, security rigging the bedroom he and Sam'll share and sketching (but his fingertips and toes itch with something and he gives up after an hour).
Then Nat had come to find him. Said Clint had something Steve needed to hear - Sam too if he was around. Said they had a problem.
(An couple of hours earlier; The kitchen.)
"Hey man, Steve said that Natasha said that you said that we had a problem and I wan't you to know that, incase this is just some other high school break up shit, I never said anything to anyone, ok?"
Clint huffs out a laugh as he replies. "Nah, it might be a bit bigger than some high school break up shit unfortunately. Might be Cap, might be. No, stop, I said might be, you can't pull the tragic world's-ending-I'm-gonna-have-t'stop-it face out until you've at least heard most of what I've to say."
"I wasn't —"
"— you were."
" See, Sam understands the tragic faces of Captain America."
"Maybe it's a bird thing… Did I just say that? Damn must be having Tony withdrawals or something…"
"Sam, Clint, please. Focus on the task. What's going on?"
"Well, you remember you're security guard on the plane?"
"Uhuh, Aron?"
"Uhhuh yeah him, well S.H.I.E.L.D clearly didn't do a great job at authorising him. Though, I'm not convinced he was ever in S.H.I.E.L.D - The guys he worked for aren't quite as developed on the whole 'depth stealth' thing as H.Y.D.R.A were - at least I hope they aren't."
"You're saying Bucky was - we were - being, what, watched? Evaluated? What are they after? Did he — was he sent to..? "
"Well, that's the thing, we don't exactly know what they're after. Nat and I, we presumed that they're after the asset. Especially given what my little chat with 'Aron' showed up - which wasn't much, by the way. I'll get you a written copy later if you want?"
"Please."
"Sure thing."
"But Aron? Was he meant to kill us, or what? He didn't seem hostile on the plane…"
"No, well, we're not sure he was meant to do anything actually. Just see what was going on and report back maybe? He didn't have enough weapons on him to even think about taking down one superhuman, let alone two and a metal arm. Not enough expertise either, he actually broke pretty quickly when I found him, both physically and mentally. So either his guys are really really badly informed about, well, about everything - I mean, you'll see on the report, even his cover was outdated - or our Aron wasn't sent to do anything but watch."
"You know who sent him then?" Sam adds from next to where Steve is glancing out the window toward Bucky's barn.
"I have a decent guess yeah. I don't know if you've ever heard of, and for your sakes I hope you haven't, a crime group called the Maggia?"
Steve looks back. "I don't think so? Should I have?"
"Don't think so. I thought I'd taken the worst of them down a few years back, but turns out there's still a few alive and kicking. They operate in houses, or families, each working for different people, for different things, in different places. The only thing that links them really is a general aim to be the bad guys and mess up our lives - oh, and the fact that they used to make up the largest organised, and conventional, crime network in America. Except for perhaps H.Y.D.R.A it seems…"
"By organised crime you mean?"
"Narcotics trading, illegal gambling, loan sharking, bootlegging back when bootlegging was popular… And that's not including the stuff they keep quite about - like organised murder, high up influence in politics and the acquisition and trading of decommissioned military assets."
"So they want Bucky to sell on?"
"Or to keep for themselves, having the Winter Soldier in their occupation wouldn't exactly be a hardship for them. I don't doubt they've already worked out exactly all the benefits having him'll bring. But yeah, they can't be the only ones that want him, and, if they did want to sell, he's guarantied to bring in a pretty profit for them."
"So what do we do?" Sam looks at Steve
"We take them down. And everyone else who's out looking for Bucky."
"Do we even know whether they'll be able to control him, if they do get him?"
"They won't. Get to him."
"But, if they do?"
"Then they managed to before, whoever gets him'll be able to win him over easy peasy."
"They won't get him. Not again." Steve stands, reaching to open the door and walk out. "Clint, I need that report within the hour."
"Jesus" Sam scrubs a hand over his face once Steve is out of earshot. "Every time, every time it's like he's being told for the first time. Fuck. Why is everything always so complicated all the time?"
Hawkeye doesn't answer.
Natasha had found Clint lying face down on the roof, nose in a manila folder of paperwork and tablet laid out next to him, about 40 minutes after he had said he would go talk to Steve. He'd appeared to be trying to focus on anything but the tablet, which a half finished report was open on.
("He didn't take it well."
"It's Steve of course he didn't."
"He wants a written transcript of what happened - at the airport."
"And you're writing it now."
"If by writing you mean hoping it'll go away and sort its self then sure, I'm writing it now."
"Finnish the report Clint. Then we can talk."
"I was going to pass on my information about our friendly mafia too."
"Good. Finnish the report."
"How is he?"
"Holding up. Waiting for your report."
"What about the asset?"
"The Soldier? He's the same as before probably. Clint you need to write the report."
"We need to do something about those trees, I can't see the road from here."
"I'll get someone on it when we've written this report."
"It's fine from the other side of the building."
"Okay. After you jumped on him what happened?"
"He pulled a G21 glock - hey did you know—"
"Clint. Focus. What happened next?"
"He pulled the glock and I had him against the wall. I don't know what happened to the gun in the end —")
So now Clint's cleaning a completely pointless gun and watching Steve sigh oh so silently whenever he looks out of the window.
He knows Clint sometimes removes his hearing aids when he isn't needed so he twists round from the report to talk to him, just in case. Not that Clint would miss it if he did start talking - they don't call him Hawkeye for nothing - but Steve was raised on respect, and knows more than most about what it's like to not to hear everything all of the time.
"How come you met these guys before? There not exactly what high level S.H.I.E.L.D's usually worked with, are they?"
Clint twists something behind his ear and shrugs. "They had something they shouldn't've done - couple've assets that were on S.H.I.E.L.D's radar, I was sent in with my 'apprentice' to get them back. Course that should've been the end of it, they'd've got someone from the government to finish the job probably. But, uh, lets say that while I was taking something of theirs they took something of mine too; they called it payment, I called it rude."
"Wait, you lost your—" Steve waves toward Clint vaguely, possibly aiming for the general direction of his ears "—to these guys? Clint, I'm sorry…"
"Nah, it's cool. Kate and I spent a couple of months taking the whole operation apart, well, apparently not quite all of it. Anyway, she got called off somewhere else and eventually Coulson dug me up with orders from the top, asking about joining some kinda jump in Russia taking down KGB assassins."
"How many d'ya think's out there now?"
"KGB assassins? Dunno asks Natasha. No, no, shush, I knew what you meant Cap. Its hard to tell. Magga are the kinda guys that'll've thrived of the S.H.I.E.L.D. H.Y.D.R.A shitstorm. Chaos in the secret service, plenty of new bodies who don't want to work for a military organisation, assets buried for years by S.H.I.E.L.D floating on the surface for anyone to take. Yeah, they'll be growing again now."
"And the Don? Is he the leader now?"
"Nah, the Aron kid was marked as a foot soldier - they don't get orders from the top, ever. But we're a few that worked outside of the usual order —"
"—Rogues?"
"Sometimes. But some just didn't fit the structures, like, they seemed to work with the Maggia, rather than for them."
"And you think our guy was one of them?"
"Uh, maybe. There's no conclusive intel on him but Kate once went on a feral hen sprint over an Italian Count. If it's the same one though he'll getting on 120 years old now."
"the hell's a hen sprint?" Sam steps around boxes blocking the doorway
"Goose-chase, whatever. It had more drama my way."
"And this Don then, he's a ghost?" Steve says.
"Literally?"
"Ha. Hilarious Barton."
Clint's pretty sure if Cap didn't have his frowney face on Sam's eyebrows would be hysterical. "Just checking, y'know, aliens and all, it might be possible…"
"Wow wow hold on Cap, a ghost? Like a Barnes kind've ghost? 'Cus if he is we're gunna need a bigger car brother…"
"It's a S.H.I.E.L.D term - Barton you know more than I do."
"Yes maestro. It's like a, uh, an unofficial role —"
"— Very specific —"
"—they exist, but not on official records, it's like, the deepest undercover you can get while still working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Like, good-kid assassin but with a fixed employer. Catch is, each ghost has a job, but whoever's working it changes so frequently it's damn near impossible to trace them."
"There's no guarantee The Maggia will work in the same way —"
"That's if the guy we're after does go in for that shit."
"So, plan? Anybody?"
Your name is J.B Barnes. You are the asset. They call you The Winter Soldier. Steve calls you Bucky.
Your name is unknown, you are perhaps centuries old. Perhaps minutes. Perhaps you never existed. How much is true?
The museum told you enough. You are J.B Barnes, born 19_. A war hero. You are an asset. You shaped a century.
Who are you? Who is giving the orders? You shaped a century. Do you give the orders now? You remember times a Captain was giving orders. When was that? Who were you then? An asset? A weapon? Soldier?
"Mine." Whose? The memory has no substance, no context, just a word that flees by - heard among many other words. Whose where you? Who said that?
Perimeters have been established, area secure. Thread level minimal. You are alone. A uniform stands at ease by the door. They have their orders. They will protect. Perimeter secure. You are alone.
Target is safe; potential threat level: high, actual threat level: low. Rumlow was safe, at least, Steve thought he was. You think you remember Rumlow in a uniform - like the one, Barton, wears. But he wasn't safe, can't have been - he was in that room with you. You think maybe he sometimes gave orders. You don't remember. They thought he was safe, they were wrong. Steve said the target, S.H.I.E.L.D, didn't exist anymore. Not your target, your target was more valuable. S.H.I.E.L.D was Rumlow's target, you think.
That was before. You don't have a target anymore. Your name is J.B Barnes. They call you The Winter Soldier. Steve calls you Bucky. You don't have a target anymore.
"—Yeah, yeah you could say that. Whatever it is, I'd be more comfortable with more intel on the Don before we do anything - if this whole junket's still running it won't be easy gettin' into…"
"That might not be possible Clint, not if he's after Bucky…" Natasha walks in on what is evidently not an argument. Or it might be, it's hard to tell sometimes.
"Ok, so he brings the fight to us and we'll work with it. But I'm saying don't do anything dumb and go after a ghost just yet Cap?"
"If he brings the fight to us we'll have no option but to work with it. It's not ideal but if you think we've no other option —"
"Not until we know more about who this guy is and what he wants. Until then, we focus on what we know - which includes securing Barnes' trial."
"Which I've got an update on." Three tired heads turn in sync when Natasha makes herself known.
The man you used to know looks at you with sad, sad eyes. He trusts you, he just doesn't know you anymore. That's what Sam had told you. You didn't reply. Hadn't know to reply.
How could you have replied anyway? To tell him who you are now?
You are J.B Barnes. H.Y.D.R.A asset, an enemy of the United States. You are a weapon without a handler. A figure, centuries young and minutes old. A man - torn through relentless time. A monster, reborn a mewling babe into this lurid life.
Would you have told him?
Blue eyes watch the floor. They are not your eyes. Your eyes watch him. He's too big for the chair he's sat in, limbs contracted by metal arms. You think a part of you remembers a time the chair was too big for him. Not this chair though. You remember torn upholstery and floral patterns the man you once were was ashamed of but never said so.
You remember a chair with metal arms. Metal everything. You remember the taste of fear.
You remember the sight of fear too. This time in blue eyes and an arm outstretched. Not far enough. You don't remember your face. You don't remember your own fear, then. Did you fear? You think you must have done. If everything comes from somewhere and fear is inherent where, where else would you have learnt how it, not in this desensitised world at least.
"Did he fear?" It escapes your lips before you think to stop it. The Captain was saying something, you realise. He's paused, his mouth momentarily open before he blinks back at you.
"Did who fear, Buck?"
Him? You? Me? You don't know who you meant. Is this fear? Who? Him? Me? But he's you, or he was, but then—
"Bucky?" He asks again.
"No." Your throat feels tight. It's the feeling of being choked, back on the hellicarrier. You can't breath.
Steve hasn't moved.
"Did he fear?" Three words. The man sat on a ripped mattress stained by blots that might be blood across from Steve glares. Eyes full of shadows.
It's apparent, strikingly, that Bucky hasn't heard a word Steve said. Steve doesn't know what we was saying either. Something about strategy, court dates… all kind of shit that isn't important just right now.
"Did who fear, Buck?" The soldier glances at Steve, the air beside him. It's the same look he gave the day Steve walked into the hotel room and found the Soldier, Bucky, sitting stone solid on the bed. Steve'd said hi, because what else was he supposed to say, and the Soldier's eyes had widened impossibly, scanning Steve and flickering away. It was the same look he'd given Steve after the muzzle had be wrenched off and Steve had uttered that one word, still heavy in his stomach, in his gut, in his heart, after so many months.
"Bucky?"
"No." It sounds tight, restricted, stuck to his throat. Steve knows what it feels like to speak like that. He can't move, can't think, can't breath. They say like that for millisecond, minutes, millennia. Who knows?
It's a good job that Natasha chooses that moment to knock on the door. Rap, Rap, Rap. It breaks Steve out of his trance, at least a little, and the Soldier leans back into his chair (he'd been edging forward Steve realises now) adopting the position of causal confidence that Steve is certain now might be a facade.
"Steve?"
"Can she?" Steve asks the Soldier, still now moving much.
The soldier says nothing and remains statue still.
"Uh… I think—" Steve begins
"Unless you say no I'm coming in." Silence beats for a count of three and then the door squeaks and Natasha appears in Steve's peripheral. He needs to stop staring but Bucky's still watching him and Steve's never been good at letting him go.
"Steve, maybe you should go outside." Steve doesn't want to, he needs to stay. For him or for Bucky he doesn't know. But it wasn't a question and when Natasha touches his arm he looks at her with haunted eyes and lets himself stumble out of the room. The door shuts behind him and Natalia is left with the Winter Soldier. She doesn't freeze when he man pulls her gun on a rat.
I'm so so so so so sorry this wasn't sooner but unfortunately this is about the time between updates for the forceable future atm because A-levels are stressful little shits and I've taken on too much stuff to do... Again...
In good news I've got 4 Uni offers back so at least I know what I'm working for now.
I've started writing a second fic because I had /major/ issues with this chapter for a good couple of months (and I might come back and edit again at some point). I'll post the start once I've got a bit further into it but it's an Orchestral AU with a very different tone to this one... :D At the moment it's called 'Romeo and Juliet, huh? (It's an unlikely story and I'm drowning in your glory)' but that might change before I post it.