He doesn't have much time to wonder about his strange orders or JARVIS' silence because after breakfast his handler informs him that they have a meeting with the other Avengers.
"You don't need to worry," he reassures as they head into the elevator. "You aren't being debriefed. You can just listen."
Despite his handler's words he can't help being nervous as they enter and sit down on one side of the long table that fills the meeting room. Across from them, Stark seems to be working with the computer and he gives them nothing more than a brief glance as he types away.
Dr Banner and Wilson come in next, Banner sitting on his handler's other side while Wilson goes to sit across from them, a few chairs away from Stark. Wilson and Banner he knows, so he doesn't pay them much mind, but he tenses when a new man, blond with bags under his eyes, breezes in and sits across from him.
"Hey Cap," he says, and the Asset relaxes slightly as he recognises him to be Agent Clint Barton, Hawkeye and Avenger and cleared as a non-hostile by his handler and JARVIS. "Heard you guys had something big go down."
His handler replies and the Asset settles back, intending to go back to sitting at attention when Barton throws him an unexpected glance. "Cool arm, dude," he says almost admiringly.
He freezes and stares at Barton, unsure of how to respond. He's rarely ever directly addressed by agents unless he's receiving orders, so Barton's words leave him scrambling. Should he reply? If he does, what should he say? What if he gets it wrong?
Barton doesn't seem to think too much of it, and he doesn't seem to mind his lack of response, which is a relief. Instead he flashes him a small smile (which is also weird) and turns to comment something to Romanoff as she enters and sits next to him.
Relaxing slightly, the Asset scans everyone in the room reflexively before settling back again. His handler had said that he won't be debriefed so he probably doesn't need to focus too hard— His line of thought gets cut off as Stark activates the screen at the front of the room and Target Nicholas Fury flickers into view.
His breath catches slightly as the man's eye sweeps over them and he doesn't hear the beginning of the meeting because he's too busy staring at the SHIELD director. Sudden relief floods through his system and he fights to keep from showing it as he begins to breathe a bit more regularly.
He… he'd done it. He'd— he'd actually managed to complete his handler's mission. He hadn't killed Fury. He breathes in carefully and focuses on a point on the wall to ground himself as he processes this new revelation. He'd hoped. He'd hoped that he hadn't killed the man. But he hadn't actually known if he'd succeeded. There had been so many variables with that mission that he had had no way of knowing whether or not Fury had survived, and his handler hadn't said anything about it, so he hadn't been sure.
He tunes back in to see a strange video of what looks like his handler… fighting himself. He blinks, not quite sure what to make of what he's seeing.
"So…" Dr Banner speaks up and he listens without turning his head. "What exactly are we looking at?"
Stark and his handler move on to explain, and he doesn't understand everything they're talking about, but apparently this strange… time-traveling version of his handler and Stark (and someone very small who they don't know) is the reason they know that Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD.
He listens as Stark and his handler explain how they had in turn infiltrated Hydra and he realises… his handler had never—he'd never actually been Hydra. This whole time he'd been pretending. He blinks at his spot on the wall and something in him relaxes slightly. That… that makes sense.
His handler had always been tense around the other Hydra agents, and all of the sudden, his contradictory orders make a lot more sense. Of course he'd told him not to kill Fury, Fury is his boss.
Of course, that means that none of the other Avengers are Hydra either and that… that is good. Some of the tension in his shoulders eases slightly as he consciously realises that he will never have to go back to Hydra now. He can stay with this new handler in Avengers' Tower and figure out the rules and he won't— he won't have to help Hydra anymore.
And that— that's good.
Around him, his handler and the Avengers discuss raiding various Hydra bases and he eyes the map they've projected onto the wall of all the bases they know about. His eyes linger for a second on the one in Siberia before he jerks his gaze away and swallows, trying to keep his heart from pounding. He focuses down on the metal of his left hand and breathes in carefully.
"This is not going to be a short mission." He hears Stark say and he refocuses back on the spot on the wall, letting his eyes blur so to avoid looking at the map. Beside him, his handler tenses, and he has a split-second moment of panic, certain that he's somehow done something wrong with how agitated he's being.
Handler-Rogers doesn't say anything to him though, instead turning to the rest of the group. "I can't… I can't go with you," he says a little hollowly.
The Asset can feel the shock at his handler's words radiate through the room and he can feel his own confusion rise a little. He doesn't know why, but for some reason, part of him expects his handler to be on the front lines against Hydra. Isn't that what's supposed to happen? Isn't that what he does—
—his foot slips in the mud and he almost falls forward. He stumbles, his hands tightening instinctively on his gun as he catches himself and looks up, waiting for - to give the signal—
"I'm sure Cap would love to be on the front lines of this," Stark says, his words rocketing him back into reality. "But he's got a different mission, don't you?"
His handler nods and looks over at him, and the Asset stills, hoping that he hasn't noticed his slight malfunction. "I know this isn't the best time for me to sit out…" his handler says, looking back towards the group. "But I think I'm needed here more."
The Asset relaxes slowly as he contemplates his handler's words. His handler needs to be here… oh. Oh of course. Something inside him eases as he figures out what's going on. If the Avengers aren't Hydra, then it stands to reason that he will need to be retrained. He'd gone through something similar when he'd been transferred to America and it makes sense that the Avengers would want to make sure that he's programmed properly now that they have him.
He blinks away his realisation as he becomes aware of Agent Barton gesturing towards him and looking at his handler for guidance. Handler-Rogers sighs and clenches his jaw. "Bucky has been in Hydra's custody since the 40s," he starts, and the Asset dissociates so fast he almost gets vertigo. He knows it's logical for his handler to debrief his allies on their new asset, but he really really doesn't want to think about his time with Hydra.
Pain, both real and imagined, pulses through his shoulder and he swallows, fixing his eyes more determinedly on the wall in front of him and letting his handler's words morph into empty sounds in his ears. His time with Hydra doesn't matter anymore. He will be compliant here. His handler had said that cryofreeze and wiping protocols are suspended indefinitely and so far, his handler has yet to break any promises so he will be fine and—
He gradually refocuses and becomes aware of a new conversation between his handler and Wilson.
"This won't exactly be a short mission Sam," his handler says. "I can't guarantee you'll make it home."
Across from him, Wilson's face hardens, and he gives a determined nod. "I know what I'm getting into," he says almost darkly. "And I know the kinds of things Hydra's done." His fingers tighten slightly on his folded arms and he straightens his shoulders. "I'll just need a few days to get my things in order and then I'll be ready to go."
Everyone turns to his handler for his verdict and after a few moments he nods. "We'll be happy to have you then," he says.
Stark jumps in with an offer to upgrade Wilson's jetpack and—
—a man with brown hair: "If you just let me have it for a few days, I'm sure I could come up with something better–"—
His tongue presses into the roof of his mouth as the Avengers move on to planning their next Hydra raid. Since he won't be being used, he zones out. He's already had two malfunctions in just one meeting, and he really can't afford that sort of thing.
The meeting wraps up and he blinks, refocusing his eyes without moving as he waits for his handler to stand up.
"Bruce, I was hoping I could have a word with you?" He says instead, turning towards the doctor as the rest of the Avengers slowly file out of the room. At the front of the room, Stark shuts down the screen, nodding his head a little at Handler-Rogers as he leaves, and Dr Banner offers to hear his handler's request in the newfound privacy.
"I know you're not officially a doctor," he starts and the Asset fights not to tense at the loaded word. His arm gives a twinge of pain and he stares harder at his wall.
"What do you need?" Dr Banner asks.
Beside him, his handler lets out a sigh and seems to slump slightly. "Bucky needs a doctor to make sure he's healthy," he says, and the Asset becomes aware of his teeth digging into his tongue as the world seems to blur slightly around the edges.
Do not react, do not react, do not react—
"I also want to start getting him to eat solid foods," his handler continues, oblivious to his internal conflict. "But I'm not exactly sure how to do that."
Thankfully, Dr Banner doesn't suggest any sort of testing or programming right away. He seems to want to find a specialist doctor first and the Asset can't help relaxing a little at the knowledge that he won't be going through a medical check-up right away. He knows it's unavoidable but…
His handler seems satisfied with Dr Banner's response, which is also good, and he stands up smiling. The Asset stands up as well, following him dutifully out of the room and flexing his tongue in his mouth as he walks, rubbing away the indentations his teeth have left behind.
After the meeting, his handler gives him his promised tour of the Tower. "You can go to any of these public rooms without permission," he says as he shows him the gym, and the Asset files that bit of information away with a lingering amount of skepticism as he eyes the gym equipment. The room looks better stocked than anything he'd had at the Vault and he wonders when he will begin training there. "If you want to talk to any of the Avengers specifically, you can ask JARVIS to call them," his handler finishes.
"Confirmed," he replies easily, although he's not sure why he'd ever want to call an agent or Avenger to him. Usually that sort of thing is the other way around.
"Tony's labs are in the basement," his handler tells him almost conversationally as they head to the large living room from yesterday (the common room apparently.) Wilson and Agent Barton are already there, lounging on the couches by the TV, neither of them looking up as they enter. "Ask him or JARVIS if you want to go in there," his handler continues. "Sometimes he's got sensitive projects running, so he doesn't like people just wandering in."
The Asset files that information away along with everything else he's learned about this new place as his handler leads him over to the kitchen side of the room. He catches sight of the time on— on the— he narrows his eyes for a second before he remembers— on the microwave (he's not sure when he'd learned about those, but he must have been debriefed on them at some point), and he realises with a start that it's already noon.
His handler leaves him by the counter and heads over to the large fridge, his face and posture seeming to tighten as he pulls out a bag and carton from the freezer. The Asset is busy trying to analyse that look when Wilson drifts over and plants himself next to his handler's elbow.
"I didn't take you for the type to eat sweets for lunch," he says, a light smile on his face. His handler's response is just as relaxed, but the Asset is distracted away from it as, next to him, Barton sides up and climbs on top of the counter.
He sits there, crouched, his eyes fixed on Handler-Rogers hands, and the behavior is so abnormal that the Asset can't help staring at him. Why is he…?
His handler catches sight of Barton too as he pulls out the, by now, familiar blender from a cupboard, and he gives him an appraising look.
"I heard there was ice cream," Barton says, his eyes wide and his voice a little hollow as he stares at the carton on the counter.
"Feet off the table," his handler orders, seemingly unfazed. Behind him, Wilson tries to steal the 'ice cream' (whatever that is) and Handler-Rogers grabs it away from him without even looking. "I get first dibs," he says as he grabs what looks like an extra deep spoon from a drawer. "You two can fight it out amongst yourselves after."
The Asset tenses slightly at the word 'fight' and he watches with an air of apprehension as Wilson and Barton scramble to the cupboard for bowls. Unlike some bases he'd worked in, the Avengers hierarchy seems pretty stable, and he hadn't been expecting there to be any infighting here. But, he realises with growing unease, Wilson is a new member, so he might still have to assert himself within that hierarchy.
Handler-Rogers has accepted him into the group though, he reasons, tension swirling in his stomach as his handler scoops out several lumps of ice cream into the blender. So that is a point in his favour.
His handler doesn't seem like the kind of leader who would look the other way for infighting. Of course, the Asset knows that infighting can be useful in making sure that one's subordinates aren't able to grow powerful enough to become a challenge, but… somehow, he feels that his handler doesn't have to stoop to that level in order to secure his place as team leader.
"It's a good thing we're not allergic to milk," his handler says, and the comment is so far from anything he'd been thinking that he has no idea how to respond. Instead he watches quietly as his handler hands off the desired carton of ice cream to Wilson (he relaxes slightly at the sight, because of course his handler would favour Wilson right now and help solidify his place within the team, he shouldn't have worried) and continues to prepare their meal.
The blender whirls again and his handler soon hands him his smoothie. This one is more orange than the other two had been, and he sips it as slowly as he dares while his handler begins preparing something else.
He narrows his eyes at the new food because he knows what it is called, he just can't quite— his hand tightens slightly on his glass and he takes in each ingredient individually. Two slices of bread, butter and something yellow on both and two pieces of meat—
—to make a bacon and peanut butter sandwich, but bacon is expensive so maybe he should—
He freezes and breathes in carefully, thankful that his handler is too busy eating his— his sandwich to notice his most recent malfunction.
Although, a small corner of his mind whispers as he sips determinedly at his smoothie. Is it really a malfunction if it helps me remember a word?
(What is bacon?) A smaller, even quieter part of his mind wonders.
He doesn't have an answer for either of those questions, so he ignores them, instead focusing on drinking his smoothie and locating a towel for dishes. He spies one hanging on the handle of the cupboard under the sink, and once it looks like his handler is finished with his food, he stands up, setting his glass in the sink and grabbing the towel before standing aside and waiting for his handler to start the water.
He doesn't know where things go in this new kitchen (and he hadn't been paying attention when his handler had been making the food stupid stupid stupid) but Handler-Rogers doesn't seem to mind telling him where to put things as he dries.
"The bowls go in the cupboard on the left."
His hand stills as, behind him, Barton speaks up around a mouthful of ice cream. His pulse spikes as his eyes dart to his handler, unsure if he should respond. Is he expected to only follow orders from his handler, or should he differ to the other Avengers? Is Barton overstepping or—
His handler gives him an assenting nod and he relaxes slightly, putting the bowl away and picking up a butter knife.
"That goes in the drawer by the stove," Barton says, and he complies faster this time. They continue like that for the rest of the dishes (at one point Wilson sneaks his empty bowl and spoon into the dishwater and his handler doesn't reprimand him, instead rolling his eyes and washing them along with everything else.)
"Cap likes to do them by hand," Barton informs him as they're finishing the last of the dishes. "Donno why he can't use the dishwasher."
The Asset is pretty sure he's never used a dishwasher either, so he isn't exactly sure what to say to that. He stays silent and no one seems to mind.
Barton isn't finished with his ice cream before they're done dishes and once they're done, Wilson comes up to his handler (he jerks when Wilson touches his arm and the Asset narrows his eyes slightly before determining that there isn't any threat.) "I was wondering if I could talk to you for a second," Wilson says, gesturing towards the living room.
"Oh," his handler casts a quick glance in his direction. "Sure?"
Wilson smiles at that before looking over at him. "Can you just wait here for a second?" He asks and the Asset tenses, darting his eyes over towards his handler. His heartrate speeds up because he doesn't know the procedure here. He'd followed Barton's directive before, so if he doesn't follow Wilson's, then he might accidently mess up the man's integration into the team hierarchy, but if he acts outside of his handler's orders then that might also be bad—
His handler's expression looks carefully blank as he gives him a nod. "You can wait here," he says quietly, and the Asset relaxes, letting himself zone out slightly as Wilson and his handler step away towards the couches.
They're too far away for him to hear much of what they're saying (and he shouldn't listen in anyway because that's not his job—)
"Hey."
He blinks and turns his head slightly to divide his attention between his handler and Barton. Beside him, Barton is looking down at his bowl, fiddling slightly with the melted remains of his ice cream.
He flicks his eyes up to his for a second before looking back down. "So…" He stirs his spoon around in his bowl and his free hand clenches into a lose fist on his knee. "So… so, ah, geez." He runs a hand through his hair and glances up at him. "So, I don't really know how to say this but…" He presses his lips together and the Asset tenses slightly, trying to decide if he's done something wrong in the last few minutes.
"I just… I thought— I though I should say, well, I've been where you are," Barton says, his eyes scanning him. "At least a little and…" He breathes in and presses his lips together. "It's not your fault, okay?" The Asset's brow furls slightly, and Barton sighs, looking down. "I don't know if you're ready to figure this out yet," he says quietly. "But those things you did, under Hydra? That's not your fault."
He fiddles with his spoon and glances over to where Handler-Rogers is sitting before looking back over at him. "I don't really know what you're going through," he says quietly. "But I do know what it's like to hurt people and to have no choice about it…" He shrugs and looks away. "It took me a while, but I came to terms with the fact that it wasn't my fault." His hand tightens on his spoon and he offers him a small smile. "And I just… I think you'll be able to do that too, one day."
The Asset stares at him, completely at a loss. He doesn't… he doesn't understand. He knows he's hurt people for Hydra but— but that hadn't been bad. That had been what he'd been supposed to do. That is his job— He— Of course it had been the right thing to do, he was supposed to follow Hydra's orders. Disobeying is wrong [not allowed]—
Irritation at this unnecessary confusion bubbles up in his chest and he jerks his eyes away from Barton, intent on waiting for his handler like he's supposed to.
His handler comes back soon enough, and he gestures for him to follow as he heads towards the elevator. He complies and his hands tighten determinedly behind his back as he steps into place behind Handler-Rogers' left shoulder.
He is a good asset. He obeys his handlers. He follows orders. He is obedient—
"Tony can take a look at your arm now," his handler tells him as the elevator doors close and his stomach drops down into his toes.
oOo
The knuckles of his right hand are probably white behind his back as he stands stiffly behind his handler in the elevator, his stomach churning. The pain in his shoulder seems to grow with every level they descend, and he fights to keep his breathing and pulse even as he tries not to think about his upcoming maintenance.
He can do this. He can do this. He's done this a million times before. Maintenance is necessary, and just because his handler has suspended the wiping and cryofreeze protocols doesn't mean that— doesn't mean that—
Nausea swirls in his stomach as the elevator doors ding open and he steps out after his handler. He swallows and blinks away a dizzy spell as he stops behind his handler, his right hand sweaty and slippery against the metal of his left.
Stark approaches them and offers him a tight smile, gesturing towards a low padded stool sitting next to a table. "I'm just going to take a look today," he says. "See what we're dealing with."
His heartbeat speeds up without his consent and he fights to keep his breathing under control as he looks over at his handler, hoping against hope that maybe this time he will cancel out the other's order, that this time he will give him a different order, any other order.
Something sharp and pained flashes in his handler's eyes and his throat flexes as he swallows. "It's okay Buck," he says faintly. "You're not in trouble, Tony's just going to look."
His heart spasms in his chest and he darts his eyes desperately around the room before stopping to rest again on his handler. His teeth clench as he forces himself to march over to the chair, his movements stiff and stilted as he lowers himself down. His shoulder gives a twinge of pain as he raises his left arm and rests it on the table beside him and his eyes unfocus as he settles back and tries to zone out.
Stark edges towards him and for some reason he offers him a small smile. "Just hold still and you should be fine," he says. "Let me know if anything hurts." He tries not to tense at the order because he's supposed to hold still, but he hates pain-endurance tests. His stomach clenches and he tries to breathe.
Hold still, hold still, hold still—
"Level of acceptable pain, zero."
He blinks.
…what?
He…what?
He doesn't understand that order. He shifts and glances up at his handler, trying to figure out what he wants. Level of acceptable pain zero…? Is he talking about during the tests or in general? If it's in general, then… then he's failing at that. His shoulder takes the opportunity to flare up and remind him that it always hurts. Low level pain is acceptable because… because that's how it is.
But— his heartbeat speeds up again. But, if he doesn't report it to his handler then he'll be disobeying orders— He darts his eyes up frantically and catches his handler's eye for a second before ducking his head back down and staring determinedly into his lap.
"…current pain, level two," he admits reluctantly, hoping that he isn't misinterpreting his orders.
In front of him, his handler and Stark seem to freeze, and he tenses because maybe he'd been wrong, maybe he shouldn't have—
"So…" Stark starts. "You're saying, 'level two' pain… is normal for you?" The Asset swallows, sweat dripping down his armpit as he sits, Stark's words barely audible over the pounding of his own heart.
"Affirmative," he replies tightly, his eyes focused intently on his lap, part of him wishing desperately that he could be somewhere else right now.
Stark sucks in a sharp breath and turns towards his handler. "Chronic pain, probably," he says stiffly. "Wouldn't be surprised. JARVIS can you pull up the scans that you did earlier?"
"Certainly Sir," JARVIS replies, and he's too busy focusing on his lap to see what they're doing. His heartbeat fills the silence for him as his handler and Stark presumably look over his scans.
"Yeah," Stark says after a moment and he tries not to flinch. "You can see how the weight of it is pulling him down. It's stressing his muscles and his frame because of how heavy it is and how it's attached."
"Can you fix it?" His handler asks, and the Asset becomes aware of how hard his right hand is pressing down onto his knee. He rubs his thumb slightly against the soft fabric as he works on holding very still and breathing steadily. Stark and his handler seem to think something is wrong with his arm, but he doesn't understand why, since it's never been a problem before.
Apparently, it is one now.
"Not easily," Stark replies. "I'd likely have to replace the whole thing—"
He misses whatever else Stark says. His words getting drowned out as a sudden rushing fills his ears and for a second he's—
—on the bed, painpainpain in his shoulder and something cold flowing into his veins. The world goes blurry and his vision spins, but he can still feel it when they—
—awake again, the light's too bright in his eyes, the pain in his shoulder pulsing – but he can't feel his fingers and whatdidtheydo—
He blinks and the fingernails of his right hand dig into his knee as he tries to centre himself. The air in his lungs feels thin an inadequate as he tries to breathe in quietly and keep his breakdown from being noticeable. He consciously unclenches the fist of his left hand and subtly scans his surroundings.
His handler and Stark have both moved over to a computer terminal several feet away and he feels a wave of relief at the knowledge that they might have missed out on his reaction to Stark's words. He mentally flinches away from the reminder and bites his tongue as he tries to get himself under control again.
He settles back and loosens his shoulders, desperately trying to zone out enough that he can be relaxed for Stark's tests. He's already malfunctioned so much today; he needs to get this right.
His handler and Stark come back eventually, and by then he's mostly over the malfunction. His skin still crawls when Stark comes closer, but he bites down on his tongue and holds still.
"Acceptable level of additional pain, zero," his handler orders and he nods, desperately hoping that he won't have to actually speak up. Stopping tests because of pain has never been acceptable before and he's not sure he can actually do it now, even with orders.
Thankfully, Stark doesn't do much besides manipulate his arm (which hurts, but no more than usual) and open up a few sections to, as he puts it, 'see what's going on under the hood'. Once he's finished, he steps away to start analysing his results and the Asset has to fight to keep from staring after him in surprise because… because that had probably been the least painful check-up he's ever had.
He's not about to question it though and he follows his handler out of the room as soon as he's finished talking to Stark. The pain in his shoulder hums quietly in the back of his mind as he enters the elevator and he's not sorry to get as far away from this place as possible.
AN: So a lot happened in this chapter.
I was very interested in Bucky perspective on the interactions between Sam, Steve and Clint. He saw a lot more significance in the exchanging of ice cream than any of them probably intended. (Can you imagine if Steve hadn't given Sam the ice cream first?)
Also I thought that Clint would try to reassure Bucky a little. Bucky isn't ready to think about his responsibility and Hydra's orders, and Clint knows that, but I think he would still feel for Bucky.
And then of course, Bucky had a stressful check up with Tony, poor guy...
