"I have to do some paperwork," his handler tells him as they return to his room, before pausing in the entryway for a second and seemingly scanning him with is eyes, his mouth half-open. He looks away and his lips press together in silence for a moment before his fists clench and he steps further into the room.
Anxiety swirls in the Asset's stomach as he watches his handler head to his room, and he remains standing uncertainly by the door, trying to analyse the situation. He'd thought that his handler hadn't noticed his malfunctions earlier today, but maybe he had. His handler is probably disappointed then, that his asset is so defective now— but he doesn't know how to be a good asset without regular maintenance and he still doesn't know all the rules yet—
His anxious train of thought gets cut off as his handler reappears, exiting his room with a stack of paper and files in his arms. "You can come sit," he says simply as he takes his own seat on the couch. The Asset eyes him for a second but complies, going over to sit on the other end of the couch and watching as his handler sets his files down between both of them and goes to open the first one.
"I don't have anything for you to do right now," he says, sounding almost regretful as he pulls the file into his lap and clicks open his pen. He gestures briefly to the bookshelf near the TV, opposite to the pile of bedding. "You can read those though, if you want."
The Asset flickers his eyes over to the bookshelf as his handler begins his paperwork, and he isn't quite sure what to do. He very rarely reads anything besides mission reports, and the books on his handler's shelf don't look mission related at all.
He glances back over to his handler, whose brow is now furled in concentration as he scans his files. Something about that look feels intimately familiar, though he's not sure why, and he decides to simply sit back and wait for his next orders. It's nice enough to just be able to sit after his stressful check-up, and his handler doesn't seem to mind that he doesn't go over to read the books.
The sound of rustling paper and scribbling pens fills the air for a while before his handler speaks up again, never taking his eyes off of his current file. "JARVIS can you put on my music please?"
"Certainly Captain," JARVIS replies, and the Asset relaxes even further as soft music begins to filter into the room. It doesn't quite sound like anything he's heard in passing on his missions before, but at the same time he almost feels like humming along (he doesn't, but he's left wondering where he could have picked that up from.)
oOo
For supper, his handler takes them back to the common room, and they find Dr Banner there as well. He's making his own food and the smell of it actually makes the Asset's mouth water as he follows his handler into the kitchen. He's not used to being around anything but his own rations when off mission, so it feels almost strange to see other people eating and preparing food so casually.
He's distracted away from Banner's food when he notices his handler tensing up at the freezer again, and he narrows his eyes slightly at the sight, making a mental note to keep an eye on that. Something about it is important.
His handler makes their dinner and their routine continues as usual until about halfway through doing dishes, when his handler abruptly asks JARVIS to call Wilson down to the common room.
"Staff Sergeant Wilson will be down momentarily," JARVIS replies, and the Asset is left to wonder what his handler could want, and whether Wilson had done anything wrong.
He probably hasn't, he eventually decides as he dries a bowl, theorizing that since Wilson is still getting integrated into the team, it's likely his handler simply wants to help facilitate that.
Wilson complies swiftly to Handler-Rogers request, arriving just as they finish dishes and throwing an amused look heavenward. "I told you to call me Sam," he tells JARVIS ruefully, prompting a small smile from his handler.
"Indeed Sam," is all JARVIS says, but the Asset gets the sudden impression of a disapproving school teacher looking down in exasperation at his rowdy children. He blinks and the image is gone, and his handler is looking at him.
"Wait in the kitchen with Bruce please," he says, and he accepts the order, nodding along with Banner as his handler and Wilson go over towards the living room. His ears are probably sensitive enough to pick up parts of their conversation if he tried, but he attempts to ignore them, instead turning to watch Banner as he packs away his leftover food.
Banner opens the fridge without hesitation, and he's left wondering if that is something only his handler has a problem with, and if so, why? He's distracted from that thought though, once Banner starts gathering up his dishes and… putting them… He narrows his eyes and tries not to move his head as he watches Banner open up… some sort of metal cupboard, with what looks like racks of dirty dishes inside.
He stares as Banner rolls the bottom rack out and begins trying to fit his own dishes in among the rest. The racks are rather full, so it takes some work, and once he's done, he pushes them back inside and grabs a small, square block of something out from under the sink. He fits the colourful cube into a little slot in the door and lifts it up, stepping away as it latches closed.
There are buttons on the outside of the 'cupboard' door, and he pushes the one marked 'start' and the next second a dull rushing noise begins to fill the air between them, seeming to come from the strange cupboard.
He's so entranced by the whole process that he doesn't realise how obvious with his attention he's being, and his eyes widen slightly as the next second, Banner looks up and catches his eye. He shrinks back and hunches his shoulders defensively, desperately hoping that Banner doesn't mind being watched. No one had said anything to make him think that that might be a rule, but maybe the strange cupboard isn't for him to know about since his handler hadn't shown it to him yet and now Banner is going to have to report him—
Banner's eyes dart between him and the cupboard a few times before rubbing a hand over his mouth and shifting a little on his feet. "I guess… I guess you might not know what a dishwasher is," he says a little uncertainly, and the Asset sweeps his eyes over the cupboard again, turning the word over in his head. A dishwasher? Hadn't Barton mentioned those before?
"Negative," he replies finally, his throat almost closing up before he manages to get the word out. Banner doesn't seem to mind though, and he just shrugs, looking down as he takes off his glasses and begins to wipe them with the edge of his shirt.
"I don't think Steve uses them much," he says, shuffling his feet a little and replacing his glasses. "I think he said they were too loud for him once."
Right, he realises suddenly, his eyes widening as knowledge he hadn't known he had floods his brain. The serum made his ears real sensitive so he can hear real well, but we gotta be careful 'round crowds, and with grenades 'coz he sometimes gets disorientated after those—
He almost jerks as he becomes aware of his handler coming up by his side and he can't help glancing up at his ears as he approaches, the newfound information buzzing in the back of his mind in a way that makes him think he hadn't read any of it in a debriefing packet before.
He stays quiet as his handler says goodbye to Banner and Wilson before turning to lead him back to their room, the sound of the dishwasher following them all the way to the elevator.
Back in the room, his handler tells him that he can make up his bed again before he asks JARVIS to order a few clothes and things for him. It feels a little weird to be privy to his handler's decisions on his part, but it's comforting to know that his handler is taking his job seriously, even if his orders are a little confusing sometimes.
His handler leaves his door half-open again as he enters his room, but he leaves the light off, which makes him wonder if he's going to bed already. He sits on the couch, looking towards the door for a moment, before sweeping his eyes around the room. It's evening, so he could technically go to bed now, but he's pretty sure that he'll wake up too early tomorrow if he does.
His eyes land on the bookshelf and he's busy wondering if his handler's offer for the books had been a one-time chance or not, when his ears catch onto the faint sounds of talking coming from his handler's room.
He whips his head around and tenses at the unknown sound, instinctively sliding off the couch and beginning to half-crawl, half-walk his way over to his weapons cache, his movements smooth and deathly silent. In the back of his mind he knows his handler had said that JARVIS monitors the tower and that he won't need to worry about security threats, but someone is in his handler's room and he needs to keep him safe. That is Important.
He pulls out a small knife from his pile and clutches it carefully in his hand as he stands up and edges over to his handler's doorway, his ears straining to hear the faint noises from inside.
"Re-Experiencing, Hyperarousal, Feeling worse about yourself or the world, and Avoidance are the four types of symptoms people with PTSD have," a male voice says and he pauses confused. The voice continues on to explain the four symptoms and he leans his shoulder against the wall as he listens, gradually coming to recognise the tinny sound quality of a video being played.
A video.
His handler is watching a video and he'd almost burst inside – with a knife – outside of orders. He breathes in quietly, his hand clenching around his knife as he closes his eyes. He can only hope that his handler hadn't heard him moving around because arming himself is definitely not allowed. Of course, even if his handler hadn't heard him, JARVIS can still report him and then his handler will have to punish him even though he hadn't been trying to disobey, he'd been trying to protect his handler, he's not trying to be bad—
"If you recognize these symptoms of PTSD in yourself, or someone you love," the video cuts into his thoughts and he brings his free hand up to rub at his eyes. "Don't wait. See your doctor to find out if it could be PTSD."
He edges away a little as the video finishes, sliding down the wall like he had the previous night and resting his arm across his knees, the knife slack in his hand as he listens to his handler click on another video.
He's still awake when his handler finally goes to sleep, and he stares ahead into the darkened room, thinking over the things he'd overheard. His eyes flick up to the ceiling for a second and he licks his lips before he pulls himself up from the floor and makes his way back to his bed.
The videos his handler had been watching turns over in his mind as he puts his knife away and he can't help wondering why this 'PTSD' is so important to him. If the video had explained the term, he'd missed it, so he still isn't quite sure what it means exactly, let alone why his handler had been researching it.
He glances at the ceiling again as he goes to sit on the couch and bites his lip.
"If you require assistance with something," his handler had said. "Ask JARVIS and he will help you."
He chews on his lip as he thinks and glances over at his handler's door as if to make sure he's still sleeping and won't be able to hear him. Handler-Rogers had said to ask JARVIS for help, so… so logically he should be able to ask JARVIS about this without getting in trouble.
And, he reasons to himself. If this is important to my handler, then it is probably important to my mission too. He should definitely know about it, if it's important to the mission.
Still, it's hard to work up the courage to say the actual words.
He risks another glance at his handler's room and the doorway remains as dark as ever, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times. He clears his throat quietly and balls up a fist in the blanket under him, the world blurring slightly as he sucks in a small breath. "JARVIS?"
"Yes, Sergeant Barnes?" He jumps even though JARVIS' voice is softer than usual, and his throat closes up for a second as his fist tightens on the blanket.
He opens and closes his mouth a few more times before pressing his lips together and massaging the blanket between his fingers. "JARVIS," he tries again, his voice raspier than he wants. His breath stutters as he tries to come up with the correct sentence structure and he grits his teeth. "PTSD definition, required," he manages finally, his shoulders hunching as he speaks.
"Certainly, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS responds, his voice as hushed as before, which he appreciates since his handler is less likely to overhear that way. "PTSD is commonly defined as a psychological reaction occurring after experiencing a highly stressful event – such as wartime combat, physical violence, or a natural disaster," JARVIS explains. "It is usually characterized by depression, anxiety, flashbacks, recurrent nightmares, and avoidance of reminders of the event."
He blinks, not sure exactly what he had been expecting, part of him simply surprised that JARVIS had answered his question at all.
"PTSD stands for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," JARVIS continues. "However, you may possibly know it as Shell-Shock, or Combat-Fatigue."
He nods a little numbly because part of him is sure he's never come across those terms before, but the words seem to poke at something, even if he isn't exactly sure what. "Thank you, JARVIS," he manages, filing away the information he'd been given and blinking tiredly as his hand relaxes on his blanket.
"You are most welcome Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS replies.
That night, after he falls asleep, he dreams.
He doesn't dream often. Usually it's a sign that he's gone too long without maintenance, but now he supposes, it might be unavoidable.
He's back in the Vault, except it's seemingly empty, the sound of his own breathing and movement the only things breaking the stillness around him. He's in the training room, the harsh yellow light shining down on him as he works at reassembling his gun.
He's hand slips and he fumbles because the pieces don't seem to want to go together no matter how many different ways he tries to reconfigure them, and he scowls, readjusting his grip to try again.
A single footstep behind him is all the warning he gets before a hand falls on his shoulder and he whips around, his heart leaping into his throat as he tries to hold up his useless gun.
Behind him is his handler (except he has another name, something else besides Handler-Rogers that he can't remember) and his eyes are deep and sorrowful as he stares him down.
"You shouldn't be here," he says quietly, and the Asset stares at him uncomprehendingly. His handler shakes his head and lifts up his other hand so that he's holding onto both his shoulders, his eyes achingly sad. "You shouldn't be here," he says again, and for some reason the Asset can feel his hands on both his flesh and metal arm. "You need to go home."
Time seems to freeze between them as his handler stares into his eyes and the Asset flicks his gaze over him, his mouth opening slowly as his hands clutch defensively at his gun.
'What do you mean?' He wants to ask, the words catching and dying in his throat. 'I don't understand—'
A sudden noise in the doorway, like a boot turning sharply in dirt, makes them both turn and look and then—
He blinks awake, tense and confused, his eyes focusing to stare at the time on the clock. It's four in the morning. His handler is still sleeping.
oOo
His days drift into a strange but consistent routine in the Avengers tower, and while he isn't privy to all the their plans, he knows that they're preparing themselves for their upcoming fight against Hydra. Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton leave for a few days to neutralize a few smaller bases closer to home and Stark begins his upgrades of Wilson's jetpack.
He also apparently needs to see him again.
He hadn't been expecting to have to go in for more maintenance so soon after his last round, but a few day later he finds himself back in the elevator with his handler, his stomach tense and his shoulders rigid as he watches the numbers on the wall tick downwards towards the basement. The doors ding open and he steps out after his handler, flicking he's eyes over the room in a perimeter sweep before pausing briefly at the unexpected presence of Dr Banner beside Stark.
"Hi Bucky," Banner greets him, his hands fidgeting together. The Asset darts his eyes over to him, his anxiety momentarily forgotten at the sound of that name again. His handler had been using it around him more and more since he'd come to the tower, but he's pretty sure Banner is the first of the Avengers to call him by it.
He… he likes it. He doesn't know exactly why no one is calling him by his proper title, but he doesn't really mind it either.
"Bruce and Tony want to develop a medicine for you," his handler speaks up and he glances over at him. "It'll help your arm not hurt as much."
Banner nods along with his handler and he motions him towards a stool and table. Stark shifts away from him as he approaches and rubs his arms. "You probably don't need me for this part Bruce," he says, his eyes skating up and away as he talks.
Banner nods and Stark moves further away to the other side of the room where he has several projections of Wilson's jetpack set up. Behind him, his handler sits down at a nearby table and the Asset is left to wonder uneasily at the turn of events. He has no idea what to expect from this session. Hydra had tried a few times to develop something that could knock him out effectively, but he doesn't think he's ever gotten pain medication before.
He can't help tensing as he watches Banner fiddle with the computer in front of him, pulling up several screens of text that are too small for him to read. "Okay." Banner looks up at him and comes over to sit on a stool in front of him (and somehow that small gesture helps ease some of the tension building up in his stomach.) "Do you know what pain medication is?"
He nods his head because the term seems rather self-explanatory.
"Have you ever taken any before?" Banner asks him, and he shakes his head. "Okay," he shifts a little in his chair and crosses his legs, clasping his hands in his lap. "Because your left arm is much heavier than your right, your body is having to adapt in ways it isn't used to in order to function," he starts and the Asset nods along as he speaks.
Banner reaches for a tablet laying on the table and onlines it to show him a basic 3D rendering of a body, the left arm fitted with a prosthetic like his own. "This causes muscle and joint tension in your shoulder and back," he explains as those areas light up in red on the screen. "And that results in chronic pain on your part."
He eyes the 3D images and nods slowly. He's never had his maintenance explained to him like this before, and although he still feels apprehensive about the whole thing, he finds he does breathe a little easier as he sits and waits for whatever is coming next.
"Untreated chronic pain can lead to complications beyond just physical symptoms," Banner continues, putting the tablet down. "It can trigger new or worsened depression, anxiety and difficulty sleeping." He adjusts his glasses a little and re-clasps his hands. "Chronic pain can also make it more difficult to keep up at work, manage tasks at home and attend social gatherings," he explains. "So, it's important for us to begin treating it."
The Asset nods and relaxes a little as he begins to understand what's going on. He hadn't realised that the pain in his shoulder counted as chronic pain, or that chronic pain is a bad thing. But if it's likely to interfere with his mission, he can understand why the Avengers and his handler would want to do something about it. (He doesn't really understand why Hydra had never thought about it before, but maybe they had, and he just doesn't remember.)
"We already have some groundwork done on the medication side," Banner says, gesturing to the text screens behind him. "We found something that works for Steve, but since his serum is a little different than yours, we'll still have to try out a few things before we get it exactly right."
They won't be developing a brand-new medication. That would be a lot of work and would require a lot of testing and they wouldn't be able to predict the side effects very well. Instead they will be taking an existing pain med and modify it a little to work with his serum.
"Today I will just take some blood," Banner says. "We need to see how your serum is different from Steve's before we do anything else."
He nods and tries not to tense too much as Doctor Banner starts putting on gloves and laying out his equipment. He's had his blood taken before, it's not even that painful if the technician is paying attention— if he holds still it will be fine.
"Okay," Banner offers him a small smile as he rolls his chair closer and holds up a cotton swab. "I just need to clean your arm first," he says, and the Asset holds out his right arm, glad that his sleeve is short enough that it won't get in the way.
After his arm is clean and dry, Banner reaches over to grab a blood pressure cuff. "I need to put this around your arm," he says, and the Asset blinks a little at the unexpected explanation.
Banner leans over and fits the cuff around his arm, his hands slow and gentle as he works, and the Asset finds himself breathing a little easier at the doctor's unrushed method.
"Now I'm going to apply some pressure," he warns, pumping the cuff a few times and the Asset can feel the restricted blood flow almost immediately. Doctor Banner feels the vein in his arm for a second before finally reaching over to grab his needle. "You can look away if you want," he says as he removes the packaging and the Asset lifts his eyes up to stare resolutely at the back wall, breathing in quietly through his nose as the needle goes in.
A minute or so later and it's over and Doctor Banner's fingers press a square of gauze against his inner elbow. "Can you push on this please?" He asks, and the Asset moves his left arm up to press down as Doctor Banner gathers up his filled vials and grabs some dressings.
"You'll probably be like Steve and heal soon enough," he says as he begins to bandage his arm. "But I'll wrap it anyways," he shoots Handler-Rogers a pointed look and his handler ducks his head, his mouth quirking upwards slightly. The Asset flicks his eyes between the two, trying to figure out what subtext he seems to be missing out on—
—just 'coz ya heal fast doesn't mean you can go without medical treatment St-," he snaps exasperatedly. "Shut up and let M-ta take a look—
"Bucky?" He flinches and Banner and his handler are both giving him looks of concern. "Are you alright?" Banner asks and his pulse speeds up in response.
They can't know he malfunctioned. Malfunctioning is bad—
"Affirmative," he replies tightly, his shoulders tensing as he speaks, and he hopes desperately that he hasn't messed up too badly. He needs to be a good asset, he knows this, but if he keeps malfunctioning then they might decide to bring back his wiping protocols and he doesn't want that.
Banner shares a silent look with his handler but offers him a small smile. "Okay," he says gently, easing back on his stool and taking off his gloves. "If that's all then, I'll call you back when I have something for you."
His handler nods, standing up, and the Asset follows immediately. Relieved that he'd somehow avoided punishment for the time being.
oOo
Banner continues to call them back to the lab periodically, and most of the time his handler accompanies him, usually sitting quietly out of the way while Banner explains the different medicines he's trying and their possible side-effects. Stark is usually in the room too, although he mostly keeps away.
"You don't really need me for this part anyway," is all he says. "I'm mostly the 'pay to develop it' part."
Some of the drugs Banner tries don't really seem to do anything, and honestly, he's not even sure what it would be like for his arm to not be in pain. (But then one time, his shoulder just… doesn't… hurt, for about an hour and he'd had to fight the urge to poke at it because… he can't remember it ever feeling like that before.) After that, he can't help wondering if that is how people actually feel all the time.
Doctor Banner smiles when he hears the news and his handler's face lights up (which causes something light and warm to curl up in his chest) and after that they'd moved on to trying to find the right dose to off-set the effects of his serum.
He gets used to the multitude of sessions with Banner and they no longer cause him anxiety every time. He's handler leaves with Wilson during one of his sessions though, and he spends the whole time slightly tense and vaguely distracted as he keeps an ear out for the sound of the elevator marking his handler's return. Luckily, Banner doesn't report his distracted behavior and his handler returns within an hour, looking tired but unharmed.
He should have known that that would only be the precursor to something bigger though, because about a week later, he's standing in the common room, his face determinedly blank as his handler fiddles with the leather cuffs of his jacket.
"I'll be back in about an hour," he says. "Maybe a little more." He gestures to Barton standing off to the side and runs a hand through his hair. "Clint will stay with you," he says, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. "He— you…" He presses his lips together for a second and shoves his hands into his coat pockets. "Defer to Clint for instruction while I'm gone," he says finally, his face carefully blank.
"Confirmed," he replies, his hands clenching behind his back. Logically, he knows he's been away from his handlers before, he's conducted whole missions without them— he's even been away from Handler-Rogers before when he'd been housed at the Vault, but now…
Now he swallows carefully and tries not to make it too obvious how much he doesn't want his handler to walk out that door.
He does anyways and leaves him standing there, alone with Agent Barton.
AN: In the companion story, someone commented about Bucky hearing Steve's video, and he did! He was ALSO able to ask JARVIS something, so that's good.
Also, I really loved Bruce's interactions with Bucky. You know it's been a long time since anyone from the medical profession has bothered to explain to Bucky what's happening to him.
Next up is Bucky alone with Clint!
