The realisation leaves him shaken.
He used to call his handler by his name. He never uses his handlers' first name. He doesn't even call the Avengers by their first names, and while the Avengers often call his handler 'Steve', he'd never thought— he'd never thought it was his place to do the same.
But he had. At one point on his missions with his handler he had called him Steve.
And his handler had called him Bucky.
He sits there on the floor for a while, mulling over his recent discovery, until a slight noise from his handler's bedroom shocks him out of it. He flinches and snaps the journal closed, his heart pounding as he freezes, his ears straining for the sound of his approaching handler.
After a few moments it becomes clear that no one is actually coming and he relaxes a little, his shoulders coming down from around his ears as he turns his eyes curiously towards his handler's room. The door is half-open as usual and after a few seconds he hears the sound of a creaking bed from beyond it.
He sits up, coming into a crouch as he sets his journal and pen aside, his eyes trained on the darkened doorway. The sound of rustling sheets greets him and the bed creaks again as he slowly realises that his handler must be tossing and turning in his sleep.
He sits still and listens as the quiet sounds of restless sleeping continues for a while, intercut ever once and a while by the shallow but rapid breathing of his handler. The sound makes his skin crawl and he has to fight to keep himself from standing up and marching to his handler's room. The breathing is Important. And it's difficult to sit still at the sound of his handler's laboured breaths. He bites his cheek and pushes his shoulders back into the wall behind him. He's already gone into his handler's room once without permission, going in now would be a terrible plan—
His internal argument gets cut off and his head jerks up as the sounds from his handler's bedroom change. The breathing is more regulated now, but the bed creaks and he swears he can hear the sound of soft footsteps under the louder sound of rustling blankets. He hardly dares breathe as the noise quiets and he's left to wonder at what just happened. Anxiety crawls up and down his shoulders and he grits his teeth before finally rocking to his feet, silently edging towards the door.
He shouldn't disturb his handler but… but it's is fine, he doesn't have to go in. The door is half-open so he can just peek in quietly, make sure his handler is alright and then go back to bed, since that's what he's supposed to be doing.
He reaches the doorway and swallows nervously, pressing his back against the wall before carefully leaning his head so that he can see inside. It's dark, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but once they do, he has to swallow down a fresh wave of panic when he sees his handler's rumpled and distinctly empty bed.
A second later and he catches sight of a blond patch of hair curled up amid a pile of blankets on the floor by the bed, and his panic simmers down into confusion. He stares uncomprehendingly at what can only be his handler sleeping on the floor. His eyes dart back and forth between Handler-Rogers and the bed, trying to understand what he's seeing. From the sounds of it, his handler had been having trouble sleeping, but he has no clue why sleeping on the floor would be better.
But Handler-Rogers' breathing has gotten slower and steadier, so he inches away slowly, heading back to were he'd left his journal and pen before picking them up and slipping them back into his dresser. It's none of his business where his handler decides to go to sleep, especially when he should be sleeping himself.
He walks over to sink back down onto the couch and tries not to think about it too hard.
oOo
His training with the Avengers continues and Barton makes good on his promise to teach him archery. The Asset honestly doesn't quite understand why he needs to learn archery (he doesn't particularly understand why Barton uses archery in the first place either, since guns work just fine in his opinion.) But the weapons training is the closest to any type of training he's familiar with, so he's determined to do well at it.
"Okay," Barton says, looking a lot more excited to be teaching him than the Asset had been expecting. Usually agents don't like working with him outside of missions. "So you've never done this before, right?" Barton confirms. The Asset nods his head and Barton doesn't seem upset by his lack of knowledge. "We'll start slow," he promises. "Although I'm sure you'll pick it up pretty fast."
The Asset tries not to panic at the assumption, his mind spiralling because if he doesn't pick it up quickly then Barton might refuse to train him anymore and then he would fail his mission—
"So, first things first," Barton says, cutting into his internal conflict. "Safety is our number one priority." The Asset blinks at him a little because as far as he can remember, safety has never been an issue before. Nevertheless, Barton points at a white line by their feet, running from one wall to the other, the targets sitting on the other side.
"To shoot we will be putting one foot over this line," Barton explains. "But when the range is open, it is important to never go any further. When I close the range then we can go across and collect our arrows."
The Asset nods his understanding and Barton goes on to explain a few other common sense things like 'don't point your loaded bow at people' and 'if you drop an arrow over the line and can't reach it without moving your feet, then you have to leave it until the range is closed.'
After the safety talk, Barton finally leads them over to a rack of different sized bows by the wall. "I know with your metal arm you could probably draw all of these," he rambles as he explains the different draw strengths of the bows. "And with your serum you probably won't have a problem with your right hand so… do you know which hand you'd like to use first?"
The Asset opens his mouth and stills, his eyes widening slightly as he stares blankly at Barton, trying to figure out the answer to his question. He had been planning to choose his right hand. He can shoot with both hands but Hydra had mostly trained him with his right hand so that's the one he goes with more often but—
— he growls slightly as ink smudges over his paper and the side of his hand and he scowls, throwing down his fountain pen. "These things aren't designed for left-handers," he complains, looking across the table to where Steve is working through his own copybook, his friend much further along and half as messy.
"That's why the teacher wants you to use your right hand," Steve replies distractedly, his head bowed over his work.
He grumbles half-heartedly and picks up the pen in his right hand, the foreign feel annoying and awkward. "I wish I could just do it in pencil," he replies, glaring down at the page in front of him. "It's not my fault pens are stupid—
"Bucky?"
He flinches away, his heartrate spiking before Barton raises his hands placatingly. "Hey, it's okay," he says gently, taking a step back. "Take your time, that's fine." He gives him a small smile. "What hand do you want to use?"
The Asset looks back down at the bows and swallows, his hands flexing unconsciously at his sides. "…Left," he decides, flicking his eyes up to Barton.
Barton's smile widens and he steps closer to the bows while still managing not to crowd him. "Great," he says. "That just means you'll string your arrow on the other side from me." He picks up a bow and holds it out. "Try this one for now," he says. "We'll practice both hands and different draw strengths later."
He accepts the bow with his left hand and silently follows Barton back to the shooting range. Barton grabs two standing quivers with about six arrows in each, the fletching blue for one, and purple for the other and he sets the blue ones in front of him and keeps the purple ones for himself.
"So, let's start with stance," Barton says, turning towards him. "You know martial arts right? Can you go into a front stance?"
The Asset complies, setting one foot in front of the other and bending his knee in a semi-lunge. Barton flicks his eyes over him and nods.
"Good," he says, and the Asset relaxes a little at the praise. "Okay," Barton readies his bow – currently without an arrow – and steps a little closer. "I'll do it right-handed first, so you can see," he says. "If you're confused then I can do it left-handed." He sets his left foot over the line and falls back into his stance, drawing up his bow and pulling the string back to his cheekbone. "The important part is to keep your shoulders down and open," he says after a moment, relaxing out of the stance and turning to him. "Now you try."
The Asset mirrors him, placing his right foot over the line and raising his bow. The string has more resistance than he's expecting, but it isn't too difficult for him to pull it back to his cheek like Barton. Barton scans his stance for a moment before carefully setting his bow down.
"Is it okay if I fix something?" He asks, raising his hands. "It's often easier to show than to tell."
The Asset eyes him for a moment before nodding slowly, barely breathing as Barton comes closer. "I'm just going to touch your shoulders for a moment," he warns, his movements slow and choreographed. His fingers brush over his shoulders and the Asset tries not to shiver, straightening instinctively as Barton guides him into a better stance.
"There," Barton steps back and the Asset breathes in, his heart pounding faster than he'd like. The touch of Barton's hands seems to linger on his shoulders and he's not exactly sure how he feels about it. But, the stance feels more natural now, and Barton hadn't hurt him at all while touching him.
Barton has him practice drawing the bow without an arrow a few more times before he's satisfied. "Nice," he says after a moment. "Alright, we can probably grab an arrow now—" He cuts himself off abruptly and slaps a hand to his forehead. "Oh geez," he moans, dragging his hand down his face. The Asset freezes and watches as Barton shrugs his shoulders sheepishly. "Can't believe I forgot again," he mumbles half to himself. "Okay." He looks up and flashes him a light smile. "Guess I got a little carried away," he says. "We need to put on some protection before we do anything else."
Confused but amiable, the Asset sets his bow down and follows Barton back to the equipment rack, standing to the side as the agent crouches down to pull out a bin filled with varying lengths of fabric and straps. He's not exactly sure what they are, or why he would need 'protection' for training (he can't remember ever needing it before) but Barton seems to think it is important, so he will comply.
"These are armguards," Barton explains as he selects one and begins strapping it to the inside of his left arm. "They help protect you from getting hit by the bow string." He stands and holds out another armguard. "You'll want to put it on your right arm," he says.
The Asset nods silently and attempts to strap on the guard like he had seen Barton do. It's finicky, since he has to both hold on the guard and strap it on with one hand and he can feel his cheeks heating slightly as he struggles.
"Here." His breath stalls as Barton reaches for him, and he can't help flinching a little, worried that he'd worn through the Avengers' patience. Barton stills and scans him for a second. "It's fine," he says gently, his eyes strangely soft. "I'm just going to help you, alright?"
The Asset nods shakily and holds as still as possible as Barton approaches again, his hands as gentle as last time as he straightens the guard and tightens the straps. "There," he says, giving his arm one final pat and looking down at the bin. "I also have finger guards," he says, adjusting his armguard a little and motioning for the Asset to follow him back to the range. "They're nice if you're planning to practice for a long time." He wiggles his fingers as he walks, and grins. "Blisters suck." He shrugs. "We probably won't need them today though," he explains as he reaches down for his bow and the Asset copies him. "Today we'll just work on the basics."
Barton spends the next several minutes showing him how to notch his arrow and aim. "Make sure not to hold onto the end of the arrow with your fingers," he says, as they both stand with their bows drawn. "Just let it rest gently on top of your bottom finger and you should be able to let go easily." He lets his arrow fly and the Asset watches as it lands in the exact center of the target.
"You're turn." Barton turns to him and the Asset focuses back on the target in front of him. It's about 40 feet away from him, which isn't drastically far, but he's never shot an arrow before, so he has no idea how he's going to do on this.
He wants to do well.
He aims as well as he can, and lets the arrow go. He immediately understands the need for an arm guard as the bow string slaps against his arm and his arrow arks through the air. It lands with a solid thunk in the top right-hand corner of the target, just barely even touching the outer rings.
He drops his arm and scowls, unimpressed by his own performance. Barton shifts beside him and he freezes, darting his eyes back to his trainer, expecting to see a stormy cloud of disappointment at his failure.
Instead, Barton grins at him, his face lighting up. "Good job," he says, and the Asset stares at him. "Hitting the bag on the first try," Barton continues. "Pretty impressive."
The Asset can feel his brow furling at Barton's behaviour, and he doesn't know how to react to the praise. He hadn't thought he'd done well (he'd fully expected to be scolded), but here Barton is complimenting him.
He shakes his head. Maybe the Avengers are just as weird as his handler.
Either way, Barton doesn't seem inclined to get mad at him, instead gesturing back to the quiver in front of them. "Let's go again," he says.
The Asset nods stiffly and reaches for his next arrow, notching it and aiming as well as he can. His heart begins to pound in his chest worse than last time and he finds it hard to concentrate beyond the need for him to succeed. He has to get this right. He's the asset—
He lets go and hardly feels the thwack of the string against his arm as his arrow flies and— and misses the target entirely. He stills, barely breathing, his eyes wide as he stares, his heart in his throat. This cannot be good; this is even worse than before—
"That's okay," Barton cuts in and the Asset jerks, darting his eyes over to his trainer. Barton has his own arrow notched and aimed, focused mostly on the target in front of him. "Just try again, you'll get better as you practice."
The Asset flicks his eyes carefully over him before slowly turning back to his quiver and grabbing another arrow, notching it determinedly. He will get better.
They continue like that for a while, Barton closing the range every once and a while so that they can collect their arrows (the Asset can't help being a little embarrassed that Barton can simply pull his own arrows out of the target while he has to go searching for half of his). By the end of it, the majority of his arrows at least hit the target, even if they're not as centered as he would like.
"Okay," Barton says eventually, once they've completed their most recent round. "Let's take a break."
The Asset looks over at him, his chest tightening with sudden nerves. His fingers and bow arm are tingling thanks to his bow string and he's a little winded after everything but he'd thought that he'd been performing optimally, he doesn't need to stop, he can still keep going and get better—
"I am still operational," he protests without thinking and Barton pauses in running a hand through his hair, his eyes focused towards him. The Asset swallows uneasily and fights to keep from taking a step back, aware that he's just broken several rules.
Barton's face is almost unreadable, but there's something… tired in his eyes when he drops his hand. "I know," he says quietly, his gaze intense. "But, it's important to take breaks." He scans him for a second and rolls his shoulders. "No one expects you to get good at this in one day," he says. "Taking breaks helps your body rest so you can learn next time."
The Asset can feel his brow furling as he nods slowly, taking special note of the new directive. He doesn't think that breaks had really been a thing with Hydra, but apparently things are different now. Barton offers him a small smile and moves on to help him put away the equipment, his voice and motions just as patient as before.
oOo
The Target is alone in his bed, his face slack with sleep, and the Asset grips his knife tighter in his hand as he creeps forward. Normally he would prefer a gun, since distance means safety and an easier extraction, but Hydra wants the target to die quietly and a gun – even one with a suppressor – will draw too much attention.
The mission will still be pretty simple though, the Target is asleep and doesn't need to wake up ever again if the Asset has anything to do with it. He swallows behind his mask and takes another step forward, careful in case the floor creaks. Just a few more feet and then—
"Dad?"
He freezes as the door behind him is pushed open and the sound of quiet feet fill his ears. There shouldn't be anyone else in the house— the intel had said he lived alone—
He pulls back into the shadows, desperate not to be seen. Nobody can know he's here, nobody can see him, if he's seen—
There's nowhere to hide though, and his heart pounds as he hears the child – a small girl, maybe eight – suck in a breath, her eyes widening as she catches sight of him.
"H-hello?" She questions, drawing back.
In bed, the Target stirs and the Asset panics, clenching his hand around his knife as he darts towards the girl. The Target cannot wake up, he cannot be seen—
He jerks awake, his teeth clenched tight as he tries to breathe in silently and avoid waking his handler. His hand shakes slightly as he runs it through his hair and sits up slowly. The back of his shirt feels slightly damp and he breathes in carefully, hunching slightly as he rubs a hand over his eyes.
After a few moments his heartrate begins to calm down and he stands up shakily to make his way to his dresser. He pulls out his journal and shuffles to the window, using the streetlight to guide him as he sits down next to the wall.
He breathes out and flips the book open to where he's divided off a section, the corner folded down so he can find it. After receiving his journal from Romanoff, he'd quickly decided to write down his dreams and other malfunctions, hoping that the process would help him understand what he's seeing. So far, his handler has yet to notice him and his journal, which is something of a relief. He's pretty sure the journal wouldn't be a problem but… he's not willing to risk it yet.
He breathes in again and clenches his teeth as he thinks back over his dream and how the girl's eyes had widened as he'd leapt for her. His hand shakes slightly as he begins to write.
Dreams that are possible memories.
He scribbles down what he can remember from the dream and closes the book, squeezing his eyes shut. He can't remember if he'd killed the girl, but— but he knows… deep down he knows that if he had wanted to complete his mission then…
He knows, he knows that he's supposed to complete whatever mission he's given and that his work is important and necessary but…
But… part of him wishes that he hadn't had to— she was just a kid—
A noise from his handler's room jerks him out of his thoughts and he glances over to hear the increasingly familiar sounds of his handler's restless sleep. A knot forms in his stomach as he listens and his hands tighten over his journal.
After a few minutes the tossing and turning stops, so that only the sound of his handler's deep breathing reaches his ears, and then, a louder rustling of blankets is heard as sheets are ripped from the bed. He waits a little longer until he's sure his handler is settled again, before going to check on him. Sure enough, his handler is curled up on the floor again, and he finds himself scowling at the sight.
He huffs and turns away, intent on trying to get some more sleep himself.
oOo
He has another session with Barton the next morning, and instead of continuing with his left hand like before, Barton has him restart with his right hand.
"It's good to know both," Barton explains, setting some water bottles down on a bench to the side. The Asset agrees and works on drawing the bow back with his opposite hand. It's a little easier now that he knows what he's doing, but it still feels unnatural. Barton joins him and they haven't gotten very far into their practice when the gym door sounds behind them and they both turn in surprise to see his handler enter.
Usually his handler goes off to do something else while he's training with the other Avengers, so for a second the Asset is concerned that he had done something wrong or that his handler needed him for something, but his handler waves away his concerns, his gaze tired and intense as he focuses down on his punching bags on the other side of the gym.
Barton shrugs next to him and they go back to practising, the sounds of his handler's work with the bags fading into a steady rhythm in the background.
The sound is familiar, like the last time he had trained with his handler, and the Asset finds himself relaxing slightly as he continues to fire his arrows. His aim is a little better now, only the odd arrow or two managing to miss the target and he can't help feeling a swell of pride at that, even if he still isn't hitting exactly on target.
Barton seems distracted though, an unhappy crease in his brow which grows deeper the longer they continue. "Let's take a break," he says finally, motioning him towards the collection of water bottles. The Asset approaches cautiously, uncertain as to whether or not Barton is disappointed in him. He hadn't been last time, and he's doing better now, but maybe Barton had changed his mind, maybe he isn't doing as good as he thought…
Barton's gaze isn't focused on him though, instead it's pinned on his handler, the bottle of water in his hand untouched. The Asset flicks his eyes between the two of them, noting the concern in Barton's face before turning back to analyse his handler fully.
Handler-Rogers is focused completely on the bag in front of him, his face tight and hard as he pounds on it, the steady rhythm of his fists echoing throughout the gym. Beside him, Barton's mouth twists as he reaches down to hand the Asset his own bottle.
The Asset accepts it easily, but like Barton, he finds he can't stop looking towards his handler. Barton grumbles something and takes a drink from his water and the Asset has a sudden memory of the last time he'd seen his handler working on the punching bags. The memory of his handler's scabbed knuckles makes him tense and he narrows his eyes as he watches his handler. Barton had said that it is important to take breaks and let the body rest, but his handler hadn't taken a break at all last time.
He doesn't seem inclined to take one now either.
Breaks are important though, if only to give his handler's body time to heal so that he doesn't hurt himself. Barton is looking at him and the Asset realises he hasn't opened his water yet. His hand moves to twist off the cap, but it stills as he's once again distracted by his handler as he throws a particularly loud strike against the punching bag.
"Oh for Pete's sake," Barton huffs and the Asset darts his eyes over to him. Barton nods his head towards Handler-Rogers and drinks his water pointedly. "I'd step in, but I doubt he'd listen to me."
The Asset looks down at his water and then back up at Barton. He doesn't see why his hander would listen to him either, but Barton is giving him a significant look over the top of his water and the sounds of his handler's workout is more grating than comforting now.
He straightens his shoulders and takes a step forward, his eyes focused on his handler. Barton doesn't stop him, and after a second, he takes another step, his water clenched determinedly in his hand. He makes it across the gym, his heart pounding almost as fast as his handler's punches and he stumbles to a stop a few feet from his handler, his throat flexing as he tries to figure out what to do next.
His handler steps back from the bag for a second, his chest heaving, and the collar of his shirt lined with sweat. He raises his hands for a moment before he finally seems to notice him, his body jolting away in surprise before he drops his hands, confusion in his eyes. The Asset stills, his whole brain suddenly remembering that his handler could very well disapprove of this whole venture. What is he thinking interrupting his handler without orders or prompting? There's no way this is appropriate—
"Do you need something?" His handler asks, his tone a lot less harsh than he'd been expecting.
He doesn't know how to respond, but he's not about to walk back to Barton with the water still in his hand, especially since he knows his handler will just keep going – and besides, he's already gone this far, it's not like he can walk away without some sort of explanation.
He sweeps his hand up and shoves the water out in front of himself in a desperate gesture, his heart pounding and his mind spinning. He has no protocols for this situation. His handler's brow furls but he accepts the water, beads of sweat dripping down his hairline. The Asset catches sight of the white bandages on his hands and thinks back to the last time he'd seen them, darkened red by unnecessary injuries.
"It's important. To take breaks," he recites haltingly as his handler takes the water. Internally, he shrinks away— a part of him horrified that he's trying to tell his handler what to do. Another part of him feels like glaring because Steve should know better by now the stupid punk—
"Yeah," his handler rasps, cutting into his train of thought before he can try to figure out what exactly had just happened. "You're right."
He can't help relaxing at his handler's agreement (It seems he's escaped punishment again) and he finds himself giving Handler-Rogers (…Steve?) a stiff, determined nod before spinning around and marching back to where Barton is waiting for him, his mind racing.
Barton grins wider than ever when he returns and offers him what's left of his own water bottle. "Good job," he says, as behind him, his handler steps away from the bags and finally sits down.
AN: I kind of like the idea that Bucky learned about breaks from Barton : )
Meanwhile Steve is having his mattress issues and Bucky has definitely noticed.
