After the encounter with the medium adults by the riverbank, the Asset decides he must change clothes to blend in.
He slowly and with practiced ease, switches out articles of clothing as he walks past a jacket on a chair, a shirt on an outside rack, a hat on a table. His combat pants blend well, but are tattered. He'll have to change those when he's able.
Blinding pain has him hunched in an alley.
A medium her.
"Sir?"
He doesn't respond. He isn't a handler. He isn't a sir.
"Uh…" there's a brief pause where the medium her speaks to the older him. "Captain Rogers?"
The voice spasms. He stands, looking at the two in front of him. And then the pain is back and the Asset hunches.
The man, a man that rattles the voice inside and makes his head pound says, "Captain? Is that really you? I thought… the train? Uh, Were you… On the plane with Sergeant Barnes?"
He can't answer. The Asset doesn't know the answer to that question.
"Stay right here. I'll be right back with help, okay?"
The two leave and the Asset only waits one second before bolting. He knows he'll be punished for this interaction. He shouldn't make it worse.
—-
The Asset knows when he's being followed.
The man. Not a man he's worked with. Not a handler. Lurks in the shadows. The Asset is annoyed at the man's incompetence.
After turning a corner, the Asset hauls himself up, silent and deft, onto a fire escape.
When the hunter follows his path, he leaps down, boots crushing down on shoulders, and snapping the man's legs under the pressure.
The man's scream is cut off as the Asset snaps his neck. He drags the body to a dumpster and deposits it there. His handlers will be pleased with his quick discretion.
Except his Handlers have not picked him up. He walks back into the shed and hears a beeping. He finds the tiny device and crushes it between his fingers. Another trespasser. Or perhaps the man he has already killed.
Staying here is no longer an option.
He needs maintenance. The pounding in his head should have subsided after the Asset removed the shrapnel. But it has not.
He decides to return to base himself. A move that will end in punishment. But he is unsure of his next move and the mission is no longer in the same location. He needs more instructions.
Find the mission. The voice says weakly.
The Asset ignores the voice. There will already be so many punishments for his actions so far. No need to add another.
—
He enters the bank and no one even throws a glance his way. He waits until the hallway is empty and slips toward the hidden elevator to the vault.
His thumbprint still allows him to gain access to the floor below. The Asset makes his way through the silent base. Things are strewn about and thrown as if they're had been a mass exodus.
Dread fills the Asset. What had happened here?
He walks towards his cell. It's empty and bare and locked. He can't even wait there.
He explores the vault with a freedom he's never had before. The Asset listens carefully, expecting a Handler to appear out of nowhere and punish him for doing things he's not supposed to. For not waiting for instructions.
But no one comes.
He walks back to his cell and lays down on the floor outside the bars.
He waits.
And he sleeps.
—
He opens his eyes and is surprised by the still empty vault. He walks to his cryo chamber. He knows how to turn it on. He knows he could store himself. They'd been training him to do it before the last mission. And he'd watched it a hundred times over.
But the voice growls. It snarls at him and even though it can't form coherent words, he understands its vehemence at the idea.
The Asset agrees with it.
Last resort.
He walks towards the supply closet. He's walked here many times with his Handler. Loaded with supplies and briefed for missions.
He starts grabbing anything he might need. Guns, knives, ammo, changes of clothes, protein bars and other rations. He takes more than he's usually allotted. The voice hums in contentment. The Asset growls at it to be quiet.
He grabs the documents box. ID's, passports, money from different countries. Things he's never allowed to touch on his own. But his face is on all the documents. All different names and identities that the Asset has had to assume to complete missions. And he needs them now.
His next self-assigned mission is to return to his old base. Siberia. Maybe they can provide him maintenance there.
He takes another risk.
He uses the shower facility to clean himself off and change into a fresh set of combat gear. More subtle this time. More of hidden combat gear than his suit for fighting.
Holsters hidden in his jacket and along his legs.
Knife sheaths around his hips, upper arms, and right in his boots.
He finds a bag big enough for the metal disk he stole from the mission.
He places all his items inside of that bag and looks at where the cameras are located in the corner of that room. If they're watching him, then he will suffer for his actions. But the Asset is unsure of why they are testing him, and the voice tries to weakly argue that they've had enough time to catch up to him.
He snaps at the voice to be quiet. He doesn't like the stirring of whatever emotion that belief gives him.
—-
He walks to a building he has used as a transportation location before. He steps onto the moving train and he listens carefully as the mechanical voice speaks about stops that are approaching.
He waits until he hears the name he needs.
JFK.
He exits. He hates the curious eyes that follow him. He doesn't know why. He's dressed perfectly normal for a mission among civilians. He'd even combed his longer hair back to give the appearance of a habitual creature.
The stares from the hers make him straighten up. He misses his spiders. They gave him a sense of purpose.
His fingers press against the metal lump in his side. He smiles.
The voice smiles too.
The Asset frowns.
—
"I'd like one ticket to Siberia please." The Asset says in a voice meant to be calm and collected.
The her stares at him in surprise.
"Oh, uh, okay, I don't think I have—" she's looking at him and her eyes are a bit wide. The human emotion of fear, so the Asset copies what he's seen other humans do to calm each other, he smiles. Her mouth parts and she goes silent.
"Are you okay?" The Asset asks, unsure if he'd smiled correctly. The her shakes her head, and begins typing on the computer in front of her.
"Yes. I'm sorry about that. When you say Siberia, is there a specific location?"
The Asset spouts off the coordinates to the base and the her is looking at him in surprise again.
The Asset decides he must be more specific. "Karelia."
The her nods, still unsure and begins typing. "I can get you to Moscow, but there's no flights to Karelia. You'll need to take a car or bus. Is… Is that okay?"
"That will suffice. Thank you."
The her's eyes continually flick to him as she types and procures his ticket.
"Your ID?"
He hands over the military ID he knows he will need to check on his weapons.
The her swallows heavily and nods.
"That will be 1,178 dollars."
He hands over a card and it is swiped and handed back.
"Do you need to check a bag?"
He nods, keeping the smaller pack in his hands, and handing the larger pack with the metal thing that is his to the attendant.
He takes off towards security.
He's had to fly for missions many times. But with no Handler, he feels on edge. Unsure. He looks at his ticket and notices that there are two flights he must take.
One to London, and one to Moscow. The one for London leaves in 6 hours. The Asset is unhappy with the amount of time he must waste. But he does nothing except slip through security and wait at his gate.
The voice is a mess.
Barely coherent and yet constantly present. It makes the throbbing in the Asset's mind worse.
Don't leave.
It's the only words the voice can manage.
He ignores it. He needs maintenance.
—-
A small non-spider sits next to him. She glances at him often and shrinks when he meets her gaze. An adult her sits next to her and they talk and tap on what his handlers call a tablet.
His eyes are drawn to the screen. Their fingers create patterns and colors and shapes.
The voice has a yearning and he feels his fingers flex. He rests them against the jeans he's wearing and closes his eyes. The Asset can't afford to be distracted.
—-
The non-spider places ear devices in her ears and the Asset is entranced by the sounds he hears emanating from them. Beautiful sounds. His ear devices only sounded tinny and horrible.
The Asset listens and finds his fingers tapping. A strange sensation that would have gotten them nailed to a table.
He's glad his handlers are not here.
The man across from him is now watching him closely. He meets the man's gaze and the guy laughs.
The Asset is confused. Usually his glare inspires fear, not laughter.
"I'm sure you get this all the time." The man says.
The Asset glances around, the man is speaking to him. "Get what?"
"You probably get told how much you look like that guy from WW2? The one on all those cheesy propaganda posters? The one who fought with Sergeant Barnes?"
These words. These words that have now been spoken to him so often in the last three days.
The Asset takes a guess. "Captain America?"
The man snaps and slaps his knee, "Yes!" He crows, "you're a dead ringer for him."
The Asset contemplates this. "Is that a good thing?"
The man furrows his eyes brows, "I mean… It's not anything. Just that it's a pretty uncanny resemblance."
The Asset nods. "I have been told that. Very recently. Is there anything you can tell me about Captain America?"
The Asset is aware of the amount of listeners their conversation has gathered. Including the non-spider and her caretaker.
The man leans back, confusion on his face. "Uh, guess just what the history books say. Did you.. were you homeschooled?"
"I didn't go to school."
"Ah." The guy acts like this is a normal answer and leans back, scratching at his neck, "Well Captain America, or… geez, what was his name?" He looks around and an older man speaks up.
"Steve Rogers."
"Yeah, yeah. Steve Rogers. He was from here, you know, New York. All sick, right?" He looks around and gets nods, "yeah, real sick. Couldn't enlist. Then he got pumped up with some sorta magical serum and goes to fight the nazis. He died falling off a train somewhere in Europe. There's not too much else on him, but he did help win us the war."
The voice is shaking.
So are the Asset's hands.
His brain sends an absolutely mind numbing jolt of pain through his brain and to his eyes.
"Hey, man, you okay?"
He looks up to see the man across from him leaning towards him. Hand outstretched. A small hand is resting in his knee, the non-spider is looking at him in concern. The Asset straightens up from the hunched position and pulls his fingers away from where they were digging into his skull.
"Malfunction."
The area is pin-drop silent. The Asset knows he's spoken the wrong thing in front of civilians. But he doesn't know what to say.
"Do you.. uh, need some help?"
The Asset shakes his head. "No assistance required."
The silence again.
Suddenly something is being placed onto his lap. He looks at the tablet that now rests in his hands and he glances up at the non-spider who has placed it there.
"Sometimes, when I'm sad, I draw. Do you wanna try it?"
"Sad?" The Asset doesn't understand what the non-spider is referring to.
The caretaker is trying to protest, but the non-spider ignores her, reaching out and wiping at the Asset's face.
It's wet.
A memory of the last time he remembers this happening. He's crying, He's fucking crying.
The Asset an't think of anything to say. So he drags his finger across the tablet screen. A pencil mark appears. It's not like his other supplies that he left in the shed. But its an approximate tool. It only takes him a few minutes to work it out before he's entranced with what he's doing.
It's a while later when he hands the tablet back.
"Mama, look! He drew Iron man!"
The her named Mama looks at the drawing and then at him, something unsure and a bit apprehensive. "Actually honey, this isn't Tony Stark. This is his dad. Howard Stark.
More eyes flit his way.
The voice wavers. Howard.
The Asset looks at the man across from him. "Can you tell me about Howard Stark?"
The man chuckles nervously, "now you're just pulling my leg. Everyone knows about Howard Stark."
"Why?"
The question draws more eyes. He's drawing attention. Mission imperative is not allowed to draw attention. Stealth is key.
"Buddy, where are you from?"
The Asset lies. "Moscow."
There's a chorus of 'ohs.' And the tension seems to ebb away.
"Howard Stark was a famous weapons contractor. He helped work on the project that created Captain America. Tony Stark, his son, is Iron Man."
The Asset doesn't know who that is, but he doesn't ask.
The her named Mama speaks to him. "You draw beautifully."
The Asset ducks his head in a motion that is so familiar and yet so alien that his brain wrenches in half.
The little girl hands him the tablet again and he draws her. Like he used to draw his spiders.
She stares at his progress and then clutches the tablet when he's finished.
He doesn't speak again while they wait for their plane.
—
The hers in the uniforms who help the passengers offer him something to drink. The Asset only recognizes one thing and he points to it.
"Cream and sugar with that?"
The voice makes a sound that he agrees with. He nods his head. Unsure how bad the punishment for accepting like this will be.
But when the Asset drinks it. The warmth and the emotions it drags from the depths make him think punishment might be worth it.
The voice agrees.
—
He steps off the plane and goes immediately to his next gate. The Asset checks his ticket and finds that he must wait 13 hours for his next flight.
He decides to explore the airport. Something the voice suggests. He shouldn't. But he does.
He's walking past a stand of books when a hand grabs his arm. He's immediately on defensive mode and reaches to grab the hand, but it's gone. He spins around and feels a hand on his belt, yanking him backwards.
He grabs at the wrist and catches it. He hauls the attacker around to his front and freezes.
Mini-spider.
Except not.
Adult spider.
Her scent is immediately recognizable and he drops her wrist. Stepping back.
She steps closer and looks at him in shock. "It is you."
He doesn't understand.
"I saw the news, and when Natasha called to have me intercept you here, I thought she was insane. But now… you are exactly the same. How?"
Her words mean nothing. He doesn't understand. He stays quiet.
"Recluse?"
His eyes flick to hers and she smiles. "You remember that don't you? Our little nickname for you?"
"The Asset has only one name."
The spider frowns. He doesn't like that. So he speaks. Informing her of his plan so she understands.
"The Asset requires maintenance. Returning to base." The spider looks at him, her eyes wide and mouth gaped. The spider then pushes against his chest, shoving him into a bathroom that is marked 'family'. He could resist but does not. The spider clicks the lock.
The Asset narrows his eyes. "You can't trap me."
"I know that." She growls. "I'm not trying to trap you, I'm trying to understand. Why would you go back?"
"Asset requires maintenance."
"Do you even know what you're asking for?" The spider is angry and the Asset doesn't know why. "You don't need maintenance, you're not a robot!"
The Asset stays quiet.
"Do you not remember me?"
The Asset does. The voice doesn't.
The Asset reaches forward, extending his hand towards the spider. The spider looks at him hesitantly, and then places her hand in his.
The Asset pulls her closer, lifting the hem of his shirt, and placing her fingers against his side, where the metal coin (he knows what it is called now) is still lodged under his skin.
The spider gasps, looking at him and then she's tracing the shape with her fingers and pressing against it gently. "You kept it? This whole time?" Her hand rests against his side and warms his skin.
The voice is nervous. The Asset isn't sure why.
The spider's hand continues to rest against his side. And the Asset doesn't remember enjoying physical touch since the Red Room. Maybe only the spiders know how to touch.
The spider is staring up at him and then places her hand against the Asset's face.
"Let me help you."
"With what?"
"Getting free."
The Asset stares at her. "What is free?"
The spider clasps her arms around him and he stumbles back in surprise.
"Come with me. Don't go back to your base. There's people looking for you. They want to help. They can help."
"The Asset is not to receive support from anyone but his handlers."
The spider frowns and her voice gets angry, "You're not an Asset! You're a human being! You saved so many of us from being killed in the Red Room and because of that we were able to escape and make lives for ourselves! Let me do the same!"
"The Asset did not save spiders. The Asset trained spiders for missions."
The hands touch his face again. He should step back. The voice is nervous, but the Asset doesn't move.
"You gave us a chance. You taught us how to fight back. We got out. We may have to stay on the run, but we're out. Let me help you get out. Hydra's crumbing. Now is the perfect time for you to disappear."
"Disappear where?"
She sighs, hands on her hips. And the Asset remembers her doing that when she was a mini-spider. He feels the corner of his mouth tug up.
She catches it and she smiles at him, in full force. "Whoever they buried is still there. You were there when you trained us. You braided our hair and drew us and did your best to train us to be strong fighters. You cared."
The Asset remains silent.
"I don't know what the Avengers want with you, but if Natasha's reaching out to old contacts then in must be serious."
"Who is Natasha?"
"Black Widow. You know, one of the Avengers?"
The Asset stays quiet.
"They don't tell you anything do they. Do you know what year it is?"
He shakes his head.
"It's 2014. You trained me 25 years ago. You look the same. I don't know what they did to you, but I know you don't belong back in Hydra's hands."
"I have to go to Moscow."
"No! You don't!"
"The Asset's supplies are being sent there."
The spider looks at him thoughtfully. "Your bag got checked? Okay, we'll go to Moscow. Then you'll come with me?"
The Asset pauses. Changing course would mean more punishment. "The Asset needs maintenance. Malfunctions constant." The Asset gestures to the base of his skull and the spider circles him. She gently presses her fingers against his neck and separates the hair. The spider gasps. "How long has it been like this?"
The Asset tries to calculate. "6 days."
"WHAT! This must be excruciating! There's shreds of shrapnel everywhere! And a lump. What is the lump? You always healed so fast? What is this?"
Flashes of a surgery table have him flinching forward. And the Asset glares at the spider.
The spider frowns at him again.
"You need help."
"Moscow." The Asset snarls.
"Fine." The spider snaps at him. "Moscow. Then medical attention."
He nods.
—-