Asset
The first man they want him to kill kneels in the mud in a grey courtyard.
It's an American soldier, a POW like him. He refuses, of course, and they beat him, until he laughs and spits out his defiance at them through bloody teeth. They kill the POW in front of him.
Time passes, and there is torment and pain and deep cramping hunger and an endless noise that won't stop, day and night and day and...
Then the courtyard again and a second man. A German. Kill him, they say. He is a Nazi, a bad man. You have killed them before. He refuses, of course, and they beat him until he spits blood. No laughing this time.
Time passes; this is the Chair and electricity channelling right into his brain. Kill this man, they say in the courtyard, and it will all stop. He is a criminal, a murderer. You must kill him. It's why you were made. Kill him and the pain will end. He refuses, and there is pain and the Chair, and he forgets.
Time and time and time.
The courtyard, and a man. This one is lying on the ground, screaming in agony. There is blood everywhere, slashes from a blade across his face and his eyes and his legs and stabbed through the ribs into his lungs, and so much screaming, frothing spit and blood, and the man is going to die, slowly, drowning on his own fluids. You did this, they tell him over the sound of those screams, but he cannot remember. Look down. See the blood on your clothes? The knife in your hand? James Barnes did this evil thing, but you can make it right. Kill this man quickly, end his suffering. End the screams. You can help him. It's the only way to help him. He takes the gun he is offered and he shoots the man through the head. At last the screams of agony fall silent. It helps. It is better. Next time there is a Russian. Kill him, they say, he is a bad man, he abuses children. Tortures little children, and he'll do it again unless you stop him. You can help them if you kill him. He takes the gun and shoots the man through the head. Next they bring another murderer, an American. He takes the gun and shoots. There's a Frenchman, and a knife. He stabs. A woman and a box of matches; a man and a thin wire; faceless bodies and nothing but his bare hands. He kills them. He kills them all.
Then they bring out a child.
James Barnes' body screams. The Asset can feel the sound tearing at its throat and forcing itself out of its wretched lungs. The body is restrained, some heavy covering is trapping its arms and legs and the Soldier kicks wildly. The screaming won't stop and it can't release its hands to shut the noise up, and its programming is looping over and over, trapped in the same fractured visuals. Breathing is compromised. Motor-control all but non-existent and vision appears to be non-functional. Hearing is sporadic; the Soldier picks up a distorted echo of sound, like a voice saying over and over "Bucky, it's okay, you're safe now, Buck please, it's okay."
Its arms are suddenly free and the Soldier clamps its hands, real metal and fake flesh, tight over its mouth. The sound of the screams are trapped behind that impenetrable barrier, although its body is still convulsing, eyes pouring water, lungs burn and heart races.
Through icy fog filling its mind, the Soldier feels a foreign touch on the back of its flesh hand; it flinches violently, but suddenly there's calm. A point of order in the chaos, a call to focus. A motion, a symbol. The Asset stills, drawing all its attention to that touch. A pattern marked out on skin, a circle round and round and round. More than words ever could, it says: it's okay. You're safe now. It says you are not alone. The touch disappears, but the Soldier is back in control of its rebel flesh and bone. It keeps its hands clamped tight to hold in the screams, and it breathes out slowly through the nose.
Time passes and sounds filter in through the static. They form words.
"...Buck..."
"...he okay?"
"...nightmare, I think. The blankets..."
"Does that mean he's remembering...?"
"...have no idea. I thought his memory coming back would be a good thing, but..."
Now closer. "Hey, Winter? Are you all right?"
There is no answer. The Soldier hears the rustle of cloth as someone moves in its vicinity. It opens its eyes and drops its hands from its mouth, readying itself for attack or punishment, but neither is forthcoming. The Handlers back slowly away, and then go to the other side of the room, talking quietly. No-one approaches and no-one touches it again. The Asset has been dismissed. Relieved, it stays still, and tries to breathe though the deep grinding pain beneath its arm, deep in its side. Maintenance is required, but there are no technicians left.
The Soldier pulls the neckline of the garment it is wearing up over its mouth, lies on its side to support the arm, and closes its eyes. The Asset was under previous orders to sleep but the Handlers don't reinforce the order. They just keep talking, as if it's not there. This, at least, is familiar.
"Man, I am done in," a Handler says to the other. "I wasn't gonna wake you, but as he already did that for me...I just need a few hours' shut-eye but someone should be on watch, just in case."
"God, Sam, I'm sorry. Yes, of course. I'm okay. Head's killing me so doubt I'll get to sleep again anyway."
"Thanks, man. You sure? Here. Tylenol. And I mean just a few hours, and then wake me."
There's a rattling sound, like small ammunition, as something is thrown, and then the other bed creaks, followed by the scrape of the chair being moved to the window. Then there is silence for a moment. Sam Wilson asks, very quietly:
"He's gone pretty quiet. What was it that you did to snap him out of it?"
"It's just this thing we used to do. I didn't know if it'd work. Back in the War, when Bucky and his unit were captured... A lot of guys didn't make it. Those that did, well, I didn't know them from before so I can't say. But Bucky was never really the same. I don't know what Zola did to him in that lab; I don't think Bucky really remembered. Least, he never talked about it, not to me, not to anyone. The seizures went away after a few weeks. But he would still have these moments sometimes when he'd just...get stuck. Sometimes just staring at nothing, or nightmares he couldn't wake up from. Flashbacks, I guess you'd say now. The other guys and I, we developed this thing, I don't remember how we came up with it...someone would draw out a circle on his hand. It sounds weird, I know, but it seemed to bring him out of it. I didn't think he would still remember."
"Hmm. Grounding techniques can be pretty powerful. I guess it worked 'cause it's not a motion he would be likely to associate with anything else. Something individual to him, but without being too personal. That's pretty impressive."
"We did what we could. It wasn't much."
"Still, it's useful to know something that he responds to."
The Soldier shuts down sometime after and when it reboots later, there is silence but for the sound of breathing. Sam Wilson is sprawled out, deep in sleep on his face on the other bed. In a chair in the far corner, Captain Rogers is slumped back, head tilted and mouth open. He too is asleep. He should be on watch.
The Soldier pulls its arm in close and slips silently from the bed. It knows that there is a gun in the room, and it knows all the likely places a handler like Sam Wilson would hide one. It's the work of a moment to slide the weapon out from under the pillow where Sam Wilson's head is resting; he never stirs. The magazine is on the bedside cabinet. The Soldier slides it home. He crosses back to Captain Rogers and observes him carefully. He is asleep when he should be on watch. A simple bullet in the brain is all it would take. Not much functionality needed for that at all - the pain in its side, intermittent arm malfunction, compromised breathing - none of these will impede it. Aim just a few millimetres to the left of where the HYDRA agent's shot had grazed him, and the Soldier's mission would be successful. Or, if the gun is too loud, the Asset's hand could crush Captain America's throat before he even woke. The Asset could drown him in the motel bath, stab his eyes out with shards of glass, tie him to the chair and burn down the building. Captain Rogers is asleep when he should be on watch.
Someone should be on watch.
The Soldier passes Captain Rogers by and takes a seat on the long cabinet under the motel window. It finds a position which lets it see the two sleeping men, the door, and across the parking lot through a gap in the curtains, and yet also conceals its silhouette from outside the window. It lays the gun on its knees, and keeps watch.
Five hours pass. The Soldier is not certain what the time was when it woke, but its ability to count the passing time while awake is always accurate. The Americans sleep on and there are no disturbances to show that the other agents from HYDRA have found them yet. At intervals, Barnes's body begins to weaken again, and the Soldier finds the eyes closing. That cannot be allowed. It is on watch. The Asset slides out the knife it took from one of the HYDRA men, and pushes the point into the flesh on the exterior of Barnes's right thigh. Crude, but effective. The jolt of firey pain surges alertness through its limbs again. The Soldier turns its full attention back to the empty parking lot. Someone needs to be on watch.
It is thirty minutes after dawn when one of the Americans wakes up. The Soldier hears rustling of cloth, and a groan. More movement, and the crack of stiff joints. Then there is silence as Sam Wilson looks about the room and says quietly:
"Shit."
And then, louder:
"Steve. You better wake up, man."
There's a thud and then a sudden motion from Steve as he starts awake.
"Hmm? I...what? Oh...oh, crap, I fell asleep, Sam, I'm sorry-"
"Hey, it's okay," Sam Wilson says, and his voice sounds tense, but the Asset does not know why. "I think Winter has been keeping look out for us, is that right?"
The phrasing is difficult to follow, the tone in conflict with the words. The Asset is unsure how to respond but eventually decides that this was a request for intelligence. It stands up, arms at its sides. It has the gun in its left and the blade in the weaker right. Relaxed but ready.
"Watch maintained for 7.2 hours," the Soldier informs. "No enemy or target movement detected. No broadcasts or communications received or intercepted. End of report.
"Okay, that's great," Sam Wilson says and his voice is still strange. "Nothing to report, okay, so we're not in danger right now. Winter, I need to have my gun back."
The Asset glances down at the gun in its metal hand. It does not have claim to the gun as it has no possessions. It cannot want to keep it as it has no desires. The Asset places the gun down on the cabinet at its side. Sam Wilson steps forward and carefully takes it, immediately ejecting the clip and the chambered round. The Asset recognises that this is a poor decision. Their pursuers could arrive soon, and the gun is the only firearm in this room; it must be kept ready. The actions of Handlers are beyond question, the Asset knows this. But these Handlers...they behave in unpredictable patterns. Everything is confusing. Trying to understand and comply with orders that countermand all its programming is causing a sharp pain in the Soldier's head.
"Why does it smell like blood in here?" Captain Rogers asks at the same moment that Sam Wilson says:
"Winter, is that a knife?"
"Yes," the Soldier confirms.
"Where the hell did you- Never mind. Can you please put it down as well? Thank you." Sam Wilson takes the knife too and tucks it into his waistband.
"Wait, Bucky, are you bleeding ?"
The Soldier glances down to the area on its right thigh. It had been required to make several cuts to the leg in the night to produce enough adrenaline to stay awake, and now the fabric is torn, cold and tacky. "Yes," it says again. The Americans are staring. Did the Soldier malfunction somehow? It tries to clarify. "Someone needed to be on watch. The clothing is damaged but is repairable."
"Bucky, what the hell!?" Captain Rogers yells suddenly, marching over from behind the Asset.
Sam Wilson says: "Steve, wait a moment."
Captain Rogers shouts: "Are you kidding me!? For God's sake, Buck, did you actually stab yourself to keep awake because I fell asleep on watch? This is insane. What the hell were you-"
"Steve, don't yell at him-" Sam Wilson says.
The Soldier knows now it must have malfunctioned somehow, it has fucked up , that's what the yelling means, it has fucked up, but it doesn't understand how. It falls onto its knees, tucking up and dropping its head, and the fingers interlock behind its neck. It is one fluid motion that has become more than taught: it is pure instinct. The Soldier's ribs and back, where the weight of the arm sits, burn like a fire in protest of the movement but it is just a small pain in what must surely come. Punishment for its mistake. Behavioural correction. The Soldier doesn't know fear, but James Barnes's body still remembers it. Its breathing begins to falter and its hands shake. The Asset doesn't know how to comply when the Handlers change all the rules. It is trying but it doesn't understand.
The shouting has stopped. Someone gasps and a voice says:
"What..."
"I yelled at him in the car," Sam Wilson says, "and he did pretty much the exact same thing. I think he thinks we're going to start fucking beating on him or something."
"I...what? He can't..." Captain Rogers' voice sounds faint. "What do we do? I don't know what to do."
"Winter," Sam Wilson says. "You are not in trouble, okay? Please, you can get up."
The Soldier does not move, though it feels a tremor passing through James Barnes's body and its breath hitches. It can't follow these orders. It is forgetting too much. It has been too long since the last wipe. The Soldier is unstable. Erratic.
"It's not working! He's terrified..."
Someone moves across the room, and the Asset can't help but tense even though it knows it is impossible to avoid or defend against its punishments. It shouldn't. But no blows fall. Instead, a figure crouches down before it until their eyes are level. The Soldier recognises Steven Rogers, but keeps its head and gaze lowered. Of all his Handlers, only Secretary Pierce permitted the Asset to look at him.
"Bucky, it's okay." Steven Rogers has a nice voice, the Asset thinks. Kind, but firm. He does not sound angry with the Asset, but it can be difficult to tell. "It's okay. You aren't in trouble, and I'm sorry I yelled. We're not going to hurt you, if that's what you think. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you again. God, will you please just look at me? Can you look at me, Bucky?"
The Soldier slowly drags its gaze up from the floor and manages to flick its eyes to Captain Rogers's face for a second. He does not look angry. He looks sad, which does not make any sense. Nothing makes any sense any more. The Asset quickly drops its gaze, feeling tension twist through its body. It does not understand.
Captain Rogers sighs.
"Please believe me that we aren't going to punish you, or anything. Right, Sam? I was upset that you were bleeding. That's all. Come on, put your hands down. Stand up, that's it."
The Asset tries to follow the orders, although its metal arm has locked in place, and it has to use the flesh fingers to shove a plate in the shoulder back into position before it will move. The damaged place in the Soldier's side groans, metal against bone, a deep, bad pain. The Soldier stands. It has not been punished. It does not understand. Stress jabs through James Barnes's body faster than pain and curdles into nausea. The Asset's eyes are watering, dripping salt onto its face.
"Jesus," mutters Sam Wilson, and then, louder he says; "I'll get the first aid kit."
"Okay. Bucky, let's... Buck, please don't cry. It's going to be okay. Look, Sam needs to take a look at your leg. He's going to patch you up; he's like a...uh, a med tech. Okay? Don't cry. I'm really sorry, but can you please take your sweatpants off? Okay, great, that's really good, buddy. Come and sit down...Okay, not the chair, that's fine. Not the chair. How about the bed instead, yeah? All right. Sam?"
Sam Wilson has a green box. He is pulling blue gloves onto his hands.
"Winter," he says, as he approaches. "I have to clean and bandage the cuts on your leg. It's possible you might need some stitches. You need to sit really still for me, okay?"
The Soldier doesn't answer but it remains still. It must not interfere with the work of the med techs.
Then, quietly and quickly to someone else, Sam Wilson says; "I'm worried about how much he's zoning out. Can you try and keep him present?"
Sam Wilson ducks down and then he and Captain Rogers are both crouching in front of the Asset. Close, far too close. The Asset's body is twitching, and its breathing hitches as Sam Wilson reaches towards it, and then the inside of its head scrambles and its thoughts start to run blank like radio static but then someone is holding Barnes's hand and pressing a shape firmly into the palm. The Asset wants to snatch the hand away, but something deeper and more instinctual draws its attention and it finds itself stilling and following the movement of the fingers instead, in smooth circles on the palm. There is calmness there, round and round and round. It remembers looking down the scope of a rifle and breathing out slowly with the target who stands in the crosshairs. This feels the same.
"Hey, Bucky," Captain Rogers says, and the Soldier blinks, dragging its eyes to the man's shoulder. "I want you to stay with us if you can, so I'm going to ask you some questions, okay? I want you to tell me your answers. Can you do that?"
The Soldier twitches hard, but that was an order. Words seem to have fled deep into its head, but it manages to drag one onto its tongue.
"Да," it says, and then stops still. The flesh hand starts to shake. It used the right word but wrong at the same time; these American Handlers only use one language and now they will-
"It's okay, that's good," says Captain Rogers. "It's okay if you want to use Russian, Bucky, I don't mind. Okay, can you tell me, does your leg hurt?"
"Нет," says the Asset.
Captain Rogers frowns but doesn't argue. The Asset can feel the pull and pressure on its leg where the wound it inflicted on Barnes's body is being cleaned by Sam Wilson, but it doesn't look down, doesn't let on that the feeling of the touch is screaming danger and making its skin crawl and all it wants to do is shoot everyone and go home. It doesn't even know what that means.
"Do you know who I am?" Captain Rogers asks and the Asset drags its attention back and answers;
"Да," because yes, of course it knows; Steven Rogers is the mission after all.
"Are you hungry at all?" he asks.
The Asset answers "Нет."
"Can you remember leaving DC, leaving the city?" says Captain Rogers. "You found us at a motel, do you remember how you knew where we were?"
Yes, the Asset remembers. "Put tracking dot on your car," it says. "At кладбище."
Captain Rogers glances at his phone. "You were following us the whole time since the cemetery? Oh."
And then, just as the Asset is thinking that this punishment is not so bad at all, Steven Rogers asks; "Why were you so frightened of us just now?" and the Asset feels itself freeze up. It has been ordered to answer but it does not know what the answer is and it doesn't have the words to-
Pulse pounding, the Asset opens and closes its mouth but nothing comes out and it can't-
"Hey," says Steven Rogers. "Hey, it's alright. If you don't know the answer you can just shrug, okay? That's allowed. Like this, see? And if you don't want to talk, you can nod or shake your head."
The Asset imitates the shrugging motion that Captain Rogers just made. Its own is lopsided because of the damaged shoulder plates and the sharp, unrelenting pain deep under its ribs, but Captain Rogers doesn't seem to mind. They move on with the questions and it's much easier now the Soldier doesn't have to keep the words untangled in its head and remember how to speak. Some of the questions are easy: does Sam call you Winter (nod), do you like that name (shrug), does this hurt (shake), are the walls in here painted yellow (nod), can you see five lightbulbs, one TV, two beds (nod, nod, nod). Is your mission still suspended (nod). Other questions are not so easy: do you know what is wrong with the metal arm (shrug), can you fix it (shake), do you understand that we're not going to hurt you (shrug), do you know why you can't heal (shrug).
The next questions - "Do you remember anything from before? From before HYDRA took you, when we were friends?" - almost overwhelm the Asset, sending it spiralling deep into Barnes's head, but there is that circle on its hand again and it is dragged back into the bright world of Steven Rogers. Its shrug then is little more than a twitch.
At some point, the tug of thread through skin stops, and Sam Wilson is carefully pressing his fingers to the Asset's meat wrist and counting. Then he lifts the Assets clothing, and peers at its side. The Asset feels the press of fingers on the area on its side where the worst stabs of pain come that steal its breath and make the metal fingers twitch. It just manages not to lash out. It must not damage the med techs. After an agonising time, Sam Wilson stops touching and says; "There. All done." He steps back away from the Asset. Steven Rogers breathes out a long sigh.
"You did great, Bucky," he says with a tired smile. "All patched up. But I really want to make sure you understand this. You mustn't hurt yourself, okay? If you are tired, you can go to sleep. You don't have to injure yourself to keep awake. Do you understand?"
"It didn't hurt," the Asset says. Captain Rogers frowns, and the Asset thinks perhaps it messed up the words again. It clamps its mouth shut and doesn't say anything and they leave it alone. Captain Rogers takes a shower and changes his t-shirt for one without blood down the front. Sam Wilson gives the Asset a new pair of the soft grey pants without knife cuts in to wear, an ice pack, a pill, and a bottle of orange juice and then the Americans go out of the room into the parking lot. The Asset can see them outside through the window, talking. It positions the ice pack over the bad place on its side and the soothing cold seeps into its bones. It is comforting, like the quiet ice where the Asset is sent, where all of its pain and fear are folded away into the cold dark. But this is not the ice it craves, only a thin imitation. It is for healing, and yet another sign of weakness in the body it inhabits. The Asset picks at the bandage on its right thigh and tries not to shiver. It puts on the sweatpants and then the too-thin shoes. It is still cold. The jacket, holsters and boots it usually wears are not in the room. The knife and the gun are nowhere in sight. The Asset does not like to be unarmed. It takes the pill, drinks the orange juice and doesn't read the Americans' lips.
The Americans talk for a long time, although both of them often look back in through the window at the Asset. When they come back in, Sam Wilson says it is time to leave. They do not tell the Asset where they are going or give it a mission briefing. The Americans take their few belongings out to the car, and then Captain Rogers asks the Asset if it is cold. He asks the Asset if it would like a jacket. The Soldier thinks about it for a long time. It might be a test. New Handlers usually give it tests to check its compliance. But maybe it is not a test. Maybe it will miss the chance to be warm.
So the Asset says: "Yes." And then it adds; "Please."
Captain Rogers smiles and puts a brown jacket on the end of the bed where the Asset is sitting. The Asset drags it over and pulls it on, slowly, so as not to lock the arm up. The jacket smells of pine and motor oil. It is not unpleasant. Then Captain Rogers directs the Asset into the bathroom, and then afterwards the Soldier follows him out into the parking lot and gets into the back of the car. Sam Wilson and Steven Rogers talk together for a moment, and then they also get into the car at the front. Captain Rogers drives them away from the motel. They are going to get breakfast, he says.
It is very quiet. The Soldier stares at the glass of the window as they drive. Outside, the world passes in a swirl; green, red, grey, brown. A flash of white for a house. The Asset sees that nothing is clear like this and that the shapes are lost and the colours blur themselves together.
The Americans are talking quietly, and the Asset is not sure if it is supposed to be paying attention or not. It hears the name that Sam Wilson calls it.
"...Winter called me from your phone just as I was leaving town, I got back there as fast as I could. Was fairly sure you were both dead when I walked in; man, it was a massacre. And, dude, how did they even find us? We were totally off the grid."
"I've been wondering about that too," says Captain Rogers. "I told perhaps three people that we were leaving DC, and no-one precisely where we were going."
"Yeah, me neither."
Captain Rogers looks back at the Asset in the mirror.
"Bucky, do you remember what happened at the cabin?"
The Asset does. "Я убил их," he says. "The men."
"Those men attacked us," Steven Rogers says, nodding. "You saved me, saved my life when I was shot. Thank you."
The Asset has nothing to say, so it remains quiet.
"Hey." This time it is Sam Wilson talking. He turns to look at the Asset. "After I arrived, you told me that more soldiers were coming, remember? Can you tell us how you knew that?"
The Asset frowns. There was a question there but it was too complicated to decipher. Sam Wilson changes his question.
"Okay, are there more soldiers coming now?"
"Да," the Asset confirms.
"How will they find us? How did they know we were at the cabin?" Captain Rogers says.
The Soldier can feel the words scrambling themselves in its head even as it tries to grasp them. "Arm," it says, and jabs a finger towards the crook of its left elbow, where the tracking dot is located. "Истинный рука. They...follow."
"There's a tracker in your arm," says Sam Wilson, slowly. "Oh. Shit. They've known where we were the whole time. There's no way they'll believe we were killed in the explosion."
"Can we take it out?" Captain Rogers asks. "The tracker?"
If the Asset told Steven Rogers yes, and he was then to remove that particular panel in its arm, the device would detonate with enough force to decommission the Asset and kill anyone standing close by. Steven Rogers would be dead. Mission success.
"Bзрыв," the Asset says.
"Explosives," Sam Wilson reads out the translation from his cell phone. " Jesus . Fucking HYDRA."
"I really, really have to call Tony," says Captain Rogers.
They drive east for twenty-two minutes before he pulls the car into the parking lot of a low building. It is hemmed about by bright neon signs and billboards in garish, nightmare colours. Steven Rogers goes into the building to buy food for the two Americans. The Asset knows by now that it will be given only poison to eat. That is, after all, its punishment. Sam Wilson goes to the trunk of the car and then comes around to the Asset's door. He opens it, and then steps back. The Asset remembers this; it unclips the restraining belt and turns his legs so that they are out of the car.
"Okay, big guy, breakfast time. You have two options of cold mush: beef, tomato and brown rice, or sweet potato and cranberry?"
Sam Wilson is holding out two small glass jars with his left hand. The Asset is unsure what is being asked of it, but knows better than to ask. It looks from the jars back to Sam Wilson and waits. The man sighs.
"You're gonna eat the contents of one of these jars," he explains. "I want you to choose one you like."
The Asset is bewildered. Why should it have a preference in anything not related to weaponry or tactics? Being permitted to choose small details of its punishment makes no sense. Is this another test? It has not been told that questions are permitted, so it sits in silence.
"Too tricky? Okay, let's see..." Sam Wilson says, and he takes the cap off both jars. Then he takes a long sniff over the contents of each. "God, I'm so hungry that even this crap is starting to smell good. Okay, now you. Tell me which one smells better to you."
He places both jars on the ground and steps back. The Asset leans forward to pick them up, one in each hand, but as it moves the left arm, that loose thing inside the shoulder shifts and sparks. The arm spasms agonisingly and the fingers twitch and jerk. For a long moment the Soldier can only freeze half uncurled, breathing hard, until the things inside shifts again and the sparking pains fade out. Sam Wilson is still watching though, waiting for his compliance.
"You okay?"
The Asset completes the motion and picks up the two jars. It sniffs the yellow jar in its right hand. The contents smells vaguely like food, even though the Asset knows this is a lie and the stuff will twist in its belly until it vomits. It sniffs the second jar. This one is the colour of old blood, and it smells bad bad bad, like the way their flesh crisped and sizzled after the gas ignited and the stench of it blew over on the mountain wind, and clung to the Soldier's clothes and hair as it waited for extraction and breathed in the smell of burning hair and meat, and watched the flames on the snow.
There is a crunch, and the Asset receives feedback that its metal hand has moved. The jar has been crushed, and red mush all fractured up with thin shards of glass is oozing between its metal fingers. The Asset stares at it with trepidation. It has broken the vessel it was given. It was Sam Wilson's jar, and the Asset has broken it. It takes a breath, and does not look up at Sam Wilson, fearing the anger that it will surely see-
"Oops!" Sam Wilson says, lightly. "Not the beef then. I hope that was you indicating that you didn't like it, because I think that was the only one of that flavour we had. Okay, just drop it onto the floor - outside the car, jeez, this ain't a rental - and I'll get a towel. Though how we're supposed to get that crap out of all those joints is beyond me."
Sam Wilson is not a mech tech and is therefore not permitted to touch the arm. The Asset reminds him of this when he returns with the cloth and then the Asset cleans the red off the plates as well as it can itself. Then it leans out of the car to rinse off the remainder with water. It has no knife and no maintenance kit, and therefore some red remains wedged between the joints no matter how hard it picks at it.
In the distance, the Asset hears Steven Rogers' voice. It sees him step out of the civilian building, with packages in one hand and the other at his ear. He turns away from them, leaning on a fence. He is speaking on the phone.
"Okay man, that'll do," Sam Wilson says, gesturing to the arm. "I'd almost eat my lunch off that thing now. Here, your chosen mush awaits. Eat up."
The Soldier picks up the yellow jar once again, and takes the spoon. The 'mush' is strongly flavoured, cold and heavy on its tongue. The taste of it awakes the pain of the unceasing cramping emptiness that permeates Barnes' body, and the Asset is trapped between the need to shovel all of the contents into its mouth as quickly as it can, and the urge to vomit. The cold poison slips down its throat even as its chest tightens and ugly tears push out of its eyes. The punishments that these new Handlers have created for it are more subtle and cruel than anything of HYDRA's devising.
It only manages half the jar before its stomach churns and cramps again, and it throws up, yellow and red, onto the surface of the parking lot. The tears are still dripping down its face as Sam Wilson says, softly;
"Aw, come on, man. You just can't get a break can you?"
The Soldier is given a wet cloth to wipe its face and more water to drink, and eventually the tears stop. Then Steven Rogers is crossing back over to them, putting his phone into his pocket.
"And?" Sam Wilson says, as he approaches.
"He agreed, although he's not happy about it," Captain Rogers replies. "Hell, I'm not happy about it, so I guess we got one thing in common. But he says we shouldn't try to disable or remove the tracker, and with HYDRA trailing us..."
He tosses Sam a wrapped package, and then glances down at the Asset. The Asset quickly shifts its gaze away so that their eyes don't meet by accident. Sam Wilson has unwrapped the food item and it smells of meat and grease. The Asset feels bile rising in its throat, so it pulls the sweatshirt neck up over his mouth and nose, pulls its feet in, and closes the car door to trap the smell outside. The Americans sit down on the bonnet of the car to eat their meal, and they either do not know or do not care that the Asset can hear their conversation through the glass.
"Hey, you got hold of food and help," Sam Wilson is saying, after a sigh. "So you had more success than I did. It has been another puke-and-tears fest out here. This can't go on, Steve. There was some blood just now, I think he's starting to injure his throat by vomiting so much. He needs his ribs and side looking at too. They're really fucked up; I honestly don't know how he's still upright. Every time he uses the arm he does more internal damage."
"I know, Sam. I've asked Tony to reach out to anyone he knows of, but he's not...feeling that helpful right now. I know he'll come round though, as soon as he sees the arm. And there is a great medical team on hand at Sta- Avengers Tower. They are used to...unusual people. I just wish this felt like the right thing to do."
"I know, man. Are you sure about trusting SHIELD again, after all that shit in DC?"
"I don't trust SHIELD. I doubt I ever will again. But it's not like I'm letting them drag Bucky off in chains. He's going to Avengers Tower, so he's our business and not SHIELD's. He's a former Prisoner of War in rehabilitation, not a captive. That is never happening again."
"Can you even do that? I mean, can the Avengers even take legal custody in a situation like that?"
"Could SHIELD? I don't think there is any precedent for what we're going to be dealing with. But Bucky stays with me, whatever happens."
"I agree that there's not a lot of options on the table at this juncture. Not with HYDRA still on our tail. But is he going to understand? We do not want him freaking out."
The Americans have finished their meal and Steven Rogers is coming around to the side door and opening it. The Asset tenses at his proximity, but Steven Rogers steps back quickly until he is not so close. He crouches down, like he did at the room they had slept in. The Asset drops its eyes to the man's torso; that way it can most effectively see if he moves either of his hands towards weapons.
"Hey Bucky," the Captain says. "How are you feeling?"
The Soldier tells him; "Mech tech required for major arm repair."
Captain Rogers winces. "Okay, buddy, I hear you. How about the rest of you?"
"Moderate biological and mechanical malfunction."
"Are you still cold? Those ice packs on your side doing anything for the pain?"
The Asset isn't sure of the answers to those questions, so it employs the half-shrugging motion again. That makes Captain Rogers smile again, briefly.
"Okay, Bucky. Listen, I need you to understand what's going on. We are going to head to New York, where a good friend of mine lives. Tony is very good with machinery and he's going to try fix the metal arm so it doesn't hurt you as much. He's a...mech tech, you could say. He also knows a lot of good doctors who might be able to fix you up. Does that sound okay?"
The Asset doesn't know. Repairing the arm is necessary to regain mission-ready condition. That is good. But doctors...doctors are bad. Half-shrug. Nod.
"Okay, good. Sam and I are going to be with you the whole time. And we won't get there for a couple of days yet. So just relax, and let me know if you start to feel bad, okay?"
The Soldier loses some time then, and next thing he knows the car is moving again and Sam Wilson is driving. They are heading east. The Soldier wants to sleep but it is not sure that it is permitted.
In the front seat, Sam Wilson suddenly says: "So Steve, you never did tell me how you guys met. You knew each other before the war, right?"
"Yeah, I've known Bucky pretty much my entire life," Steven Rogers replies, and turns to smile at the Soldier. The Soldier just stares at him. Captain Rogers continues to talk; he says place names like Brooklyn and school and Coney Island, and then Italy, London and Austria, but none of it has tactical application. James Barnes's ghost is swirling around inside the soldier, pulsing at the words, struggling against the bonds of flesh. The Asset forces it down.
After perhaps thirty minutes, it realises that Steven Rogers is turning in his seat to look at it and Sam Wilson has just spoken.
"Winter, are you...Oh hey, there you are. Are you feeling okay, man?"
The Asset just shrugs and looks out of the window. They are remarkably concerned with how the Asset is feeling.
"Hey, Bucky," This time it is Steven Rogers speaking. "Is there anything you want to ask? I mean, I've thrown a load of questions at you this morning. If there's anything you want to know, you can ask us whatever you like."
The Asset considers for a moment, surprised. It is seldom allowed to talk, outside of tactical situations.
"Questions are permitted?" It states, for clarification.
"Sure, Bucky, of course."
"Okay. Who the hell is Bucky?"
Да - Yes
Нет - No
кладбище - cemetery
Истинный рука - Real arm
Bзрыв - a bomb
