Author's Note: For how much I love Wanda and Pietro, I really haven't done anything with it. This was an idea I had so long ago to have the Winter Solider rescue Pietro and Wanda before Age of Ultron.

I...couldn't get the plot to work, so yeah, this is really more of a snippet, and Pietro and Wanda never made it into what I did write.

Characters: Bucky,.

Warnings: Implied/referenced torture.

Written: 2017 some time. :)

Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar!

The Soldier didn't have emotions.

"Wipe him; and start over."

He wasn't supposed to, it tampered with missions and his goal, his purpose, was to complete them with perfect accuracy. It's who he is. What he was. He never delt with them before because they destroyed his purpose. Emotions tampered with things and made it explicitly harder to get what he was required to done.

He's supposed to be fast and efficient, with nothing tampering his focus. And he was.

The Winter Soldier is a name that was spoken with fear for the few who knew it-and why shouldn't it? He's a weapon, he's deadly.

He didn't deter from them. He didn't. He knew his purpose, what was the point of messing with it? There wasn't any. That was that, signed and sealed, packaged and received. He never felt the need to go against his programming because what he is is perfect, or so he's been told, over and over.

He's a weapon, weapons don't weap. They don't have emotions or a desire to change. They lock onto their target and destroy it. There isn't a desire-a pleading for knowledge beyond that of what they have. His missions, the ice, it's all he knows and all he needs to. There shouldn't be anything else.

Then why does he want more?

"I knew him."

The three little words shattered the little magical snow globe of ignorance and innocence he'd been carrying like a ripple over the surface of water. He knew him. Did the man, Steve Rogers even realize what he's done? He ruined everything with his presence. Now, he's struggling to figure out where he stands. Like the beginning of spring after a long winter.

Rogers name brings the sense of family and the Soldier hates it. He's a weapon.

He's a weapon.

Yet, he's still so, so human.

Where he's placed his feet feels awkward and shaky, almost like he's horribly off balance, leaning against a completed tilted world.

It's. Driving. Him. Insane.

Some would call him crazy, for coming back to pain but like an addiction, the Soldier couldn't stop. Programming or just the helplessness of it brought him dragging his feet towards the nearest Hydra base dirty, angry and confused.

"I'm with you to the end of the line."

He hates it-yet he can't stop thinking about Steve, Natalia and that day on the Helicarriers. It's playing on his mind in an endless loop and no matter how much hair tugging he does, it doesn't go away.

The first word he would use is: frustration. He can feel the edges of his mind scrambling to keep something from him, almost like overflowing bucket of water with the liquid spilling over the edges. There's something just so clearly there and he can't grasp it. He's not supposed to want to though, and that's driving him to the brink of insanity. He want's to know but he can't.

The second word would be: sibling. Steve is familiar to him, almost like a lost younger brother he had no idea he was related to. Maybe they are-but that's insane because he's old and he knows he's old. Steve didn't look older than maybe twenty three-five. There's no way they could have known each other in his past life. He knows there's more though, than his programming and he wishes the worlds would stop battling and just let one victor.

Hydra didn't know what to do with him since S.H.I.E.L.D. collapsed, now they're on the run and can't ship him out to Russia to put him on ice. It's the longest he's been awake except for the time he was tracking some famous person and he's not entirely sure what to think about it. It's truly pathetic, though, because he's always been so adapt to the missions than the ice there's been little time to actually let his thoughts drift.

It's strange. Yet thrilling.

The cell they put him in is small, dark and smells oddly of burning toast. He's not entirely sure where the burning smell came from and he has little desire to rip apart the facility to find out. There's a long chain attached to his ankle that he can move around the whole cell in with little difficulty if the grinding metal doesn't drive him crazy first. He can't break through the chain-even with his metal arm. It's made of some sort of reinforced steel that reminds the Soldier of Steve's shield.

He hasn't really shifted his position since he arrived here weeks ago. Only moving to grab the bits of food they stuff in and pace the length of the cell a dozen times over. With the serum he was injected with, his muscles don't get fatigue or wear out no matter how much he just sits there. He would have long been skin and bones if they could.

His dark hair is strung in front of his face blocking his vision slightly but he isn't paying attention to it. Or anything else, really. His mind is just drifting aimlessly. The door to the cell has a glass plating towards the top and he can see through it towards the brightly lit hallway beyond. He's pretty sure he's in the upper levels of the base-probably near the labs.

He's saw dozens of people walk by daily for a while, most of them didn't come back.

The Soldier shifts his position grinding his back against the cold wall but through the thick fabric of his shirt he can't feel the chill. He doesn't mind cold, really, it actually makes him think clearer. He doesn't like ice and goes out of his way to avoid it (which can get ridiculous with his missions that are more north) but he manages...sort of.

To be completely honest with himself, with only his thoughts for company, the Soldier is admittedly, uneasy. He hasn't seen anyone in over two months since he dragged himself back here and they tossed him into the cell. He hasn't tried to escape, just move around the cell pacing back and forth because (as much as he hates it) the Soldier is fidgety. It isn't an emotion he's used to, but being honest with himself, he isn't really familiar with any.

All he knows is the missions, compliance and loyalty.

Confusion is definitely at the top of the first ten emotions he's experienced. Rogers threw him far and hard. It showed him that there was something else beyond what he was made for. He doesn't know what to do with the information. On one hand, the Soldier would love to toss himself into the fray and see where it takes him; on the other he doesn't want to break his programming.

Maybe it's less that he doesn't.

More that he can't.

The Soldier lets out a soft sigh and leans back deeper into the wall. He's already pressing heavily into the cold stone so he's slightly impressed with himself that he managed to get any further. On the plus side, he supposes, he's properly caught up on any missed sleep. Not that he really needs to, he's spent years sleeping frozen.

The Soldier whips his head upwards as footsteps ring across the dirty ground in the hall between the cells. At least ten pairs of boots. There hasn't been this many men walking down the hall...ever. He hasn't heard this many as long as he's been down here which is starting to feel like a long, long time.

The Soldier stiffens considerably as the door to his cell screeches open. The man, Strucker, stands in the doorway his frame blocking out a lot of the light which the Soldier is grateful for. His eyes still sting at the light that does come through but he blinks several times, doing nothing else. He suddenly misses his glasses.

The Soldier rises to his feet in respect to his superior his legs numb from the position he's been sitting in, unmoving for days. He bites his lower lip but watches Strucker carefully. Has he come with a mission?

Strucker tosses something through the air that the Soldier catches by reflex with his metallic arm. He opens his palm to reveal a metallic key. The Soldier lowers his gaze to the chain wrapped around his boot before he kneels and shoves the key into the lock. The metal grinds against each other in a painful screech that he flinches at but the cuff falls away from his foot clanking against the ground.

"Asset," Strucker calls and the Soldier raises his head before straightening. "Come with me."

He isn't permitted to ask questions, but right now he wants to.