AN- Haha shit ok so first of all I'm sO SORRY this update is so overdue. Things happened, my muses bounced between different fics, and I am a terrible writer. I've got a good deal of this fic planned out I just need to actually sit down and write it. It's just hard because this is a very emotionally taxing fic due to its dark nature so I'm sorry to say future updates will continue to be sporadic and the word count on the short side as I get the plot set up. But, as I said, I do have most of this fic plot-wise completely figured out. So just keep your eyes open!

Also, bare in mind, since loss of sense of self is a big part of this fic, if you have issues with depersonalization and disassociation please read this only on good days! Due to this, Bucky will not refer to himself by any name and will also refer to other people by titles as well in addition to names. There is blood, slight gore and medical stuff in this chapter!

"Mission report."

Eyes the color of the ice still clinging to his uniform cut from a white-coated tech to the man addressing him, expression blank and unreadable. Surprise settled in on him when he realized that the suited man was actually here in person, having expected just a video feed. It wasn't often that the leader of HYDRA himself stepped out of the lair he'd carved for himself in the Triskelion. The prompt elicited an immediate response from the Asset, whom straightened in the creaky metal chair he was sitting in, head tilted back and arms loose in his lap; all monikers of complete submission.

"Mission successful; target was extracted and kept alive as requested. No complications." The Winter Soldier recounted the mission, voice even and low. The updated objectives had been completed as described, the target delivered, and he had reported to debrief as always instructed after missions. Pierce seemed content with the answer he provided, clapping his hand on his unscarred shoulder in congratulations.

"Your work is always of great help to us, but especially this. As a reward, go and make sure everything is going smoothly with the new recruit. Once word spreads I'm sure he'll be quite popular with the agents, so how about you keep them off him for a while?" It wasn't an option, it was a prettied-up command and the Soldier did not resist or otherwise reply, getting to his feet and walking past the aging man and out into the hall.

The base had erupted into a flurry of activity the moment he brought his target back in. For some reason he felt an innate instinct towards the man—possessiveness wasn't the word but it was the only one he knew—to the point that he hadn't let anyone else take him from him until they landed here. The moment he was sure the mission was completed and the man had not fallen back into his torpor he had relinquished him to the medical staff.

The entire flight back on the Quinjet had caused him a great deal of mental stress, his target eliciting strange responses from him that weren't indicative of the programming. The target had curled up into a ball in his arms, making himself small, one of his cold hands hooked into a strap on the Soldier's tactical vest. As his body woke up he began to shiver more and more, his breathing difficult and wheezy in a way that was almost familiar. He hadn't warmed up fast enough for the Soldier's liking, and before he even registered what he was doing he'd unzipped his heavy insulated vest, pulled the man against him fully and wrapped the edges around him as if he was trying to hide him inside of his clothing. It was surely comical, seeing as Rumlow had let out a snorting laugh at the sight, but the Soldier didn't care. The target's shivering had dropped off and he'd begun babbling nonsense, disjointed words of "dance" and "cold" and "Bucky".

Bucky

That word had lodged itself in his mind the deepest. It bounced around inside his skull, reverberated against the programming, stirred some long slumbering part of him. Hearing it triggered something inside of him, made him want to snarl and lash out at every operative near them, not let anyone touch his target. He'd hooked his metal arm around the target's torso, hand pressed along his spine where he rubbed small, soothing circles. He'd felt like he'd switched into some other mindset, where some other, ancient set of programming had taken over and guided his limbs in a sort of auto-pilot. It was alarming but also so oddly familiar.

The Soldier's thoughts dropped away as he entered the medical bay where they were keeping his target, the room a maelstrom of busy techs and doctors all talking in hushed and astonished tones. The man himself was limply laid out on an examination table, parts of his uniform peeled back or missing. He was lifeless and still, and something inside the Soldier tightened up and stopped. He could hear the constant beeping of a heart monitor, assurance he was alive, but seeing him unmoving and silent set something inside of him on edge, made him want to grit his teeth scream at the techs to get away.

Protocol forbade him from interrupting the techs' work and he instead sat himself as close to the man as he could without raising suspicions. The doctors and white coats were used to his presence, treating him as little more than a filled void of space, stepping around and talking over him as if he didn't exist. Some of the HYDRA agents feared him but most people in the base merely acknowledged his presence and went on with their lives as if he was merely a silent guard dog which, in a way, he was.

The technical and medical babble that bounced back and forth over the body of his target as the doctors worked was dizzying but the Asset listened to every word, soaked in every statement and stored it in the back of his head. It seemed important for some reason he couldn't quite rationalize. Deep tissue freezing, lung damage from saltwater, blood vessel damage due to blood freezing. He made a mental checklist of every aliment he could hear being assessed, tucking it away into his programming. Already he had a half-formed list of materials and items he would need to somehow acquire to help with treatment, even though he was well aware medical detail was not among his operating parameters.

With endless movement the white coated techs hovered and crowded over his target, sterile gloved hands stained rust red with blood. They reminded the Soldier of a cluster of vultures tearing into an injured, helpless animal. The sight of it raised a constricting coil of heat in his chest, anger and fear and the need to protect all twisted into one sickening emotion. He wanted to lunge at them and chase them away, place himself beside the man and guard him, but he had no idea why. The want was there, the pull to move closer, but he planted himself firmly and refused it. He couldn't interfere, he couldn't interrupt.

He sat in silent observation as hours ticked by, barely noticing as his entire focus was centered on his target. They had either sedated him or the man had lost consciousness as he hadn't moved or made a sound the entire time, even as they flayed open his skin to inspect how deep the tissue damage extended, or when then started running heated IVs into his bloodstream and hot fluids down his throat to try and equalize his temperature before thermal shock could kill him. Apparently his abrupt return to consciousness in the field had put him in danger. It distressed the Soldier even though he had seen, and done, far worse in his many years in the field.

"Soldier," his gaze snapped up immediately, Pierce having walked right up beside without his noticing. That alone was a critical oversight, his focus so narrowed that he'd lost touch with his surroundings, and he expected swift reprimand. A long moment passed between them, Pierce's eyes roaming for a brief second before he continued speaking. "Soldier," the man repeated, "You've been down here for six hours. Did you forget you were supposed to report for briefing on your next mission with agent Rumlow?" The jolt that shot through the Soldier could be nothing else but fear, eyes widening the slightest fraction and jaw slack.

"I-", the Soldier's voice fumbled, "I have not completed my prior mission, it has priority over the new mission." The response did not appear to be satisfactory, as his handler's brow creased and his mouth set into a firm line.

"What mission, Soldier? You said yourself that the mission was complete when I spoke to you at debrief." Pierce's voice was calculated and flat, something that the Soldier knew was very, very dangerous. He had done something wrong, and any failure was met with swift and painful punishment. He was a good soldier, he did what was he was told to do and he did it well, and he would take any reprimand given for his faults without protest.

"Protect." The Soldier replied, eyes tracking Pierce's hand as he waved over one of the doctors, "Protect the target. I'm supposed to protect the target." His answer must have been another mistake, for Pierce did not respond or address him and instead began speaking in hushed tones to the doctor. They occasionally looked to him but continued talking, murmuring quickly in a language he couldn't quite catch.

"And, who gave you this mission, Soldier?" both Pierce and the doctor watched him closely, assessing him like predators eyeing their prey. The Soldier felt as though he was laid bare and defenseless; he was a weapon, not a person, he was not permitted to make mistakes and he was not permitted choice like human agents were. His thoughts were a whirling mess, struggling to answer. No one had given him the mission, it had merely settled itself into his programming as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Which meant there was only one logical source from which the mission could have originated.

"… I did." The Soldier's gaze cut down, settling on Pierce's shoes. It was the wrong answer, he knew it, but it was the truth. He had given himself a mission, something that was strictly forbidden. He knew it would mean the chair, mean the tube and the cold, but he could not lie. Lying was something only people could do, and he was not a person.

"You did?" The doctor suddenly repeated, shifting his weight in the Soldier's field of view, "Secretary, sir, the Captain's presence might have had unforeseen effects. He should be wiped immediately—"

"Soldier," Pierce cut the other man off, the Soldier's head snapping up to meet his gaze, "Tomorrow at 0800 you are to report to Floor Seven for a reset. Until then, continue with your mission but do not engage in verbal communication with the target should he regain consciousness, understand?" The Soldier gave a sharp nod, confused and surprised by the sudden leniency from his handler. The wipe was unavoidable, but the chance to complete a mission of his own issuing? He was being given a very rare gift and he was not going to waste it.

"Yes, sir."

"Good, now, see to it that your target is in perfect condition tomorrow or there will be consequences. And remember, do not try and communicate with him; he is a very dangerous man and we can't risk you being compromised. Do not disobey orders again or you will be punished, do I make myself clear, Soldier?"

"Yes, sir."

Pierce smiled his predatory grin and turned to the techs, ordering them to cease their examinations and get the man stable enough for a holding cell. The Soldier was still unsure as to why he was being allowed to carry out a mission of his own but it was not in his place to question, so he remained silent and passive as they prepped his target to move. He himself was ushered out of the room and given a fresh change of clothes and told to remove all of his battle gear. The clothes he was given were not standard issue, simple pants with a worn white shirt displaying a golden eagle emblem on the front, but he put them on regardless.

Without the tight pressure of the vest around his torso he felt somewhat exposed, although he still had about a half dozen knives on his person and one pistol stuffed into a pocket. He didn't need them, he was safe here, but to be unarmed was to be useless and HYDRA did not tolerate uselessness. His metal arm was exposed by the short sleeves, and as he approached the cell they were moving his target into one of the techs motioned for him to stop.

"That'll never do, he can't know things've changed." The man muttered, pointing to a chair for him to sit while he turned to dig through a supply closet. The Soldier did as he was told, he was fully obedient to anyone who was HYDRA, watching him idly for his next command. He didn't know what he had meant with that comment but he assumed it had something to do with his self-appointed mission, so he waited patiently for him to return before he continued with his task.

"Here, keep this on but leave the front unbuttoned. This'll cover the arm and prevent him from seeing it. Remember, you're not supposed to talk to him about anything. No dates, no missions, nothing." The tech talked as he watched the Soldier done the musty jacket, a simple thing missing half of the buttons on the front but well-worn and comfortable. It had to be decades old and was scuffed and torn and frayed, made of simple heavy fabric that was vaguely familiar. "Keep him from doing anything too stressful on his body and keep him calm. Pierce said not to talk but if he starts to show distress you can try and speak, just don't tell him anything." He added on, removing the muzzle-mask with a swift tug. "There will be guards posted outside. Do not let him out of the room or they will shoot him."

The tech opened the door to the cell and let him inside. It looked more like a hospital room than a cell, old cinderblock walls and floors the same as when the base was built decades earlier. His target's cot was up against the wall, as far away from the door as possible. The techs had dressed the man in a simple shirt and pants that already were flecked with crimson, covering the multitude of bandages and wrappings that hid their explorations. The Soldier had seen the same wounds on his own body, the techs always eager to see how his body healed from the effects of cryo, but seeing them on the other man made his blood boil in his veins.

Beeping steadily, the heart monitor at least displayed that his target had stabilized well after their botched attempt to raise his temperature equally. The rhythm of it was soothing to the Soldier although for some reason he kept expecting to hear it hitch and sputter, but it never came to pass. His breathing was ragged and wheezy from the damage to his lungs, skin pale and almost translucent with a sickly sheen. Without the ice and the frost he looked… warm was the only word that came to mind. Bright. Sunshine in summer.

The stark, dingy room was small and it made him anxious. Tight spaces reminded him of the tube, of the cold and the burn of frost blooming on his skin. He paced and moved around the room, flicking and retracting one of his switchblades in nervous habit. He felt like a predator locked in a cage and he wasn't even sure why. The Soldier had known confinement and control every moment of his life but this was somehow different. The presence of the other man made him want to bolt, to break them out and escape but just why eluded him.

His arm whirled and the plates recalibrated under the sleeves of the jacket, mirroring his distress. Eventually he found himself hovering over the cot, inspecting every little thing the doctors had done. He picked at bandages and pressed living fingers to flesh that still exuded the cold of his icy tomb. The air was heavy with the scent of sea salt and the crisp bite of snow that still clung to his target's skin, something about it almost familiar in a fond sort of way, not in the same manner as how the cold reminded him of cryo.

"… Buck…?"

The sound of the man's voice nearly made the Soldier flinch, having not even noticed his eyelids flutter open or the slight flurry of the heart monitor. This man is either too stubborn to stay unconscious or something else has given him amazing resiliency, or perhaps both, but the Soldier quickly abandons all other thoughts and focuses on his mission. Keep him quiet, keep him controlled. Protect. He didn't respond to the name but it triggered something like familiarity in his head, and before he knew he'd reached out with his right hand and brushed a few strands of unruly blond hair from the man's eyes. He was moving on some strange sort of instinct that he couldn't explain.

"B-Buck… how…?" questions already. The Soldier knew questions were dangerous, would get his target into serious trouble. This man was clearly very valuable to Pierce and the rest of HYDRA, and he had his mission to prevent him from finding out anything of important about his current situation while he protected him.

"Shh," The Asset hushed him softly, pressing his palm to the man's forehead a moment later. He tried to emulate the behavior of the white coated techs and doctors, tried to do what would be considered 'normal' although his own instincts growled at him for lying like this. He'd lied to countless people before while on missions, yet he seemed to have trouble with it on this one. "Your lungs are damaged, don't try to talk." As long as he didn't tell him about where he was he was permitted to keep him calm through any means necessary. Otherwise the guards outside would put him down, and the thought sat heavy in his mind.

His target didn't take his eyes off of him, which were now the bright vibrant blue that his memories seemed to recall them being, watching him in confusion. It was as if the man was trying to memorize every detail in his face. He kept his left hand firmly pressed against his side, knowing any glimpse of it might jeopardize his mission as the tech had said.

"You're injured and you need to rest," the Soldier suddenly spoke up, nerves fraying the slightest bit under his target's scrutiny, "I'll keep watch." The tension seemed to leak slowly out of the man the more he talked, but no doubt he was not going to be anywhere near healthy or functioning for weeks and his own exhaustion was playing a significant factor. It was working in the Soldier's favor, at least. He started to turn to go back to his silent vigil, but before he could he felt hesitant fingers grip his right wrist, the grip tentative and weak.

"I… I know m'dreaming…" the man's voice was raspy and wheezy, but somehow still mournful, "… but… p-please stay, Buck." He asked softly, sounding almost like a plead, and something colder than even cryosleep shot through the Soldier's heart. He nodded slightly and felt the man's grip tighten as if he was afraid he'd disappear if he let go. The Soldier hadn't even realized he'd returned the gesture, wrapping his hand gently around the other's wrist, until he saw tears in the man's eyes, heard his mumbled, broken apologies.

When Pierce came to collect the Soldier the following morning and found him sitting on the cot with Captain Rogers, their hands still intertwined, he knew his plan for the lost Captain America was going to work.