Hello again! This chapter is longer as promised and a little bit more insightful about the duo's past affiliations with Bucky. Now, there is something I need help with. The two are going on a journey of self-discovery, so they're gonna need names. I'm drawn a blank, please PM or review for suggestions. Another matter that I cannot find a way to write without it being awkward is the way the sibling's bionics look and work so I'll just do it here for everyone's sake. For both, there are scattered panels and replaced limbs. One may have more mechanisms in one spot than the other, but they're bionics are pretty identical. Replaced hands, feet, knees, and partial in the shoulders (envision that however you like). Everything is metal plating like Bucky's. Both have a red star on their right hands. A major difference between them is that the boy has a few panels on his side from reasons that will be explained. Enjoy. Reviews appreciated.
They stood side by side, alone in their cell, in silence. Silence was required, as was not failing missions. And yet, a lot of requirements had not been met today. Someone would be here soon to collect them, reprimand them, shove HYDRA's ideals into their heads, and then off they went to erase any sign of dysfunction. Beside her, her brother fumed, exhaling as loudly as possible. As if he could just will away the world with a minor show of aggravation. Aggravation was not required. Not allowed to take a place in either of their thoughts, but it does. There is anger, frustration, irritation, simple emotion. And it was not allowed. 'Emotions, they cause problems,' The boss would say if he were the one to arrive 'So we get rid of them.' She shuddered at the memory and then pushed it aside, her attention consumed by the bolted door that concealed the duo from the outside world.
"Scared, Squirt?" Her brother's voice didn't quite startle her, she couldn't be startled. The fear factor came from the fact that he had even spoken at all. In response, she steeled her expression further and began to count the rivets along the door frame- all to keep from engaging the feelings that clawed at her icy exterior. However much she wanted to smile, maybe give him a good slug on the shoulder- she couldn't. Why did she feel these things? Neither of them are supposed to feel anything let alone affection. Definitely not for other human beings. And he used the pet name. Damn. Those feelings had broken through the ice. She was smiling.
"Shut up." The girl giggled, not bothering to hold back the laugh that erupted from her mouth as her slightly-taller-than-you-so-I'll-rub-it-in-your-face brother pulled her into a tight side hug. Hugging isn't required. Years of programming weighed heavily against the physical contact as soon as he'd pulled her into the embrace.
"Where'd the smile go?" His tone alerted to another emotion: Concern. Concern was reserved for the slim chance that a mission could turn sour, and then dismissed once the issue was solved. All of this was making her thoughts spin. She shook her head against sudden, rising tears, pushing against the older's torso in an attempt to wriggle free, and perhaps stop these rapidly forming feelings. He held firm. After all, he had more mechanisms in his arms than she did. A point of jealousy between the two. Another emotion triggered by the one that held her tight in his arms as she cried into the coarse fabric of his mission suit. Like a dam that had burst, the plate of steel that was her programming was torn away. These emotions, they were confusing. So confusing, and so painful… Why did she want to keep them? Through mist eyes and quiet sobbing, she looked at her brother's face. He was smiling, a facade to uplift the tone she knew, for tears were leaving shiny rivers down his cheeks.
"How many times is this now? Thirteen?" She breathed, tucking her head under her brother's chin, closing her eyes and listening to his steady heartbeat. They were feeling many things, but never afraid.
"No idea. Hell, I don't even remember my name!" He let out a small laugh, and then proceeded to run his hand over her tangled hair. She hummed tunelessly as he rhythmically stroked her dark locks.
"Maybe we should take a vacation, clear our heads. Remember Mexico?" She nodded and swallowed another bout of sobbing, grounding herself by matching her breathing with his.
"Yeah. Great beaches. Couldn't admire 'em at the time."
"We should ditch this place. I've had enough of assassinations." A cold weight dropped in her stomach at that word, pulling her back into their present situation and out of their daydreams.
"We tried to kill-" He hushed her by squeezing only tighter. The target- the man who they'd tried to kill, his identity had been kept from both of them. And only now when the veil of mind control was wearing very thin could the two gather up the pieces.
"That's why he knew we were there." She whispered, internally horrified at the realization of the events that had transpired only mere hours ago had been their doing. All thoughts stopped dead, then and there by the bone-chilling scrape of metal on metal, of the door opening. The siblings made haste to drop out of their embrace, and stand on equal ground to prepare what inevitably came next. His voice reached the two before he was seen, Brock Rumlow, and newly self-appointed as "Crossbones".
"How touching," He sneered as he all but threw his unwanted presence into the room. His mangled face was turned up into a smirk as he looked down at the two.
"Brother and sister hugging goodbye. Looks like little sister's been crying-" Rumlow's meaty arms struck out to grab the young teen by her collar, holding her close enough so that she could smell his rancid breath. But she dare not retaliate or break eye contact. She was strong. They were strong. No claims put against the pair could deny the fact that they were formidable weapons. The fact that Hydra had experimented with using the physical capabilities of younger people had proven useful in their case. But for now, they remained quiet, passive, loyal dogs, doing Hydra's good work. That is until a certain older brother had to open his mouth.
"Sir, the mission failed because of faulty equipment and the skill capacity of the target." Her jacket was released, and Crossbones' ugly face turned to glare furiously at the still-board-straight figure that was her brother.
"Oh really?" The man growled.
"Really, Sir." The teen snarled in reply, glancing briefly at the door and then to her, who also payed a sideways look at the ajar slab of metal. The signal was almost psychic, and soon a plan formed between the two faster than lightning; time to improvise.
While Rumlow was spilling his guts over how important it was to conform, focusing only on the "defecting asset", the otherwise free sibling took in the scene. Rumlow was carrying three handguns, and a rifle was strapped across his back. Not so easily taken, better stick to the handguns. She noted mentally. There were no extra guards. The mauled mountain of a man was alone, and she happened to know that a swift well-aimed punch or kick to Rumlow's bad left leg should do the trick for a diversion, especially if his weapons were to unexpectedly turn on him. Then there was getting out, this base was in the middle of a field disguised as a storm shelter four miles out of D.C. They'd need a car. The garage was three right turns and a left. They always left the keys in the vans. The matter of extra weapons and ammunition was solved by the mass amounts of guns held in those same armored vehicles
"So, do you understand the vitality in our plans?" Rumlow finished. The observation had taken mere seconds.
"Yes, Sir." Her brother nodded curtly, a smirk playing across his face. She shot him a look as she glanced over.
On three?
Meanwhile in D.C.
"You know who shot you?" Sam asked over his shoulder from the fridge, from which he drew the carton of orange juice. Bucky nodded.
"And I know where to find them." Sam pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the somewhat small dining room table and sat down with a long sigh.
"Who said anything about findin' 'em?" Sam said cautiously, quietly, as to not wake Steve who was sleeping down the hall. Bucky smirked, knowing all too well what Sam was about to say next. Something about Steve not approving. Frankly, Bucky didn't give a damn. Sure, he might end up with another bullet hole somewhere but that was the job, right?
"Steve ain't gonna like this man." Sam warned, none too concerned but still curious.
"Your point?" He countered, resting both elbows on the table. Sam sighed again in defeat. He was letting his curiosity get the better of him, this much Bucky knew for certain.
"I'm just sayin' it's dangerous." Bucky raised an eyebrow at Sam's comment. Danger he could deal with.
"I can handle it." He said flatly. Sam thought otherwise, glancing at his right shoulder. Sam made the right call and decided to drop it.
"Okay then. Tell me more about your friends." Sam leaned back in his chair and waited for Bucky to start telling the long tale of how he knew those two unnamed teenagers, but if Bucky wanted his help he'd have to keep his mind running.
"I don't have to." Sam shrugged. That was one thing that the anyone close to Bucky never argued, the one thing you never challenge in the presence of James Buchanan Barnes; his free will. However much Bucky appreciated that, he often used it to his advantage, whether it be getting out of conversation or obtaining something he wanted. The Winter Soldier had taught him that much at least, to play people's strengths and weaknesses to his benefit.
"You're right. You don't." Sam looked comprehensively at the floor.
"When do we start?"
"Before Steve wakes up." Bucky rose from the table, Sam following close behind as the assassin entered his room. Bucky dug through drawers, his closet and under his bed (a considerable feat taking in that fact that his shoulder stung like the blazes) to piece together something he hadn't worn since Steve and Sam brought him here; his Kevlar mission suit. He detested the thing, like it carried a disease. In a way it did. A disease that kept him incapacitated and unaware for seventy years. He had purposely scattered the armor so he didn't have to look at it, but it was still at close range for any emergency.
"Woah, you didn't tell me they were that serious." Bucky sighed and looked over at his friend, who was leaning against the wall. Sam knew the psychological effect his old gear had on him, after all Sam was somewhat of a therapist over the months and knew the inner workings of Barnes' mind- well, at least as much as Bucky let him know.
"We're gonna need more than this. Look in the closet." Bucky waited with his arms crossed as Sam rooted around in the clutter of his closet, coming out with quite a few deadly-looking weapons.
"Man, this is serious." Sam remarked, looking over a large rifle.
"You have no idea."
"Faster!" She yelled from the back seat, struggling to reload a pair of handguns that she'd used to shoot out the side window. The van was lurching back and forth as he swerved wildly to evade their pursuers in whatever field their were currently ruining.
"You try driving with a bullet in your- Where are the headlights!" He'd looked everywhere for that magic button that would illuminate their path, but no such luck befell him.
"Dummy, it's right there!" His sister threw herself at the control panel up front, pushing something behind the wheel and then returning to her mad shooting. He hated it so much when she knew more than him. Though he'd never let her know that. She'd find out sooner or later, she always did, he admired her for that. His little sister may look like a scrawny wire-haired teenage girl but she was something lethal on the battlefront.
"Keep it straight!" In his 'admiration' he neglected to keep a steady hand on the wheel, sending her crashing into the opposite side of the van.
"Don't get snappy squirt, last time I drove one of these was in Russia." The sound of gunshots had disappeared now, and sister dearest was sliding into the front seat.
"He was with us then." She muttered, pulling the seat belt across her chest.
"Pretty sure he's the one that taught me." His brow furrowed in thought. Things like this were hazy. That was at least twenty years ago.
"Well he was one hell of a teacher if you're this bad." They both chuckled, and then fell into a comfortable silence. He looked over at her. Her gaze was locked on the dark view outside the vehicle, she was trying to distract herself from what was going on.
"Do you know if this this has autopilot?" She brought her attention back to him, leaned in to press some buttons, and sure enough the wheel was moving on its own as well as the gas and brake.
"It'll take us to the nearest highway. Unless I can get the GPS to work, we're on our own from there." She was already working at it, but another idea came to mind.
"What about-"
"No, absolutely not." The near psychic connection he shared with his sister was more a curse than a blessing half the time, and this was no exception.
"Knowing him, he's probably looking for his shooters. The guy trained us, he knows we're the ones that, uh..." He paused, fearing the answer.
"Tried to kill him?" She finished softly.
"Yeah. That." Another long silence as the car pulled onto a rough country road. He shifted uncomfortably, the (too) familiar sensation of a newly acquired bullet wound came crashing back onto his senses. He couldn't suppress a groan apparently, because she was looking at his torso with a look that perfectly summed up the phrase 'you idiot, look what you did'.
"Not my fault, he shot me."
"Yeah, I know, I shot him back." He scowled unhappily. The squirt was waiting to see how long it would take for him to notice his own gun shot wound. Typical if his memory served him right.
"You sly little-"
"Get in the back seat. There's a medical kit under the cup holders. Get it, open it, I'm fixing you up." He rolled is eyes.
"In the back of the van we just stole?" She wasn't having anything right now, but for her brother's sake, he was willing to bet at least, that she didn't want to do a bullet removal right here right now.
"Where's the nearest cheap motel?" She asked.
"Four hours. D.C."
"Great. Death by Winter Soldier is going to be loads of fun."
"Dude, we're on top of some random hotel on the edge of the city. You sure this is the one?" Barnes said nothing, did nothing, just kept on staring at the rising sun. It wasn't unusual, but it wasn't usual either. Sam was getting damn near tired of no answers.
"Come on, Barnes. You said they'd be here on a couple hours. Give me a brief summary." Barnes' dark form shifted, and though Sam had little light to discern it, his friend was now facing him.
"'Bout twenty years ago, there were these kids. Hydra brought 'em in after some bombing. Two were all torn up, so naturally they gave 'em some "upgrades". Wiped their minds, but not like they did it to me. They got rid of everything. Emotion. Memory. Skills. And I watched it all. I watched as they were broken and rebuilt. And I helped. Their old memories were gone for good, but their emotions kept coming back as well as the memories of other missions." Barnes sighed heavily, and Sam was shuddering.
"How old were they?" Sam didn't want to know, but he had to keep this going.
"One of 'em was twelve. The other one was ten." Sam's stomach churned uncomfortably.
"Woah."
"They should be sixteen and fifteen now." Was that pride in his voice?
"And they're smart, so when they escaped they'll be heading for the nearest cheap motel that won't ask questions."
"Let me guess, you taught 'em that." He could hear the assassin chuckle.
"Yeah. Let's just hope the kid remembers how to drive."