Chapter Fifteen:
Blue hadn't slept in hours. He stared at the ceiling, listening to Steve snore lightly in the chair beside him and the soft humming of the machines around him. Doctor Amari had put something on his face that she called an 'oxygen mask'. It was supposed to help him breathe better.
Blue didn't think it was working. He felt like he couldn't breathe at all. He tried to focus on it, in and out and in and out and in and out
Then, he would think about his Master and all he could breathe was in and in and in ― in ― in ― in
Blue closed his eyes, trying to gather his jumbled thoughts. His Master was dead ― Blue didn't do his job, he didn't keep him safe. Now what was he supposed to do?
No. Blue knew what he was supposed to do.
"If your Master dies or is comprised, you will return here and await instructions."
That was so long ago. That was ten years ago. Blue was supposed to go back to his old Master, to the doctor. He needed to go now ― he should go now, while he still could and wasn't in the unnecessarily tall tower. These were his new orders. This was his instructions.
Then, he looked at Steve, who was asleep on the chair. He didn't hurt him. He didn't discipline him. He was Steve, he was smiles and laughs and apples and seawater and "don't worry, B." He helped him, even when Blue tried to kill him ― more than once.
Then, he thought about Clint, who taught him things Blue never knew, like his name in the sign language. Or, the food, oh the food. Blue never knew that food could taste like anything other than kibble. After eating people food, Blue never wanted to go back to eating kibble again.
Blue looked at the ceiling. This was what was keeping him in his bed ― this was what was disobeying his Master. Blue couldn't do it, he didn't want to go. He wanted to stay there and laugh with them and try more foods and learn new words and be a person.
Blue wanted to be a person. The thought filled him with something Blue couldn't describe. Happiness? Guilt? Blue swallowed a knot in his throat. He couldn't be a person, he scolded himself. He wasn't a person ― Blue was a dog, he was his Master's dog. He was nothing, he wasn't a person. Thinking like that would get him disciplined. Thinking like that would get him killed. Blue was a dog and dogs follow orders, no matter how hard or how old they are.
Blue looked back at Steve, and suddenly he felt glued to the bed again. He didn't want to leave this place ― this life he had just experience. He wanted to live, he's always wanted to live. He wanted to. . . to have fun, with them. He wanted to be happy with them, why couldn't Blue be happy?
"You're a dog, you hear me? You'll do what I tell you, when I tell you. You're mine."
Blue covered is face with his hands, slightly ruffling the thin blankets he was given. Steve turned in his chair, muttering and rubbing his neck. Blue stared at the man. What would Blue even do if he stayed here? Would Steve be his Master? Would Blue's old Master give him to Steve, if he asked?
What would his Master do if he went back? Would he be dissected? Would he be killed for letting his Master die? Would he be given away?
Blue remembered being in the crate vividly. Days without water and food and in complete darkness.
Blue remembered his cage, too. If he went back, would he be given a new cage? If he went with Steve, would he have to sleep in a cage? Or, would he keep sleeping on the couch or on the blanket?
Would Blue be given. . . a bed? The thought almost seemed unrealistic, until he remembered that he was in a bed right now. It wasn't a bed at the Tower, but still.
Steve would want Blue to do so many things that Blue knew he couldn't do. What would Blue do? If his Master, old or new, had found out what he had done in the past week, he would be disciplined so severely. . . the thought made Blue sick. He didn't want to think about it.
So, he focused on getting out of the bed. Well, really, the concept of getting out of the bed. Blue shook his head, he was being silly, he had to go! He had to leave! He couldn't stay here, what was he doing!?
Blue thought about his Master's words again.
"You will return here and await instructions."
Blue didn't want to go back to his old Master. He didn't want to be put in a cage again.
"I'll send you to the doctor for dissection!"
Blue covered his face again, his lip trembling. This wasn't a choice, this wasn't a 'which one do you want to do, B?' this was an order. Blue followed orders. Blue had to follow orders.
So why was he still in this bed!?
Blue let out a soft whine, closing his eyes, but it was muffled by the oxygen mask on his face. Still, Steve shifted. Blue could imagine his pale blue eyes opening and settling on him. Blue could see it clearly in the dark room ― he could see everything clearly in the room. Blue wondered if he was always able to see like this, or if it was another one of his old Master's changes.
"Hey," Steve's would say. Just like he always did, in that soft tone and gentle voice. "I'm right here, are you okay, B?"
Blue didn't know what he would say to him. He only had so many words and whenever he tried to use them, they never sounded right to him. He wanted to tell Steve that he was scared and he wanted to make Steve understand his fear. He wanted to tell Steve all about his old Master and how nice he had been to him, unless Blue did something wrong ― but then he deserved it. He wanted to go home, he wanted his Master back, he wanted someone to tell him what to do.
Blue didn't know. Blue couldn't know. He wasn't taught what to do. No, he was taught what to do. He had his orders! Go back to his old Master. Go back and be dissected and never see Steve or Clint or Tony or Natasha or Bruce again. Go and die and do it quietly because dogs don't complain. Dogs don't ask for help or scream or cry. Dogs do as their Master tells them.
Blue felt the hot tears grow in his eyes. He knew he was right, but he wanted to be wrong so bad. He wanted to hide, maybe he could hide, maybe if he hid, his Master wouldn't find him.
No, he couldn't hide. If he did, his Master would kill him. He'd be dissected or burned alive, or had so many chemicals in him that he wouldn't even be Blue anymore. Just like some of the other dogs ― some of the other animals. Maybe he would die. Maybe he could die ― maybe he should.
Blue looked at Steve again and he finally felt the hot tears running down his face. He sniffed, moving the oxygen mask to rub at his nose. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to be a dog and in a cage and being injected and dissected and–and―
Blue closed his eyes, breathing in and out. In and out. In and out.
"Blue?" Blue didn't say anything. He thought it was his imagination. Then, he felt a hand on his arm. "Blue, are you okay?" Blue turned sharply, yanking his arm away. He saw Steve standing next to the bed, confused and concerned. "You're crying ― what time is it?"
Steve looked at the watch on his arm. "Are you in pain? Do you need a nurse?" Blue shook his head, closing his eyes and rubbing at his face. "Then, what's wrong?" Blue's throat choked, how was he going to tell this to him. "Did you have a nightmare?" Blue shook his head again.
Blue pulled at the mask, taking it off his face, but he still didn't know what to say. How was he going to tell him that he had to leave? That, he wasn't a person, no matter what the man said or did? "Me―" He managed to say, before his throat ― which was already sore enough ― was choked with a sob. He didn't have time for this, he was wasting time. He couldn't stay here.
"Is this about McAllister?" Steve asked, frowning. Blue only nodded, rubbing at his face. "Are you upset he's. . . that he's gone?" Blue didn't know, he gave a shaky shrug, was he supposed to be upset?
"You don't know?" Steve said, but he already knew the answer. Steve pressed his lips together, "Can you tell me what's wrong?"
"Me―I―" He gasped, "Ma–Master―me―"
"Okay, okay, you don't have to," Steve said, and gave a gentle smile. "Want to hear a story?" Blue blinked, a story?
Steve took his confusion for a yes. He picked his chair up and moved it closer to Blue's bed, so that they were sitting parallel to each other. "I have a lot of them, you know. Hmm. . . my favourite would have to be. . . when I went to the World's Exposition with my friend, Bucky, remember him?" Blue gave a slight nod, and Steve smiled continuing. "We were escorting two girls, he arranged it, Connie and Bonnie. I liked how their names rhymed, but I don't remember which was which," Steve chuckled. "Bucky always had girls hanging off his arm, but they never stayed. I think Connie, or Bonnie, I like one of them. She was sweet. He always tried to get me to get together with one of the other girls we knew, but I didn't like girls that much back then."
Steve frowned, "I don't remember the Expo much, either. I remember there were a lot of lights ― not as many as there are today, though, but a lot. I felt like I could be apart of something, then. I was always going to the recruitment tents for the war, always signing up and always getting rejected." Steve chucked, "Buck didn't like that, when I would put my name down as different things, 'Steve Willis', 'Steve Benson'. One time, I did 'Steve Barnes', never seen him go so red in my life."
"Where ― Bucky?" Blue asked curiously, and Steve smiled over at him.
"He died during the war. We. . . he was trying to save my life," Steve wasn't smiling anymore. Blue felt like he did something wrong. Steve realized, "It's alright ― you can ask questions. I won't get upset." Blue wanted to tell Steve that questions were for people, but he knew how Steve acted to that ― he kept his mouth shut.
"Why were you crying, B?" Steve asked, and Blue blinked, remembering that he had been in his feelings before he woke Steve up.
"Me ― leave," Blue explained. "Back Master ― orders."
Steve scrunched his eyebrows up, like a sheet of paper. "Your Master is dead, B. You can't follow his orders."
"No ― old Master. Return ― dead, compromise," Blue explained and sniffed. "No stay. Can't stay."
"Blue, you aren't healthy yet," Steve tried to reason. "And, what'll happen to you if do go back?"
Blue shrugged, "Di―" He frowned, remember how to say the word. He moved his hand in a straight slicing motion, as if he were cutting open someone's chest. "Dice-etch," he said slowly.
Steve stared at him, unpacking his words. Then, he realized what Blue said. His eyes went wide and his eyebrows jumped. He moved his hand to his mouth in horror, as he watched Blue getting slowly more concerned and scared. Steve wanted to say something, he tried to, but no noise would come out.
Finally he forced himself to swallow and rubbed at his sleepy eyes. "They. . ." He closed his eyes again, rubbing his forehead. "They. . . dissect you, if you. . . if you don't. . ." Steve didn't look like he was going to be sick. "Do you. . . how do you know that?"
Blue made a small rectangle with his fingers, "Video."
Steve looked like he was going to be sick. "Who showed you?"
"Master," Blue looked down. "Boy ― scream. Sad ― scared."
"That's not going to happen to you, Blue," Steve assured, but Blue shook his head.
"Back ― orders. Master―"
"Hey, look at me," Blue didn't want to look at Steve. The last time Steve said that he convinced Blue to take him to his Master. Now, look where that led them? "B? Come on. Look at me," Blue did ― reluctantly. "Remember when I told you your Master wasn't here and that he can't do anything to you?" Blue gave a slight nod. "Your other Master ― your old Master ― he isn't here either. We're going to keep you safe, alright? We're not going to let anything happen to you."
Blue didn't believe him, but he nodded anyways. Blue had orders, and his orders were to return to his old Master if his new one died. The last time he disobeyed orders, his Master died and the base burned down.
Blue couldn't make the same mistake twice.