Hello lovely humans, I hope this story finds you drinking tea and wrapped up warm if it's winter where you are, and enjoying the sun if it's summer.
This is (obviously) not my usual fandom, but I have a soft spot for these two idiot relics, and my procrastinating brain decided that this was a thing that was going to happen, so apologies in advance haha.
For the sake of knowing where the story picks up, it happens pre- and straight after the Winter Soldier, and we are blissfully ignoring everything that happens in canon afterwards for the sake of there actually... being a story.
Hope you enjoy, and I don't own any of the characters from the MCU :)
xxx
-Winter Soldier-
Cold.
It felt like something he should feel. But he couldn't. Just the echo banging around the edge of his mind, whisps that told him that cold was a thing felt, it was a thing that was not always there. But that wasn't right.
Always.
Cold was always. This was what he knew.
[-]
Everything was black. Sound rushed through his ears like a first breath, clamouring against his skull.
Awake. He was awake. But he could not see.
Had he ever seen?
Slowly, blurry white crept across his vision, shapes shifting and merging like tides.
He had seen. He knew what tides looked like. Grey, blue, tumbling and murky.
"Asset." A rough voice.
That is me, a voice whispered. Himself, he thought. "Ready to comply."
[-]
Sometimes, he saw things in the sleep. Dreaming, the voice would whisper.
The sleep was dark. Always.
And immerkalt.
The silence was empty, but he thought he might like it because it made him feel empty, too. Empty except for the small warmth in his chest that he could feel because all else was cold. Warmth that smelt like a throaty laugh and felt like kind eyes.
He slept. He woke, warmth falling through his grasp in the wake of grey ceilings.
Cold.
"Ready to comply."
[-]
He had been awake for too long. The signs of malfunction were unignorable.
He let out a slow, deliberate breath through his nose and lined up his scope again. Silent and still, he listened to the soft brush of the wind sweeping the dry grass. A man, tense and frowning, paced in his scope's vision through a window flung carelessly open to the summer air. Back and forth like he was agitated, hands moving with exacerbation as he spoke in barely held together hushes down a phone.
A small figure came running from the left of his vision, crashing into the legs of the target. It was a child; young. Curly hair pulled back into a messy plait and brown spread across its cheek.
Chocolate, probably.
His stomach gave a strange lurch, like emptiness was grinding against emptiness. It brought his focus back to the target, mild panic beginning to thrum in his veins. Malfunction to report: Asset's do not need food.
Dark, bitter, sweet on his tongue.
He closed his eyes and recentred his balance on the gun. Breathed in, and out.
Open eyes. Shoot.
His scope caught the tears of the child as they screamed.
Unavoidable collateral. They would have to be taken care of; they could not be allowed to scream.
He shifted his aim, but his finger hesitated on the trigger.
Malfunction.
Something in his chest felt like it was speeding, pounding. Dropping through the ground and deep into the earth he lay upon.
Malfunction.
He turned and fled, leaving screams and wails buried in his retreating footsteps.
He would be punished for this, no question.
Good.
He needed recalibrating.
[-]
Pain was something he knew. Like cold. But he didn't remember where he had learned it.
He just knew its name, its familiar touch and fire and electricity licking across his shoulder, down his metal arm. He knew its sound, like silent screams and wide eyes, and its taste- like darkness and sweet rot and blood and the tang of urine.
He knew its name.
But he didn't remember meeting it.
[-]
"Asset."
"Ready to comply."
[-]
He knew the man on the bridge. He was sure of it.
Blonde hair, skinny arms, a pale hand twitching for charcoal.
"I knew him," he whispered; half to hear himself say it out loud, to hear its insanity, half to mission report.
Assets didn't know people. Assets were not people.
"You don't know him," they replied.
Throaty laugh, kind eyes.
He looked at The Chair. Back at his handlers.
He barely resisted when they sat him down. He was malfunctioning.
Dreaming, the voice lilted before white hot brightlightburning…
[-]
He wasn't dreaming this time. The water was icy, colder even than the sleep, and his mind was running and frozen at the same time.
The target was heavy, sluggish to move through the water with, limbs shaking from shock.
He didn't know why he had jumped, why something had risen inside him like a wave and sent him shooting into the water after the target.
Scraped knees, blue eyes, bruised knuckles.
The target had fallen.
Mission complete.
And he had followed.
Compromised. Malfunction.
He dragged the body to the bank and dropped him on the ground with a thud. The target coughed up some water, but remained unconscious. The Asset stayed standing beside him, a statue, eyes on the horizon. He should return to base, get wiped, recalibrated. He wasn't operating correctly. Something was very wrong.
But he could not make his feet move. His eyes fell to the target like gravity had called them there.
Blue eyes.
The target had blue eyes. Now they were closed, his face pale with cold and blood loss.
Warm.
In his chest. Just below the thing that beat a steady rhythm. Like a ball of fire that wasn't bright like pain, but slow like… like…
He didn't know what like.
Like pale hands, throaty laugh, scrunched nose, bitter and sweet.
He watched the target breathe in. Breathe out. Saw his face crumple in pain as he slowly came to consciousness.
His gun hung limply in his grip from where he had pulled it from his vest. He should finish the mission. He should return. Assets followed orders without fault.
You know me.
(No, I don't).
He thought he might not be a very good Asset. He was failing. He was dreaming things. Things that whispered and tugged and lied and said memory. Which was not possible.
Assets were not people.
Concrete lined his stomach, cold and heavy. He was not a person, but he was also wrong, incorrect, malfunctional.
He could not finish the mission.
It was alright. He knew pain. Someone stronger than he was would need to clean up his mess.
He ignored the heaviness in his chest at the thought.
[-]
The bank was empty when he returned.
He sat in The Chair and waited.
[-]
Assets did not eat.
Assets did not drink.
Assets were not people.
[-]
The Asset felt weak. He needed his handlers for immediate reboot and maintenance, but the bank had remained empty for 57 hours and 43 minutes. It was unlikely anyone would arrive within the next 12 hours if no one had come for him yet. They were probably waiting to regroup and make new mission parameters. Average planning time: 70 hours.
His wounds had all healed on their own, blood slowly clotting to a stop, and ribs knitting themselves painfully back together hours ago. But the Asset did not move from The Chair. This pain was good punishment. Better to have punishment than no punishment.
Problems must be fixed. Pain resets the Asset.
But this pain didn't feel like it was resetting him properly. It was not enough to fix him. His stomach was making gurgling sounds, and his throat felt like sand. He thought he might want water, though that was absurd. Assets did not drink. But he could not ignore it, the constant, overwhelming thought. Water, water, water, water.
Where did one get water, anyway? Where did it come from?
There had been water in the Potomac. Did people drink from lakes?
Slowly, he rose from The Chair and walked out of the vault towards the stairs leading into the street. He would be back before his handlers returned. They did not need to know.
His steps felt off-kilter and unbalanced as he ascended the stairs and stepped onto the busy street. Loud colours and bright noises were everywhere, people flowing like a river down the pavements and cars honking in stand-still traffic.
The Asset ducked his head, trying to steady his breathing, and let the crowd carry him. He kept peeking into store fronts as he went, catching his reflection looking back at him from windows- sunken dark eyes, long hair, black clothes. He looked both bigger and smaller than everyone around him. Bigger in size and height and strength. But smaller, like a shadow, a wisp, not human.
His eyes caught on a table through a window with a glass bottle on it full of clear liquid. As he watched, a waitress picked it up and carried it to a bar, placing it down and grabbing a cloth before moving back towards the table.
The Asset's throat and tongue felt even dryer than they had been a moment before, and without conscious thought he had shuffled his feet to turn and veer into the shop. His eyes were locked on the bottle, condensation dripping down the glass.
He walked close to the wall, keeping his chin ducked low, and swiped the bottle as he passed with expert hands. He kept walking, spotting a back entrance through what looked like a disorganised kitchen.
"Hey, dude, sorry you can't be back here," a young woman called after him as he sidestepped a huge gas stove. "Hey, sir? You alright?"
The Asset made the mistake of looking up and catching her eyes, wide and brown, a questioning crease in her forehead. She had messy curls, tied back in a plait.
Chocolate, probably, something whispered.
Her eyes dropped to the bottle in his hands. "What the-?"
The Asset bolted, slamming the back door open and tearing into the alleyway outside. His footsteps were loud, fast, echoing in his ears, and his skin crawled as he pushed people to the side, fighting against an ocean.
Calm. Down.
He forced his feet to slow, dropping his chin further and turning into the first shallow alley he found that looked mostly quiet. He pressed his back against the scratchy bricks, drawing his breath in, holding, letting it go.
Calm down.
He let himself slide down the wall to the ground, spots dancing in his vision. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but something acidic felt like it was climbing his throat, like it was seeking an exit from his mouth. Brown curls.
He swallowed it down, looking at the glass bottle as he did.
Water, he supposed. He lifted it to his lips and took a gulp. Once he started, he found he could not stop, liquid dribbling down his chin and neck, fighting for breath and water to the same desperation until the bottle was empty in his hands and he was left gasping.
Assets did not need water. People did.
But he thought he might like it anyway.
[-]
"I- uh. I brought you a sandwich," a voice, smooth and warm.
The Asset opened his eyes, startled, and blinked up at brown eyes, brown curls, creased forehead.
Acid rose in his throat. He blinked again.
He was leant against the bricks, exactly where he'd been when he'd dropped the glass bottle and collapsed against the support of the hard ground, boneless and exhausted.
"I didn't know if I'd find you, but I'm glad I did," the voice continued.
The Asset looked at her blankly. She was crouched in front of him, holding out something lumpy wrapped in paper, gesturing for him to take it.
When he did not respond, she licked her lips nervously, rocking back a little on her heels. "Sorry if I… disturbed you. I just thought you might be hungry."
The Asset blinked again, looking back at the wrapped bundle. He did not understand.
"Food?" His voice was raspy. He couldn't remember the last time he had used it.
(You're my mission.)
"Yeah," she smiled. She had a nice smile. Warm and kind in a way that people smiled at other people. Not at Assets.
He took in the information. He knew what was happening. She though he was a person. People needed food.
"I don't need food," he said, nodding his head for emphasis.
The girl tilted her head, looking confused. "You don't need it? Sorry, I didn't want to make any assumptions, but you kinda look like you… could use it?" She trailed off at the end, biting her lip as though embarrassed.
He looked like he needed food? Touching his fingers against his ribs under his vest, he supposed she was right. He was thinner than usual. Must be due to the malfunction. He didn't know how to answer her without letting her know that he was not a person, though, so he just kept looking blankly, hoping she would retreat soon.
She shifted uncomfortably at his gaze, holding out the sandwich closer to him. "My name is Eliza," her eyes darted down to the bottle, laying forgotten on the ground at his side, "and that's the bottle you stole from me."
The Asset felt everything inside him freeze. Assets stealing from handlers must be punished.
Eliza must have noticed something in his expression because she strained out a laughed and rolled her eyes towards the bottle, blowing her hair from her eyes. "You can keep it, though, I reckon. I mean, it wasn't mine to begin with; it was… you know. The café's and all. Actually, maybe we should take it back."
He nodded, reaching for the bottle and holding it out towards her. She took it gently from his hands, smiled right at him, and zipped it into her patchworked bag.
"And your name is…?" she raised her eyebrow.
The Asset had no answer. He didn't have a name. Asset was not a name; it was a thing. But what else would he be called?
You are James Buchanan-
"Asset."
"Oh, uhhh. That's… that's a cool name. Well, it's lovely to meet you, Asset. Are you sure you don't want the sandwich?"
She said his name wrong, her voice gentle on the vowels like she was taking care of the word in her mouth. The Asset continued to look at her, watching for any sudden movements. Did she know he was not a person? Would she drag him back to his handlers and tell them he had run off, had not waited? Was she his new handler? But a handler would know the rules. Would know that he did not eat.
36 seconds of silence passed before Eliza sat down with her legs crossed and placed the bundle on the ground between them. She nudged it closer towards him with the toe of her shoe. Then she reached into one of the many pockets of her yellow coat and pulled out another wrapped bundle, this time ripping off the paper and taking a huge bite. She closed her eyes contentedly.
"It's a really great sandwich," she mumbled around her full mouth. "Marge makes them special on Tuesdays."
"That is good," the Asset replied, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.
Eliza hummed, taking another bite. It did look very good. His stomach turned unpleasantly.
Cautiously, he reached out his flesh hand and snatched the bundle up towards him. The smell of something savoury and peppery wafted into his nostrils as he carefully unwrapped the paper. It made his mouth water, though he wasn't sure why his body would have such a strange reaction.
Malfunction.
Maybe the sandwich was like the water. Maybe he would like it.
He took a tentative bite, eyes widening in surprise as sensation burst across his tongue. What was that?
Eliza was watching him with a small smile in the corner of her lips. "Good?"
The Asset furrowed his eyebrows in thought. Yes. It was good. He took another bite, and another, pleased at how the action made something in his stomach leap and settle all at once.
With her sandwich finished, Eliza leant back on her hands and looked around at the bricks walls as though they were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. But the Asset knew she was keeping her awareness of him on high alert, though she didn't look it. He had done it himself times whilst tracking a target.
Eliza did not feel like a threat, though. It seemed like she saw him and was aware of his presence; was wary maybe, like one was of a stray cat, but not the way one ought to be of an Asset. An assassin. This was how people got killed, they underestimated the evil lying at the centre of ones like him.
He found himself annoyed at the thought. This girl should be more careful. He angrily took another bite of his sandwich.
"Do you have some place to go?"
The question confused him for a moment. A place? Like base? But then, he realised. She thought he was a person. She was talking about a home.
"I have to be somewhere soon," he evaded the question, never looking away from the sandwich in his hands.
Eliza nodded, smiling brightly. "All good, just thought I'd ask in case. I've got a shed out the back with a bed in it if you needed some place warm to crash. And a super mean and strong older brother in case you had any funny ideas about stealing anything." She waved her bag with the bottle in it back and forth, a teasing smile in her eyes.
As though stealing should be her biggest worry about him. He opened his mouth to tell her that he was fine, but stopped himself short, blinking. Wait. Warm. She had said warm.
The bank vault was not warm.
Neither was the sleep.
He took a small breath in, steadying his nerves. His chest hammered.
Malfunction. Malfunction. Return for maintenance.
He was broken. Cold always was. Always. There was nothing wrong with cold.
"Warm?" His word was barely a whisper, just a breath into the air.
"Yeah," Eliza smiled at him, eyes going softer around the edges. "Got a heater and blankets and everything."
The Asset did not know what a heater or blankets were, but he thought they sounded nice, if potentially mildly alarming. He would have to scout them when he arrived to check them as possible weapons.
He met her gaze before flitting his eyes away, suddenly feeling small and light at the same time. His impending punishment and recalibration felt far away. Eliza felt real, like the water, like the sandwich. He nodded slowly, pulling up a mostly forgotten word from somewhere long lost in a labyrinth.
"Please."
[-]
Blankets, it turned out, were absolutely… something. Something he did not have the word for yet.
Warm, was one word, but more than that, they were soft. Soft against the skin of his cheek and neck like nothing he had ever felt. Warm like blonde hair glinting in golden sunlight, a heavy head on his shoulder, hand in his hair.
He was wrapped head to toe in the extra blankets that Eliza had gotten for him when she saw his reaction to the first one she had offered. He had touched it gently with his metal hand, wondering if it would detonate unexpectedly, and was shocked at the smooth give of the fabric against a hand that was normally strapped in with reinforced vibranium restraints or scratched under his head on the concrete ground of his room in the short times he closed his eyes but was not in the sleep.
"What is it for?" He had asked, hushed.
Eliza had laughed, her forehead creasing again in amused confusion. "It's a blanket."
When he didn't look any more enlightened at the explanation, her eyes grew worried, but she kept smiling, strained. "It keeps you warm. You wrap it around yourself. Like this."
She had stepped forward and for one panicked second, the Asset thought he had underestimated her, that she was going in to restrain him, to capture him, to take him back to the cold cold cold. But she just looped the soft fabric around his shoulders and hiked it high against his neck, surrounding him in the scent of light and soap, gentle against his skin, jaw, cheek, face.
He had been so shocked that he had frozen in place, all training and combat skills leaving him for dry. He had lost some number of seconds- and it worried him that he hadn't even kept track- just feeling the soft, and the warm. It was... He had felt his lips moving strangely, trying to lift towards the edges of his face.
Eliza had brought him four more blankets immediately.
Now he lay on the floor by the bed (which he had been told was for sleeping and he knew a threat when he heard one; he decidedly did not want to get too close to it), wrapped and warm. On the ground, covered in a shaggy rug, so different to his own concrete floor or The Chair, he could bury himself in the pile of blankets and make himself small. Hide.
Safe.
He knew it was ridiculous.
Assets were never safe. Assets made other people unsafe, and they did not deserve to be safe themselves. They were not people.
But safe sure did feel nice.
Safe felt like stirring a pot, a bony hip pushing him to the side, hand on his neck, soft, gentle.
[-]
Aiden was less stupid than Eliza.
Unlike his sister, who invited assassins to live in their backyard, Aiden had been wary and straight with the Asset from day one.
"You stay out here, you don't touch our stuff, you don't touch my sister," he had warned, voice low with an underlying threat, eyes hard on his. "We'll get you food if you need it, and you can use the shower. But this is temporary, alright? I expect you to get back on your feet as soon as you can."
That had confused him. Was he not standing right then? Maybe he had meant back to his handlers, back to functional. Recalibration and maintenance.
For the first time, the Asset did not think he liked the thought of that.
But Assets were not allowed preferences. Not even sandwiches and water and Eliza and blankets. He was broken.
From then, though, Aiden had been strange. Not hostile as expected, but as talkative and bright as his sister. He would wander down to the shed, pencil dancing between his fingers, matching brown curls tumbling over his forehead and a sketchbook clutched in his hands. He'd lean against the open shed door, or flop into the lone wooden chair sitting just outside, knee bent to support his sketchbook. There was something almost soothing about watching him draw, the repetitive motions of his hands as he chattered about anything and everything while the Asset listened from his blanket pile.
He did not ever want to leave his blanket pile.
If Eliza and Aiden thought he was odd, or not quite human, they never let it be known. They talked and brought food and water, and asked questions that were met with terse silences or stilted attempts at answers, and never seemed fazed.
The Asset was perplexed.
Was this how people treated other people?
He was certainly further from being a person that he had ever thought, then. Which was a relief because it reminded him that he was not one. And that was good. That was right. But it was also some kind of sad, a longing and quietness that sunk inside him. This was not who he was. Not good, not kind, not generous. People had souls that were warm and lovely. The Asset did not think he had a soul.
Lovely.
That was the word for the blankets. Lovely. They were lovely.
He felt like a fraud to have them warming him up.
[-]
"You deserve to feel warm," Eliza had said, deadly serious and strong, when he had tried to give the blankets back that night.
The Asset had closed his eyes later with something wet on his face, his chest too big to fit in his body.
[-]
The first time the Asset ventured tentatively inside the small house, it was because Eliza's nose had scrunched in distaste as she entered the shed one morning, even as she bravely tried to conceal it from him. He thought it might be true that he did not smell very good by this point, without maintenance and the hose.
Eliza explained that there was a shower (hose, he thought she might mean) and that she would wash his blankets while he used it if he wanted.
The Asset felt something itch under his skin at the thought of having to leave the blankets behind, but he stood up tall and nodded, letting his face settle into a blank state.
He would go to the hose. And he would hope that he got his blankets back after. He did not know what he would do if he did not. If Eliza was teaching him a lesson, if she ripped them away and sent him to the sleep. The bed was there, always a threat sitting in his room, just waiting for him to make a mistake, for them to put him away again.
Cold.
He followed her inside, footsteps dragging slightly more than when he was at full capacity and ready to comply.
Eliza opened a door and gestured inside. "There's a spare towel already on the rack for you, and I'll leave some of Aiden's clothes outside the door for you when you're done."
The Asset faced the door, trepidation falling from his skin and splashing messily across the floorboards.
He felt his nose scrunch, a tiny twitch of motion. He was mostly ready to comply.
Eliza left with an encouraging smile and his blankets piled in her arms, and he took that as his cue to enter the room. It was white and grey, mainly tile, with a big mirror hanging above a sink, and a tall cubicle with a hose at the top. The hose was a funny shape, but there was a tap that he could see, so he thought he could make it work. Normally, his handlers hosed him themselves, but Eliza had talked like this was something he was expected to handle on his own.
He could do that.
He was kind of ready to comply.
He clenched his jaw against the anticipation of icy water and peeled off his combat gear. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror when he turned, saw the same hollow cheeks, dark eyes and long hair in a stark clarity that the shop windows had not afforded him. He blinked at the reflection a few times, eyes drifting towards where his arm glinted in the light.
That was him.
The Asset
James Bucha-
Asset. The way Eliza said it. Gentle and soft and like it belonged to him, a gift that he had been given. Not just a weapon. His lips wanted to tilt into that funny shape that went with the warmth in his chest when she said Asset like that.
Gathering his courage, Asset stepped into the cubicle and turned one of the taps, bracing his muscles. Cold water fell from the ceiling, wetting his hair and cascading down his body. He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut, and tried to remember what came next. His handlers would normally roughly rub something soapy over his body, then rinse it with the water. The water pressure of this hose was much softer than the hose he was used to, but he didn't mind. It stopped his skin from feeling raw and burned by the sting of it.
He blindly reached around for soap, finding it in a little alcove etched into the wall, and lathered it over himself before tipping his head back and letting the water wash over him, swirling murky grey and red down the drain. When he thought all the soap had rinsed from his face and hair, he opened his eyes and looked through the open doorway to catch sight of Eliza turning the corner into the hallway, carrying a small pile of clothes. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she nearly dropped the clothes in her haste to cover her eyes with her hands.
"Asset!" She yelled. "What the hell are you doing?"
The Asset felt the shout echo in his ears. Obey obey obey. He ducked down under the cold water, crouching low and letting it fall onto his back in a relentless torrent. He tried to make himself as small as he could, waited for harsh hands, stinging, whip, burnbruisehurt.
The water stopped falling with a sudden silence, and the sky was clear again. He could hear his breaths echoing loudly in the cubicle. He curled in further upon himself.
"Asset?" That was Eliza, voice much closer, quieter this time. "Can you hear me? It's okay. I'm sorry I yelled. Hey, hey, you're okay."
Something dry and slightly rough landed on his back, a hand rubbed gently over the top of it between his shoulders.
"Jesus, you're freezing," Eliza continued. "Only the cold tap was on, you idiot."
The Asset shivered, tucking his chin into his chest to hide the trembles. Eliza hadn't hurt him yet, but yelling meant pain. Idiot meant pain. Immer.
"Here you go, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You're okay."
More fabric fell onto his back and was wrapped hastily around him. Towels, he realised belatedly. Eliza was squeezing excess water out of his hair, rubbing her hands up and down the towel covering his flesh arm. She gently pulled him towards her, scooting them both out of the cubicle and onto the small mat that lay on the floor.
"One second," she whispered, rising to her feet, and twisting a tap above them. The Asset cringed as he anticipated the cold water to return- punishment- but they were out of its stream, the water pounding harmlessly against the tiles to their side. Slowly, warm steam rose around them, heating the air and his nose and his ears.
"Do you want to try and get under the warm water?"
The Asset shook his head, suddenly exhausted. No. He didn't like games. He didn't want to be tricked. He needed to be punished where he could see it coming.
"Hey, that's okay. You don't have to. Why don't we just stay here a moment and warm up, yeah?"
Asset felt something hot pushing against the back of his eyes. He wanted to scream. He didn't want to wait for the hurt. "What is the punishment?" he forced out, voice steady against his trembling.
Eliza drew back, and the Asset risked a glance up at her. Her eyes were shocked, and she looked sad. devastated. He had done that. He had done something to make her sad.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Asset," she said, shaky. "You haven't done anything wrong. I would never-" she made a choked noise in the back of her throat and shook her head. "You're safe here. I won't let anyone hurt you."
Asset paused; he didn't understand. "No punishment?"
"No. Not ever."
Asset was not sure he believed her. Not ever was an awfully long time. He was bound to make a mistake before then. But her eyes were wide and brown and soft and kind, and he wanted to believe her. He wanted to.
Not ever also meant she thought he could stay here. With her. "I don't want to go back," he whispered, a confession.
Eliza looked at him closely, maybe trying to figure out where back was. "Then you don't have to. You don't have to go back."
Relief and fear dragged him down in equal measures. Not go back? He could stay here. With Eliza and blankets and Aiden and the heater and sandwiches. But he was also the Asset. He had to go back. It was what he was made for. They would find him. He was theirs.
But for just this moment, he nodded, choosing to believe that what she said could be true, even as his chest grew heavy with the knowledge that it wasn't.
[-]
She took him to pull his blankets from what she called a dryer as soon as he had dressed himself in Aiden's clothes.
His eyes burned with the relief of their weight across his shoulders as he gathered them close.
Eliza smiled and laughed at him, poking a finger at his nose where it stuck out from the extra soft one, dark green and purple, that he had wrapped over the top of his head. For a second in his vision, she was shorter, blonder, voice deeper and teasing- then he blinked, and she was just Eliza again, bright, and lovely and full of soul.
[-]
"So, I've been thinking," Eliza mused, picking at the daisies that grew in the grass outside the shed, "that you been eating all our food, and so maybe if you're gonna stick around for a bit, it's about time you cooked some for us."
Asset looked up from his own daisy chain, clumsily made in his large hands. It was his fourteenth attempt. It was Eliza's day off work, and she had been patiently showing him how all morning. Hers, of course, always looked dainty and perfect, not a bruised petal in sight. "I don't know how to cook."
Eliza just smiled up at the sky, a blue that made the brown of her skin glow. "I'd teach you, dummy."
Asset had slowly gotten used to the names that Eliza called him when she thought he was being… a jerk. She called it teasing and fun. It consisted of words like dummy and idiot (said softly and fondly, not with the harsh bite that meant pain) and nugget and old man. He was not sure what chicken had to do with anything. He was also not sure how old he was. He did not know if Assets had ages. Was he born at some point? Did he have a mother? A father?
"I'd like that," he replied, carefully replacing the daisy circlet on his head with his newest achievement. It made her smile, and his lips twitched in response.
[-]
Aiden made them both promise not to burn down the kitchen.
Asset was not sure what he was so worried about. If he had wanted to burn their house down, he would have done it long ago. This was his favourite place (though he thought that only in the quiet safety of his mind in case his handlers heard him. He was not allowed favourites), he would not endanger it.
Eliza, however, just rolled her eyes and shoved her brother unceremoniously out the front door. "He'll be fine," Asset heard her promise.
The kitchen was small and cramped, with green cupboards and wooden benchtops and plants on every surface. Unsure if they were edible or not, he picked at a leaf and gave it a sniff. He was interrupted by a laugh.
"You can't eat that, sorry," Eliza shrugged apologetically. "Aiden just likes to think he's an interior designer. And it makes mom turn a fun shade of purple every time she comes home." Her grin was a distant echo of a gappier smile, grubby hands, mischief lined in the corners of a scrunched nose.
Asset dropped the leaf from his fingers.
This complicated things. There was another that lived with them. And rare visitor though they may be, they could return at any moment and decide that Asset should not be living in their shed.
"When does Mom return?"
"Oh, whenever she wants to." This did not comfort Asset. "She's somewhere in Europe now, probably. She works a lot. She offered Aiden and I the house when she got a gig overseas, and we'd be dumb to turn down cheap rent, so…" she trailed off. Shrugged. "It'd be nice if she was around more, I guess. But it's fine. We're adults now."
Asset did not know what to think of this new information. He thought Mom being gone sounded good, because Mom sounded like someone who might disapprove of Eliza and Aiden's choices to harbour him. But he also thought Mom being gone was not good. Because of the way Eliza looked wistfully around the kitchen, as though imagining someone else standing in his place.
"You are sad," Asset noticed.
Eliza huffed a breath, smiling softly at him. "Only sometimes. We were close when Aiden and I were kids. Had to be, we were all we had, you know?"
It was at this point that Asset realised that Mom was Eliza's mother and not just another person in the house. They were a family. "You are a family."
Eliza squinted her eyes at him, a confused smile tilting her lips. "Uhh… yes." Her words were spoken slowly, like she was trying to figure out if Asset was asking a different question than the one she had heard.
"I have never had a family." Something about the sentence didn't ring quite true, but that wasn't possible. Assets were made. They belonged to HYDRA.
Small hands reaching up, clapping, brown curls, pink dress.
"Did your parents die when you were young?" Eliza looked like she regretted the words as soon as they fell out of her mouth, a blush rising on her cheeks. "Sorry, that was. That was insensitive, and…rude."
"No," Asset answered her. "I don't have parents."
Eliza's eyebrows drew down in confusion. "You never met them?"
"No. I don't have them."
Words looked like they were trying to come out of Eliza's mouth, but she held them back. "Oh. I'm sorry. That really sucks. I lost my dad when I was younger; I don't really remember him very well, either."
Asset didn't know how to explain to her that it didn't hurt him because he had never had anything to lose. Maybe there was no such thing as people who didn't have parents? He supposed people weren't made like Assets were. "I'm sorry about your father," he said instead.
She smiled tightly at him. "Yeah, me too."
She looked up for a beat, and Asset thought he could see her eyes glistening. Then she clapped her hands together and whisked out two aprons from a low cupboard. "Put this on," she threw the apron at his head.
It was frilly and white, but the material was worn and soft and he took care with it as he threaded it over his head and tied it around his waist. He wasn't sure where the muscle memory of donning and apron had come from. Maybe previous missions had required him to cook for the agents.
You sure look mighty pretty in that apron. Cook for me, wife. Laughing. Shut up, punk.
He bit his lip hard, dispelling the images. They were getting worse. Imaginations and fantasies swimming through his mind. He did not want to be recalibrated, but he wondered how much longer he could last before he had a full system shut down.
He was distracted by Eliza setting flour and eggs onto the bench in front of him.
"I thought we could make something sweet. Just to start off with."
Asset nodded. Sweet sounded good. Of all the things that Eliza had brought him, he liked sweet things best.
"Chocolate?"
Eliza grinned, slamming down a giant bag of dark chocolate melts next to the flour. "Only always."
Immer, Soldat. Obey, always.
He smiled back weakly (he had discovered that this was the funny motion his mouth had been doing recently. Caught himself in the mirror and was so shocked that he had blanked his face immediately, feeling shaky and off balance. People smiled. He did not know Assets could smile, too).
"I was thinking brownies," Eliza continued.
This time, Asset smiled for real.
The process of cooking was surprisingly calming. Soothing something deep inside him that he had not realised had been restless. He chopped the chocolate, cracked the eggs, watched as the sifted flour disappeared into the bitter-sweet mixture.
"You're good at this," Eliza sounded surprised.
Asset just shrugged, but he felt warm all over. Pleased. This was good. He did not think anything could be better than this tentative quietness he felt inside, lethargic and content, stretching like the daisies reached for the sun, opening his lungs until he could breathe.
Then the brownies came out of the oven, warm and gooey and crumbling in his metal hand.
He changed his mind.
One thing was better.
[-]
"Bucky shhh, don't tell Ma. Pleease." Large eyes looked up at him, bottom lip trembling. "I got you one, too."
Bucky laughed, ruffling Bekka's hair. "You little nuisance. Ma made those special for Mrs O'Donnell."
Bekka pouted her lips further and looked down at her shuffling feet. The chocolate cake was crumbling in her tiny grasp. "Not my fault they smell so good."
"No," he agreed, crouching down in front of her and lifting her chin. He smiled at her and winked. "Not your fault at all."
[-]
Bucky opened his eyes to darkness. They were burning, and there was something wet on his cheeks.
Bekka.
He did not have a sister. Or a Ma. Had he made her up?
Like he had made up knowing Captain America, small and scraggly with knobbly knees and a sharp grin?
Malfunction.
He didn't know. He didn't know.
[-]
It was on day 17 (three hours and 46 minutes) of Eliza bringing him to the shed that Asset decided someone as smart as Eliza might be able to help him.
"I am breaking," he said, his voice flat.
Eliza looked up from her mug of coffee (taste: awful) and tilted her head at him the same way the birds in the backyard tilted their heads at Asset when they wanted some bread. "Pardon?"
"I am breaking," Asset repeated, taking a seat at the bench opposite her and looking at her head on. "Malfunction. It has been getting worse."
Eliza shook her head, blinking. "I'm confused," she admitted. "Why do you think you're breaking? What does that even mean?"
Asset did not let his eyes drop from her gaze. Mission reports were required to be truthful and thorough. Eliza was not his handler, but she was smart. She could help him.
Maybe.
"I see things when I close my eyes," he started, not sure how to describe it. "False things."
"False things? Like hallucinations?"
"I don't think so." Asset furrowed his brow in thought. "More like dreams. Thoughts. They whisper to me, and they tell me things that aren't real. I think I may have a full system shut down soon."
"Full system- wait. Hang on. Rewind, like, three times." Eliza waved her hands in front of her face, scrunching her eyes up as she shook her head again. Asset was starting to worry that he had miscalculated. Maybe Eliza could not help him. Because she still thought he was a person. And people weren't fixed the same way Assets were.
"Normally... Back…" he trailed off. The words stuck on the back of his tongue, uncomfortable and scratchy.
"Where you were before?" Eliza's voice was softer this time, her eyes catching his again.
"Yes. Back." He nodded, then continued haltingly. "I would malfunction after four days and 20 hours. Then I needed recalibration. Maintenance." He paused. Forced himself to keep going. "The sleep."
"Four days? What…?"
"It has been 21 days and three hours since last wakening. I am breaking."
"Didn't you just… wake up this morning, though?" Eliza was looking worried now, her eyes darting across his face like she was looking for answers hidden in their corners.
"I have not been in the sleep for 21 days and three hours," he repeated. "Before my last-" he cut himself off. Before mission: Kill Captain America.
Steve.
You made him up. Made him up madehimupmadehimup.
"Okay," Eliza took a deep breath through her nose. "I assume this sleep is not… sleep."
"It is the sleep." Now Asset was confused.
"At night… what do you call what you do?"
Asset did not understand why Eliza needed to know that intel to help him, but he reported it anyway. "I scout the perimeter, check for threats."
"You what!? No, no… I mean, after. After that." Eliza clamped her mouth shut, running a hand across her mouth before nodding at him to continue.
"Then I wrap my blankets around me until there is only warm. Then I close my eyes. And I see things. They are the whispers."
Eliza was quiet for a moment. "Are you aware all night?"
Asset frowned. He lost time during the night, had to count back the minutes the next morning. "No."
Eliza let out a breath, leaning further into her coffee cup. "Okay, okay," she whispered to herself. "That's good. That's... okay."
"What is good? I am breaking."
"It's good that you are…" she looked to the ceiling to pull the word out of the air. "Resting."
Asset nodded slowly. He did not know what resting was, but he supposed it was as good a word as any to describe closing eyes. "Yes."
"But you're having, what? Bad dreams? Nightmares? Seeing scary things?"
"Not scary. Fake."
"Do you feel comfortable sharing any of them with me?"
Asset blinked. Comfortable. He always felt comfortable with Eliza. Comfortable was blankets and brownies and Aiden drawing and the rug on his floor, skinny wrists moving over paper, soft hair against his cheek. "I see Captain America," he started.
"Well, he's real," Eliza shrugged.
"Yes," Asset agreed. He had nearly killed him. Had felt him under his own hands. He was real. "But I see him different. Smaller. And his name is wrong. The voice says Steve." Stevie.
Eliza bit her lip in thought. "Steven is his real name. Steven Rogers." Yes, Asset remembered the Captain saying that on the hellicarrier. A coincidence he was not sure what to do with. Maybe his handlers had told him Steve's name, before the voice came up with the rest of the story. Brooklyn, scraped knuckles, weak lungs.
"But I see him telling me his name. He is small and young. He has bruises. And his name is Steve. But I have never met Steve before mission: Kill Captain America. I do not know him."
You know me.
(No!)
He realised too late that Eliza's eyes had grown large and her face pale. "Kill Captain America?" she repeated weakly.
"Classified," he grunted, hiding his panic beneath a blank mask. His handlers would not forgive that breach. He would be asleep for a long time when he returned. When they found him. His right hand felt sweaty.
"Alright," Eliza breathed harshly from her nose and nudged her coffee away with the tip of a finger. "We're going to park that car and… move right along. Any other false things whispering to you in the middle of the night?" her voice sounded on the edge of hysteria, and Asset felt something in his stomach drop and twist. Guilt, maybe. He had scared her.
"Bekka," he breathed. "A sister."
Eliza didn't say anything for 73 seconds. "Why would she not be real?" The words were soft; careful and wary.
Asset licked his lips. They were dry. "Assets do not have families." He made sure his voice was low, could not be picked up by any bugs that may have been missed in his surveillance check. This was classified. Higher even that missions. Asset was not human and only HYDRA were supposed to know. "I don't know where we come from. But we do not have Ma or Pa or… sisters. She is not real. I have made her up. The voice made her up."
The prickling sensation behind his eyes took him by surprise, as did the tightening of his throat and the deep sense of heaviness leaking into his bones. Heavier than his left arm could ever be. He had made her up. But she felt so real. He felt like he had lost something. Just like blonde hair glinting in golden sunlight.
"Hey, hey, don't cry. It's gonna be okay." Eliza's voice was hushed, soothing a spooked animal.
Asset became aware of the wetness on his cheeks again. Crying. That's what that was. Strange response to stimuli; not in his bank of appropriate functions. "Sorry," he muttered.
"No, no, no, it's okay. I didn't mean-" Eliza huffed, leaning her head in her hands, elbows resting on the bench between them. "I'm sorry, I'm not doing a very good job of this. You're allowed to cry if you feel like you need to, or if you feel sad."
Sad. That was what he felt. Deep heaviness and tightness in his chest and liquid falling from his nose and the thing that beat inside him sinking and twisting over itself. More water rolled down his cheek. "Bekka," he whispered again, his voice unsteady. Malfunction. His voice was never unsteady.
In the next moment, something warm and strong surrounded him, smelt like flowers and coffee, looked like brown curls and yellow coat.
Eliza.
She squeezed him tightly from the side, arms wrapped around his body in a surprisingly strong grip, holding him together from the outside as all his insides tried to spill out of him. He shuddered, leaning back against her, and let more wetness fall from his eyes. His breath was hitching in his throat, and he wanted he wanted he wanted-
An involuntary sound came from inside him, like an animal that got shot wrong and was taking its time to die.
"Shh, shh, you're okay. I've got you."
And Asset did not know how someone the size of Eliza could got him but he let himself fall into it anyway.
[-]
Later (Asset had a mild panic when he realised he didn't know how much later and had to find the clock on the wall to reassure himself), Asset slowly became aware of the things outside himself again. He smelled the sugary scent of leftover cereal sitting in milk. The freshness of mint sitting in a pot plant. The warmth of Eliza's arms still around him. The hardness of the floor beneath him. The chill of the leg of the metal bench seat he was leaning against. The breath in his nose, compromised by the liquid still running from it, causing a loud inhaling sound.
He felt wrung out like one of Eliza's tea towels after she washed the dishes. Like one of the daisies he accidentally bruised with his metal hand. Like the sky when it was too tired to give a colourful goodbye, and instead snuck beneath the horizon, unnoticed and pale grey.
"Do you want your blankets?" Eliza whispered. Real and safe.
Asset couldn't move his mouth. Could only nod. Yes.
[-]
Eliza had led him to the couch to rest. Had gathered his blankets from the shed, plus some extras from a cupboard in the wall, and let him pull them tight around himself until he resembled a wrapping he might apply to a wound. Tight, secure, stemming the bleeding.
Though he wasn't sure what was bleeding right now.
He lay on his side, the couch too soft beneath him, threatening to swallow him whole. He felt empty; but for the first time, it did not bring him any comfort. The emptiness was somehow worse than the uncontrollable liquid falling out of his face situation. The thing in his chest felt pulled a sluggish rhythm.
He closed his eyes.
[-]
Bekka flew down the stairs, tumbling over them two at a time. She was older now, her smile less gappy, her dress more grown up. Barely a teenager but looking so much older than could be possible. It seemed like just yesterday she was sitting on his hip, demanding more cookie dough with grubby hands.
"Don't be late for your date," he called after her as she rushed past him to the front door. His voice was teasing but it didn't stop the twisted grimace crossing his face.
Declan.
Barely a teenager himself, and still cocky like only boys his age could be. He should know. He was one, once.
"At least I got a second date," Bekka poked her tongue out at him, hopping on one foot as she strapped on her shoe. "You just kiss 'em and leave 'em."
He held his hand against his chest, mock outraged. "I would never treat a lady like that." He would deck Declan if he ever did that to his sister.
Call him a hypocrite.
Bekka finished strapping on her shoes and turned with uncharacteristic gracefulness, her eyes losing some of their teasing sparkle, replaced with a softness that cushioned the words that came next. "Why don't you just tell Steve?" Her voice was quiet, careful not to be overheard. Bucky's heart still spasmed with panic in his chest. He laughed uncomfortably.
"Tell Steve what?"
She looked at him pointedly, and he really should have known better. Bekka had a talent for seeing straight through people. A talent he was grateful had not come from their parents.
He sighed, defeated. "You know I can't, Beks."
Bekka just shrugged like she did know, but couldn't have cared less about little things like legality. Like he was still her brother, nothing wrong with him. Like she loved him as he was.
He smiled at her gratefully, reaching out to pull her into a hug that she squirmed to get out of. "Let me go!" she laughed as he tickled her sides. "Bucky!"
He made sure he roughed up her hair with his chin before he stepped back. "Don't let him kiss an' leave ya."
Bekka rolled her eyes, her smile bright and lovely; her mussed dark curls made her look like joy.
[-]
"We have no idea who he is. Or where he's from. What if he's dangerous, Eliza?"
"He's clearly traumatised. He sounds like he needs help, not to get kicked out on his ass again."
"You just said he thought he tried to kill Captain America. That is not your regular level of it's fine. I can handle it."
"I don't know if that whole thing was even real. He said he's been seeing things, what if he seriously needs professional help? We can't just leave him."
Silence.
"Do you think he'd agree to go see someone?"
"I don't know." A sigh. "Maybe we give him some time. Introduce the idea slowly."
More silence.
"What if he's telling the truth? What if he had a mission to kill Captain America like some kind of convoluted assasin?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Eliza. That's insane. Occam's razor says it's him that's not quite sane."
"I like him anyway, though."
Another sigh. "Yeah, I know. Me, too."
"What do we do?"
The murmurs were swept back under the tugging darkness.
[-]
The next time he opened his eyes, it was to the sound of a pencil scratching away at paper. Asset lifted his head from where it lay and looked over at the other couch to see Aiden sprawled across it, sketchbook leaning against his raised knee.
"Hey, man," his voice was quiet when he looked up to notice Asset staring at him. "How you feeling?"
Asset thought for a moment. "Hungry." It was a new word that Eliza had taught him, and he found it aptly described the gnawing feeling in his stomach.
Aiden chuckled, moving to get up from the couch. "Stay there, I'll be right back."
Aiden dropped a bag of popcorn onto his lap and leapt back over the back of his couch. "Wanna watch a movie? Sometimes it helps settle me down when I've had a hard day."
Asset furrowed his brows. "What is movie?"
"Oh, uhh," Aiden bit his lip awkwardly. "It's… do you know what a TV is?"
Asset nodded. The agents liked to watch men run around a green field on their screens. They had called it TV.
"Well, movies are stories on the TV."
"Stories," Asset repeated, confused.
"Yeah," Aiden smiled. "Like books or someone telling you about their day. A series of events that's… entertaining, I guess? Stories."
Asset had never read a book before, but the voice whispered that he liked them. Real or false, Asset did not know. But Aiden liked movies. So, Asset could like them too. "Okay."
"Great," Aiden moved his sketchbook to the side and picked up a black rectangle. Asset guessed it controlled the TV somehow. "If you've never seen anything, I suppose Disney is a pretty safe place to start."
The screen on the wall lost its blackness in a second, becoming blue and light. Asset watched the screen as Aiden scrolled down some tiny pictures. Each picture had a name next to it. Tangled. Pinocchio. Star Wars.
"What's that one?" he asked when Aiden passed a picture of drawn men with large noses.
"Snow White," Aiden answered, pausing his scrolling. "Oldie but a goodie. Shall we watch it?"
Asset could not tear his eyes from the picture of the small men. A lady was with them, black hair, and pale skin. The drawing was colourful, like one of Aiden's pictures, but with all the spaces filled in.
I'll draw like that one day.
I know you will, Stevie. You'll be the best in the business.
Asset shook his head, looking back at Aiden's questioning glance. "Yes," he paused. "Please."
Aiden smiled at him and pressed a button on his controller, turning up the level of sound coming from a hidden speaker and settling back against the couch cushions. "Eat your popcorn," he said, eyes not straying from the screen. "It makes movies better."
Asset barely had time to look down at his hands and pull the packet open before his focus was swallowed by dancing lines and tinny voices. He felt himself fall further into the couch beneath him, loosening a tension that had crept and hidden between his shoulder blades. The lady with the black hair sung with the birds, blue as the sky in the backyard outside his shed, sung of a prince that she was dreaming of.
At some point, Eliza wandered in and sat on the floor by Asset's hip, leaning her back against the couch. "Good choice," she whispered to him, head tilting back to catch his eye. Asset could only nod in reply, not daring to speak lest he miss something. His chest felt warm and full, the thing in his chest tugging and swooping. He let his hand drop towards Eliza, let her grip it in her own, comforting and safe.
Can we see it again, Buck?
"Again," he whispered when the end credits started rolling.
Aiden pressed a button without a word, and the opening music began to play over. Asset smiled. Eliza squeezed his hand. Only then did he realise that it was his metal one. The weapon. He considered pulling it back, keeping it away from her, where it couldn't squeeze too hard, break, kill; but her hand was warm against the metal, and its grip was soft like blankets.
He squeezed back, light as could be.
xxx
"I'm sure I'll get along somehow. Everything's going to be alright." - Snow White