The erratic thoughts have been increasing and getting more troubling. James knows the reason is that he hasn't been wiped and placed into his cryo-chamber but the Avengers don't need to know about all this. You just have to wait for HYDRA to retrieve you, he's been repeating to himself for hours but the thing is… that's exactly what's kept him vigil throughout the night. And there is where the most worrying thought had begun and he hadn't found a way to stop the ideas that had followed it.
What if HYDRA doesn't come?
All had started from there. What if they can't find him now that he doesn't have the tracking chips? What if they aren't interested in finding him? After all, he's been failing to carry out his mission with the quality HYDRA requires from their best weapon. The thought is terrifying at first, imagining a world where he doesn't know what to do, where to go. He stares intently at the white ceiling, trying to imagine a future like that and his brain comes blank.
After a few hours, a different thought had started forming, timidly at first and then eclipsing everything else.
What if HYDRA left me here?
It didn't have to be with the Avengers since James didn't feel more welcomed with them than with HYDRA—
His brain had come to a halt at that moment because… he had received medical treatment and been operated on without even asking for it. His wounds are healing since the chemicals from whatever they inject him with before taking disciplinary actions are wearing off. He feels like the room is warmer—not enough for his limbs to stop shivering but it's better. It's not the first time he's been captured and that's how he knows this treatment he's receiving is odd.
So… what if HYDRA doesn't come for me?
His head hurts just from thinking about all the things he could do or learn to do. It scares him and there is a part of him—one pretty big—that prefers what he already knows instead of venturing into the unknown. Perhaps he's not made for the outside, for living without a handler, a mission, a chair that makes him forget and forces him to start over with only HYDRA protocols and the necessary skills to complete a mission stored inside his brain.
The Soldier forces himself to imagine a scenario where he tries to kill Steve Rogers or the daughter of his last mission. His brain sends an electrical message to his stomach and James fights off the bile that rises up his esophagus.
Once again, his dilemma is settled by the fact that what his sudden desires don't matter; HYDRA will come for him and they will take the disciplinary actions they see fit.
There's a knock on the door and James shifts his eyes away from the ceiling. His lids feel heavy due to lack of sleep and pain killers still being pumped into his system. He would want to ask someone to get him off the sedatives too but he knows they're doing it for safety. The Soldier—James doesn't want to fight anyone but he understands their reservations.
Steve Rogers opens the door and asks if he can come in. James wonders if it's one of those jokes he doesn't get. He shrugs a shoulder and tries not to nod off.
"Hey," Steve Rogers greets with a wave of his hand.
James would like to ask him what questions he wants him to answer today but he feels drained. He tries to appear less weak but he doesn't really remember how to do that. He thinks it may be because of being in such a different place and needing longer to read its people. He gets his hand from under the blanket and balls it into a fist as subtly as possible, feeling the IV shift into his skin. His head feels full of air.
Steve Rogers drags a chair near the bed and the noise is like claws scratching at his brain. James notices then that the other man is carrying something in his hands. His sight is blurry and he makes an inquiring noise at the back of his throat.
"Oh, this." Steve Roger lifts it and then unfolds it and James can see it's a grey sweatshirt. James nods his head and feels better now that he knows what it is.
"It's for you," Steve Rogers adds and James feels his body freeze with equal parts surprise and confusion. Steve Rogers must sense it because he half-smiles and says, "I know that you have trouble regulating your temperature."
That's one way to say it.
James looks down at the sweatshirt on Steve Rogers' lap and then at himself. He has the hunch it won't work if he tries to put it on by himself. He lifts his hand from the bed—it too feels like steel—palm-up and waits for the blond man to hand him the garment over.
"Thanks," the word scratches up his throat. He hasn't used it in a long time—hasn't had the occasion—but something tells him his mother—wherever she is—will be disappointed if he doesn't show some manners.
He holds the item in the air for a second and then lays it over his chest. He looks at Steve Rogers with half-closed eyes, expectant.
"You're not going to put it on?"
"I can't." That right there is a sentence the Soldier cannot utter under any circumstances—at least when he's with HYDRA. His muscles unclench when nothing happens after the two words leave his lips.
"Oh, right. Sorry."
Steve Rogers takes away the sweatshirt and James feels a pang of disillusion. He shouldn't have because Steve Rogers holds it in front of him. "I'll help you," he says. As if it's that simple.
When he doesn't make an attempt to pull the hoody away, James gathers strength to sit up propped by the pillows. Steve Rogers, as already stated, helps him with his IV and one arm situation so he can get into the hoody. Once dressed into it, James leans back and his hand moves directly into the front pocket. It's a little too big on him—the Soldier knows he has lost some pounds in the last days—but it makes it all that more comfortable. The fabric feels radically different from the one of his uniform which always feels rough against his skin. He looks down at it and rubs it between his fingers.
"Soft," the word escapes from his mouth. When James looks up at the blond, he's relieved to see Steve Rogers isn't staring at him with that look every HYDRA operative has when around him. He wouldn't be able to give an accurate description of it but he's always felt like an exotic animal being studied.
"Um." The blond rubs the back of his neck and looks away from James, then back at him. "Do you feel better?"
James frowns.
"Do you feel less… cold?" he clarifies. James starts to shrug but stops himself and then nods his head. He burrows farther into the sweatshirt, dragging the blanket to his chest.
"It's for you," Steve Rogers says. "If it wasn't obvious."
James feels his forehead crease when his frown deepens. This doesn't look like a uniform, at least not one appropriate for missions. The Avengers using him for their own operations is an idea that's already crossed his mind, that's why it doesn't surprise him that much that this could be the Captain's reason to visit today.
"Why?" James questions, directing a wary glare at the Captain. He needs to know. Understand.
"Because you're cold," he simply answers.
It's hard for him to believe that's truly it but he knows it's better not to piss off anyone while captive. He needs less effort here that with HYDRA.
(what if HYDRA doesn't find me?)
"We got more clothes for you but they're in your room." James' eyes snap up from where he had been inspecting the soft material of the sweatshirt.
"What?"
"James," (It's jarring to hear someone use his name and it still feels a bit wrong) "we're here to help you. HYDRA won't find you, and if they do we won't let them take you."
A silence follows the words and it seems like Steve Rogers is waiting for something, maybe a reaction (he tends to do that, James has noticed.) James has only one question but he doesn't want to be repetitive.
He has the feeling that he's missing a piece of the puzzle—Steve Rogers' words didn't sound like a threat but their content should have turned it into one.
"I'm HYDRA's," are the words that leave his mouth, learned by rote. Steve Rogers' face does something weird that the Soldier can't follow—he catches shock, dejection… and then he gets lost.
"James, you're a person, you can't be owned," Steve Rogers states. It's good to know but he doesn't know what he's supposed to do about it. "Do you… Do you know that you were HYDRA's prisoner?"
Silence. James' head gives a sharp pulse. "I'm… I'm HYDRA's Asset."
He feels like he's already told this to the Captain but the answer sounds unconvincing to his own ears and James is annoyed that it was voiced without him meaning to. He shakes his head as if it will dislodge any other sentence that's ingrained in him.
Steve Rogers looks at him and lets a minute of silence pass. "Do you enjoy killing?"
James has the sudden urge to sock him in the face. Part of him wants to scream to Steve Rogers if he's an idiot. He controls himself and breathes in, then out. His cold hand balls inside his pocket.
"No," he says tightly, jaw clenched.
"But HYDRA forces you to and if you don't do it, they… punish you."
"Positive or negative punishment," James nods along; finally something he understands.
"Yes, exactly. You do HYDRA's dirty work under threat of violence and abuse." It sounds so obvious when Steve Rogers says it. Why hasn't James thought about it in the past month?
"Yes." His voice trembles with the sudden realization. It feels like a wall has been smashed down and the bright light from the other side is burning him. His stump flares under the bandages, like a reminder.
"I…" He gets lost in his own brain filled with holes—he falls through one. "I don't remember."
"What? What don't you remember?" Steve Rogers prompts, leaning forward.
"My mom… her name is Winifred, and-and I have a sister but I-I can't remember her." His voice has been rising with each word and his heartbeat increasing. His breath rattles in his chest.
"Oh, God." It's like a gate has been wide open. "What year is it?"
He sits up on the bed, back screaming in protest, stitched wounds pulling. He doesn't know what he's going to do but he just… needs.
"I can't… Fuck." He raises his hand to his chest and the IV is reaped from his arm; he doesn't pay it any mind, unaware of his surroundings. He fears his heart is going to give out.
"Hey, hey. Calm down, James." Someone else places a hand on his chest, not really pushing him down but there. James feels scared of the touch and at the same time longs for more. He feels its warmth through the layers and his hand wraps around the thick wrist.
"That's it, lay down," the man instructs, voice deep and soothing, reaching out for him through one of the holes in his mind where he fell into.
James slides into the pillows, chest heaving under the big palm. The hand tries to pull away but his own fingers only tighten around the wrist. Another hand slides around his bicep and squeezes, and touch has never felt like this when with HYDRA. "Control your breathing."
Following commands is easy, familiar enough that he needs only a few seconds for his heart rate to drop. Steve Rogers is looking at him with something James can only describe as concern. He's hovering over James and he has the need to pull away, feeling exposed.
"The year is two-thousand-fourteen." It doesn't ring any bells, doesn't prompt anything in his brain. He has no idea how much time he's spent with HYDRA.
"I will help you, James."
God help him but James believes Steve Rogers will try.