"James."

He turns.

And there is nothing.

"Jamie."

He turns.

And there is no one.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to jump into puddles?"

He spins.

Where is she?

"Jamie, go braid your sister's hair, please."

He runs.

His steps don't echo.

"Oh, honey, don't cry. We'll clean it and then I'll patch you up. You'll be as good as new, baby."

He screams her name.

It doesn't reach her.

"I wish you didn't have to go."

There is nothing below him and he's falling.

Mama.

His body spasms and his eyes snap open. He feels uncomfortably warm and his heart is beating high in his throat.

"Mom." The word scratches up his throat.

"Winnifred." The name is punched out of his lungs.

He remembers her. He had a mother. The Soldier looks for someone else in the room with whom he can share this information but he's alone. The machines whirl and the room stays silent.

The pouring of memories is overwhelming and he hears his ragged breaths get faster. At the back of his mind, he can hear an increasing beeping sound. His hand grips the blanket and his eyes stay shut.

Her black hair and brown eyes hurt his brain; her warm hands and loving words puncture his chest. His hollowed-out brain fills up to the brim with memories of his mother, and the Soldier—James, Jamie, honey, baby, son. His mother's kisses on the forehead dig an elbow into the ribs of his programming.

The man feels a sharp sting on one of his cheeks and his eyes finally open and try to focus, hearing coming back online. There is shouting and lights blind him. He wants someone to get his mom so she can place her palm over his forehead and tell him if he has a fever or not.

"I told you to get out!" James winces at the high volume. His brain feels like it has been liquefied and poured back into his skull. He tries to lift his hand and block out the light. He succeeds at the third try and his forearm falls heavily over his eyes, something tugging at the skin.

"I'm his nurse," another voice answers, offended.

"I don't fucking care, you just slapped someone that was waking up from an operation," answers a man and the Soldier thinks it would be best for the second man to do what he's been ordered.

"Look," he sounds less convinced now but he perseveres, "Captain America, sir, with all due respect but that man is a—"

James peeks from under his arm just in time to see a bulky man push another man out of the room, this one dressed in scrubs. He reenters and slams the door closed, muttering something about "firing the sack of shit." His step falters when he catches sight of James—the Soldier. James marvels at the notion of having a real name and this realization leaves him breathless.

"Hey, pal, you gotta breath," the blond man instructs and James finally remembers who he is. He inhales. "Just like that." The Soldier—James is undecided between sneering at the praise or preening; positive reinforcement isn't something used on him.

With his arm flopping to his side, the man allows himself a minute to calm down. The Captain is looking at him with a slight frown and one of his hands hovers over the bed. James wants to snap at him but he knows better than to cross a person whose job description is something along the lines of "must be able to hurl a motorcycle over their head." Also, he's not stupid enough to provoke anyone while he doesn't have the strength to lift his head off the pillow.

The Captain clears his throat. "The surgery went well."

After some more blinking, the Soldier—

James, James, James.

James looks at his left and sees his bandaged stump. His fingers rise on their own volition and hover over the white gauze. Holding his breath, he pokes at it. It hurts but when does it not? His arm flops over his chest, the movement too exhausting.

"It, um, it was infected. Pretty bad," the Captain informs. His hands inside his pockets now, the man continues to hover awkwardly. James doesn't really mind, not while he can bask in the warmth the man is radiating like a furnace. Maybe he should stall him. Unfortunately, the Soldier doesn't have a skill for socializing; HYDRA never found it useful.

"But they patched you up really good," the Captain continues, one of his hands leaving a pocket so he can use it to gesticulate.

James frowns; is this the same person that clearly couldn't stand to be in James' presence? He feels more disoriented than usual—is this a test? But what is he supposed to do to pass it? The Captain is undoubtedly trying to confuse him and the Soldier's head hurts something awful when he tries to find a different explanation for the man's change of behavior.

"I was there the whole time; had to get into scrubs and a surgical mask myself." Awkward smile. James feels a band around his head, squeezing. "They didn't touch your arm… but you probably don't know what I'm talking about."

"I don't," he croaks. His unexpected words make the Captain fall silent. James tries to read his face and it's easier than he would have expected. HYDRA's mind games were more difficult to spot since their people are better at hiding their intentions. Paradoxically so, the Captain's open expression of surprise makes things more difficult for James; now he doesn't know if he's being manipulated or not.

James tries to clear his throat and that makes the Captain spring into motion. He picks a cup from a low table and hands it to James. When he realizes his mistake, he tilts the cup so James can take an ice chip. He tries but his hand won't lift more than a palm from his abdomen where he's accomplished to relocate it to.

"Erm."

James stares him down, unwilling to put up with more of the man's awkwardness, be it an act or not. James opens up his mouth, draws out his tongue, and waits for his ice chip.

"Oh, God." His Adam's apple bobs but the Captain complies, placing a chip on James' tongue. James holds a sigh of relief when the cold liquid calms his parched throat.

(James knows it was a bold move but decides to ignore it.)

(He also ignores the rush caused by someone doing something for him.)

The Captain takes a chair and places it near the head of the bed. James doesn't find it unusual, he was expecting it. What is unexpected now that he's more lucid, is the fact that he's not strapped down to the bed. Actually, they haven't even handcuffed him to the rail, and apart from the Captain there isn't any other guard in the room. Granted, right at the moment the Soldier wouldn't be able to overpower the other man, especially with the IV drip hooked to him that's probably not there only for a hydrating and nutritional purpose.

Or maybe the Avenger's Captain is stupid like that and lacks basic self-preservation instincts.

"The doctor told us you were suffering dehydration and malnourishment," the Captain informs when he catches James looking up at the IV bag. "She said it was bordering on starvation. I thought she was going to bite Tony's head off for not informing her about something like that."

James stares down at the IV in his vein.

"They got rid of your trackers, too," he adds after a silence.

The Soldier—

He's too tired to reprimand himself for mixing it up again. Having a name doesn't really matter, not when no one knows it, remembers it or even cares about its existence.

The Soldier drags his eyes to the Captain… Steve Rogers. Perhaps no one uses his name, either, or cares that he has one. The Soldier knows him as the Captain, the world as Captain America, HYDRA as one of their main enemies.

Steve Rogers is looking at him and studying his face closely, the Soldier realizes when his brain finally tunes in. It's like he's expecting the Soldier to have some kind of reaction. It's unfortunate because he's already forgotten what Steve Rogers just said. He blinks slowly at him. Did he ask a question? His mind is drifting.

"What's your name?" He blinks again, not sure he's heard right. The Soldier makes a confused noise. "Look, I'm not sure anymore what the fuck is going on," Steve Rogers confides but it does nothing to further the Soldier's understanding.

Steve Rogers gets up from the chair, metal legs scraping against the floor, and the Soldier feels himself flinch back. His expression morphs immediately into something inscrutable but it's too late to pretend. Steve Rogers falters at first but continues after a moment. "I need you to clear out some things for me because I feel like I'm losing my mind."

The Soldier nods his understanding—or at least he acts like he understands what is going on around him.

"Okay," Steve Rogers says, more for his sake than the Soldier's.

He sits back down on the chair, elbows propped on his knees. He rubs his face and takes a moment to think over whatever it is he needs the Soldier to answer. The Soldier isn't sure he will be able to give an answer, though; there isn't a lot he knows apart from handling weapons, HYDRA protocols, or the taste of his mom's food. The latter is part of his earlier unlocked memories but he doesn't know when they were created nor when they were blocked.

The Soldier has to force his focus on the man before him. "Is your code name the Winter Soldier?"

Oh, this one is easy. "Yes." His throat still burns but the Soldier doesn't ask for another ice chip.

According to Steve Rogers' expression, that wasn't the answer he wanted. The Soldier feels apprehension and his body tenses up. It's unnecessary because Steve Rogers passes to his next question. "Do you work with HYDRA?"

"Yes," he croaks again.

These questions are really easy but the Soldier can't feel pleased for getting all of them right because the answers seem to be bothering Steve Rogers even further. His face looks the same way the Soldier feels when he wakes up after a thawing.

"Did you kill Maggie Clarke in an Indiana forest about four days ago?" Steve Rogers does not look like a man that wants to get an affirmative answer.

The Soldier only nods this time, stomach roiling.

"Did you kill Nicholas Fury?" Steve Rogers' hands ball into fists when he says this.

The Soldier swallows with effort before nodding his affirmation. Steve Rogers inhales deeply before his next question. The Soldier wishes he didn't know the answer.

"Were you the man who fought Samuel Wilson three weeks ago?"

The Soldier remembers what happened three weeks ago which he's sure it's a new personal record for his memory. So, yes, he remembers Sam Wilson as well as Natasha Romanov and Steve Rogers. He remembers shooting her in the shoulder (Steve Rogers is probably going to ask him about that one, too) the same way he remembers Sam Wilson whizzing for breath under him, hand held up and eyes swollen, almost shut close. He had looked at the Soldier and… said… something… The Soldier finds it difficult to remember at the moment but he knows he hadn't begged for mercy. Remembering his fist faltering when about to land the definitive blow won't change his answer, though.

"Yes."

Body ready this time, the Soldier doesn't show weakness when Steve Rogers springs from the chair. He takes a deep breath, hands covering his face, and steps away from the bed. When he turns to face the Soldier again, Steve Rogers hasn't taken ahold of himself yet and it shows in his trembling hands. He's probably holding back a punch, the Soldier thinks—being so transparent isn't a good quality in his field of work.

"Did you want to do it?"

Blink blink blink.

"Did you, huh?" he repeats with more force, body moving forward with the push of the words.

"I… I had to."

His head hurts and just now that the throbbing is increasing does he register it as pain and not just pressure.

"That's not what I asked you," Steve Rogers grits. "Did you take pleasure when you put my friend into a coma? That's the fucking question!"

"I…"

Speaking requires oxygen and there doesn't seem to be enough of it in the room. The Captain is now looming over him and the borders of his vision are darkening. Someone better get his ma because she always knows what to do.

"You did, didn't you? Is that why you work with HYDRA, because it's the best place for a man like you? Just mission after mission of getting your rocks off on beating the shit out of innocent people!"

"No," he hears himself rasp out.

"Can't you say anything else?" the Captain demands. He takes a step back and the Soldier's hand loses its tight grip on the blanket, fingers already stiff.

"Goddamnit." The Captain runs his hands over his hair while he circles the reduced space of the room. He looks at the Soldier and it's like he suddenly deflates, anger evaporating. "I need to understand what the hell is going on because you're not making any sense."

The Soldier scowls at that statement. He observes Steve Rogers sit once again on the chair. Someone is not making sense all right but it definitely isn't only James.

"Let's-let's start again." He watches Steve Rogers wriggle his hands. "What is your name?" He stares at the Soldier with hopeful eyes and the Soldier feels even more relieved that he has an answer.

"James." It's the first time he's saying it out loud and it doesn't feel completely right rolling off his tongue.

"Good. Your second name?"

Silence. Steve Rogers' face falls. "You won't tell me?"

"I… don't know."

"You don't know." Steve Rogers' expression fluctuates between annoyance and puzzlement.

"My second name." His voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

He can feel his heart beating against his chest, speed increasing like something crucial is about to take place but James cannot know what.

Steve Rogers' frown deepens and his lips turn into a thin white line. "How is that possible?"

The Soldier shrugs, not only because he's forbidden from divulging HYDRA procedures but because he doesn't really know how whatever they do to his brain works. He only remembers the excruciating pain the Chair causes but not always how that pain is inflicted on his nervous system.

Steve Rogers exhales a desperate breath through his nose. "Then at least can you explain why we found you beaten up in a HYDRA cell, starved and dehydrated? You work with them."

Back to the easy questions, what a relief. "Didn't finish my mission."

Steve Rogers opens his mouth but quickly thinks better and snaps it shut. He stares at his shoes in concentration. "And they punished you?"

"Yes." The Soldier frowns at the stupid question. What were they supposed to do, pat him on the back? Throw him a party?

"I don't understand. Why would you work for someone who will beat you half to death?"

The Soldier's head is pulsing and he only wants to close his eyes for a second. His stump is burning and he can feel it even through the painkillers.

"I'm." He forgets what he's about to say but it comes back to him after three pulses of his temples. "I'm HYDRA's Asset."

Steve Rogers' features shift from frustrated to revolted. "Jesus Christ, how much are they paying you?"

"Paying?"

Steve Rogers' face is a shade away from turning purple. The Soldier fears his head is about to explode, too.

"Let me get this straight." Steve Rogers leans forward. "You work for HYDRA even though they will hurt you if you don't complete a mission and they don't pay you for your… job?"

The Soldier is starting to get frustrated. His body is one big bruise that aches and his brain is trying to exit his skull through his eye sockets, and here he is answering questions so this man can understand. Tough luck; James hasn't understood a thing for the last month and he hasn't made anyone else's life more difficult because of it. His confusion got him as far as not eliminating a mark a few days ago.

"They own me," he spits out, begging for this to be the end of it, for the man to understand whatever he needs to make sense out of.

The Soldier feels like crying when Steve Rogers' face turns into a mix of surprise and disconcertment. There won't be tranquility for him anytime soon, he realizes. "They wake me up, tell me what to do and I d-do it. If it's a successful mission I'll go back under and i-if it isn't there will be punishment."

He needs a moment to recover his breath after finishing. His throat feels raw. The blond man stares at him, frozen in place. The Soldier wants to beg Steve Rogers to let him close his eyes and stay in silence for five minutes, only five.

"What do you mean by 'wake you up'?"

The Soldier is close to weeping but instead shuts tightly his eyes, lights becoming too bright.

"Cryosleep."

He hears a sharp intake of air. He's starting to miss his cryo-chamber.

"James." Steve Rogers' voice saying his name isn't sharp like the piercing light or his healing wounds. It's the first time the Soldier has heard anyone say his name out loud apart from his mom inside his head. He opens his eyes: Steve Rogers is standing by his right side, close enough for the Soldier to feel his warmth once again.

"James," he repeats, alarm and bewilderment both in his voice. His eyes are bright and the blue of them stands out on his suddenly ashen face. "James, why didn't you tell us you're a prisoner?"

He blinks, mind turning blank. It feels like someone's digging into his brain. The statement makes zero sense to him but at the same time it's like looking at an abstract picture and feeling like the answer to what it represents is on the tip of his tongue.

Steve Rogers' complexion has turned green and the Soldier fears he's going to be sick all over his blanket.

"How long have they kept you prisoner?" the man says in one breath and now the Soldier fears the Captain is going to choke on his words.

"No," the Soldier grunts. His head is going to explode, this time for real. "I don't know. Shut up."

"Months?" Steve Rogers prods. "Years? Is there anyone looking for you, someone we should call?"

"I don't know!" he finally snaps.

Both fall into silence and the Soldier doesn't need more than a second to realize what he just did. He hunches his shoulders and lowers his head, sinking into the mattress.

"James." He doesn't turn.

"James." The man sounds imploring this time and when the Soldier glances up he looks it too. He's holding the cup with ice chips and offers a forced half-smile, what for the Soldier can't tell. He opens his mouth, sure that's what's expected of him, and Steve Rogers places a piece of ice on his tongue—the Soldier catches his fingers trembling.

"I'll help you," he says while the Soldier slithers his arm under the thin blanket; his body isn't producing much heat so it's not that much warmer under there. "You're safe now."

Wouldn't it be nice if those words had some meaning?