For morethanashield

[disassembling]

Who: James "Winter Soldier" Barnes & Steve "Captain America" Rogers
When: Months after initial capture
What: AU - Both Steve and Bucky fell from the train. Both were captured and forced into service of HYDRA as their weapons to shape the world.
Warnings: Maybe violence?


The pain was momentarily numbed, though it would return along with his orientation of his surroundings now that the days experimentations were over. For the first time, he was stable enough to be moved from being trapped and monitored in the medical wing (he assumed it had a name though didn't know it) and shifted to the cells where only a guard was required to keep watch over numerous subjects in their small cages side-by-side. The room was kept colder than normal to prevent them from moving around much or thinking too hard about escaping.

His head was fuzzy and his vision wavered as he was settled down in the middle of his new cell. There were whispers (always were), but his head was too drained of anything to grasp onto any one detail. This was a test apparently. Perhaps to see if he could survive the rigors of the illusion of freedom in a small cold cage left to his own devices. They left, clicking the door shut with too much noise that he twitched where he lay.

At first he lay on his right side just drinking in the air, orienting himself on one aspect of his surroundings before adding another. He allowed his ears to focus next, the sounds of moaning prisoners, the mutter of a disgruntled cold guard making rounds, the shuffle of cold experiments trying to find that one warm place that didn't exist. His sense of touch was next, feeling the rough cement under his arm, and the cold wash of sensation from the left side of his body where heavy bandages covered some recent modification to where his arm should be. At last, he allowed his eyes to pick out things, but it was the current weakest of his senses, fallible and blurry as he dragged himself across the floor.

He didn't know where he was going, didn't know he was being watched keenly for what direction he chose to go when there were four options for him. One had no other prisoner, the other three did. He pulled himself towards the right, and though he didn't know it, towards where they were all very excited that he would go. To him. He nestled against the bars in the corner, breathing hard from the excursion but slowly curling up. There was a source of familiarity nearby. He chose to be close to it.

Comments

[disassembling]

It was strange how he didn't experience the usual emptiness when a mission was over, a job well done, and all that was left was the rendezvous point. For what seemed like the first time, walking to the end point was not a cold affair where he would stand and wait and wonder nothing at all, question nothing at all. Cold and statuesque to be collected and put back on the shelf.

Instead, he walked arm-in-arm with another weapon, releasing his grip only long enough to pass some terrain and then he was back at the blond's side. His half mask was gripped in his fingers, but his attention alternated between the weapon he walked with or the cold twinkle of stars above which he had only deigned to notice before when he needed to determine his time or location.

"Perhaps if they are pleased with our mission, we will be given another operation to complete together," he agreed, perhaps more warmly than he ever had before. The problem was he craved another mission as he sometimes craved to be fed when his stomach was tightening or making angry sounds. "We won't remember," he suddenly added.

He was wiped clean between missions. There was no distractions. There was only the mission and the next and the next until the world had become the ultimate order out of the ashes of chaos. Would he remember that either?

He stopped just shy of the rendezvous point, ten feet to be exact and swung his body around to face the other weapon. His eyes studied the taller weapon, thicker of chest and broader of shoulders. "When order comes, I want to know I am there with you."

[morethanashield]

He was startled, even a little concerned, when his companion moved away, turned to face him, instead. The Soldier was standing in his way, stopping him from crossing that last ten feet. He could have, maybe should have, shoved him easily aside. But instead, he stopped where he was to listen.

"I want to be there with you, too. But...why won't we remember?"

He didn't have as much of a sense as the other man of how much they'd lost, how much was taken from them, continuously and most especially in the chair. He knew that it was used as a punishment, he knew that he would do nearly anything not to wind up locked in place there even if it seemed to come at the whim of their handlers. He knew that he was always somehow...less, afterwards.

But he didn't understand why, because how could you miss something that you didn't know had been taken from you? Especially during moments like these, there was the sense that he had all he needed.

He tilted his head to regard the other weapon with no small amount of concern - that was a dangerous thing to feel, and show that he felt, but there was no one around but the two of them to see. "Are you all right?"

[disassembling]

His hands slid down to settle on the other weapon's hips, his eyebrows drawing together as he thought about the words that he had spoken. Those were the words that his handlers would most certainly take him to task for, and while he never knew what punishment he might receive, he knew it would come swift and hot and horrible. If he lingered too long on what punishment might come, his body shivered and an instinctive sensation of dread rose within him. People remembered; weapons did not.

"I don't... know," he said softly, confused and agitated. He pressed his forehead against the blond's chest as if feeling the rise and fall motions of the man's chest would settle down what he knew and what he didn't. "I don't remember anything, but every time I wake, I am told what I must do. I'm told that my actions will bring about a future. Yet, I never know what the future is the next time I wake."

His fingers tightened and he inhaled sharply at the question, and it was the kind of question from a handler that would bring the heat and the shock. From the other weapon, it almost felt... genuine. He still forced himself to slowly loosen his grip and nod his head. "I am running at optimal."

[morethanashield]

"Hey," he murmured softly as the Soldier pressed against him. The sight of him, so obviously agitated and lost, twisted his heart painfully in his chest, in a way that he could not otherwise remember feeling. So he wrapped his arms around the other weapon, taking care to keep his grip careful, gentle. As he ran his fingers lightly through the Soldier's longer hair, he even found himself shushing the other man gently, as one might a frightened animal.

It was a genuine question. His intent was clumsy from lack of use, but sincere, startlingly so. "The mission is over," he murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. "You don't need to be running at optimal. Not right now. That's okay."

He didn't have the right to say that, not really. Now that the mission was over, he didn't have the right to make decisions for either of them, to even have enough of an opinion to decide. Yet he did, in that moment when it was only them, and it felt...right.

"Does anyone really know what the future is?" Their targets certainly couldn't have predicted their fates this night.

gonna be slow the next 2 weeks with x-mas & all

[disassembling]

It was strange to him that he could find this soothing to tuck in close to another weapon and not just because they were the same either. There was a part of him that knew that it would always be every man for himself, but he wasn't a man and had no particular inclination to fight anymore. He was going to be scrubbed clean and put back on the shelf after this and have no memory of this or anything else for that matter, just skills and tactics. He would just go back to being empty.

So why didn't he feel empty when around this weapon? Why was it a simple choice to step in and be soothed with a noise like that?

"I have to always be running on optimal," he murmured softly. He took the first unreasonable step closer and pressed his face into the other weapon's neck, almost surprising himself at how warm and comforting it was. "All personnel associating with weapons of our caliber must report any signs of strain or malfunction. Even... us."

His metal arm around its way around the other weapon's waist, and he still he refused to move those last ten feet to the rendezvous point. It was as if the ten feet would mean that this moment of potential malfunction would pass beyond notice.

"I am told it will get better. I'm told there will be freedom for all when we are finished, and that is a gift our work goes towards," he said softly. The future was not something that he ever concerned himself with. He was a entity of the present.

Fair enough!

[morethanashield]

"Then I believe you are running on optimal. I see no sign of malfunction to report."

He had the sense that his superiors would disagree, but...they weren't here, and he was. Under any other circumstances, he would be expected to make a judgment call in a way the Soldier would not. He was consistently told that he was better at "pretending" to be human, and was sometimes called upon to do just that.

"I am told the same. It's...good, isn't it? To be a part of that." Even if they were not free, they could ensure the freedom of others. Sacrificing the needs of the few for the betterment of the many. It wasn't as though they were even allowed to have needs that their handlers did not control, after all, so what did it matter?

Nothing about this man seemed wrong to him, beyond the distress he was feeling. Introducing further distress into the equation simply didn't seem...right. It wasn't efficient, and he didn't want to do that. He found that he just wanted to...hold the other, a little while longer, and soothe him until that tension was gone from his muscles. There was nothing he could do to improve or change their situation, but perhaps he could make it easier to bear.

He even hummed the same tune they had both recalled over the comms unit.

<3

[disassembling]

His eyebrows drew together at the words in his Commander, but it seemed to be an acceptable response despite the fact that he suspected he was malfunctioning. Now was neither the time or the place to do so, and he felt like this moment between them was a once in a lifetime opportunity like when he was introduced to a vintage weapon to make a specific kill with it.

However, he was too 'robotic' to be able to hide his malfunctions well. It was part of his design but also seemed to make him 'less' than the Commander. He was coldly efficient with assassinations, especially the ones that were made to look like accidents or leave no trace. His robotic black and white perception made him well versed in doing what he was supposed to with the least amount of supervision. He also was heartless towards those that were unfortunate enough to work alongside with him.

Except the Commander. The Commander was his exception, though he would never know it.

"I am a weapon, and I go where a weapon is most needed. My part in the future is to remove obstacles, but I will probably not be part of it once my job is done. I will be put to cold again. Perhaps I will not be woken again," he said, shaking his head a little. His arms instead tightened on the Commander.

The humming softened him, and he nestled against the Commander's chest, soothed and letting the strange malfunctioning mood seep from his bones. He took in a deep breath and released it very slowly.

[morethanashield]

He waited until the other weapon had settled in his arms, breathing normally, no longer humming with vibrating tension. Then he moved to gently guide him the last ten feet to the rendezvous point. Those last ten feet were important. Though they would doubtless have been noticed where they stood now, the disparity between where they were and where they should be would also have been noticed by their handlers. Questions would be asked about why they had willfully waited where they were not supposed to, questions he did not want to answer. Better to eliminate the need for questions and undue stress at all.

And so they would be picked up exactly where they were expected to be picked up. The mission was reported as a colossal success as they were transported back to headquarters for debriefing and, inevitably, for storage.

He knew it was coming as well as the Soldier did. But he wouldn't take his arms from around the other weapon for as long as he was permitted to hold him. As long as it kept them both quiet, he would be allowed.

There would be other missions in the meantime - some they undertook separately, some together, while other assassins and agents of rival organizations whispered of them like children of mosnters under the bed.

Until, at long last, they would finally be allowed out once more to ensure the completion of HYDRA's ambitions...