Prologue

When Bucky Barnes is born, there is a tiny dark mark in the palm of his left hand. It’s little more than a thin line, curving up towards his tiny wrist, but everyone knows what it means. One day, he will have a Familiar. Winnifred Barnes smiles down at her tiny miracle, her eyes wet, and presses a gentle kiss to that mark.

Her son is special.

Later, she will look back on that moment and weep for her foolishness.

~x~

That innocent little line grows as Bucky does, and by the time he is two it is clear that it’s a tail spreading up his little arm. The hindquarters appear when he is three and the rest of the body by the time he is four.

“What is it?” Winnifred whispers to her husband, late at night when she knows Bucky is in bed.

“I don’t know.” George Barnes clenches his hands around the book he’d been pretending to read. The look in his eyes is dark and haunted. “I’ve...never seen anything like it.”

~x~

By the time Bucky is five, his parents don’t look at him anymore, and he is a smart boy - he knows things. He knows Mama and Papa are sad, and that Mama cries when she thinks no one will hear. Papa stares out the windows, pale and silent; he doesn’t go outside anymore to talk to the neighbors. Bucky tries to be a very good boy, because maybe he was too loud, or too naughty. His mama used to say he had a nose for trouble.

She doesn’t say anything to him, anymore.

Bucky sits quietly on his bed, his stuffed bears arranged in a circle in front of him. They’re having a meeting, cause they gotta fix Mama and Papa. He misses his bedtime stories, and Papa gives the best hugs.

Bucky Barnes is lonely.

He feels empty in his chest, kinda like when he’s hungry but worse. He feels like he could scream, it hurts so much, but bad boys scream. Bucky curls into a miserable ball in the middle of his big boy bed and wishes his Papa would come and give him a hug, or that his Mama would sing him a song. He just wishes he wasn’t so alone.

There’s a distinct ‘thump’ at the window, followed by a scratching sound, and Bucky turns to stare with wide eyes.

~x~

“Lunch is ready, Bucky,” Winnifred calls, almost an hour later. She doesn’t wait for a response and nudges the door open.

The tableau inside takes a long time to register; when it does, she considers screaming.

“Mama, I have a friend!” Bucky grins, oblivious and pleased. There is some kind of...beast in the room. It is perhaps the size of a small pony, with soft looking white fur patterned with the palest gold stripes. Tufted ears swivel at her entry and Winnifred finds herself pinned in the doorway by pale blue eyes the same shade as her son’s.

“Lords save us.” Winnifred whispers as she staggers back from the door. Bucky’s expression drops, and the beast immediately curls around him with a quiet grumbling sound.

Her son, her baby boy, is a Wight.

~x~

Things change that day, although it will be many years before Bucky understands why. His parents move his belongings down to the basement, and by the end of that first day, all signs Bucky ever existed are wiped from the house. They put locks on the door, big ones that are too high for Bucky to reach.

At the time, all Bucky understands is that he made his first friend and lost his parents in the same moment. He'll see the terror in their eyes, the way they flinch from his Familiar, and think there is something wrong with him.

Later, he'll realise they were afraid for him. But the understanding will come too late.

Part One: Capture

The sun creeping through the gap in Bucky's curtains is what wakes him. Despite the grime on his window, deliberately cultivated to make it difficult to see through, the beam of light seems unreasonably bright as it lays siege to his face. Bucky rolls out from under his blanket with a groan and crosses to snap the heavy black curtains that last inch closed. The room dims immediately, but Bucky doesn't bother getting back into bed. He knows from experience that once he's awake, there's no getting back to sleep. He pads back to the bed and nudges the lump lying next to it with one foot.

“Come on, useless. Can’t sleep all day.”

Alpine slits one eye open, the same blue Bucky sees in the mirror everyday surrounding a slit pupil. The Familiar yawns and pushes upright. He takes his sweet time stretching, back arched like a cat and long talons plucking at the rug under Bucky’s bed.

“You know, there’s a reason the rug looks like that,” Bucky observes and toes at the ragged edges of the rug. Alpine blinks at him, distinctly unimpressed, and then hooks his talons in a little deeper. “No, no! Aw, Alpine!” Bucky watches as a talon makes a neat little slice in the fabric and Alpine looks up at him smugly.

“You are the worst, ” Bucky tells the dragon, and Alpine huffs at him, amusement floating warmly along their bond. In spite of his words, Bucky passes a fond hand over the soft fur on Alpine’s head and tweaks one of his ears playfully. Alpine trots to the other side of the room and props himself against the wall, stretching up to the tiny basement window. He chuffs unhappily and taps gently at the window pane with one talon.

“No, Alpine, down.” Bucky sighs and tries to ignore the sting of guilt as Alpine’s disappointment floods the bond. “You know we can’t go outside. Especially not during the day.” He slumps down on the edge of his bed and tangles his fingers in his hair. Bitterness swamps him, and he can’t help the look of loathing he casts at the window. It's been the source of his frustration from the day Alpine first arrived; that and everything outside of it. His world consists of the basement’s four walls, Alpine, and Steve. He can't remember the last time he went out in the sun for longer than it took for Alpine to do his business. Sometimes, Bucky will open the basement window just wide enough to be able to smell the markets, but he's never seen them. He’s never walked among the stalls, never tasted the food being sold. He’s never held anyone’s hand, never been kissed.

He’s spent his life watching a world that doesn’t know he exists through a grimy little window and he hates it. Sometimes he hates his parents, too. The knowledge of what awaits Wights like him doesn’t always help.

Alpine’s head butts into Bucky’s stomach, hard enough to jar him out of his pity party. A deep, thrumming purr starts up in the dragon’s chest and love pours down the bond, until Bucky’s bones feel like they’re rattling with it. Images of the two of them curled up in the bed, before Alpine got too big to fit, are clumsily shoved across their link and Bucky laughs softly. “Yeah, I love you too, you dumb lizard.” He leans down and drops a kiss on Alpine’s velvety soft nose. “I don’t regret you at all.”

The dragon tilts his head to the side, one ear quirking upwards. The bond thrums with interest and warmth, so Bucky is already looking at the door when there’s a clatter of footsteps on the stairs. The door swings open and Steve tumbles into the room, bright eyed and grinning.

“Mornin’, Buck!” Steve drops a bag off his shoulder onto the end of Bucky’s bed. “I went to the market this morning, an’ I got you somethin’!”

“Steve, you shouldn’t waste your money,” Bucky says, but they both know it’s a token protest at best. He’s already leaning forward, eager eyes on the bag. Alpine leaps up onto the bed behind Bucky, almost knocking him off entirely and leans over his shoulder. Steve, because he’s a little shit, pretends he can’t find whatever it is in his bag. “Stevie, I swear…” Bucky starts, and Steve laughs.

“Okay, here, you greedy jerk.” Steve pulls out a small, carefully wrapped parcel without further ceremony and holds it out. Bucky grabs it eagerly and bats Alpine away when the dragon tries to stick an overly curious nose in the way. Bucky rips into the packaging, ignoring the disapproving tut Steve makes. A small stone pendant falls into Bucky’s hand. The stone is smooth and round, dark green in colour; and on the face of it, someone has painstakingly etched a dragon.

“It’s wonderful, Stevie. Thank you.” Bucky turns the pendant so Alpine can see the design and the dragon hums his approval. The stone has a tiny hole at the top, through which a braided leather cord has been threaded. It’s long enough that when Bucky loops it around his neck, the stone slides beneath his shirt and sits against his sternum. The weight of it is steady and comforting, a constant reminder of Steve that Bucky is happy to be carrying.

“Happy birthday.” Steve grins and looks supremely proud of himself. “And that’s not all I got ya!” He’s almost vibrating with his excitement, now, and Bucky is immediately suspicious. “I been savin’, and I bribed the wall guard to look away from a certain spot tonight. We can go outside, Buck!”

Bucky blinks and Alpine goes completely still. “As in, outside the wall? Steve, are you nuts?”

“C’mon, Buck. We’ll go after dark, so no one sees us. You’re not even a little curious about what’s on the other side of the wall?” Steve wheedles, his eyes alight with excitement.

“It’s dangerous!”

“Dangerous how? They’re just stories, Buck! People go outside all the time. You really wanna spend your life in this basement? Besides, we’ll have a dragon with us.”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue again, anxiety clenching in his stomach. They’ve talked about sneaking outside the wall, sure, but to actually do it… Alpine leans against his leg in silent comfort and Bucky can all but taste the Familiar’s longing. He closes his mouth, shoulders slumping.

“Yes!” Steve pumps a fist in the air, knowing he’s won. “Alright, we’ve got planning to do!” Steve rubs his hands together gleefully, his expression near manic with excitement.

“I hate you,” Bucky grouses. “Also, you look ridiculous.”

~x~

“I just wanna express again that this is a bad idea,” Bucky whispers, casting wary glances at the dark and silent houses around him.The wall towers before him, an ominous and forbidding presence.

“You’ve spent your entire life in that basement. It’s about time you saw some of the world, right Alpine?” Steve argues, and if he feels the same sense of foreboding that Bucky does, he’s completely ignoring it. He looks fair to vibrate out his skin with anticipation, the oil lantern in his hand swaying dangerously with each expansive gesture. Steve strides confidently up to the wall and starts feeling along the smooth stone with one hand. Alpine, the traitorous little bastard, trots after him. Guilt twists at Bucky’s insides, feeling his Familiar’s pleasure and excitement at being outside. It mixes unpleasantly with Bucky’s own fear and completely drowns out any excitement he might have felt himself. Reluctantly, Bucky trails them to the wall and can’t help but look longingly over his shoulder toward home.

Sure, the basement sucks, but being outside now is...oddly terrifying.

Steve makes a small sound of triumph, and with a grinding that sounds horribly loud to Bucky’s ears, a section of the wall slides open. “Smuggler’s entrance, I think,” Steve whispers over his shoulder, eyes bright and curious. Steve holds the lantern up high and disappears into the darkened opening with a gleeful little laugh.

“And the bad ideas just keep comin’,” Bucky mutters. Alpine chuffs quietly at him, blue eyes almost glowing where they catch the fading reflection of Steve’s lantern. He gets a sense of anticipation through the bond, and Bucky sighs his defeat. Alpine presses close against his leg and steps into the opening. It’s hard to see, with Steve already several paces ahead and carrying the only light source, but Alpine doesn’t falter. Fortunately, the passage is relatively short, and a moment later they’re...on the other side of the wall.

Trees tower above them in all directions, with trunks so thick it would take both Steve and Bucky to completely encircle them. There’s a light breeze, carrying a sweet scent Bucky’s never encountered before, but that he attributes to the wildflowers that carpet the ground beneath the trees. It’s...magical. Looking around, Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much colour. Alpine chirps and goes galloping across the empty space to dive nose first into the first bunch of flowers. He rears back immediately and sneezes three times, face scrunching adorably. Seconds later, he bounds to the next bunch and repeats the experiment, with similar results.

“You sure he’s a dragon?” Steve laughs as he leans a shoulder against a tree and settles in to watch Alpine frolic.

“A basement- dwelling one.” Bucky leans down to inspect some flowers, running his fingers over the soft petals and admiring the deep purple color. He’s never touched a flower before, and maybe it shouldn’t matter and it never has before, but suddenly it does. “I don’t get it, what are they so afraid of?”

“Me either. I mean, what’s so scary about any of this?” Steve flaps a hand at the trees, the innocuous flowers at their feet. Above them, owls hoot softly . “It’s like a nature painting.”

“Hey, Alpine found a path. Should we go a little further?” The words are out before Bucky can really think it through, but he finds he doesn’t want to take them back anyway. This is what his parents have been hiding from him all these years? This is why Alpine’s never run or played in the woods, never seen another dragon like him? This is why they’ve spent years alone, with no one but each other and Steve?

“You sure, Buck? You were lookin’ pretty green around the gills before.” Steve grins and shoves playfully at Bucky’s shoulder. He ducks nimbly away from Bucky’s retaliation and takes off after Alpine.

“C’mere, you little shit!” Bucky launches after him, and Alpine runs ahead of the both of them. They race along the narrow little track, ducking some stray branches and getting slapped in the face by others they don’t see in time, but nothing slows them down. There’s a sense of danger and excitement in doing something forbidden, in exploring the unknown. They burst through the treeline and into a clearing, panting and trying to laugh with breath they don’t have. Steve’s cheeks are flushed, his skinny chest heaving with effort, but Bucky can’t hear him wheezing.

Bucky opens his mouth to say something and pauses a moment later as Alpine projects ‘caution’ along the bond. He turns,, and the dragon is intently watching the trees just to their left. Steve, no doubt sensing the change in atmosphere, turns to watch the same spot. A man steps clear of the trees a moment later; he’s tall, with ashy blonde hair and blue eyes. He might be handsome, if those eyes weren’t so cold.

“I thought I heard a commotion,” the man says in a smooth voice, and he’s smiling but the expression is off in a way Bucky can’t identify. He doesn’t really meet strangers, and in desperation Bucky casts a look at Steve. “It’s a bit late for a run through the woods, isn’t it?”

“We’re on a scavenger hunt, with...with our families!” Steve bursts out, and Bucky almost winces at the hesitation, the obvious lie. The man doesn’t call them out on it, though, and merely smiles.

“A scavenger hunt? That’s exciting. I’ll bet your friend there is very helpful with finding things,.” the man says and angles a nod in Alpine’s direction. His eyes dart from Alpine to Bucky’s horns and back again. There’s something almost hungry in his smile, and the look is so predatory Bucky can’t help but take a half step back. Alpine immediately places the bulk of his body in front of Bucky, the soft fur of his tail a comforting, familiar brush against Bucky’s hand.

“There’s no need to be afraid.” The man is smiling, but the expression is wrong and Bucky suddenly longs for his basement and the safety of those walls. “My name is Alexander Pierce, and we are going to be very good friends.”

The words seem to act as a signal, as men start to melt from the trees around them. Masked men carrying nets and long, wicked-looking blades.

“Run, Bucky!” Steve scoops up a stick almost as long as he is and lunges for the nearest man. He swings the stick bravely, foolishly ahead of him. Alpine crowds against Bucky’s legs, his head on a constant swivel as he tries to keep all of their attackers in view. They’re moving to surround them, and Bucky is torn between the urge to run and the desire to protect his friend. The man catches Steve’s stick in the palm of his hand and wrenches, yanking Steve clear off his feet with a cry. Steve goes sailing several feet and lands heavily. He doesn't move again. The man doesn’t pursue him, his attention immediately back on Bucky.

Shit.

Alpine snarls, muscles bunching as he lowers into a crouch. He waits until the first man is within lunging distance and then dives forward. The man goes down with a scream that cuts off abruptly, Alpine's jaws around his throat. Bucky flinches back from the spray of blood, and he wants to cover his eyes from the sight. Urgency floods the bond, Alpine's rage and fear spurring Bucky on. There's no convenient branches near him, or sizeable rocks, so Bucky does the only thing available to him. He lashes out with his fists, he kicks and spits and shoves; he's a wild animal, cornered and terrified.

He's also a teenager, who's never been in a fight, up against trained men. In pathetically short order, Bucky finds himself on his knees, arms wrenched uncomfortably behind his back and an unforgiving fist clenched in his hair.

Alpine, blood-covered and frenzied, goes absolutely still. It feels like ice spreads across the bond, and never before has Bucky thought Alpine's eyes look cold, until now. He starts to step forward, a low snarl rumbling in his chest, until a knife presses against the side of Bucky's neck.

"Ah, good. I see we understand one another," Alexander says with a smile. His hands are folded nearly behind his back, the picture of nonchalance. "Collar the beast. He won't cause trouble with his bonded at risk."

"And the boy?" One of the men jerks his head to where Steve is starting to stir.

"Leave him. He is useless."

Part Two: Rescue

10 Years Later…

The room is dark, with only a faint sliver of moonlight through a tiny window to illuminate bare stone walls. It’s cold and a little damp; the floor gleams wetly underfoot and patches of moss grow in the corners. The Asset sits quietly in the darkness, his back pressed against the cold stone and his rear barely cushioned by the thin hempen sack he sleeps upon. It feels as though the cold has sunk into his bones, made a permanent home inside his flesh. His body aches with it, muscles slow and sluggish when he gets up to stretch periodically.

He ignores it; his comfort is irrelevant. He must be at peak efficiency, always.

There are footsteps in the hall, and the Asset climbs slowly to his feet. His cell is the only room of interest in this corridor; there is only one reason to come here. He stands at attention, hands resting flat against his thighs and in clear view. Disobedience is punished, always. The Asset maintains his position through the sound of multiple heavy locks disengaging. Light floods his cell, and the Asset allows himself to squint for a few seconds as his eyes adjust. Rumlow stands in the doorway, framed by the lights of the corridor, where seven more men wait. The huge, bristly wild boar that follows Rumlow everywhere stands next to him. The Asset eyes it’s tusks warily.

“Asset!” Rumlow barks, and the Asset straightens into painful alertness. “Follow, quietly. If you so much as breathe in a way that upsets me, you know what happens.” The Asset does not respond, as he has not been ordered to speak. He stands quietly as two men step past Rumlow, cautiously approaching. Rumlow passes the collar and mask apparatus the Asset is required to wear whenever leaving his cell. He eyes the object warily, but does not object as it is fastened. The steel collar is a heavy, cold weight around his neck, pressing uncomfortably against his skin. The mask fastens over the lower half of his face and hooks cruelly around the Asset’s large, tufted ears. Secondary straps pass along his cheek bones and wind tightly around the curved horns on his head. The Asset keeps his ears still through sheer force of will; he has minimal sensation in the horns, so the straps don’t bother him. His ears, however, are sensitive and mobile. He has noticed, in the moments he allows himself to do so, that no one else has ears like his. Sometimes, he wonders why that is. Mostly, he knows he is not permitted to think, to question.

“Do we need these, Asset?” Rumlow says next, and holds up heavy manacles joined by a thick chain. It’s so heavy it takes Rumlow both hands to hold it up. The Asset hesitates, his stomach squirming uncomfortably. “You may answer.”

“No, sir.” The Asset replies immediately. He does not... Want the chains? No, the Asset does not have wants. He does not require the chains. He is compliant. He is HYDRA’s tool. Rumlow grunts and seems unimpressed by the answer, but he does not apply the chains. Instead he turns and walks away down the corridor. The Asset follows obediently as the contingent of men surround him and silently shepherd him on. The boar occasionally headbuts the back of his legs, despite his compliance. He keeps his eyes forward and expression blank; he is HYDRA’s tool, a blank canvas awaiting the next order. Pain is nothing.

Disobedience is punished. Always.

The Asset is led further into the HYDRA compound, until he can hear music, voices and quiet laughter. He is marched into the dining hall, and all conversation ceases upon his arrival. Alexander Pierce, the Master, sits at the head of the table. There is a vulture crouched on the back of his chair, watching the room with malevolent yellow eyes. His lips curve upwards in a smile, and the sight of it makes the Asset’s stomach clench. For a moment, the cold that seems to have taken up residence in his chest intensifies and he aches.

“Ah, the Fist of HYDRA!” the Master crows, with an expansive and ultimately unnecessary gesture; everyone is already looking. Rumlow and his entourage step aside, leaving the Asset standing alone facing the room. The Master beckons, and the Asset crosses the room to take up his position at the man’s left shoulder. He stands rigidly at attention, hands folded behind his back and blank stare aimed at the wall. He ignores the quiet murmuring of the Master’s guests, the hungry way their eyes watch him.

“He is quite impressive. A boon to our work, I am sure,” one woman says, and the Asset feels her words like a touch.

“You think him impressive? You should see his Familiar.” The Master makes another gesture, and Rumlow moves immediately. A door to the left of the room swings open, and the dragon enters. The Asset...likes the dragon, as much as he can like anything. It is the only thing here that has never tried to hurt him. He thinks, if he could remember what beautiful things looked like, he might find the dragon beautiful. The dragon is weighed down by heavy chains and a collar as thick and wide as the Asset’s wrist. It steps slowly, shoulders hunched down and the chains dragging noisily behind it. The Asset does not move, though something small and forbidden inside him aches at the sight. The gathering whisper excitedly among themselves as the dragon crosses the room to sit heavily at The Asset’s side.

“A powerful Familiar indeed,” the woman hisses, her eyes hungry. The Asset briefly wonders what a “Familiar” is and then immediately dismisses it. He is not permitted to question.

“He has been very useful in our mission,” the Master agrees, his attention returning to his food. The Asset relaxes somewhat as the room follows the Master’s lead and he is ignored. The dragon slumps slowly sideways until it is leaning lightly against the Asset’s leg. He thinks he should scold it, for it is surely forbidden behaviour, but it feels...nice.

“How goes the campaign? I have heard fewer and fewer reports of Wights, and the one’s I do hear are usually false claims.”

“That’s because there are none left. The Asset is the last one alive. With luck, no more aberrations will be born and we may turn our attention to other matters.”

The conversation moves on, but the Asset ignores it. He is the last? The last of what? What is he, save for the Asset? The question burns where it sits on his tongue. He does not understand, but it feels wrong to be “the last.” He does not want to be the “last one.” Is that why his ears are different? Why he has horns? The Asset shifts slightly, uncomfortable with the whirlwind direction his thoughts have taken. The vulture’s head turns and the Asset forces himself straight and still once more as ice slides down his spine.

Disobedience is punished.

A side door opens some time later, and two guards enter. The Asset spares them a brief look, determines their threat level as nonexistent and dismisses them.

“My Lord Pierce,” one says, and bows deeply. The Master waves an imperious hand, the other occupied with offering a piece of meat to the vulture. “We wish to report an attempted infiltration of the compound. We successfully repelled the attempt and sent the infiltrator running. What are your orders, my lord?”

“One man, you say?” The Master sounds darkly amused, and the Asset barely contains a shiver of revulsion. Nothing good ever follows that particular tone.

“Yes, my lord. He fled into the forest when his attempt failed. He was...quite persistent.”

“Kill him. He has interrupted my meal, and he shall be punished.” The Master pushes his plate away, the surface empty but for some picked-clean bones. His smile is cruel as he pushes to his feet and the rest of the room follows suit. The guard bows again and retreats with his fellow. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am afraid duty calls. Return the Asset to his cell.”

The Asset wonders who the intruder was and spares a brief moment of pity for them. The arm of HYDRA is persistent and long reaching. Rumlow’s boar digs a tusk into the back of his calf and the Asset starts moving, his leg cold where the dragon had been touching him. He glances over his shoulder to watch the dragon being led away, chains taut where it tries to resist. Foolishness, he thinks.

Disobedience is punished.

~x~

The trees are a blur as Steve Rogers runs, the occasional branch slapping painfully at his skin while it seems as though every root is at the perfect height to trip him. The sounds of pursuit are close, too close. His heart rabbits in his chest, a combination of anger, fear and disappointment. Blood runs down the side of his face and Steve impatiently brushes it away before it gets to his eyes. All these years of searching, of dwindling hope and grief. All these years, and he blows his one opportunity on an impulsive attempt.

Bucky is alive, and Steve just utterly failed to rescue him.

Despair nips at his heels, and for a shameful moment Steve thinks about giving up. The task he set himself is too hard, too impossible to accomplish alone. He thinks of Bucky's laugh, and of the fear on his face when HYDRA took him. Steve grits his teeth and pushes on, dragging as much from his exhausted body as he can. Somewhere behind him a dog howls, and a moment later is answered by several more. Steve glances back over his shoulder, trying to spot movement in the trees behind him. His distraction costs him dearly, as his boot connects painfully with the upward curve of a tree root and he goes sprawling. The impact knocks the wind from him, leaves his skinny frame gasping on the ground.

"There he is!"

Steve drags painful, wheezing breaths in and hauls himself up, using a tree for support. He stumbles on in a shambling run, pushing himself from tree to tree. His body aches . He's used up everything, and it hasn't been enough.

I'm sorry, Bucky.

The trees abruptly disappear, leaving Steve to stumble into a clearing. He goes to his knees without their support. On any other day, the sight before him would be beautiful. A sheer cliff rises above him with a majestic waterfall skating down the side and into a clear blue lake. Tucked up against the cliff face, built of the same stone so that it appears as though it grew from the rocks itself, is a small house. Curls of smoke rise from the chimney and into the open air above. The door opens and a man steps out, frowning across the distance at Steve.

"Sir, please! Go back inside!" Steve yells, as the sound of HYDRA's men grows near. He can't see an innocent man harmed, after Steve inadvertently led HYDRA to his door.

"Who the hell are you?" The man replies, and starts to walk toward him.

"Sir, please! They're right behind me!"

"Who's behind you?" The man's head tilts and now that he's closer, Steve can see his eyes are brown and sharp with suspicion. He’s of average height, but bulky in a manner that suggests softness rather than muscle. He’s almost completely covered from neck to knees in a huge coat, the front of it barely fastening around his body. Steve opens his mouth to answer when the first dog breaks through the treeline. It's a huge, snarling mastiff, and Steve scrambles away instinctively. The man seems oddly unafraid, planting hands upon his hips as the rest of the hunting party steps into view. There are nine of them, and Steve wants to scream at the unfairness of it all. "Ah," the man says, with a disgruntled little frown.

"Run!" Steve hisses, even knowing this warning will go as ignored as the previous two.

"You're trespassing, and frankly, I'm not in the mood for whatever this" -- the man pauses and gestures between Steve and the soldiers -- "Happens to be."

"You don't know who you are dealing with, old man," the dog handler sneers, his words punctuated by the growls of his dogs.

"Old?" The man draws himself up, his lip curling in a snarl. "Who the hell are you calling old? That's rude. Interrupt a man's work and insult him on his property. If you're smart, you'll turn around and go before I get upset."

"HYDRA has nothing to fear from you," the dog handler spits.

The man's expression abruptly shifts, and Steve can't help the frisson of fear that slides down his spine. There's something cold and ruthless in the man's face, now. Something dangerous.

"HYDRA, you say?" he murmurs, and a tiny, chilling smirk ticks up one side of his mouth. In a move so fast Steve almost misses it, the man brings up one hand. There's a sharp, high pitched whine and one of the soldiers goes airborne with a scream. He lands several feet away, leather jerkin smoking. The rest of the men immediately move to attack, completely ignoring their fallen comrade. Steve scrambles to his feet and dives at the first one. He’s still skinny and small, but he’s had ten years to teach himself how to fight, how to win in spite of his size. Behind him, he can hear the high pitched sound go off several more times, but his focus is largely on the man in front of him. He ducks beneath a wildly swinging fist and plants one solid hit in his exposed abdomen. Steve hears the man’s breath leave in a wheeze, and he ducks away before the soldier can retaliate. Steve circles around and kicks out, his foot connecting with the side of a knee. His opponent goes down with a scream, his leg twisted at an odd angle.

Steve spins, looking for his next opponent, then cries out as something large barrels him over. He lands flat on his back and finds himself straddled by one of the soldiers. Hands wrap around his throat and start to squeeze as Steve tries desperately to pry them away. He can just barely see the man in his peripheral vision, surrounded by five of the HYDRA goons. The man seems oddly unafraid, as he’s grabbed and forced down to his knees.

“I almost feel sorry for you,” Steve vaguely hears the man say through the ringing in his ears. His vision starts to go dark at the edges, and everything sounds like he’s underwater. There’s something...loud. A shriek of sound, and whatever it is causes the soldier’s grip to loosen. Steve gasps desperately for air, and through swimming eyes he watches as a great shadow comes sweeping down from the sky above.

Whatever it is, it’s big, and it’s angry.

It’s chaos for the next few moments, as Steve lies there and tries to remember how to breathe. The man on top of him disappears, and something warm splatters across his face. There’s screaming, and cursing, and above it all he can hear the man's voice.

"Not so mighty now, are you? HYDRA really went cheap on their minions this time."

Finally, the clearing settles into silence. Steve lies quietly, trying to pull the ragged threads of his composure together. A shadow passes above him, blotting out the light. Steve opens his eyes and finds himself blinking up at something he's only seen in story books.

Raptor-bright eyes stare at him past a dangerous, hooked beak that's currently stained with blood. Rich red feathers lined with gold frame leonine ears. Passed that, Steve can see huge wings spread out, half mantled.

"Please don't eat me," Steve finds himself blurting, and his face immediately feels hot. The gryphon blinks down at him, and somehow he can tell it’s unimpressed.

The man appears a moment later, and he's grinning. "Don't worry, I think Jocasta has enough toothpicks at the moment."

Steve thinks he should be offended by that, but he just nearly died and the fact that he didn't is largely due to this man. The man seems almost a different person; he looks downright chipper now. Steve slowly sits upright, and blinks at the utter carnage around him.

"Um, are you sure... Jocasta... doesn't eat people?" Steve questions, feeling his gorge rise.

"I didn’t say she doesn't eat people, I just said you were too small." The man laughs, and offers Steve a hand up. "Now, we've got some clean up to do, and then you " -- he pauses to level a hard stare at Steve -- are going to explain who you are and why you just led HYDRA right to my door."

"It was an accident! I don't even know who you are."

"Oh." The man cocks his head to the side, the motion imitated by the gryphon in a way Steve thinks is equally cute and creepy. "I'm Tony, and this is Jocasta." Tony smiles brightly, and turns away, apparently content that his name should clear all of Steve's questions.

Then again, the way Jocasta trails obediently at his shoulder and seems to unconsciously mirror Tony's motions? Steve bites back a smile and moves to help.

He has a plan.

~x~

It takes them the better part of the day to dispose of the bodies; a grisly task that leaves Steve feeling slightly ill. Tony is fairly unmoved by it all, and Steve finds that simultaneously impressive and chilling.

"You may as well come inside," Tony says when they're finished, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. "You're bleeding everywhere and I still have questions."

He leads Steve through the front door of the house and it's only as they get close that Steve realises the door is large enough for Jocasta to pass through. The interior is...not at all what Steve expects. A forge dominates the majority, the fire heating the building to almost uncomfortable levels. Its surrounded by work benches covered in projects at various stages of completion. There's a pallet in the corner, tucked half behind a privacy screen, but its neatly made and apparently hasn't seen recent use.

Wherever Tony lives, it doesn't appear to be here.

"Right. I'd offer you something to drink, but I don't have anything and frankly I don't want to," Tony announces cheerfully. He drags a small wooden stool over and gestures Steve into it. "Now. While I look at your wounds, you start talking."

Steve drops heavily onto the stool and takes a deep breath. Jocasta curls up next to the forge, eyes slitted in apparent bliss. Her feline tail lashes slowly back and forth, and Steve gets the impression he's still being closely watched.

"HYDRA kidnapped my best friend ten years ago, and today I finally found where they were keeping him. I tried to rescue him and it...didn't go well."

Tony pauses with bandages in hand, his eyebrows making a break for his forehead. "Your friend is alive? HYDRA aren't really known for prisoners. You're probably chasing a dream, there."

"He's alive!" Steve snaps, clenching his fists against his thighs. "They kept him, and they've been using him to do awful things. I have to get him out."

"Well, it sounds like your last attempt went swimmingly," Tony smiles, but the expression is far from friendly. "Wait, no it didn't. You barely got out with your fool hide and you led HYDRA right to my door, after I've spent years keeping off their radar."

Steve grimaces, though for all Tony's abrupt manner, his touch is gentle as he disinfects Steve's wounds. "Sorry," Steve mumbles. "In my defence, I had no idea you were here."

Tony grunts, though otherwise makes no response.

"So," Steve starts again after a short pause. "You're, uhh, pretty handy in a fight."

Tony’s eyes narrow, and Steve sees his knuckles whiten around the bandage in his hand. “No. Whatever it is you’re thinking, no, a hundred times no. I do not, will not, am not getting involved in anything HYDRA.”

“But, you just saved me from them!”

“Yes, because you landed on my doorstep. Believe me, a couple hundred feet to the left of this clearing and I would have ignored your death screams and slept peacefully this night.” Tony turns away, cramming supplies back into the box from which he’d collected them. Jocasta huffs quietly and Steve could almost swear she rolls her eyes.

“Please, there’s no one else I can turn to! Surely, you can’t be afraid of HYDRA! I saw how powerful you are, and your Familiar!”

Tony snorts and twists back to deliver a baleful glare over his shoulder. “Nice try, but I’m not so blinded by ego I’ll leap at the chance to invade a HYDRA compound as part of a one and a half man army.”

Steve sputters and draws himself up to his full (largely unimpressive) statue. “I can help, I know how to fight.” He insists stubbornly.

“Bucky has a Familiar, too,” Steve hesitates briefly, but Tony’s head is tilted a little. He’s still listening, he hasn’t thrown Steve out entirely. Jocasta isn’t even pretending to be asleep now, eyes bouncing between them with avid interest. He knows this is his one chance to get help. He doesn’t have the money or standing to hire mercenaries, and his only friend in the world is currently dancing to HYDRA’s tune. “His name is Alpine.”

“Wonderful for him.” Tony snaps and walks away to one of the benches, picking a seemingly random project up to turn over in his hands.

“He’s a dragon.” Steve sits back and waits, hopes he’s guessed correctly, that this gamble might save Bucky’s life.

Tony drops the metal he’s holding, and it hits the bench with a loud clang. He doesn't seem to notice, spinning slowly in place to face Steve. Jocasta stands up and moves to Tony’s side, her wings half spread in an emotion Steve can’t identify. “Impossible,” Tony whispers, sounding as though he’s talking to himself. “They were all killed off.”

“Dragons?”

“No, Wights,” Tony leans against Jocasta and one hand twists in the thick feathers at her neck. The gryphon tucks one wing half around Tony’s back, feathers brushing his hip. “HYDRA hunted them all down and killed them. They tried to erase us. I thought I was the last.”

“Then you have to help!” Steve leans forward, far enough he almost topples completely over. “If you and Bucky are the only one’s left, then we can’t leave him there!”

Tony stares at Steve for a long time in silence, his expression blank. He tilts his head towards Jocasta and they seem to communicate silently between them, in a way that painfully reminds Steve of Bucky and Alpine. Finally, Tony reaches for the ties of his coat and hastile unties them. He slides the coat from his shoulders, and Steve can feel his eyes widen. What he’d assumed to be the softness of fat is actually padding, carefully sewn into the lining of the coat. Beneath it, Tony is lean and muscled and...Wearing a harness; a complicated series of straps and buckles that surround his chest and shoulders. Tony undoes those with the ease of familiarity, and the harness is promptly set aside.

Wings unfold from Tony’s back, stretching up towards the ceiling as the man lets out a sigh. The feathers are an exact match in colour for Jocasta, who stretches her own out to meet Tony’s. “Right, I need to make preparations if we’re going to war with HYDRA.” Tony grins, and the expression is as sharp as the gleam in Jocasta’s eyes.

I’m coming, Bucky. Steve thinks, and this time, he won’t be running away.

~x~

It takes them several days to prepare for the assault, and Steve itches at the delay. Tony is adamant, though and Steve finds himself eventually caving to the other man’s experience. Tony - as it turns out - is a genius as well as a weaponsmith, and he’s been quietly fighting and hiding from HYDRA his whole life. They make a good team, though Steve is the first to admit there’s probably a little too much stubborn between the two of them. When they’re not arguing, though, Steve finds they work in tandem similarly to the connection he’d always had with Bucky. The feeling is at once nostalgic and pleasant.

Tony decides they’ll go in at dawn, and their argument over that almost comes to blows. Sitting on Jocasta’s back as the gryphon approaches the compound, Steve has to concede Tony was right. They approach with the rising Sun behind them, almost invisible in its glare, and below them the compound is sleepy and quiet.

It’ll be shift change, or if we’re very lucky, just before. That means sleepy guards who’ve been up all night, and groggy guards who have just woken up. Tony had said and as Jocasta begins to angle downwards, Steve thinks they might have gotten lucky. He reaches to the harness draped over Jocasta’s shoulders and wraps his hand around the first bottle. As they swoop over the outer wall, Steve hurls the bottle down. Jocasta immediately veers away, and Steve watches in amazement as the bottle shatters on the ground and a thick, choken cloud of green emerges. Tony streaks past and Steve can hear the whining of his strange hand weapons. He quickly loses sight of Tony again, as the man is both smaller and lighter than Jocasta even without carrying Steve. The compound is chaos as they soar above the courtyard, Steve throwing his collection of vials with gusto. They don’t all explode in green smoke; one of them just plain explodes, and Steve almost feels guilty for the carnage it leaves behind.

The courtyard is littered with bodies, and Steve is relieved to note that they’re all wearing armour and HYDRA’s insignia. Tony’s bombs are devastatingly effective, and Steve feels hope rise in his chest. It seems impossible that two men and a gryphon might take the compound, but they’re doing it. Of course, Tony had only said they needed to keep them busy and distracted for just long enough.

Once the battle is well and truly raging - and Steve is out of ammunition - Jocasta drops briefly to the ground. Steve scrambles down from her back and hefts the round metal shield Tony had given him.

“Thanks,” Steve huffs, and Jocasta bobs her head once before launching skyward once more. Steve doesn’t stay to watch her go, his attention already shifting to his part of the mission. He takes off for the nearest doors, and hopes Tony and Jocasta can keep the guards busy long enough.

~x~

There is screaming and the Asset launches to his feet. It is distant, likely at the gates of the compound, but he knows what this will mean for him. They will come, and they will say “fight, Asset. Kill, Asset.”

And he will fight, and he will kill.

The Asset waits in the semi darkness, his hands resting flat upon his thighs. It takes longer than he would have thought, before the door slams open and hurried footsteps rush down the corridor. The locks to his door are thrown open with equal abandonment and Rumlow stands in the doorway. There are what appear to be claw marks on his cheek and blood runs freely down the front of his clothing. He is panting and wild eyed; the boar is nowhere in sight.

“Asset, we are under attack.” He snarls, and the Asset thinks about telling him the screams make it rather obvious. He bites his tongue. The Asset does not have opinions, and does not answer unless told to. “You will find the intruders and you will end them. ”

Rumlow throws the Asset’s gear at his feet and steps back, out of the doorway. The dragon waits in the corridor behind, ears forward and alert. The Asset swiftly arms himself; the daggers go into the sheaths at his waist, while the specially modified crossbow remains in his hands. He clings the quiver of crossbow bolts across his back and then jogs into the corridor. The quiet clicking of talons on stone echo his otherwise silent footsteps. He ghosts through the compound with years of experience. He does not have the muzzle today, and he feels...oddly free without it.

But no, he is never free. The Asset belongs to HYDRA.

Rumlow has not followed him, and the Asset finds the thought...exciting. He is alone, to hunt his enemies without oversight. He encounters no one unusual for a long time, as he dodges around terrified slaves and scrambling guards. He also sees no sign of an invading force, which seems odd. He can still hear explosions, however, and a high pitched whine that is oddly piercing even at a distance.

The Asset passes into the great hall and continues on, heading for the courtyard and where the battle appears to be waging. He goes to step around a small blonde man, one he assumes to be a wandering slave. The man side steps to stay in front of him, and the Asset pauses with a heavy frown. The man makes his head hurt, though the Asset cannot identify why.

“Bucky!” The man says with relief, his blue eyes shining. “And Alpine! Thank the Gods you’re both safe! Quick, we have to go before Tony gets overwhelmed.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” The Asset questions, and tightens his grip on the crossbow. He does not...Want to fire, though again he cannot justify his hesitance.

The Asset does not have wants. Disobedience is punished, always.

The blonde man takes a half step back and raises a small metal shield. The Asset can see it is shaking slightly in his grip. He is clearly not a born and raised warrior, as the Asset is. The Asset was tempered in winter’s fire; his hands do not shake as he raises the crossbow.

“Bucky, please! It’s me, it’s Steve! You know me, you’ve known me all your life.” The blonde man is pleading and the Asset does not like it.

“Intruders must be eliminated.” The Asset fires.

The bolt pings from the man’s hastile raised shield. The man (Stevie) stumbles from the force of his, and over the rounded edges the Asset can see his wide eyes. They are bright with tears. “Bucky, don’t make me do this!”

“I am not Bucky,” The Asset grits out and jerks his chin at the...Steve. At the Steve. The dragon edges around the side, lips curled from it’s teeth in a snarl. “Alpine!” Steve The man backs towards the door, and his words are desperate. The dragon stops advancing, and it’s head tilts to the left. The Asset frowns; he has never seen the dragon disobey an order.

Disobedience is punished. Always.

The Asset does not want the dragon to be punished; he likes the dragon. He hesitates and slowly lowers the crossbow. He is...Confused. He cannot remember feeling this way before and he finds the sensation unpleasant. He thinks almost longingly of his cell, where the rules are clear and he knows what to expect.

Outside, there is a piercing shriek; the sound is pain and rage and fear, all things the Asset knows well. He cannot control the way he flinches, his ears pressing back against the side of his head. The man goes white and with one last, desperate look at the Asset (Bucky?) he runs. The Asset immediately gives chase, his crossbow carried forgotten in his hands. The man is small and light on his feet, and the Asset is reluctant impressed.

They plunge out into the sunshine, where the chaos of battle rages. There is smoke everywhere, and many of HYDRA’s guards are dead or dying. The carnage is nothing the Asset has not seen before, and so he does not falter. What stops him is the great, thrashing beast in the middle of the courtyard. A great net spreads over it and as the Asset stumbles to a stop, the animal gives another of those mighty shrieks. It is beautiful, in the way the asset thinks of the dragon. The dragon, which suddenly presses against the Asset’s leg and raises its head to deliver a long, mournful wail. The Asset has never heard the dragon make this sound, and he hates it as he has hated nothing else.

The blonde man goes tearing across the courtyard and plunges recklessly into the men surrounding the net. He throws the shield and it rebounds with impressive accuracy from one man to another. The blonde man leaps up to catch it, and brings the edge down on another guard’s knee as he lands. He is impressive, but it is one man, and a small one at that.

The Asset stands passively and watches as the man is brought down to the ground, his face pressed cruelly into the dirt. The winged animal is still thrashing about, clawing at the net with wicked talons. Now that the Asset is looking, he can see there is a man hunched beneath the animal, protected on all sides by its legs. As the Asset watches, the man straightens slowly and lunges out in a move fast enough anyone but the Asset would have trouble spotting it. A flash of silver, and a guard who had unsuspectingly moved too close to the net goes down screaming, blood fountaining from his knee.

The man in the net has...Wings. Great, beautiful wings that blend almost seamlessly with the creature. The Asset looks at the dragon and runs gently fingers over its ears. Ears he knows are mirrored on his own head, as are the horns.

The pair in the net are like him.

The Asset thinks of his lonely cell and the cold that is his constant companion. He thinks of the punishment, the Chair, and the blood he knows will never quite wash from his hands. The crossbow comes up, and before he can question it too much, the Asset fires and keeps firing.

The crossbow hums in his hands, the bolts punching forward one after another and finding their home in vulnerable spots. HYDRA men go down screaming and the Asset finds himself completely unmoved by the sight. He does not enjoy killing, as he does not enjoy anything save for the weight of the dragon against his leg. But this, this he thinks he could enjoy. The dragon bounds eagerly from his side, though it does not go on to attack anyone. Instead it busily grabs at the net and starts tugging, as the other beast stops thrashing and waits.

The net takes several precious moments to untangle, but between the winged man and his animal helpers, it eventually does. Death rains anew upon HYDRA’s compound as the Asset unleashes all his training upon his captors.

“What took you so long?” The winged man says, and though his tone is angry, he is smiling.

“I got lost.” The blonde man snips back, as he rams his shield into one guard’s stomach and plants his boot in another’s groin. “We didn’t exactly have a map!”

“Well, it would have been nice if you told me we were picking up a one man army!”

The banter continues back and forth, largely ignored by the Asset. He fights with the same single minded focus HYDRA has always preferred in their warriors, and only lowers his weapons when no one foolishly rushes to meet them. He finds himself standing in the courtyard, surrounded by the ruins of HYDRA, and the two men are looking at him. He...does not know what to do.

The Asset has disobeyed. He has attacked HYDRA, instead of eliminating the threat against it. He has not only failed his mission, he has actively sabotaged it. His breath feels shallow in his chest, and the Asset finds his vision oddly wavering. The blonde man, Steve, starts to step forward, and the Asset flips his daggers into a ready position. The man immediately halts.

“Hey there, big guy.” The winged man speaks and his voice is warm, so warm. The Asset would like to wrap himself in that voice and never leave; perhaps it would chase the chill from his bones. “You don’t need those anymore, we’re not going to hurt you. My name is Tony.”

“To..ny,” The Asset says slowly, tasting the word on his tongue. He finds he likes it. He steps in closer, and though he can see Tony tense, the man holds his ground. The Asset sheathes on dagger and keeps the other in his free hand. He reaches out slowly, keeping a wary eye on Tony and the blonde man for any sudden movements. They are both still - completely frozen - as the Asset presses one careful finger to the edge of Tony’s wing. “You are, you are like me?”

Tony’s eyes are bright, and now that the Asset is closer he can see they are as warm a brown as Tony’s voice. “Yeah. This is Jocasta.”

The beast at his side dips her head in a nod, the gesture impossibly graceful. The Asset finds himself nodding back, some long buried instinct guiding him. His hand is still on Tony’s wing, though he makes no motion to remove it and Tony does not stop him. The dragon leans against his leg, and the gesture is warm and comforting. Familiar. The Asset does not have many things that are familiar and good. There is something scratching at the back of the Asset’s mind. It is irritating, though not quite painful. He gives it a mental prod and it feels as though there is a wall in his mind. Distantly, he is aware that it has always been there, solid and impassable. Now, it feels flimsy. The Asset pushes and despite the ache it sets behind his eyes, he does not stop. The wall crumbles, and his mind lights up.

Suddenly, there is warmth and love. There is faith and strength, companionship. The Asset looks down at the dragon, at Alpine, who looks steadily back at him, and the Asset feels. He turns dazed eyes upon Tony, eyes that are wet with tears.

“I think, I think his name is Alpine.” He whispers and Tony’s face lights up in a smile that leaves the Asset feeling winded. It is beautiful. He thinks he can remember what beautiful things are.

“You want to get out of here?” Steve is the one who speaks and he is crying. The Asset feels again that tickle of familiarity, but still he hesitates. Alpine nudges gently at the back of his knee, and Tony holds his hand out. The Asset has...A choice. He does not know if he has ever had a choice before.

He looks back at the compound, and thinks again of his cold and dark cell. He thinks of hours alone and the scars on his soul that will never go away. He looks at Tony and Steve; he sees in Steve warmth and familiarity he has no basis for. He sees in Tony hope for the future and for answers to who he is. He feels Alpine’s gentle encouragement, the bond humming strong where before there had been empty silence.

The Asset reaches out, and takes Tony’s hand.

End