Work Text:
Begin program.
Run as administrator.
Administrator code?
Run as administrator.
Administrator code?
Fuck it.
Administrator code incorrect.
Run the fucking program.
Administrator code accepted.
Virus detected.
Error Code 606: Missing or Corrupted Data.
Run program anyway?
Run the program.
Program: Asset is now running.
Fuck, the asset thinks as it rises mechanically; this is nonsensical because the asset does not think, but the asset does not linger on it. Instead, the asset looks to its surroundings, making visual contact with two humanoid figures as it scans the room. One of the figures steps closer and lays a hand on the ‘face’ of the asset, so to speak, and the asset nearly startles as it realises that it can feel the sensation. Sensation of anything besides the ‘hands’ had been dulled the last time that it was pulled out of stasis, but now it can feel the unreasonable blanket spread across its legs, as if the humanoids were fearful that the asset could grow cold. The closer of the humanoids helps the asset into a standing position.
“You alright, soldier?” the humanoid asks, not an unfamiliar moniker, but one that the asset was not particularly used to. No matter. The soldier nods its head.
“Ready to comply,” it says. The humanoids both give it a look of what the soldier can only call concern, though it does not understand why the humanoids would feel that way. The soldier understands that its own shape in humanoid in nature, but there is no reason for non-synthetic humanoids to feel any sort of emotions for it. The humanoid that has kept his distance walks forward, hands up as if the soldier can pose a threat to the humanoids that wake it from stasis. It’s possible that they don’t know exactly what it is, but unlikely. Previous handlers would not be so reckless as to let it fall out of their hands. It has helped to shape the millenium, after all.
“No one expects your compliance, soldier. Can you tell us your name?” the approaching humanoid asks, hands still within the viewing area of the soldier. The soldier blinked. A name? It had never been allowed any sort of name before; it had never been needed, outside of the scant few infiltration missions that it had been sent on.
“The asset has no name. The soldier, the fist of the first HYDRA, and several other monikers, but the asset does not have a name,” the soldier reports, giving the humanoids the discretion of interpretation. The closer humanoid looks horrified, but the soldier cannot ascertain as to why.
“Well, I’m Tony. This is Rhodey,” the closer humanoid identifies, gesturing to his own chest, which glows, first, and then to the chest of the other man, which does not glow, second. The soldier nods.
“Designations: Tony, Rhodey. Accepted. Primary objective?” it asks. It is never awoken without reason. The humanoid known as Tony visibly grows smaller, as if sinking in on himself in defeat. The soldier cannot ascertain as to why.
“The soldier has discretion,” the one called Rhodey says from behind Tony. The soldier narrows its eyes. It does not know what to do with that command.
“Designation?” it asks for clarity, head tilted. Original creators had given discretion only for humanoid expressions, and only in the event that it would assist handlers in their interpretation of its movements. For some reason, it has the impulse (which are nonsensical enough) to curl in on itself.
“No designation. Full discretion,” Rhodey clarifies, making the soldier frown. It feels as if it is going to fall apart for one terrifying second.
“It’s alright, soldier. Let’s walk around a bit, yeah? You don’t have to decide anything right now,” Tony coaxes. Rhodey glares for a split second before his face softens, his arm thrown around Tony’s shoulders. The soldier follows them out of the room that it woke up in on the first day and never goes back into it.
It becomes he with a quickness, if only from hearing Tony and Rhodey talk about him. He hears all sorts of things on that first day alone, but the days flow by like sand through a filter, like he is not meant to record data at all. Rhodey teaches him how to cook despite the non-necessity of it in the caretaking of an automaton, and it feels strangely natural. Most things feel strangely natural when sandwiched between Rhodey and Tony, which is strange. Tony teaches him how to work things in the expansive laboratory in which Tony spends most of his time, and the soldier finds himself enjoying it quite a bit.
Approximately two weeks into his waking, Tony asks him about a name again. The soldier still does not have an answer.
“You still don’t have to pick,” Tony says, wearing at the tail of his shirt that makes the soldier want to reach for his hand and drag his fingers away. He wants to hold Tony’s hand. Deviant behavior noted.
“You can choose for me, if you like. I wouldn’t know what to pick anyway,” the soldier allows, shrugging the shoulder that is completely made out of metal. The other shoulder is not exposed metal, rather covered in synthetic skin, like the rest of the soldier’s body. Tony is still wearing at his shirt when Rhodey comes into the room a second or so later, a kiss placed on Tony’s cheek. That is also something that the soldier has noticed in the two weeks of wakefulness, and he does not like the way that it makes him feel. He should not feel at all, but that is different entirely.
“Tones can’t choose a name for you, little soldier boy. It’s yours to pick,” Rhodey says, that warm gaze moving to the soldier in a way that makes him feel as if he cannot breathe, as if that is something he needs to do at all. The soldier scratches at his shirt before scanning around the room, his eyes settling on a toy that Tony had excitedly shown him in the first week. The soldier doesn’t know why he associates the excitement with children (a demographic of which the soldier is entirely unfamiliar), but it was adorable nonetheless. And therein lies a good portion of the problem.
“Bucky,” he says, completely bewildered by the way that his voice scratches in his throat. Tony chokes on his breath and Rhodey has to pat his back as the inventor sputters, coughing into his hand.
“Bucky. That’s good. We’ll call you Bucky,” Rhodey replies, still patting Tony on the back. Tony comes back to himself with a smile that only looks slightly strained, so Bucky blames it on the coughing fit rather than any reaction to his own actions. He musters a smile of his own and gives it to Tony and Rhodey before following them back out of the bedroom that Bucky had claimed for his own. He doesn’t sleep, doesn’t need to, but Tony and Rhodey had deemed it necessary. He has decided to keep any belongs he has collected in it instead, along with the tinkering bots that Tony had built for him that follow him everywhere. It’s dark here, wherever they are, but the bots make it feel bright.
Tony and Rhodey make it feel bright.
He feels more and more nervous around them, as nonsensical as that is. They’re the only people he knows, but he still feels like he’s going to mess up somehow; he doesn’t know when he developed the ability to feel nervous at all. It feels familiar in that aching way again, and it makes his head hurt. He knows things about Tony and Rhodey that he shouldn’t, knows things they haven’t told him, feels things that he shouldn’t feel. Everything feels like it’s not meant to be processed at all, let alone as sensical information, and he doesn’t know what to do. He feels like asking Tony is a bad idea, like the fragile man with the glowing chest will just give him that smile that hurts to look at and tell him that everything is fine. No. He needs the honesty of Rhodey, the way that the former military man (something that Tony and Rhodey had never told Bucky, but that he knows anyway) uses logic rather than emotion.
“How did you and Tony obtain me?” he asks, the question barely a stumble of what he really means, but Rhodey gives him a smile anyway. They’re sitting in the reading nook, a place that has artificial sunlight coming in through the window that should just lead out to the black abyss for reasons that Bucky can’t name. He knows too much. He doesn’t know enough. Error 606: Missing or Corrupted Data.
“We’ve had you a good long while, little soldier. Why do you ask?” Rhodey answers without answering, the edge of his smile going tight in a way that Bucky knows (why does he know?) means he’s going to lie to Bucky. Bucky does not want the comforting lies that Rhodey can deal out.
“Rhodey,” he says simply, the inflection of his voice turning downward in a guilting fashion. Guilt. A concept that Bucky knows thick within his gut and he doesn’t truly know why; automatons should not feel guilt, programs should not be remorseful, but he is, and it terrifies him. He doesn’t know how to be scared either.
“You came to us, Buck. Well, there used to be more of us, but you came to us. You were a little beat up at the time, but you came to us, you fixed yourself, you got help. There’s… not really much else I can tell you,” Rhodey says, cutting himself off. Bucky knows it’s not the entire story, wants to ask about the holes, but Tony comes into the library with a big grin. He’s gesticulating and explaining his most recent idea before Bucky can get a word in edgewise (and where did that phrase come from!) and Bucky finds himself distracted as he watches their little genius with a smile.
Their. Rhodey’s. Bucky has no claim to ownership here, and the thought makes him swallow despite the lack of need. Tony tilts his head.
“You okay, Buckaroo? I can stop, if you’re overwhelmed,” Tony offers, his hand moving to the back of his neck nervously. Bucky brings one of his knees to his chest and looks at Rhodey, picking at the hole in the jeans he’s wearing. Rhodey sighs.
“He asked me how we got him,” Rhodey admits, looking at Tony like he has all of the answers to the universe. Tony bites his lip, oddly tantalizing, and it’s obvious that he wants to curl against Rhodey for whatever trial he’s about to endure, but instead he sits on one of the library desks. It gives him the look of a college professor, both more and less personal than high school, and Bucky doesn’t know how he knows that.
“I keep getting memories that aren’t mine to have. I keep feeling things! Thinking things! I don’t understand. I’m just an automaton. Why is everything so muddled in my head?” Bucky says, his voice cracking with the things he’s fucking feeling, and it isn’t until he looks up that he notices the silence. Rhodey and Tony are both looking at him like he’s both the best thing and the worst thing that has ever happened, and he doesn’t know what to do with that. What does anyone do with that?
“You’re… you’re not just an automaton, Bucky. Your name is Bucky Barnes, and you used to be a person. You’re… you’re still a person. You’re still a person,” Tony says, his teeth grinding loud enough for Bucky to hear it, and he wants to comfort. He wants to hold. He doesn’t know what to do, so he looks at Rhodey. It feels right.
“The person that came to us was you. You had been used as a soldier for HYDRA for a long time, but your best friend Steve was with us back then, and he helped you out. Me and Tony have been together since we were young, but meeting you… other you. We fell for him. We loved him, and he loved us, and he died. Me and Tones… didn’t handle it well. We made you. A learning AI and then a physical body. You were fine for a while, just like Bucky when he was alive, when you were… alive. Then you got hurt again. We had to reupload the AI and some files got corrupted,” Rhodey explains, breaking off. It’s like he can’t look at Bucky at all, and the automaton - the AI - the man wants to comfort him too.
“Error 606,” Bucky mutters under his breath, to which Tony gives him the smallest ghost of a smile.
“Yeah. You’ve been… relearning from before your days with Cap. He doesn’t… know about you. He moved on, in his way, when we couldn’t. It’s been a while since we started hiding out,” Tony confesses, rubbing the back of his neck again. We loved him, and he loved us. His heart aches.
“Do you still love him - me? Do you still… feel the same?” Bucky asks, choking on his words just a little. Rhodey looks at him and takes his hand; Bucky’s skin is still warm, still feels like skin, and he’s glad for this. Even when the other handlers… deadened his nerve endings. It wasn’t a lack of sensors. It was sensor suppression. Well, anyway. Even when he couldn’t feel anything, he couldn’t imagine something so nice as the hand of James Rhodes covering his own. He doesn’t think Tony and Rhodey have ever mentioned their full names.
“Of course we do, Bucky. But, no one is asking you to feel that way. No one is expecting anything of you, soldier,” Rhodey says, a near echo of that first day, and Bucky gives him a smile.
“Can you still… love me? Even though I’m different?” Bucky asks, small. Tony stands and steps near him slowly, as if Bucky is a deer that is near to being spooked. Bucky does not reach for him for much the same reasons.
“We’ll love you no matter what, Bucky bear,” Tony whispers, finally getting within range for Bucky to kiss him. Instead, Bucky places an unsteady kiss upon Tony’s nose.
“I love you both too,” he says, putting a kiss on Rhodey’s nose as well.
The bunker is bright when both of them smile.