Chapter Text
His handlers have brought in a new Asset.
It’s currently unconscious in the Chair, straps and restraints holding it down, water dripping from its skin as it defrosts. His handlers are in there now, slicing through its clothes with surgical scissors, all cold and efficient practicality, except one.
Handler Riegel is running her fingers through the New Asset’s hair. It’s different from his, short and almost gold. There’s no scarring covering its body, two flesh arms instead of metal. The Asset shifts his arm, feeling the plates ripple. They stop at the cuffs latched around both wrists. There’s no chain connecting them, so their intention isn’t to restrain, but the Asset knows they aren’t decorative either.
He’s not surprised they’ve brought in a replacement. He's been malfunctioning more and more since he’d been loaned to Handler Pierce. They don't even bother to put him on ice anymore. They still use the Chair, but it no longer fixes him. It burns and stings and takes but it doesn’t fix. He’s no longer an efficient weapon.
The Asset looks down at the cuffs. He wonders what use he has left for his handlers, why they haven’t disposed of him yet.
He’d tried to prove he was still functional. There had been a man after him. HYDRA had told the Asset to take him. HYDRA had told him to hurt him.
He hadn’t wanted to.
Handler Riegal has moved on from the New Asset’s hair and is examining his body instead, running her fingers over his chest, the agents having replaced the New Asset’s pants but not his shirt. The Asset takes an aborted step closer, remembering just in time that she had told him not to move. His handlers only touch him to check for damage or to repair him. They never touch him like that. It’s wrong.
The handler notices the movement, shifting her attention to him. Appraising him. He hates that look. He prepares to accept punishment for the transgression.
“Your programming is failing, Asset. Do you know what that means?”
He does. “I will no longer be able to serve HYDRA."
“Correct. And we’re not going to waste resources on someone who does not serve our mission, are we?"
He swallows, trying not to look at the blond Asset. He shakes his head.
“Say it."
“No, Handler Riegal.”
“Good. This,” she gestures to the New Asset, "is either going to be your partner, or your replacement. Get it functional, and you still have a place with HYDRA. If not, you will have proven yourself useless to our cause, and we will terminate you. Do you understand?"
He understands. He is the Asset. His purpose is to serve HYDRA. The New Asset will serve HYDRA. They will serve together.
They will serve together. That feels…right.
Maybe that’s why he’s been malfunctioning. Because he’s meant to work with a partner, and now HYDRA has given him one. If he can get the New Asset working, they won't terminate him. They'll keep them both.
That doesn’t feel as right.
“I understand, Handler Riegal.”
“Good.” She caresses the New Asset’s cheek. He wants to slap her hand away She is their handler and she can treat them how she sees fit. “The quicker you get him working, the less painful it will be for both of you."
He nods. Pain hardly bothers him anymore, except for the pain of the Chair, the Chair is a gift, but he doesn’t want the New Asset to get hurt.
He blinks, trying to process that thought. It—no, him, Handler Riegal had called the New Asset a him—shouldn’t care about the pain. They are Assets. Pain doesn't matter.
Yes. Pain doesn't matter.
He still doesn’t want the New Asset to get hurt.
The first thing Steve sees when he wakes is Bucky’s face.
“Buck?”
Steve’s cold, far too cold. He always runs hot, the serum shouldn’t allow—
He can’t move.
Steve jerks against straps holding him down in some kind of chair, tilting him backward. He tries to sit up, but he’s fully restrained, every part of him locked down from ankles to neck, shirtless and wearing pants that aren’t his own. He’s in a dark room that smells of harsh metal and chemicals, the only door made from solid steel, next to a black window. A one-way mirror. They’re being watched.
It all comes spilling back. Sam. The HYDRA base. Being tied down in the cryo-chamber, feeling the cold and the fear and then the all too familiar darkness of being frozen alive.
Steve glances at the mirror again. He has no doubt that whichever base they’ve dragged him off to is filled with HYDRA operatives, but right now it's just him and Bucky, and he doesn’t know when he's going to get another chance like this one.
“Bucky. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th and the Howling Commandos.” For a second, Steve is sure he sees something flicker in Bucky's eyes. His old friend comes over to him, and Steve feels the flutter of hope in his chest. He broke through to Bucky once. He can do it again. He can get them both out of here. “Bucky. I know you're in there. Come on, untie me before they come back.”
Bucky ignores him, and Steve clocks the thick silver cuffs encircling each wrist. A barrier to overcome later; right now, his priority is getting out of this chair.
Bucky reaches for the restraints and Steve's breath catches, not daring to believe it was that easy, but all Bucky does is check to make sure they’re secure before nodding at the mirror, no doubt signaling that it’s safe for whoever is watching to come in. Hardly a second later, there’s the click and slide of a key and the door is opening, and Steve only has a moment left alone Bucky so he gets out, “You’re my friend. ‘Til the end of the line, remember?”
Steve is sure he sees hints of recognition, the briefest moment where Bucky looks like Bucky and not the awful, blank mask that has replaced his friend’s face before the silver cuffs hum to life and Bucky crumples to the floor.
There’s shouting, and it takes Steve a second to realize it’s coming from him. Bucky’s teeth are clenched, beads of sweat on his forehead, but he hasn’t made a sound. Because HYDRA would have programmed that right out of him.
Steve writhes in the restraints as a short woman with black hair pulled into a flawless bun steps into the room, dressed in a general’s uniform. “Captain,” General Katrin Riegal greets him. “Did you sleep well?”
Steve continues to struggle, looking for a weakness, but he's secured too tightly. Others are entering the room now, disappearing behind him where he can’t see. He can hear them though, the start-up of machinery, the whirring of something out of sight above his head. To his left, Bucky hauls in a breath before pulling himself to his feet, robotic and lifeless even as he stumbles, the electricity having taken a toll.
“You’ll find we have ways of ensuring your cooperation, Rogers.” Riegal steps further into the room until she’s right next to the chair. She runs one hand up Steve’s arm, her hand hot against his still cold skin, and he instinctively tries to flinch away from her. She smirks at him, continuing running his hands over his arms, his chest, and then making their way up to smooth back his hair. “Such an impressive specimen,” she breathes. “You are a fine acquisition for HYDRA, Asset.”
“I will never work for HYDRA.”
“I’m sure your friend thought the same.”
Steve tries to turn his head to see Bucky, but Riegal grabs his chin. For one wild moment, he thinks she’s going to kiss him, but instead she tries to force his mouth open, a rubber bit in her hands. Steve spits at her, stripped of any other forms of attack, and feels a stab of satisfaction when it lands right on the HYDRA insignia on her chest.
Riegal tuts at him like he’s a small child, then brings a small remote out of her pocket and pushes a button, and he hears Bucky hit the ground again.
“Don’t,” Steve gets out, trying to twist his head to check on Bucky, but the strap over his neck and Riegal’s grip on his chin prevents it. “Don’t, stop—stop!”
Riegal holds the button for another few seconds before finally letting up. She holds both hands out in front of her; the mouth guard in one, the remote in another. It’s not hard to choose the lesser of the two evils.
Glaring at her with all the venom he can muster, Steve opens his mouth.
Riegal beams at him, almost motherly, as she slots the bit into place. It tastes like the room smells, chemicals and metal, and he bites down on it automatically, prodding it with his tongue. He could probably get it out if he really tried, but he’s not going to while Riegal has her hands on that remote. “There, see?” She brushes his hair back from his forehead. “Things are going to get very scrambled up there soon, so we’re going to keep this simple. If you don’t fight us, he doesn’t get hurt. Okay? That’s the only choice you have to make from now on.” When Steve doesn’t reply, she raises the remote. “Okay?”
Steve nods.
“See? One choice. It’s so easy.” Steve has to force himself not to close his eyes as she runs her fingers through his hair one last time, caressing his cheek before stepping back, gesturing to Bucky. “Begin the programming, Asset."
Steve’s blood turns to ice as he hears machinery hum to life, something cold and solid closing around his temples. He looks over at Bucky and, for a split second, he thinks he sees something spark in his best friend’s eyes.
Then the pain begins.