Chapter Text
Brock Rumlow thought the idea of soulmates was silly. Of course, he knew they were real, the mark around his throat told him that much. When his mark had first appeared, a red splotch against the skin covering his throat, he had laughed, elbowing his friend, Jack Rollins, and making a jab about how inappropriate the first contact would be. That was when he was a child, though, sixteen and simple minded.
Now, however, he realized the contact was not as far fetched. Not when you were apart of HYDRA. Still, despite having being held in a chokehold and thrown against walls by jabs to his throat, the mark he sported on his throat was still as pale a splotch of red as it had been when it first appeared all those years ago. So, as the years passed, and as he trained to handle the Fist of HYDRA, he discarded the idea of finding a soulmate, deciding that soulmates were for normal people.
James, on the other hand, found the idea romantic. Of course, when his mark appeared on his hand, he imagined that the colors would bloom as he danced with a pretty girl, spinning her around or holding her waist as they swayed. Even as he aged, he waited and waited for the colors to appear, always telling his best friend, Steve, "What will be, will be."
Never, did the pretty boy from Brooklyn, expect that the only contact he would get on a regular basis would be with the hilts of knives and the guns he now handled as the Asset to HYDRA. To the Winter Soldier, there was no time for soulmates. The only time he even dared to wonder, being in the moments before they took him, kicking and screaming, to the chair he dreaded. After a while, there was no more kicking, no more screaming, and the idea of soulmates was long lost, and so was the man he had once been.
Bucky was used to being on ice. To him, it seemed more natural than breathing nowadays. Every time they pulled him out, a new handler would be waiting for him, because of course a weapon could not be trusted without a handler. So, when they pulled him out of his frozen state, and the same handler from the last time stood in front of him, he was more than baffled. He came to with suspicion, as he usually did, and watched as the man sat and watched him. After he began to tug on the restraints, the handler in front of him stood up.
"Careful there, kid." his voice eased and for some reason, Bucky listened. He quit tugging at his restraints, and sat still, allowing the man to untie him, and then dress him in proper attire. Or, at least, as proper as you can get for a super soldier human weapon. Bucky watched as he worked, obviously staying in his line of sight. Smart. When he had finished gearing him up, his eyes snapped up to his face, reading him carefully. What startled Bucky most is that there was no fear behind his gaze. His eyes held something along the lines of, dare he say, trust? He quickly blinked, breaking the eye contact. The man in front of him, who he vaguely remembered as "Rumlow" began to speak now, carefully articulating to make sure his still thawing mind could keep up.
"Alright, Winter," he sighed "let's run some routine checkups. Are you alright with that?" Bucky noticed that his handler had lowered his voice, just enough so he could only be heard between the two of him, just to make sure he was okay, and something about that gave him the first semblance of safety he had felt in his time at HYDRA, and so, he nodded numbly, allowing two more guards to lead him into the hall and into another room. Rumlow followed closely behind him, making sure neither of the guards handling him got too rough. Even as tests were run, and he was plugged into various machines, Rumlow stood there, watching him closely, making sure that nothing got too physical, and so Bucky's eyes would snap to him any time he got nervous, and a simple nod from the waiting man would let him breathe a little easier. Or at least, as easy as a human weapon could.
Rumlow had no understanding of the protectiveness he felt for the soldier in front of him, but he mostly reasoned it down to feeling bad for the kid. After all, he was only human. So, in between meeting him and working as his handler, he would not call him Asset, or treat him as a weapon. He took to calling him Winter, finding it seemed to be a safe word for the two of them, and although his superiors disliked this, they could not ignore that he was the most sufficient handler that The Winter Soldier had been given. As time passed, Rumlow decided that if he could protect the kid who had been torn away from his life alive, he would. It would never atone for the kids he tore away from their lives using the same propaganda that had been used to reel him in, nothing would ever fix that, but he could at least hope that one person would see him as human. He could at least try to do one good thing.