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The Winter Soldier slinks back to the handlers once he has finished the job, flicking blood off as he goes. The mission he carried out today was a messy one, and he was likely to be hosed down back at base.
The handler says an order and the asset makes his way towards the transport, handing the gun he was given to a soldier standing guard nearby. He folds himself neatly onto the bench at the furthest corner of the truck, gaze fixed on the wall. The handlers and soldier climb in once he’s seated and the truck starts up silently, driving off.
The asset drifts, still ready to attack at the first sign of a threat but knowing better than to listen to the conversation starting up between the handlers and the soldier.
The truck rolls to a stop and the engine cuts approximately 63 minutes later, and the asset waits for everyone to get off before following. He steps out into the garage of one of HYDRA’s many bases, and that was only the ones who held the appropriate facilities for him,
“Clean yourself and return for debriefing, soldier.” One of the handlers says, and the asset nods in acknowledgment before striding to where that was a small room that was a step lower than the rest of the garage and fitted with a high pressure hose, meant for washing vehicles and Winter Soldiers.
A cleaner already awaits him, fiddling with the tap. The hose pressure was turned down for the asset, for there was no purpose in damaging him when he was supposed to be cleaned, unless it was meant as a punishment.
The Winter Soldier falls into parade rest, bracing as the cleaner turns the hose on and aims the jet of water at him, eyes and mouth closed as he was essentially scrubbed clean. Most of the clean-up time was spent on the metal arm, getting blood that had dried in the grooves between metal.
He is proffered a large towel and dries himself thoroughly so as to not drip water on otherwise pristine floors when he walks around. Once done he hands the towel back and strides back to the handlers, listening to the debrief.
It’s over soon enough, and they send him off to the chair. Something vaguely unpleasant that he always associated with any mention of the chair rises up, but he is a good soldier and follows orders.
The technicians are bustling about the room when he enters quietly, and one that is vaguely familiar - he has been serving at this base for a while now - makes a sharp gesture at him to sit down in the chair. The asset does so, and stays perfectly still as the technicians tinker with the metal arm, scanning him, injecting things-
And then the mouth guard is being shoved in place and the chair is leaning back and he does not want to forget again and again and again-
He knows better than to scream, but the pain does not begin immediately and he can hear the technicians talking, delaying the treatment for some reason. Breathing deviates from usual rate and begins to come in pants the more the wait drags out, white creeping up on the edges as half-buried memories of electricity surface.
The asset is not allowed to make noise. It is not supposed to scream. It heaves for breath, jaw falling as slack as it can with the mouth guard as it shudders, desperate for oxygen and falling apart quietly, without a single sound escaping.
“The soldier is behaving erratically. Begin the treatment now.” Someone snaps, and the room is spinning-
It cannot breathe
cannot scream
the asset is not authorised to
The soldier wakes up in the chair with static crackling on pale skin and does not remember. They tuck him back into cryo and as the world goes slow with cold, he thinks there is a familiarity in how there is no air in the ice.