Chapter Text
Steve was in the yard, adding a new polymerase chain to the chemical formula on Bruce's right arm, when the guards brought the New Guy into the Tryskelion Penitentiary.
It was delicate, precise work, requiring a fine balance between Bruce's prickly insistence on accuracy, and Steve's artistic eye for balance and negative space, and the homemade tattoo gun vibrated like a mad hornet, fighting Steve's grip with every stroke, so he was just about as fully absorbed in the process as any inmate could afford to be without steel bars between him and the rest of their little world. All the same, he noted the sudden hush as the normal, morning outdoor rowdiness bled away, the jingle of guard's keyrings piercing through the absence of sound until the yard door slammed shut.
"Well this looks like it should be fun," Tony said from Bruce's other side as he rattled the dice and resumed their backgammon game.
"Tell me," Steve murmured, turning Bruce's elbow a little more toward the light. New guys almost always meant trouble for Steve; either coming in fighting-scared and looking for the quickest way to prove they were too tough to take on, in which case they take one look at Steve and figure he was small enough to take on without much risk; or else coming in ready to make a deal with the best protection they could buy with their limited means, in which case any one of the gang leaders they approached was likely to sic him on Steve just for shits and giggles, and maybe a tiny bit of revenge if the new guy got lucky.
"White, mid twenties; long hair says biker, but I don't see any tattoos. Missing left arm says vet, but there's no prosthesis." Tony moved his white buttons along the board with precise clicks.
"Veteran," Bruce murmured through his clenched teeth as Steve carved lines of ink into his flesh. "That's the face of a man who doesn't remember what it's like to sleep easy."
"Truth," said Sam from Steve's other side, where he'd paused in the disassembly of several stolen ballpoints of varying colors. "That's a thousand yard stare full of ghosts right there."
"His name is James Buchanan Barnes," a woman said from the open window above them, and it was only pure, stubborn luck that kept Steve from skewing his line when he flinched at the sound of Correctional Lieutenant Romanoff's voice. "His file says Ex Army Special Forces, and he's in under RICO for a contract killing. You guys'll like him. He's a hoot."
"Tony!" Steve hissed at the worst lookout ever, but Tony was already turning to hop up onto the table and casually block her line of sight so Steve could break the illegal tattoo gun down to its component parts.
"Oho, so he's a Family Man, is he?" Tony purred at the redhead as if she had ever even remotely encouraged his flirting, "Mafia? No? IRA? Colombian? Am I getting warm?"
"You are cold as Siberian ice, you capitalist pig-dog," Romanoff answered him in a campy cartoon accent as Steve palmed the batteries into Bruce's jumpsuit pocket, and passed the transistors off to Sam while tucking the pens into his waistband.
"Russian mob!" Tony cried, as if that was a good thing, and Steve finally looked up, taking in the panorama of the prison yard like a chessboard laid out for a champion match. He spotted the loyal clusters orbiting their big men, each holding down their preferred patch of dirt like it was a nation's sovereign borders, all alert, tense and waiting to see what the new guy would do. All except...
"He's Hydra," Steve said, watching Brock Rumlow set aside his sandbag weights and dust the talcum from his hands while staring at the new guy like a sniper with an untested scope.
"Ding ding!" Romanoff answered with a grin as Rhodey, Thor, and Clint wandered over from the makeshift handball court to join the small crowd. "Prize to the little Captain. That right there is Hydra's private cleanup department, known as the Winter Soldier."
"I have heard that name," Thor said as he stepped into his accustomed position at Steve's left flank. "My father always said the title was a ruse -- any successful kill attributed to a ghost who was no one man, but many."
Across the yard, Rumlow had gotten to his feet, Rollins, Ward, and Garrett falling in at his shoulders as he straightened his jumpsuit with unhurried tugs. All the while, he stared with open hostility at the new guy, who stared back like an impassive brick wall, braced and immovable in the sunshine. The fight to come gathered in the space between them like a thundercloud, and every inmate in the yard watched, transfixed as it built.
"Well, chalk that down to one more thing your dad was wrong about, Thor," Clint offered with a clap to the tall blond's shoulder as he hopped up on the table to peer over the crowd. "The Soldier's real, he's one guy, and if that's really him, then shit's about to get really interesting over there."
"I don't want interesting," Bruce sighed, knotting his jumpsuit's sleeves more securely around his waist as he climbed from the table. "I'm very fond of boring, actually."
"No, that makes no sense," Rhodey decided, watching the Hydra inmates gather like hungry dogs around their erstwhile leader. "If that's the Winter Soldier, what the hell's he doing out here in General Population, and not locked up tight in solitary where he can't make a mess? I thought you guys were supposed to stop inmates from killing each other!"
"Word in the breakroom is, Barnes is only here while his lawyers are negotiating a deal for him rolling over on Pierce," Natasha said, a smile haunting the corners of her mouth as she leaned lazily out the window to watch the mayhem gather. "So he might be here a couple of years, or he might go into Witness Protection in a couple of weeks, but for the meantime, he's gonna be Captain Rogers here's new roommate."
The Avengers groaned aloud at the news, but it was Sam who declared, "Another one? Didn't you guys learn when he bit Sitwell's ear off?"
"He's still got the other one," Steve declared with the kind of grin that made even the biggest of the Big Men think twice about taking the Avengers' diminutive Captain on, even with a crowd to back them up. "And all his fingers, too." He hopped off the table then, flexing his hands wide, then bunching them up tight as anticipation bubbled up into his chest like the best kind of drug. Rumlow and his thugs were starting across the yard now, all aggression and no strategy, as if they actually believed the lone, one-armed man would cower in fear and beg them for mercy.
But there was no expectation of mercy in the new guy's face -- Steve could read that much in his stillness, his weighted silence, and his steel-cold stare -- this wasn't a man who begged, or bargained, or bought trouble off with guile and flattery. This was a man who, like Steve, had learned never to stay down, never to show his throat, and never to play fair if the other guy was going to play dirty. There was only two ways that Steve rooming with this Barnes character could go -- they'd either get on great, or one of them'd be moving to Medical for the duration. And if Barnes was rolling over on Hydra's elusive Boss, then Steve figured it was worth his while to make a good impression.
"Shall we go introduce ourselves, fellas?" he asked his friends; not so much a request for backup, as it was a test of the waters, to see if anybody wanted to object to Steve's gut taking a side in the brewing conflict. But nobody complained, they just formed up like commandos around him -- the Avengers; Tryskelion Pen's sneakiest, strangest, most stubborn, and most unlikely gang arrayed behind the tiniest maniac in the place as he chose their next engagement.
"That's an excellent idea, Rogers," Romanoff beamed down at the group of them with unmistakable pride, "And while you jailbirds are busy, I'll go toss Steve's room to see if he's hiding another contraband tattoo setup in there. I'm thinking it should take me, Coulson and Hill at least half an hour. That be enough time, d'you think?"
"Yes ma'am," Steve answered, giving his knuckles a crack and starting off across the yard, "That'll be plenty."