🪻

Hyacinth

[pretty-flower-anon]

🪻 Hyacinth Anon 🪻

[verybadatwriting]

Hey i know fanfics take a long time but do we have any status updates on rats since it was supposed to be two parts? Im sorry if im rushing you it’s just been. A while

- @pretty-flower-anon

Depression and life have been tag-teaming me.

Rat 2 is coming, though.

[pretty-flower-anon]

Oof, I get it

Take your time !!

[sleepy-k0i]

…He’s on the run and your daddy’s here. (THE MONSTERS GONE, PT II)

TW- angst & fluff that will make you cry either way , self deprecation (DON’T RECREATE THIS EITHER ILY GUYS) WORD COUNT- 1.5k REQUEST - @pretty-flower-anon : Okay I'm back with a fluff request of the boy (tm) go wild I love when authors just go with whatever they want:) A/N- wow you came back quick flower !! tysm for letting me continue this story ! anyways cried while writing this one as well..yay . this is set a bit after CATWS , but i honestly need to rewatch it again so if u see some discrepancies..no u don’t <3 Also HAPPY BIRTHDAY BUCKY !! WE LOVE YOUUU !!!

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

It’s been at least twenty years since you last saw him. 

Twenty plus whole years without him. You’d been counting for a while, but had stopped at the decade mark. It was well over twenty years, actually. The only reasons you were still living was because of whatever concoction HYDRA had put in you, and him. Maybe it would have been better, if he’d been there to teach you how to acclimate with the world.

Then again, you figured he wouldn’t have been much help anyways.

The world had been different than what you'd expected—more vast, a bit scarier you noted. Still, you weren’t one to give up.

You’d done it all on your own, for the most part. 

Until SHIELD came in, taking you under their wing. They knew your origins, and for a while you were simply waiting for them to give you back to HYDRA when you didn’t do right. But they kept you around, teaching you ways to be the people’s definition of good. You weren’t alone anymore, in theory.

And then came the inevitable. Corruption always seeped into the good natured things, like poison in wine. 

SHIELD was revealed to have HYDRA infiltrators, putting you at risk once more. But that wasn’t even the moment you focused on.

You were more concerned with the Winter Soldier, who’d returned to do HYDRA’s bidding again.

Captain America, Steve Rogers himself, had seemed to pity you at first. That was what you’d thought, at least, every single time he came to watch over your training. Over time though, it seemed genuine—like he enjoyed your enthusiasm for both fighting and learning.

That was when he shifted to something else in your eyes. A man fit to be a father, right next to Winter.

You didn’t realize just how close he was to your self-proclaimed father.

At one point, he had mentioned a man who had been his best friend, with the tone of something else underneath that told you his love ran deeper than that. He said his name was Bucky Barnes, and that he missed him dearly.

So when you heard his voice over comms crackle out the word Bucky, you couldn’t be more awestruck. You were seeing through the street’s security cameras, watching him fight the man you swore was your father.

That man, Bucky Barnes, only replied in a stone cold voice— “Who the hell is Bucky?”

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

When the helicarrier crashed, and the thought of either of those men dying loomed over you, you had sprinted to do anything, anything to save them. It felt like the least you could do for both of their actions.

But when you got back, you only found Steve. It was a blessing he was alive, obviously, but your first father wasn’t there. Not even a trace of him. The rumors of the Winter Solider’s ghost-like abilities were true. You knew they were, you were just shocked at how accurate they really were.

With SHIELD being disbanded for the time being, and the thought of your father being so close, you searched. You dug, skimmed, scrubbed, anything.

And that’s when you found it. After months of searching, you’d somehow found his location—a shabby apartment complex. 

You leaned back, sighing a deep breath. You’d found him. But now came the hard part—telling him who you were.

You knew how the mind wipes worked, that’s why you had tried to cling and drag him with you all those years ago. You knew he wouldn’t recognize you, your growth over the years only adding onto it. A childlike worry rose up like bile in your throat— What if he doesn’t want me anymore?

Your breaths caught in your throat, tears almost immediately stinging your eyes. The idea of you being nothing more than a sobbing, naive fool to him had grasped you by the neck.

Still, you had to show up. You had to at least try. You grit your teeth, attempting to take steadier, deeper breaths. The Winter Soldier seemed to have disappeared, but you still saw this man in casual clothing and going into a rather normal apartment. He had to recognize you.

He needed to.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

Now was when you felt like a true fool, standing at his door with a bag of sweets. What the hell were you doing? What were you thinking?

Still, you braced yourself and knocked on the door. For some long, excruciating moments, nothing happened. Maybe he isn’t home.

Maybe he doesn’t want to see you.

But then the door clicked open, just a fraction. He peeked through the sliver, his eyes both tense and exhausted. You hated it.

“H—hi,” you stammered, your heart having dropped to your stomach.

“What do you want?” he growled, narrowing his eyes like a defensive animal. You figured this would happen.

“I just…,” your eyes darted away. “I just want to talk. Please. I won’t force it though, if you want me gone just say it straight.”

You peeked out from beneath your lashes shamefully. Why had you even come? You knew it wouldn’t work, and yet you did.

But your heart began to hope when his eyes softened, a flicker of something passing through them.

He slowly opened the door, motioning you in. You followed, hearing him shut and lock the door behind you. The apartment was sparse, only little necessities lingering around. It hurt your very soul, that he was still living like he was in HYDRA’s hands.

“What’s in the bag?” He asked, a click resounding from behind your head.

A gun.

You held your hands up, one open and the other still holding the paper bag. “Take it—it’s..just some sweets.” You wanted to curl into a ball and die with how stupid you sounded.

“Really? Who sent you then?” he snapped.

“Nobody! I’m just here to see you!” you cried, more desperately than you realized.

“Why? Who are you?”

Your breaths stopped, your knees threatening collapse. He doesn’t remember you.

“Daddy..,” you sniffled, your lip trembling. When had you started crying? Did that matter? You were crying, with a gun to your back and your father holding it.

“I—I know you don’t remember me,” you began, your voice wavering. “That’s okay, I understand why you..why you wouldn’t want to remember anything with me.”

You swallowed. “But I missed you. I missed you so much, and when I— when I saw you on the TV, with people chasing you, and then I saw Steve talking to you—“

“Steve?” he mumbled, his voice having softened.

“Yes, yes Steve Rogers,” you continued, tears rolling down your cheeks. “I just..I couldn’t believe you were here, away from them.”

You sobbed like a little child, like the one you’d been all those years ago—clinging to the memory of the father you once knew.

You took a chance, slowly turning to him. His shoulders had tensed, but his eyes flicked about your face with urgency.

“Daddy, please,” you whispered, staring right into his eyes—those steel blue eyes that had been your only comfort.

The two of you stared at each other, the silence only broken by your wavering breaths and traffic outside.

Then, as slow as ever, he lowered the gun. The safety clicked back into place, and relief passed through you. He suddenly took a shaky step forward, then another, and you stayed perfectly still for him—hands still in the air.

And he just stared. He stared, searching your face, watching for any discrepancies in your tearful face. Realization dawned onto his face, his expression dropping into..

Into guilt. Into shame, into something close to tears.

“…sweetheart?” he mumbled, tilting his head at you.

A fresh wave of tears bubbled into your eyes, only now your mouth broke into a smile. “Daddy.”

You didn’t wait. You couldn’t. You looped your arms around his shoulders, pressing your face into his chest like the many times you did before. You sobbed into him, trembling like a leaf in his grasp. Slowly, hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around you too. He pressed his face into your hair, and you could feel it—tears falling down his face too.

Twenty plus years of you growing up, being an adult in a world that didn’t seem like yours. All of that came crumbling down as soon as you were in his arms again. You were suddenly that child that HYDRA had gotten their hands on, that had been injected with needles too long and trained for horribly vast days. You were suddenly that child again, the one that complained to your Winter, your daddy, about drills they made you do. You were suddenly that little thing that had told him to go away when you first met, that little thing that had tried to pick him up in the snowy forest. 

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, with more confidence this time. You let out a shaky breath, one that could have qualified as a laugh if you weren’t in tears. 

You were that child again, clinging to him. Only this time, you didn’t have to run away. And you wouldn’t. Not ever again.

[sleepy-k0i]

The monsters gone…

TW- angst, harmful speech (don’t recreate pls), daddy (used in the context of FATHER you freaks), not proofread bc..uh… WORD COUNT- 3k  REQUEST - @pretty-flower-anon : Yo would you be willing to write father figure!WS!bucky adopting a kid in hydra or… A/N- OMG MY FIRST NON HATER ANON HIIIIII !!! iiiiii got carried away…also u never specified whether this should be comfort or not teehee c: i cried while writing this.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

The soldier knew he had jobs to do, whether he liked it or not.

But he couldn’t grasp the idea of this.

He paused in front of the steel door, staring it down. It’s reinforced, he noted.

“You’ll guard this room, soldier,” his temporary handler commanded, the familiar Russian piercing his ears once more. He gave a simple nod. The handler held out a key, continuing, “Go inside and calm it down if it tries anything.”

The soldier blinked, mild confusion crossing his face. But he had taken the key already, and now he was standing guard. 

Calm it down..?

He pressed his back against the door, listening intently for anything. And for a while, nothing happened—the only sounds he heard were people walking about the facility from miles away and the soft breathing of the asset behind the door.

But then, the breathing quickened. Then turned..wet. He could hear sniffles, a whimper even. Then, sobbing erupted from inside the room.

He jolted at the noise, turning to face the door in befuddlement. Was this what they meant when they said calm it down? Why was it crying?

He listened further, hearing the pitiful cries from inside. Then, he shook his head, exhaling. He pushed the key into the hole, turned it, then creaked the door open just a crack.

His blood ran cold at the sight.

He had figured it would be another person HYDRA referred to as “it”, but he hadn’t ever thought it would be a child.

He’d never thought it would be you.

You were crowded into a corner, curled up and sobbing into your bloodied knees. You couldn’t be older than ten. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too busy shedding tears for an unknown reason.

Now that the soldier knew what you were, he couldn’t help but panic a bit. He had killed people, thrown trucks with his bionic arm, but never had he taken care of a child.

You finally noticed him, peeking from underneath your arms. You flinched backwards, pressing further into the wall. Despite your tearful, snotty face, you still snapped at him.

“Go—go away!” you cried, chin trembling with restrained tears.

He jerked back, his eyebrows raising at your voice. It sent him reeling, how a child could be so fiery despite his appearance—his long and messy hair, the ever-present mask covering half his face, his arm.

“Go away!” you repeated, clenching your fists. He grit his teeth, his brows furrowing.

He didn't listen, instead taking a step inside and shutting the door behind him. He had intended to keep it quiet, but the steel ended up resounding in the small room. It caused the both of you to flinch.

He took a slow step forward, like you were a wild animal. In his eyes, you were at the moment. You only confirmed his suspicions when you tried to press further into the wall.

He stopped, about four steps away from you. He bit his cheek, trying to find what he should say. You just seemed so…sad, and scared.

So, he crouched down to your level, resting on his toes. “Why are you crying?” he finally said after some moments. He inwardly cringed at how rough his voice was, wondering if it would terrify you further.

Instead, you only shook your head and curled up further. 

“…no what?” he asked tentatively.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you whispered.

An urge, a stupid one, rose up in him—to try to get you to talk. But he knew it would be no use, so he just nodded and waited. He let the silence wash over the two of you, hanging in the air like the dust that floated by.

You peeked up at him, your eyes red with tears. It made his chest tighten, how much despair he could find behind your little eyes.

“Do you have a name?” he tried. You shook your head. Of course you didn’t, nobody here did. He sighed.

“Well..do you want one?”

What was he doing? Getting attached to something he was assigned?

You furrowed your brows, your head lifting in both curiosity and suspicion. The fact that you had suspicion in your eyes already had him wanting to punch at the wall.

“Sure,” you mumbled. His hand relaxed, soft clicks exhaling from his bionic arm. Your eyes locked onto it, curiosity overtaking your gaze.

He sat and thought for a long while. The only nicknames he knew were code names, given to him or said by him. He didn’t know anything sweet enough to keep you calm—

“Sweetheart?”

It came to him, so suddenly that for a moment it felt like he hadn’t said it. But it caught your attention, your eyes softening into what he figured a child’s should look like.

“Alright,” he whispered in a breath of relief. “Now you can give me a nickname, if you want.”

He slipped to sit on the ground, crossing his legs as he watched you think. You pursed your lips, eyes narrowing down as you did so. It warmed his heart, upturning his lips underneath his mask.

“Winter?” you ventured. He gave you a nod, watching your eyes brighten again.

“Winter—” he motioned to himself, “—sweetheart.” He motioned to you. Your lips perked up at his uncalled for confirmation, making his upturn as well.

You finally unraveled from your tiny position, and the state of you had his fingers clenching yet again. You were malnourished, bruised and cut like you weren’t deserving of care. Your clothes—if they could have been called that—was just a drab, heavily tattered t-shirt.

You crawled forward, stopping in front of him and staring up at him with utter interest. He suddenly felt squirming underneath your gaze. You finally pulled your eyes away from his face, trailing to his metal arm.

For some strange reason, he decided to hold it out for you—palm up, closer to himself than you. You seemed utterly delighted by this, grasping his hand and tugging his arm closer. You were surprisingly strong, making him almost tumble into you with your pull.

He watched as you trailed your fingers over the grooves, counted the plates in his palm, and turned his hand back and forth. He felt his cheeks warm, suddenly embarrassed by your attentiveness.

But he stayed relaxed. It was the first time someone had held him with such care. He couldn’t—wouldn’t dare to pull away from it.

You stayed enthralled with his arm until his handler returned, barking an order at him. Once more, the two of you flinched.

He watched your face, the sudden desperation in your eyes. Were you crying? Your eyes had gone glassy.

Still, he pried himself away, turning his back to you so he didn’t have to see you. He wouldn’t have been able to leave if he saw you reach out for him.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

They sent the soldier back to you rather frequently, despite the threat of you two gaining a bond. Still, he calmed you, made you more docile. The soldier will come back if you behave, you’d heard so many times over.

You wanted to stay, because you knew he’d come back again.

And that he did, wearing the same dark mask over his lower face. His eyes, however, were exhausted—empty, even.

You stood up, trotting over to him with a beaming smile. The exhaustion immediately faltered, his eyebrows raising at your joy.

“Hi Winter,” you hummed, grabbing his hand and pulling him along.

“Hello sweetheart,” he replied, per usual. The two of you sat down in that little corner, that now had been furnished with crayons and paper.

You held up a picture, grinning proudly. You’d taken so much time to figure out how to draw his arm, the metal hand holding yours in your picture. You even watched yourself in the cup of water the people outside had given you, trying to draw yourself as accurately as you could.

“I drew us!” you exclaimed, beginning to point at the paper. “See, we’re on a farm! I have a pony, you have bulls you take care of.”

You looked back at him, but your smile faded at the sight.

He was teary eyed.

He was crying, because of you.

You quickly threw the paper, an age-old anger surging in you. You had failed, again. You’d made the one person you seemed to like you cry. 

But his hand caught the drawing, and set it down with a care that had you blinking in shock. 

“Sweetheart,” he mumbled, leaning forward. “I love it.”

Your eyebrows raised, watching his steel eyes. “But, you’re crying.”

He blinked, pressing his flesh hand to his face. Sure enough, wetness had fallen into his fingers. He seemed..shocked by it.

He then shook his head, a soft huff escaping him. “These are..happy tears.

“Happy tears?” you repeated. He nodded, turning his attention back to you.

“Your drawing is amazing,” he reassured, “and I think you’d take great care of that pony.”

A grin crept onto your lips, blossoming into a full blown smile. His eyes curved up, a soft chuckle sounding from behind his mask. You hated that thing.

“Winter,” you mumbled. “Can you…” You swallowed, digging your nail into your finger. “Can you take that off?”

He stiffened, his fingers clenching and unclenching. For a minute, it seemed like he would get up and leave right there. It sparked a worry painful enough to make you want to cry.

But instead of leaving, his hand reached up behind his head. The other grabbed the front of his mask, and with a click it fell into that hand. He lowered it, hesitatingly.

You blinked up at him, surprised by the man underneath. You had imagined it—maybe he was so disfigured that he had to hide it.

But he looked normal, besides a few scars running along his face. You reached out, slow enough for him to slap you away. People did that here.

He never slapped you away. He let your little fingers trace his scars, feel his cheekbones, grab his chin and tilt him this and that way.

You then smiled. “Why do you wear that, silly?” He blinked at your question, his brows furrowing. You continued.

“You don’t look scary at all!” you let go of his chin, watching his lips part and his eyes widen.

He truly wasn’t scary. He was just a man.

And then, he smiled, and you got to see it for once. It was gentle, kind in nature and comforting to your very soul.

“See?” you laughed. “You’re handsome!”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m handsome?” You nodded vehemently.

“Well, thank you sweetheart,” he hummed, his smile never wavering.

And the whole time you two drew, it never faded. Not until he put the mask back on and left you again.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

The soldier had had it with this place. He’d been wanting to get out for a while now, of course, but then he saw it happen.

He’d been taken with you to your training, to watch you in a new setting. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t question it.

You were strong, stronger than he’d given you credit for. Your combat was, sure, not the best, but it was better than he thought a child’s should be. But the instructor didn’t think that.

A sudden crack echoed in the room, interrupting your routine, and everything slowed as he watched.

You slammed to the ground, holding your cheek as tears beaded on your lashes. Your instructor was yelling, screaming and cursing at you. You retarded bitch!

Fury surged in his body, like flames licking at a forest.

And then, he lunged. He grabbed the instructor by the face, slamming him into the wall. He felt the man’s skull collapse underneath his hand, felt his bionic fingers digging into the skin.

Silence ensued. The soldier didn’t dare to think about how you were looking at him now. Disgusted, he bet. Terrified, probably.

His hand released the now dead instructor’s head, the lifeless body crumpling to the floor. His handler was saying something, but he couldn’t bother now. He’d done wrong, he’d become a liability. 

So he turned, scooping you up into his arm—the warm, flesh one. He knew you could fight, he knew it well now. But still, he didn’t want you to have to worry about that. Not if he could have it his way. He rammed his shoulder into the handler’s neck, causing them to sputter and choke. He then punched right into their nose, holding you tighter. He felt you press your face into his chest, and for once he felt relief. Always with you, he noted absentmindedly, continuing forth.

Now that you’d escaped containment, and he’d helped you, alarms were blaring. Still, he ran. His feet bounded against the floor, his reflexes quicker than the bullets. If he wasn’t, he didn’t notice. He just ran, he knew where an exit was.

He burst out of the facility, snow whipping at his face. They changed my location again, he realized. He hadn’t been in this facility before, where snowy forests lay above. It was all beautiful, the grey-blue sky gifting snowflakes to the Earth.

He had no time to think about that, to admire it the way you were now. He was sprinting again, shielding you with his broad torso. He could hear the bullets now, clipping the air beside him. One dinged off his metal arm, another lodged itself in between his shoulder blades. He grit his teeth though, bit back the whimper of pain. He couldn’t falter, not when you were in danger of being taken back to that hellish place.

Nevertheless, HYDRA had people good enough to catch him yet again. A sharp flare burned his ankle, finally granting a sound from him—a curse he so desperately wished to take back. You didn’t need to know any more curses.

He fell to the ground, holding you to his chest. I can’t run, he realised. His stomach dropped, his eyes quickly turning to you. Only when he saw you were unscathed by bullets did he let you go.

“Winter!” you had cried, grabbing onto his forearms. “What are you doing?! Get up!”

He wished he could comply with your command, the only command he wished he could follow. But his body wouldn’t allow it, he knew that.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered in the softest tone he could. “You have to go.”

He hated how your eyes watered again, only this time because of what he said. “No! I’m not leaving you!”

“Sweetheart, please,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against yours. “You can’t stay here.”

“Neither can you!” you shot back, pulling away. You put your little hands underneath his arms, attempting to tug him up. The two of you had played a game like this, where he had followed along and pretended like you really were that strong. He couldn’t play now though, and your attempts were futile.

He pressed his human hand against your cheek, making you look down at him. “Hey, look at me.”

He wiped your free flowing tears, hating how his calloused thumb was probably scraping your smooth skin. “I’ll be alright. I’ll come find you.”

You stammered for a response, but jerked away at the sound of yelling. His head swiveled around, his breaths quickening.

“Sweetheart, please,” he groaned, turning back to you. “You have to go, those monsters are going to hurt you if they catch you.”

“But—but they’re—“ He could guess what you were going to say: But they’re going to hurt you if they catch you!

He couldn’t bear hearing that now. Fuck, he of all people knew that.

“I’m strong, aren’t I?” he mumbled, a shaky grin catching his lips. He’d always remember your praise, the way you laughed when he picked you up with just one arm.

You sniffled, firmly nodding. His smile only brightened, despite the circumstances.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Where he had learned to do that, he hadn’t the slightest clue. Maybe his mother, before all of this.

“You’ve got this,” he added vehemently. He watched you square your jaw, wanting to laugh at how tough you were trying to seem.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, just once more. “I love you daddy.”

And then you ran. You ran before he could hug you back, before he could just keep you in his arms and try to hide you away. It was a selfish desire, one he knew wouldn’t work, but it was one he wished he’d have more time to dream about.

He watched your figure grow smaller in the distance, meanwhile he heard the shouts from operatives from his back. He huffed, forcing himself to stand. But he simply slumped against the tree, pain flaring from all sorts of places on his body. Maybe I was shot more than I thought, his mind sighed humorlessly.

They finally arrived, some passing by him. He surged forward, tackling one to the ground. He wouldn’t let any of them find you, not if he was still breathing. Of course, he was hit over the head with the butt of a rifle, making him flop over as stars burst in his vision. Then he was up, being dragged back to the underground base. He watched the snowflakes fall around him, stared at the dark trees one last time before being shut back in hell.

They’d shoved him into the chair again. Wait, again? How could he know it wasn’t the first time he was here? How many times had this happened, he wondered. How many lives had he lived, ending in this damn chair? 

His breath quickened, his eyes having watered with tears he only now realized were there. He was terrified of this thing, it always felt like being ripped apart from the inside out.

That, and there was the possibility of losing you. The memories of your drawings, your wonderful ideas of what the world looked like outside of here, him telling you what it truly looked like.

His eyes shut tight as he felt the horrible contraption clamp onto his face and head. He obediently opened his mouth, his teeth clamping down onto the mouth guard.

He made a promise right then and there: I’ll remember you, sweetheart. No matter what they do to me, I’ll remember you and come back.

And he repeated it as the electricity made him scream out.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

You’d learn many things once you were out in the world.

One- ponies and bulls were harder to care for than you’d imagined.

Two- Winter had a name. James.

But as you listened to a sweet song on your little radio, you pushed those names out of your head.

The monsters gone, he’s on the run

And your daddy’s here.

That soldier—no, that man who’d sacrificed his own freedom and comfort for yours, he’d never be the Winter Soldier to you.

He was your daddy, and he’d always be.

[verybadatwriting]

Rats

Requested by @pretty-flower-anon

Warnings: dehumanization, torture, electrocution, unethical experiments, Hydra trash party

AN: I didn't get all of the parts of your request, but the story really took off. There will be a part two.

Word Count: 5,383

Gn!reader, child!reader

Rats have many advantages over humans. Their small size allows them entrance into worlds much more intimate than man’s, and to escape the clutches of many foul ends. They can withstand the dark and damp, eat food deemed “rotten” and “beyond human consumption” without getting ill.

Unconsciously, you weighed the pros and cons of each species and decided to abandon your own (albeit unconsciously). Your limbs began to shrink, your face elongated, and all over fur sprouted, already coarse and grimy. It matched the walls.

These cinderblock walls were all you’d ever known as home. Sure, you often went on excursions to the lab, but you were always returned here. Your stack of books in one corner, your little nest in the other, made of old rags and straw, kept you warm enough. The mildew covered walls were secure. When you were here, you were left alone. 

Well, usually alone. Sometimes the same people who escorted you to and from the lab left someone in there. They called it the Asset.

The first time you met, the men had dumped it in your cell, ragged and bleeding. It was painfully clear that it was exhausted and starving, but because it was never ordered to rest, nor given permission to eat, it remained standing. The men apparently decided to leave it like that, to see how long it would follow orders over self-preservation. They left increasingly enticing food at its feet.

This presented an opportunity to you, the little creature hidden in its nest. The ever-growing pile of food remained completely untouched, save for the bugs skittering over it to feast.

You were hungry—you always were—but also terrified that the men would be angry with you if you messed up their “experiment.” So you did what anyone in your position would have done.

You ate the bugs. You figured that, since the men had left the food for the Asset, they wouldn’t mind—maybe they’d even appreciate—if you kept it safe from the bugs.

The Asset watched, now with jealousy, nor pity, but with hunger and distance. It stayed alert, at attention, not even daring to address the many injuries he had. Blood pooled at his feet, seeping into the cracks between stones.

After two days, Alexander Pierce came by. You’d met before, and knew to stay out of his way. The less he noticed you, the better. 

“Why is it standing there?” he asked the man beside him.

“We, Rumlow and I, are trying to see when—or if—it’ll break.”

“That’s a terrible waste of resources,” Pierce scoffed. “It won’t be healed in time for the next phase at this rate. Whose idea did you say this was?”

“Rumlow and Carl,” replied the man. Pierce raised an eyebrow, but let it slide.

“Of course it was Rumlow,” Pierce shook his head.

He ordered the Asset to stand down and tend to its injuries. From the way the Asset’s eyes darted to the food and back to Pierce, it was clear that it wanted permission. 

“Once you’re not bleeding everywhere, yes,” Pierce granted, then left.

The moment it had properly bandaged itself, the Asset hunched protectively over the heap of food and began eating like a starving dog. The food was gone within minutes. The Asset spent a few minutes throwing up afterwards. Its digestive system couldn’t handle the shock of so much rich food suddenly appearing. For a brief moment, it thought about eating the chunks, but he wasn’t that desperate. Not yet.

Fighting to keep its eyes open, the Asset started to drag itself towards your nest. It didn’t see you, you were hidden too well. As it loomed over you, you transformed into the loudest, scariest animal you had ever seen—a raccoon—and hissed in warning. It scrambled to the other end of the cell.

“I’m sorry,” it whispered, putting up its arms—one metal, one flesh—to shield its face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” it kept repeating, swapping through English, German, Russian, and back again. It pulled its legs up to its chest, guarding its belly.

You recognized the defensive curl and, no longer sensing danger, your hackles slowly lowered. Concern for the Asset took over and you slunk towards it, now in the form of a cat.

You headbutted its hand and it flinched, but lifted its head to look at you with terror-filled eyes. It was just another scared animal, like you.

Its hands were still shaking, its whole body tense, but it reached out and gave you a hesitant pat on the head. You began to purr almost immediately and leaded up into its hand.

“Where’d you come from?” it asked in a shockingly quiet, gentle voice.

“Miao,” you replied and trotted over to your nest. Hesitantly, it followed, and promptly collapsed into the minimal comfort the nest provided. Lying on its side, it kept its back against the wall. You curled up against its chest, still purring as you nuzzled yourself snugly into the warmth it provided.

Muffled voices from the other side of the door woke you. You tried very hard not to move or stir, lest you attract attention to yourself or to the Asset.

“Ha!” came one voice, Rumlow’s. “Look, it thinks it’s a person.”

“Aw,” said the other with mock sorrow. “I hate to break this up,” he laughed, not even bothering to hide the cruelty and glee in his voice.

“Good Morning, Sleeping Beauty!” Rumlow shouted as he flung the door open. His partner approached the nest as you jumped out of his way. The asset was pushing itself to its hands and knees, but they grabbed it by a fistful of hair. Rumlow, now crouched where you had been mere moments before, wrenched the Asset’s face up towards his own.

“Have a good rest, Princess?” he asked, but didn’t wait for a reply. It took the Asset a long time to answer questions; it was always afraid of tricks, or that a wrong answer would mean pain.

They dragged it out of your cell, and you didn’t see the Asset again for a long, long time. So long that you began to wonder if it was even real, or if you’d dreamed up all that. If feeling warm and safe was, itself, just a dream.

After an especially grueling session in the lab, which left you tired and sore, you were surprized to find that your cell was not empty. The Asset had returned. It was pretty badly beaten up, lying on your pile of musty straw. It watched you warily, but was too weary to lift its head.

You stood in the corner opposite to turn into a cat, the same cat as all those years before. You wondered why he didn’t recognize you.

“Miao.”

No response; you crept closer. Still nothing. A few steps closer and it shifted away ever so slightly, which caused it to grimace and glance at its abdomen. 

Both hands clutched at its belly, desperately and vainly trying to stop the blood gushing out and into the straw. Its breath was fast and shallow. Its eyes were unfocused, darting around the room trying to find something—anything—to make it stop. Its long, greasy hair was matted and soaked with sweat.

You leapt backwards, returning to your natural, human state to bang on the door.

“Hey!” you screamed. “Hey! We need help in here! Please! A doctor—bring a doctor, please! It needs help!”

One of the guards stationed outside heard you and started walking towards the lab at a leisurely pace. 

You knelt at the Asset’s side  again, and gently peeled its hands away with one hand and snatched a rag from the nest with the other.

In the split second before you pressed the rag into its wound, you saw its face lighting by two shades, from a vaguely pinkish white into a deathly pale.

“Please, no,” you started whispering as you stuffed rag after rag in, keeping as much pressure on it as you could. “Please don’t die. Please don’t let me lose the one good thing in my life. Please don’t die. Please don’t take away the only kind person I have. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t die. Please don’t die.”

The blood did not stop. More and more came gushing out. The Asset’s eyes fell shut and wouldn’t open, no matter how much or how loudly you called to it.

After what felt like an eternity of stuffing rags and straw into its gash, it finally slowed to almost nothing. You kept your hands pressed tight, although you were exhausted and simply wanted to sleep, and you didn’t stop begging it to wake up, to live.

“What seems to be the problem?” a doctor said as he looked up from a clipboard. “Oh God.” He took stock of the room quickly. 

“You,” he said to one of the guards. “Go get Dr. Hendricks, tell her to bring two large bore IVs—one of saline, one of O negative. Now! Go!”

The doctor pushed you aside and went to work. A small army of medics flooded the room, along with Dr. Hendricks. They managed to stop the bleeding, then sterilized the wound and stitched the Asset up.

None of them noticed the child standing in the corner, soaked in blood up to their elbows, all down the front of their shirt, knees painted red. 

You pressed yourself deeper into the corner, out of the way, shaking with fear. 

Once the medics began to trickle out, you inched forward, just close enough to check if Asset was breathing. You collapsed out of relief when you saw the shallow-but-steady rise and fall of his chest.

That night, like the first time you’d met, oh-so long ago, you took up the form of a cat and curled up against Asset’s chest, close enough to feel its breathing. A couple of times, you had woken up, frightfully sure that it wasn’t breathing. It always was.

Asset stayed asleep for almost two days. The doctors had left a box of supplies, whether out of concern or carelessness, it was hard to tell. Either way, you took full advantage of its contents and changed the bandage every dozen hours. You also disinfected various other cuts and injuries.

“Hey, look at this,” one of the guards said.

“Ha!” Rumlow laughed. “It’s like the kid is playing with a doll.”

After you had finished addressing its injuries and your own, you cleaned off the blood as best you could. Then, all you could do was wait and watch. You sat, staring at it and willing it to wake up.

A few hours later, Rumlow brought in a tray of food-adjacent substances.

“Rise and shine, Princess!” he shouted as he entered the cell. “It’s feeding time. Wake up. Get up!” He yelled. “I’m talking to you!” He nudged Asset’s abdomen with his foot, not gently. Asset didn’t react in the slightest.

“Huh. They must’ve given it one hell of a drug,” Rumlow laughed to himself, then slammed the tray down and left.

You knew it wasn’t for you. You knew that Asset needed it more than you. You knew all that. But the hunger. The hunger felt like it was eating you from inside.

You knew what would stop it. And it was right there.

You meant to save some for Asset—you really did—but this was the first food you had seen in three days. Who knew the next time they’d remember to feed you! Maybe next time, Asset would be awake, and need it all. 

Really and truly, you tried to save him some, but the tray was licked clean before you fully realized it was empty.

Luckily, Rumlow came back the next day with more. This time, his yelling was enough to wake Asset.

“Ah!” He laughed, then instructed you, “Make sure this one doesn’t choke.”

You pushed the tray towards Asset and sat next to it. It mumbled something, a string of numbers over and over. Its skin felt hot to the touch and its eyes were unfocused, drifting around the cell. But it was awake.

“Asset?” You laid a hand on its shoulder. “Can you sit up?”

“Seargent… five five seven oh… Buchannan…” it mumbled, then trailed off into a shudder that shook its whole body.

“Do you want water?” you asked.

“Yeah–yes, yes water,” it started to sit up, but let out a pitifully small cry of pain and fell back. You looped an arm under its head and elevated it while holding a small cup to its mouth. 

“There you go,” you said as the cup drained.

Its eyes started to drift closed, but it snapped them back open, managed to focus on you, and said “Thank you.”

“Oh... Yeah,” you said after a moment. “Are you hungry?”

Asset nodded and you looked over the contents of the tray. There was some rock-solid bread, a bowl of stew with overcooked vegetables, and another cup filled with … maybe grape juice?

You managed to break off a couple chunks of bread and set them into the stew. Hopefully they would soften up a bit. 

“Let’s sit you up a bit,” you said. “Against  the wall. Does that sound okay?”

But Asset was out again. 

He stayed with you for a long time, a week or two, during which someone brought food every day. Asset’s fever broke after a few days. At first, you were thrilled as it inched back toward health, but then you realized that the sooner it recovered, the sooner they’d take it away.

Every night, you slept curled up between Asset and the wall, either as a cat, or as your natural, human-child self. It curled around you, acting as a barrier between you and the outside world. You were both scared that the next time you opened your eyes, the other would be gone, just a figment of a tormented mind.

You read to him. The stack of books let you escape for a little while. Sitting next to each other, you paused in the middle of a sentence.

“I don’t want you to go,” you whispered. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get to see you again or if I’ll be alone here forever.”

“I’ll come back, kid,” it reassured you. Asset leaned its head back against the wall and closed its eyes,“Promise.”

Even though you both knew it wasn’t a promise Asset had any way of keeping, promises were comforting.

“I almost stopped thinking you were real,” you told Asset. “There was such a long time before you came back. Do you remember?”

“No,” it said after thinking for a while. “Sorry. I… I think they take away my memories.”

“It’s okay,” you rested your head on his right shoulder and closed your eyes. “It was a very long time ago.”

In the morning, you both startled awake from the rattle of the door. Two men came in and dragged Asset away while half a dozen more surrounded it, fully armed. 

“No!” you screamed, then lunged at them, transforming rapidly from cat to raccoon to dog—any form you thought might scare even one of them.

A man stepped forward and tased you, which brought out a cry of pain. Not from the taser shock itself, but rather the pain of not saying goodbye, of not knowing if it was forever, or just a day.

They left you lying on the floor of your cell as they slammed the door in your face. Sobs wracked your chest as you curled into yourself. Your cell suddenly felt too empty, leaving you vulnerable, like exactly what you were—a child, alone in the hands of monsters.

Once you had cried out every tear inside of you you sat up and started getting your cell back in order. You restacked the books, piled up the straw which was scattered all over. In the corner, where you’d been peacefully sleeping just a half hour before, you noticed something odd. Tucked in between two stones and hidden with a handful of straw was a small, black thing. You pried it out carefully and rotated it in your hands. A pocket knife. Scratched onto the stone were the words “reAl” and “bACk.”

He was real. He was here. And he would be back.

You tucked the knife back into its hiding spot and piled straw over it.

In the lab, you were given challenges. They’d give you a list of animals, all ones that you’d touched before, and you would have to take up their form. Over and over. For hours. Sometimes they turned off the lights and threw in a new creature. In pitch darkness, you had to find it, subdue it, and mimic its form by the time the lights turned back on. You had quite a few scars from those challenges.

For the past few weeks, the scientists had been introducing multiple different types of venomous snakes, especially small ones. Reptiles weren’t the hardest to transform yourself into, but they were nowhere as easy as mammals.

One day, in the middle of a challenge, a realization hit you. 

They were training you to kill. They had always been training you to kill and obey. From your very first days, learning shapes and numbers, this had always been their goal. You were gonna be their pet killer forever. Or at least the rest of your life. That’s what they did to Asset. They got it, trained it, and now they were keeping it forever.

You tried not to let it show—there were a half-dozen scientists eagerly noting every minute shift in your body—but your concentration slipped, and you reverted to a human.

“Ah!” you hissed as your bones snapped back into place. You held your jaw as it fused back together. Shivers ran down your spine as you readjusted to being a warm-blooded creature once more.

Groans resounded from the gallery as they hurriedly jotted “PT” in the results section of their notes. Only a partial transformation. And not even an intentional one at that.

Well. No food tonight.

In frustration, you took the form of a hawk and darted around the room before returning to human and demanding one more chance.

“Alright,” came the muffled reply from beyond the plexiglass windows. “Try that one—a Black Mamba—try that again.”

You nodded, shaking feeling back into your arms and legs. Why did they have to pick a snake? The lack of limbs made the animals more simple, but the transformation much harder. 

Did they have to pick a snake?

Despite your exhaustion, you had a successful transformation. When you got back to your cell there were two food trays. One, as a reward for a good day’s work, and the other to feed the confused-looking super soldier sitting in your cell.

“Asset!” you cried with elation, immediately rushing forward and giving it a hug. It flinched and shifted away, but once it realized that you weren’t trying to hurt it, it held still. Like an obedient killer, it looked to Rumlow, who was stationed outside the cell, asking for instructions. Rumlow just laughed, and said something about brains in blenders to the other guard on duty.

“Are you okay?” you asked, stepping back. “Asset?”

“There was…” it trailed off, eyebrows furrowed. It looked like an innocent child who had mixed up dreams and reality, but was trying to make sense of both. 

“Look at me,” you told it calmly, although you were panicking inside. “Do you know me?”

It looked long and hard, but ultimately shook its head.

“I’m sorry,” it said. “A-am I supposed to?”

“No. Yeah. It’s. It’s fine,” you said, trying to sound genuine and yet keep the tears from falling. You nodded as you turned away to face the wall. You kept nodding as you swallowed a couple of times to keep your emotions down.

Asset was right; they took away its memories. That’s fine. It can make new ones.

They’ll just steal the new ones, too. You could just keep making new memories, start over every time they took its memories away.

What if they take yours? Then you’ll be an empty shell. Neither of you would know the other. You’d be alone forever and so would Asset.

There was only one way to get a happy ending for either of you. You had to get out. 

When Rumlow came by to drag away the Soldat, you were ready. You had given Asset the knife it left last time, which it tucked into its boot, lumped the straw over some books to make it look like a creature was curled up in it, then turned into a tick and hopped on Asset’s shirt sleeve.

As expected, no one gave a second’s thought as to where you were—that lump must be the kid. They all saw what they expected to see.

“C’mon, Princess,” Rumlow said as he grabbed one of Asset’s arms and hoisted it to its feet. Asset still had that far away, confused look, but followed directions.

They brought it—both of you—down a long hallway, past the labs, and through a maze of corridors. You looped around under a sewer grate, and up to an underground service entrance. All of them were silent, save the thud of boots on the ground.

The room you finally stopped in had bars, and a terrifying chair. A technician fiddled with some parts of the chair, reading different screens and adjusting wires.

They pulled off Asset’s shirt and shoved him into the chair. You turned into a fly and perched high up on a wall. Something told you that you needed to see what was about to happen, but you didn’t want to.

The technician shifted to working on Asset’s arm, which had been damaged. Without warning, Asset flung him across the room. Immediately, the guards had their weapons trained on it.

At that moment, Pierce walked in, completely unperturbed and motioned for them to lower their weapons.

“Mission report,” Pierce said to Asset. It didn’t react, just kept its eyes unfocused and brows furrowed. “Mission report, now.”

In response, Pierce slapped its face hard enough to snap its head to the side. 

“The man on the bridge,” Asset finally said. “Who was he?”

“You met him earlier this week on another assignment.”

“I knew him.” It wasn’t a question, not quite. More like Asset was saying something it knew contradicted reality. 

“Your work has been a gift to mankind,” Pierce ignored Asset’s last statement and sat down, to be at eye level. “You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time.” Pierce went on, speaking about society and order and chaos and freedom, but neither you nor Asset listened.

“But I knew him.”

Pierce sighed, like a father who had tried, and failed, to impart wisdom on the younger generation.

“Prep him,” he said as he stood up.

“But sir,” objected one scientist, “He’s been out of cryofreeze for too long.”

“Then wipe him and start over.”

Two men pushed Asset back into the chair, put in a mouthguard, secured arm clamps, and lowered a headpiece. A low buzzing filled the room, at first too low for human ears to detect, then built until the whole room thrummed with energy. It all ran though Asset’s head. It screamed, a desperate sound, muffled only by the mouthguard. Its limbs convulsed and rattled against the restraints.

It took all your willpower to just watch. Not do anything. You wanted to scream at Pierce and Rumlow as they left the room, wanted to tear the technicians apart, turn into a bear and crush them, or a dog and rip out their throats. But you knew how that would end. Virtually everyone in there was armed and even a bear can only withstand so many bullet holes.

So you stayed, a literal fly on the wall, and watched as they tortured Asset. You watched as it finally stopped. As they recited words from a little book, Asset's face went empty once more. They started to lead it back to the cell, so you hopped down and settled on its head.

Instead of dumping Asset and leaving, Rumlow kicked your nest.

“Get up,” he ordered to the empty straw.

Quickly, you darted into the nest and turned into a snake, making it look as though you’d been there the whole time. 

“Ah, gross!” Rumlow shouted, nudging you away with the tip of his boot. “Pierce wants you, and I am not carrying a snake. You’ve gotta pretend to be a human for a bit. Think you still know how?”

You turned into a human again and followed Rumlow out of the cell, down a hallway, up a staircase, and into an office. The walls were a dark wood and the floor was carpeted. Two chairs flanked a window, which Pierce was gazing out of. The city street below was quiet, only a few cars on the road at this time of night.

“Hello,” he turned towards you, then bent lower to get to your eye-level.

You said nothing in reply, only staring straight back into his eyes. He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Why don’t you sit down?” he gestured to one of the green, overstuffed chairs and guided you into it. He then settled himself into the chair across from you.

“I have been watching you for quite a while,” he said. “You are quite promising. Your determination and commitment are… remarkable.”

You weren’t quite sure how to respond, so you sat there, perfectly still. 

“Which is why,” he continued, “I have a request, a challenge.”

Okay, good. Challenges usually meant a reward at the end, if you were successful. And you were good at them. You nodded and Pierce went on.

“The Asset is about to leave for its next mission—” your hairs stood on end. Would it be gone before you got back?—“And I would like you to give it a little help.”

As far as you could remember this very room was the furthest from your cell you had ever been.

“Has anyone ever taken the time to explain to you what our goal is? Or even who we are?” He waved his hand to indicate that you were included in the “we.”

“No, sir,” you said, voice even and emotionless, like how Asset’s was after they took its memories.

“We—Hydra—are going to bring about a new world order, one where all our enemies are gone. That fairytale book you have, how does it end?”

“Happily ever after.”

“That’s exactly what we want. But the heroes always have some challenges before the end; there’s always some villain trying to make the world worse. There are villains in real life.”

Your mind flashed pictures of Rumlow grinning as Asset was electrocuted, the scientists stoically taking notes as one of their colleagues injected or extracted, or cut parts of you away. And finally, you saw the man in front of you. Pierce, the one overseeing it all. You almost killed him then and there. Only one thing restrained you: they still had Asset. 

Pierce interpreted the fury rattling your bones as shudders of fear.

“I know,” he said frankly, “It’s a disturbing lesson to learn, especially for a child. Trust me, I would not tell you all this if I did not need to. Sadly, you might be our last hope of stopping the villains. The rest of us have all tried, but even the Asset could not do it. Will you help him?”

You pretended to think for a moment, then agreed.

“Are you scared?” Pierce asked as he started walking you back to your cell—Rumlow had been called away at some point in you and Pierce’s conversation.

“Yes,” you admitted. Scared that you wouldn’t be able to escape with Asset. Scared that this “villain” really was worse than Hydra, as Pierce had told you.

“Good. Fear brings order. It means you won’t mess up.”

As the sun rose, you were provided with tactical gear, and more information on your target. 

Turns out, this mission was the reason that they had been training you with so many venomous snakes recently. The “villain” was a super-soldier, who was nearly impossible to kill. Hydra had a theory, though, that if he received multiple different types of venom in a short enough timeframe, even his enhanced body would be unable to overcome them all.

You and Asset were loaded into the back of a van, along with Rumlow and a few other heavily armed Hydra men.

“Why’s it staring at me?” whispered one man with unease disguised with irritation.

“It’s a creepy son of a bitch,” Rumlow replied. “Watch this—” then to Asset, “—Hey, Soldat! Look at me!”

Asset’s head snapped towards Rumlow. It awaited further instruction.

“Oh, nevermind,” Rumlow said, very casually. Asset turned its gaze back to the space directly in front of it. Coincidentally, the first agent was sitting there, right at eye level.

“Can’t we at least put its muzzle back on?” he asked.

“Nah,” Rumlow smiled. “They took it off to mess with the Captain.”

They released you and Asset into a large, flying building, giving you both free reign to do whatever it took to take down your target and keep the ship in the air. Asset was fed intel through a comm tucked in one ear.

It moved through the halls so quickly that you had to turn into a bird to keep up. Suddenly the hallway ended and you were on a metal walkway above large glass panels. Below those, far below, flowed a river—they’d called it the Potomac. Its brown, murky water looked like shining dirt from this height. A fall from here would break bones, at the very least.

You circled the room, looping around a large console in the center, and spotted the target. A man in a blue and red uniform was messing with a collection of wires and computer chips in that console. 

Two shots, both deflected by a shield, rang out. Asset took out a knife as it charged towards the target.

They fought. The whole time Asset was on the offensive, landing blow after blow, choreographing the whole dance. You knew this was your chance. You were supposed to kill the target while Asset kept him busy. That was the plan. After that, you would run away, somehow convince or even force Asset to run away with you.

But the target’s words stopped you. He was trying to talk to Asset. Not in the cruel, demeaning way Rumlow did, nor the commanding way of Pierce. More like how you spoke with it. As a friend, a person.

The situation, however, meant you might not have to do anything after all. Asset had pinned the target down and he wasn’t fighting back. Even as the ship started to crumble, flaming chunks of plastic and jagged metal fell from above and splashed into the water. It was like he had no fear, no self-preservation instinct. Or if he did, something even more powerful guided his actions.

“You’re my friend,” the target said.

“You’re my mission,” Asset tackled him. “You are my mission!”

“Then finish it,” the target said as Asset paused. “‘Cause I’m with you ‘till the end of the line.”

Asset let him fall. In the river, with debris rushing by, he had very little chance for survival. You all knew it.

Hanging from his metal arm, Asset watched, then slowly let go. It dropped into the water, with you following right behind. It searched in the murky depths, so you did, too. Copying the form of a very agitated fish, you were able to find the target first, and lead Asset to him.

It pulled him through the water, away from the chaos of crashing airships, into the relative safety of the muddy shore.

Asset looked down at him, beaten and bloody, and turned to walk away.

“We’re just gonna leave him?” You asked, running a little to catch up. “Who was that?” you added.

“I don’t know,” Asset said. “But I do know we can’t go back to Hydra.”

“We could run away. Go somewhere Hydra can’t get to us,” you suggested.

“I don’t know if that place exists.”

Tag list -

@arctrooper69

[pretty-flower-anon]

Holy shit you cooked, no comments, this is peak literature. 10/10, will request again soon :)

[orin-scrivello-dds]

Hi. It’s me again. You wanna rip out a few teeth to put in that box I made you?

- @pretty-flower-anon 🪻

Sure thing. Open wide.

[pretty-flower-anon]

You want anything in particular? I’m not picky.

[orin-scrivello-dds]

Canines.

[pretty-flower-anon]

Oooh… sounds fun.

[orin-scrivello-dds]

Hi. It’s me again. You wanna rip out a few teeth to put in that box I made you?

- @pretty-flower-anon 🪻

Sure thing. Open wide.

[pretty-flower-anon]

You want anything in particular? I’m not picky.

[orin-scrivello-dds]

Well… I uh… got you something, happy late Christmas Orin!!

[it is a box made of various animal teeth but most of it has been taken by human teeth.]

- 🪻 @pretty-flower-anon

Huh. You might be as psycho as I am!

[pretty-flower-anon]

I rather enjoy whatever is wrong with you. And me. I think one of those is mine but I can’t pinpoint the damn thing anymore.