WinterIron one shots

My Handler

Word count: 1216

Summery: during his time in hydra Bucky had many handles - but there was one he remembered- couldn't forget. He was kind - and his name was tony stark.

Hey! I'm still alive. Anyway, I know I haven't published a chapter for this for what seems like forever ( actually in December 2020! Lol), and I really don't know if anyone is still interested in this book. I have around 20 chapters in the editing stage, and so there may be more published charters to look forward to - but I've learnt to not promise anything- I am unreliable. So, if anyone is still reading this , thanks for sticking with it. I love all you 3000!!
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"I have to go back," is the first thing Bucky says in almost seventy years. Steve stops in his advance and Bucky can see him in the reflection of the exhibit, their exhibit, can see him jerk to a halt and then hesitate, one hand hanging in the air between them, as if itching to touch, to confirm, but unsure how such a gesture would be received.

There is more pleading in Bucky's voice when he turns and he knows his eyes convey the same, knows Steve will listen, knows it down in his bones that Steve won't stop him, will stand right by his side because I'm with you till the end of the line and, "I need to go back."

Bucky doesn't realise he's shaking until he's wrapped in Steve's warmth, Steve's arms around him, grounding him, the only thing keeping him upright.

The moan that wrenches itself out of his throat is raw, broken, and Bucky clutches at Steve, presses closer, buries his face in Steve's shoulder, each sound falling from his lips more desperate and pained than the last. "I need to go back," he rasps, Steve's hand in his hair anchoring him here, in the present, "I need to go back and get him. I need him, I need to get him, Steve, I can't leave him-"

"Okay," Steve hushes, a quiet hum, a single word but a promise no less. "We're going back. We won't leave him. I'm here, Buck, you're not alone, not anymore. Whatever you need."

***

There is a second tank, already filled, as the asset is put away.

The asset notices and then the asset goes to sleep.

***

The new handler is different.

There is no pain, there are no harsh words.

Something pulls in the asset's arm and the asset twitches, but there is no punishment.

The handler's face does something the asset doesn't recognise, the handler says, "Sorry, shit, sorry. Did that hurt? It shouldn't have, I thought I severed the, ah, yes, okay. Here, is this better?"

The asset stares. The asset doesn't know what is expected, this is different, different, different-

"James?" the handler asks and the asset stares down at the hand, small and shaking, that the handler has placed on his chest. Not to restrict. The asset doesn't understand, the asset does not have a name, hands hurt, this is different.

"Shit, you wouldn't-" the handler curses and the asset braces for pain that doesn't come. "This is all so fucked up, I can't-" the handler says and then stops, rubbing the hand that is not on the asset over his own face. "I'm gonna call you James, all right? I need to call you something. James is good, strong. Brave."

The handler keeps talking and keeps touching, without pain, and the asset listens. The asset doesn't answer and the handler doesn't seem to mind.

When maintenance is over, the handler takes the asset's hand, the flesh one, and squeezes, gentle, not meant to hurt. "I'll do everything I can," the handler says, "I promise."