013

[missionreport]

Characters Winter Soldier, HYDRA!Steve Rogers
Fandoms: MCU
Rating: R
Summary: The Winter Soldier and the Captain's earlier days

Comments

physical combat assessment 1

[missionreport]

With the two assets having been successfully introduced, HYDRA rolls out the next stage of its super soldier program: determine which is the stronger of the two and which, then, is the more disposable in the worst case scenario where one must be liquidated to save the other.

Which is the better serum, the better Winter Soldier? HYDRA's? Or that traitor Erskine's?

Today that will be determined: physically, at least, as the mental conditioning required for both Barnes and Rogers is vastly different, with Rogers needing far more attention, more care, than his old war-buddy who is practically docile in comparison to the fits the other throws. Today the Winter Soldier will be escorted to a training room that is typically lined with thick impact mats and weights. Those weights have been removed, he notices immediately, his blue eyes still red-rimmed thanks to a recent session in the Chair and he'll assume that those had been suddenly deemed a threat, a possible weapon. Even the chairs along the wall have been removed, the mirrors.

Not the usual training session, then.

The Winter Soldier waits, barefoot and bare-chested, dressed down to neoprene pants that hug and deny any advantages of his usual armored padding and any grips that the Captain could possibly use against him. He isn't surprised to see that the other asset is dressed similarly. It's the first time that the Winter Soldier believes he has seen this man, his mind, his memories still swimming in that heavy fog that weighs down on his eyelids and bows his shoulders into a hunch inward. His head tilted slightly to the side, his tangled hair half in his face, the Soldier sizes up today's opponent as he's herded in by more guards and handlers than anyone else he's ever seen before.

Similar height. Similar build. Blonde hair. Blue eyes, glazed over but still roaming around the room as if he hadn't already pinged on the Winter Soldier as a threat. Something of a beard - a sign, the Winter Soldier thinks, that this man is more dangerous than most, if a handler can't approach him with a razor. The beard is long enough that the Winter Soldier could grab it, if needed, and he dutifully files that away as he watches the other man come to a stop before him. Behind him, he's aware of someone from his own handler team roughly pulling his hair away from his face and into a ponytail.

A handler speaks.

Her voice rings across the training room like the voice of God.

"Permanent maiming or killing is forbidden. Best two out of three. Go!"

timeskip: sexual assessment

[whothehellissteve]

The drug regimen the Captain receives this morning is different — not that he would know. He does know by now the daily routine of chair, drugs, and shocks, even if the order and amount sometimes still change as the techs continue to refine the process, hone it into the best way to control the man who still sometimes bucks control. But those instances are getting fewer and farther between. He’s been lucid-but-compliant for longer, these days. He’s less unstable, less likely to snap or go rogue. And he’s been tested against and with the Winter Soldier in enough scenarios by now that they know the two subjects aren’t going to kill each other, when left to their own devices. Not unless they’re ordered to.

Today, the drugs leave him feeling strange. There’s sweat trickling down his brow as they march him in a line of guards, two in front and two behind, to a room frequently used for asset medical observation. He has no idea if he’s been here before (he has), but he can tell the glass windows have been reinforced. The cameras are recessed and protected in the corners of the high concrete ceiling. The door is as thick as any in the rooms he’s often put in. He can remember those details, even if he can’t remember every specific instance he's seen them in.

Which is why, when he spots the single bed in the corner, the single set of shelves bolted to the floor holding several objects that aren’t weapons he’s trained with, he isn’t entirely sure if it’s odd or not. His gut says yes, but his gut is also roiling with an antsy, itchy feeling that must be showing in his body language because the guards are extra on edge when they march him up and push him inside. He’s dressed only in soft pants and an undershirt, although the pants are devoid of any ties, as usual. His feet are bare. His face is bare, too. They’ve been successful enough with the newest regimen that the techs are able to keep him shaved. It’s a significant milestone, relatively recent, after he’d only allowed the Soldier to do it for far longer than his handlers had liked.

The Soldier isn’t here when they put the Captain in, but he’s not far behind. The Captain’s guards don’t even bother closing the door, just form a line two men deep and watch him warily from behind riot gear while he stands and stares at them, blank-eyed, until he hears more footsteps down the hall and his eyes flick toward the sound, to see the Soldier being escorted in much the same way. He isn’t even sure whether he’ll be taken past the room and doesn’t realize he’s hoping he won’t be when the desired outcome occurs, his own guards parting so the Soldier’s can shove him in and shut the heavy door behind him.

He tenses but stands his ground, unsure what his orders are, but expecting a fight. It’s always a fight, with the Soldier, and there are no opponents for them to team up on, today. So when the voice crackles over the loudspeaker with the direction, “This is a test. You will begin feeling the effects of the medication in a moment. You will not kill or permanently maim each other. Anything else is permitted. Make use of what is in the room,” his head snaps up toward the sound and his brow furrows. Then he looks back at the Soldier.

This isn’t the usual protocol. He’s somehow quite sure of that.