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Chapter Text

His metal arm had been taken off, and despite the fact that the Asset did not move, he felt lopsided. The arm was solid and heavy, and so, almost half of his weight had been removed. It laid not far from him on a table, carefully inspected and even polished from the blood of his captor's ally. Too far away for the Asset to reach - and certainly, he had tried for hours at a time - with his other arm having been tied above his head to the basement's boiler. It was dark here, only a small hopper window in the corner allowing in some light, though foliage had covered the outsides and dampened even those few rays of sunlight. At least, the Asset thought, it was neither cold nor wet. He had even been tied down on top of a mattress - truly, if it wasn't for that tied down and kept here against his will part, the Asset might have almost said he was comfortable.

Well. Scratch that. Tied down was a pretty common state of being for the Soldat, and the Asset knew better than to flee into the illusion of having a will.

The bigger problem was that he had a mission, and had failed it by getting himself abducted. His handlers will be furious, and the anxiety of that still makes the Asset shiver from time to time. At least with the gag in his mouth, screaming was pointless, and he stopped straining himself that way. His captor had forced it right back behind his teeth when the Asset started shouting, denying him the water, but gently promised they could try again once the Soldat calmed down.

His captor... He had introduced himself as Baron Zemo, smug and pleased as those allies of his that had survived the Soldat had tied him down. The Asset was a killing machine - but a seven versus one was still a hard fight to win. The Asset had reasons to doubt the introduction, though - he knew Baron Zemo, and this man was not him. Heinrich Zemo had been one of the young men who had worked with the Soldat's prior handlers, and not only was this man a good decade older, his touch was also softer - despite having the Asset constrained.

(The idea that maybe the Asset had been on ice for far longer than he realised, that the man who knew as Heinrich Zemo had grown old and had children of his own, didn't even hit the Asset. The Soldat had no business thinking about these things. He only had orders to carry out.)

Despite having confined the Asset in a basement, having ambushed and fought and kidnapped him, having risked the life of his own men to capture him (and the Soldat was at least proud that two of them have had to pay), the Asset couldn't deny that his hands were soft. The man who proclaimed himself the Baron came down three times a day, offering water and food. the Asset was still refusing to eat, turning his face away whenever this self-decreed Baron presented him with cut down pieces of bread, of apples or bananas, or spoonfuls of soup or oats. Even if his mouth was watering, and his stomach was rumbling, the Asset knew better than to take food from the enemy. The water though the Asset accepted by now, stretching his neck to allow for the tip of the water bottle to be placed against his lips, swallowing as much as he was given. And if some of the water trickled down his chin and neck onto his chest, he didn't mind all too much. After all, so far, his captor had only clicked his tongue softly, if disapprovingly, just to never fail to take a cotton towel and gently pat the Soldat down.

Whoever the man was, he seemed to want to take care of the Asset, ensuring that it was kept in acceptable condition. The Soldat knew that that had to mean that he was to be used soon. After all, weapons were tended to if and only if they were meant to be fired.

So maybe, he was just terribly self indulgent to enjoy the careful touches. Enjoy them enough to ensure that he spilled from the bottle each and every time it was placed against his lips.

And as long as his captor did not grow tired of him, the Asset was certain to continue their little game. Refuse to eat, refuse to speak, but drink like a man dying of thirst, even if he did make sure to spill a gulp or two all over his chin, neck, chest, just to make the man clean up after him. All the while, icey blue eyes fixed on him, glaring him down

There was a pattern forming, one that was somewhat reassuring. The Soldat could hear the proclaimed Baron wake up in the morning, and an hour later he’d already be downstairs, trying to coax some nourishment into the Asset’s mouth. What was interesting though was what the Soldat could pick up in between the muffled first ring of an alarm clock and the key unlocking the basement door.

There was chatter, muffled and soft, and the Asset did not think he knew the language. Sometimes, there was high pitched laughter. And next to the self-assured but not heavy steps he could allocate to the pseudo-Baron, there were quick, loud, little feet pattering around the upper floors in the early morning, only to resume in the late afternoon until the sun went down and then some.

A child.

It took the Soldat an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure that out. Children were not variables that he encountered often. The wars that he fought did not involve children. He couldn’t even think of a time where he had last seen a child.

There were muddy memories of a scrawny, scraggy blond boy when he thought of child, the visual representation imprecise but clearly there. It… made the Asset feel warm, when he forced the memory up, trying to keep the visual representation in his mind’s eye, no matter how much his brain struggled with that. He knew he was tiring himself out, trying to fight the brain fog, and the headache and nausea he felt was an adequate punishment. And yet, he could not quite stop. It just… made him happy. Felt like… like home, to think about the boy that he had no tangible memories of, only blurry recollections of laughter and scraped knees.

It was not like he had much else to do. The Baron at least turned the radio on when he came downstairs in the morning. A little bit of mental stimulation, while the Asset just sat and waited to be made use of again. It was even a live radio, not only some CDs, playing songs and news and some radio talk shows. Only that the Soldat did not speak the language, any spoken word just being rendered into noise. It was something Slavic, clueing the Asset in that they were still somewhere in the East of Europe, the intonation and melody of speech being close enough to Russian to occasionally trick tired ears. Occasionally, some full phrases were uttered that the Soldat could understand, being close enough to Slovak that the words sounded silly, a little wrong, but could be understood. Unfortunately, the Soldat only knew a small handful of Slovak to begin with.

Did the Soldat even need to understand anything else but Útok and Počkajte?

At least the Baron spoke to him in English. He had spoken Russian the first day or two, but his Russian had been chopped and awkward, the R’s too harsh and the G’s too pronounced. He had even seemed a little relieved when the Soldat reacted to the English just as much as he had done to the Russian. So whoever the Baron was, whatever he knew - and the Soldat did not doubt that he knew a lot, having known where and how to find the Soldat, and how to overpower him with minimal casualties - it was not everything. He may have access to HYDRA information, but he was not from HYDRA himself.

Not that any of these inferences mattered, as long as he was armless and tied to a fucking boiler in some upper-middleclass single-family house.

It would take a good week before the Asset would have an encounter with any of the family though.

This morning, the excited tap-tap-tap of young feet never stopped for more than a few minutes at a time. There was no sound of a front door opening and closing, the Asset couldn’t even hear a bus driving up to the house. The kid did not leave the building this morning. Rather, the Asset could hear what could only be the telly, blaring songs and forcefully cute songs through the speakers. Still, despite the child not leaving, the Baron seemed eager to keep their schedule going. He still came down in the morning to offer water and some bread, to clean up after the Soldat, to gently tap his chin and chest dry, sighing softly.

“Are you truly going to try and starve yourself, Soldat?”, the Baron asked, accent thick but understandable. He was exasperated as the Soldat once more just moved his head aside as a piece of banana was pressed against his lips, but the soft curls of concern in his voice did make the Asset cringe ever so slightly in discomfort. He squirmed visibly, shifting on his little mattress, his wrist already chafed from almost a week in that position. He wasn’t used to others being concerned about him. Maybe about his missions, yes, but never about him. It didn’t sit right with him. “If you haven’t eaten by tonight, I will need to get you an infusion.”, the Asset was warned sternly, but the Asset couldn’t help but have the corners of his lips twitch in soft amusement, finding some pleasure in annoying the man. Even more so, when he muttered under his breath as he stood up to turn the radio on once more; “Kde tu vôbec nájdem nejaké zasrané infúzie počas víkendu?”

“I will be back with lunch.”, the Baron promised as he fiddled with the buttons of the radio, adjusting the volume and the station, before once more leaving the Asset alone to the sickenly optimistic tunes of Pharrell Williams.

But lunch was not much better. The Asset drank, but didn’t speak or eat. He had listened to the noise upstairs, able to tell that the child had not left and that there was nobody else in the house. Just the Baron, and the child. No mother. No nanny. (Another good reason why this could not be the real Baron of Sokovia. What nobility ever wanted to deal with their own offspring? …especially while they held a prisoner in their basement.)

Though it seemed like the false Baron wanted to make true of his promise as the Soldat refused to even try the chicken noodle soup he had made for him. “Tak teda. Budú to teda infúzie…”, he murmured as he stepped up the stairs again. The Soldat craned his neck, watching the man disappear on the higher floor.

Before the door was once more locked or closed, though, the Soldat could hear the Baron speak loudly, seemingly calling to the second floor: “Karl? Miláčik. Musím ísť do mesta!”

Despite the closed door, the conversation was loud enough for the Soldat to follow - if not quite to understand. “Budeš dobrý chlapec a zostaneš doma?” Something about going to town. About being good and staying at home.

“Áno, Tata!”, a small squeaky voice replied, and while the Soldat had heard it before, it was the first time he could truly understand what was being said.

Yes, Daddy.

It would take exactly fifteen minutes after the Soldat heard the door close for Karl to break his little promise.

The tap-tap-tap of little feet approached the basement door, small hands trying to push the door open. As the locked piece of wood wouldn't budge, there was another set of tap-tap-taps, this time leaving from the basement entrance. Five minutes later, Karl must have found the basement key, unlocking the heavy door and pushing it open with a strained huff.

The Soldat stirred. For the first time in at least a couple of days he tried to move again. Exhausted as he was from the awkward position and his refusal of nourishment, it was smarter to just sit still and not tire himself out anymore, just so he'd have the chance to pounce if he was given the opportunity.

And yet, he did move, straining himself to push and shove himself just half a foot closer to the stairs - just so he could look all the way up.

And all the way up there, there he stood.

Maybe three foot five, with pudgy cheeks and a honey-golden blond tuft of hair on his head. His arms and legs were a little lanky, as if they were a bit too long for his tiny body. His shorts exposed scrawny knees, his shirt seemed a little too large, showing off milky skin on the boy’s collar bone.

Karl.

The child.

the Asset was not certain if this was the kid that his memory tried to conjure, but he was blond and short and a mixture of lanky limbs and pudgy curves, and so the Asset was also not certain if this wasn’t this boy. And while he had no evidence in either direction, he felt his heart ache and his stomach taunt with the incredible need to protect.

Especially when Karl was staring at him, open mouthed with wide eyes. Clearly, whatever he had expected his father to be hiding down stairs, it was not a Super Soldier. (Or at least, a different Super Soldier, not the Asset.)

They were silent for a long while, the Soldat’s muscles straining to keep looking at the child, pushing himself against the restraints that were meant to hold him down, but not even the pain was enough to make him move away.

“Ahoj?”, the boy finally asked, clearly insecure. And the Asset didn’t need to speak the language to understand.

“Hey.”, he replied, voice cracking and rough and rasping against his throat almost painfully after not having spoken for so long.

But the boy seemed to be reassured, giving the Asset a shy smile, and took one, then two hesitant steps down the stairs. He was holding a stuffed animal under his armpit, the Soldat realised, a small box made out of paper in the same hand that the Asset could not quite place, not having any memory of ever having seen anything similar.

“Ako sa voláš? Kto si ty?”, the boy asked, voice still a bit hesitant, but he seemed a lot more sure about himself, now that the strange man in his basement had replied to him, still continuing to slowly creep down the stairs.

Unfortunately, though, the Asset was not able to quite parse that. He raised the stump of his left arm in a one-sided shrug, making the boy’s gaze fall onto his missing arm, making the boy frown a little. Or was it the silence that displeased the boy? “Sorry.”, the Soldat offered, not wanting to upset him.

“Nehovoríš po Sokoviasky?”, the boy asked, not sounding happy about that at all, frowning a little. With his eyebrows furrowed together, he did look a lot like his father, the Asset thought. Also always displeased. “Sprichst du Deutsch?”, Karl tried again, his accent thick and breaking the words a little, clearly implying to the Asset that the boy was not quite fluent in German, that he was possibly still learning.

“Ein bisschen.”, the Soldat replied. It wasn’t a lie. He knew his orders, and could convey important information when he needed to. Not much more than that, though. The Weapon had little need to be fluent in German.

The boy hummed, halfway down the stairs, allowing the Asset to lean back slightly, taking some of the pressure off of his wrist. “Ich lerne noch. Sprichst du andere Sprachen?”, the boy asked, his hand never leaving the railing.

Different languages? The Asset hummed. “По-русски?”, the Asset offered, but that only made the boy frown some more and shook his head. The Soldat got the creeping feeling that the boy did understand, but if he didn’t want to speak… Fine.

“Tu parles français?”, the Asset tried once more, and this time Karl only looked confused. Not French then. Fine.

“What about English?”, Karl asked as he hopped down the last two steps of stairs, finally being properly in the basement. On the same floor as the Soldat was, just a few small steps away. Maybe, if the Asset really were to put an effort and stretch his limbs away from himself, if he really strained himself - then maybe the very tip of his feet could brush against the boy.

But the Asset did not move, he stayed where he was, tied to the boiler, the wall against his back, the mattress below himself. “Yeah.”, the Asset replied, breathy - and Karl smiled. So broadly, so genuinely, that the Asset’s stomach warmed up with happy tingles.

“Cool!”, the boy squeaked. “I’m Karl.”, he said, and the Soldat nodded. There were still some rough edges in the boy’s speech patterns, a clear indicator of this not being his first language, but he did seem to speak way more freely, struggling way less than he did with German. “And what are you called?”, he asked, his round eyes moving all over the Asset, taking in his rough face, his pulled up arm, his lack of one. The Asset felt like the boy should be afraid - but the child was not. Maybe, he was used to prisoners in his father's basement. Or, he simply lacked the life experience to be able to tell that this was a little bit... off. Possibly, he had seen so many cripples and men on the verge of starvation that that itself was not alarming to him anymore.

“Soldat.”, the Asset offered as his name, but that only made Karl tilt his head, taking his plush teddy from below his armpit to cuddle it to his chest. “That’s not a name.”, the boy complained, and that in turn took the Asset a little bit back. “No, it is not.”, he confirmed hesitantly. Not many had a need for a name for him, after all. Karl, though, it seemed, did. And the Asset did not want to disappoint him. “They call me Winter Soldier?”, he offered, and that did seem to please Karl a little bit more, making him hum while he knead his teddy, watching the Soldat for a moment longer.

“What happened to your arm, Winter?”, Karl asked, curious and shamelessly forward, in the way only children could be. Winter… That was… The Soldat did not know what to think about that. But - it pleased Karl. And that was a good reason for the Asset to be pleased as well, wasn’t it?

“Winter?”, Karl repeated, and made the older man snap out of his thoughts. Right. He had been asked a question. At least Karl did not seem inclined to hurt him for the lack of reply.

Right. His arm.

Winter glanced down at his stump, licked his lips, and then looked over to the table where his prosthesis had been dismounted, cleaned and inspected. “It’s right there.”, he told the boy - and Karl’s head snapped to look over where Winter was nodding towards.

Immediately, the child seemed fascinated about it, trotting over to the table with wide, interested eyes. “Ooooh!”, he gasped in awe, as he pushed himself onto his toes to be able to take a better look over it. “So cool!” His head snapped back, looking at Winter and tilting his head. “Can I touch it?”, he asked, politely, even if Winter could tell that the boy struggled to keep his limbs to himself, his fingers twitching in excitement. “Pleeeease.”

Oh.

Possibly… Winter swallowed. He didn’t want to… Didn’t want to take advantage of the boy, the mere idea made him a bit queasy, but… He was just so useless without his metal arm… He hesitated a moment longer, feeling his blood pushing through his veins as he forced himself to breath slowly. “You may.”, he assured, before licking his lips again, taking one more deep breath as he watched small fingers poking at the much larger digits of his metal hand. “Karl?”, he asked, after a moment, and the boy glanced back at him, even if it was clear that he was currently more interested in the prosthetic than in the Soldat.

“Can you - Could you hand me my arm, please?”

Chapter Text

The small body on his lap was warm and a little sweaty. Lifting the Soldat’s metal arm was not an easy feast for any untrained civilian - even less so for a lanky little boy. It had taken some shuffling, some quiet encouragement, a lot of stretching and bending until there was that satisfying little magnetic click of his arm slotting into its place, and the Asset was finally able to move his fingers again. Well. Could move the titanium fingers his handlers had given him to finish missions with.

Gently, they slid over soft skin.

Gently.

It was something they weren’t tasked to do often, and for a little while, Winter had been worried about the tender skin of the boy catching in the joints of his prosthetic - but while one could criticise HYDRA engineers for many things, doing a shabby job was not one of them. The titanium of his fingers had been finely moulded, a true piece of mechanical wizardry, allowing Winter to let his digits glide effortlessly over lightly heated skin.

Karl looked good with his bangs sticking to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks lightly rosey. The Soldat couldn’t quite place it, but he wanted more of it. More sweat and more blushing and more being flustered. Maybe, the Asset supposed, he wanted to exercise with the boy, engage in some training together. That would make the boy sweat and flush and pant - but Winter knew that the boy was no worthy sparring partner. There were maybe forty pounds sitting on his thigh, slightly leaning against Winter and babbling, and the Asset knew that any attempt of wrestling with him would snap the kid’s spine into two pieces. No, the Soldat was not craving a joint session at the gym, though it was difficult to navigate desires outside the sphere of what the Asset was usually allowed.

Karl seemed comfortable though. And that was… That was new. People weren’t comfortable around the Asset. Being around the Soldat either meant death or work - and neither of these things brought the average person comfort. (Winter did sometimes draw comfort out of his work. It was better to wait at the top of a roof and wait for his target than to wait to be taken out of cyro or to wait to be taken into the chair.)

Karl was showing Winter, but Winter had long stopped listening. Only when the boy lifted up the plush animal, almost smashing it into Winter’s face, did the Soldat stop his silent musing and the gentle, circular rubbing of his metal fingers. They had found their way under the hem of the boy’s shirt, slightly ridden up from his squirming and shuffling, trailing over exposed skin without daring to claim more for himself than the curled up fabric allowed.

He took a better look at the toy animal. It had been… well loved. The fur was matted and rubbed off in some areas, only occasional fluffy reddish-brown patches giving a gentle indicator of what his teddy might have looked like before Karl had decided to drag it everywhere and anywhere.

However, able to muster it closer, the rubbed off patches of fur were the smallest indicators that this toy was no longer in mint condition. Its head was adorned by a messy seam, the same green yarn also found in some seams on the teddy’s body. Not only was the sewing job amateurish at best, not even the colour of the yarn fit the teddy. Whoever had done that, must have done it in a hurry. It really didn’t make the plushy look any more appealing, its head missing half its stuffing and hanging limply on its neck like a half-empty sack of potatoes.

Whatever Karl had asked, Winter dismissed it to ask his own question instead: “What happened to it?”

The boy shifted, and then huffed, one of his boney knees still on each side of Winter’ thigh, as he craned his neck to look at his father’s prisoner. “He!”, Karl corrected, and the Asset cocked an eyebrow. “It’s a boy - like you and me.”, the child tutted - a perfect parody of his father, scolding the Asset for not eating its soup.

“What happened to him?”, Winter corrected, but his mind was swimming. Karl was a boy, yes. And truly, Winter had no issue thinking of the teddy as a boy either. But…The Asset? The Asset was just… just that. An asset. A weapon. The Soldat. Winter soldier - not boy.

But Karl seemed pleased with that admission. Pleased enough to answer, to deliver information without the Soldat needing to press for it, to threaten him, to torture him. Karl was… He was lovely. He wanted to talk to the Asset, he didn’t need to be threatened. He didn’t even want information from the Soldat - no information that would be in any way valuable, at least.

“Tata took off Teddy's mask and jacket.” And judging how messy those seams were, ‘taking them off’ probably meant ripping off sewn-in details. “He said that Teddy shouldn’t be lookin’ like that… cowardly adversary.”, Karl said, his little nose wrinkling up a little as he spoke in distaste - even though the Soldat was more than certain that little Karl was just parroting phrases, likely not even quite understanding what an adversary was.

The Asset though knew. An adversary. An enemy. A target.

And just like that, the Soldat understood why he was here.

His captor had a job for him. A mission. There was a target that needed to be taken care of. An adversary that needed to be disposed of, enough of a threat that Karl was not even allowed to keep toys in their enemy’s liking.

“Whose mask was Teddy wearing?”, Winter asked, calmly, extracting information about his mission like a good Asset would.

The answer came immediately. “Iron Man!”, the boy replied with a wide grin, grinning up at Winter with a lopsided smile, his head still hanging all the way back so as to be able to look at the Soldat. Maybe Karl was attentive enough to pick up that the Asset did not know what an Iron Man was - or maybe, he was just an overly excited child, eager to talk about his heroes. “He is so cool! He has this really cool red suit he built himself, so he is kinda like a man in a robot, and he can fly around and shoot lasers - pew pew pew! - and he is the leaders of the Avengers, so all the other heroes look up to him, too, and -”

The Asset was discerning the information he was given quickly. Iron Man. A Weapon, just like him, with the ability to fly. He would maybe believe that this was the overly eager description of a child’s rampant imagination, if it wasn’t for the fact that the man who dared to call himself Baron saw this Iron Man as enough of a threat to strip all of his references even from his boy’s favourite toy. That, and… The boy stilled. Interrupted his own excited ramble, even lowered the hand that had just formed a little finger gun to give emphasis to his pew-pew-pews.

“...and Tata said Iron Man killed Mama.”, Karl murmured quietly, sombre under the weight of his own words, pulling his teddy against himself, tilting his head to the side to press his cheek against the man’s chest, looking for comfort.

Comfort.

From the Asset.

Winter’s heart was beating fast and so, so loud that he wondered if it didn’t bother the boy at hand. It didn’t seem so, as Karl nestled against his broad shoulders as he tried to hide his face a little. Clearly, the boy was not quite able to deal with the conflict of hero worship, destruction, the loss of his mother and the need for his favourite toy. Whenever this had happened - it mustn’t have been all too long.

Carefully, the Asset shifted his arm, moving his hand from the boy’s inch or two of exposed stomach to cradle his head instead. His skull fit perfectly into the Soldat’s metal hand, and his thumb, by now warmed by Karl’s own body heat, moved to rub gentle circles against the boy’s cheek. He silently cursed that his real hand was still trapped above his head. True, he could just rip out the entire boiler with his metal arm, without even breaking a sweat, but it was probably a bad idea to mess with gas. Besides - the Soldat didn’t doubt that a showcase of his enormous strength would scare the boy off. And right now, where he had a pliant, warm little body on his lap, Winter wanted nothing less.

Truly, he almost felt the need to keep the boy safe. Which was ridiculous, of course. Right now, there was nobody to shoot, maim or kill in the room. Nothing to do, what the Asset would be asked to do, when told to keep its handler safe.

Instead, he just petted the child’s tiny face silently. The Asset had never been encouraged to use many words. He… He was not a man of many words. He. A boy. More than just a Weapon.

For a long while, they sat like that. Karl curled up into the Asset, the torn-and-sewn teddy squeezed between the two of them, the Soldat’s metal arm doing what it certainly was not programmed to do as he gently caressed the boy’s hair and face, playing with honey-dipped strands.

Karl only stirred again as his breathing had softened and his heartbeat slowed again. Now, though, he was pushing an arm against Winter’s chest, trying to get away.

Winter let him. One didn’t keep butterflies by crushing them to dust.

It didn’t seem like Karl was trying to flee eitherways. The Asset’s eyes might zero in on him, fixing him with his gaze, a predator watching his prey with utmost care, but he made no indication that he wanted to pounce. Only to observe. Observe Karl crawling forward, childish shamelessness not making him bother to stand up. Karl had no dignity to preserve - he didn’t care about such adult notions, he didn’t need any respect.

What he needed was the colourful box he had carried downstairs, dropped and forgotten at the table when he had dragged the Asset’s metal arm to him.

Once he held it between his pudgy fingers, he turned on his knees and shuffled right back. Like this, the Asset and the boy were almost the same height. “Do you want a cookie, Winter?”, the boy asked, his shuffling becoming more difficult once his knees climbed onto the old mattress his father had laid out for the Asset. Winter extended his arm, curling it around the boy’s slender waist, pulling him right back onto his stretched out leg. Karl giggled a little, straddling the thick collection of muscle forming the Soldat’s thigh. He fit perfectly onto it, the Soldat thought, enjoying the touch.

It was… warm. And sweet. And not-painful. Not even mocking. Karl just wanted to be close. Winter wanted Karl to be close. It was good.

“Mh?”, he asked, a little distracted by knobby knees framing his leg, not all too bothered by the boy opening the package. His metal arm moved to be placed onto the boy’s hips, helping him hold steady while the boy wobbled and squirmed while opening his package.

“A cookie!”, Karl repeated, pulling out the small plastic tray from the paper box, revealing two singular cookies. A snack pack. The Asset recognised those. Only that his snack packs would be filled with stale bread. Maybe a banana. Rarely some peanuts. Just enough to fill his stomach and supply him with energy to finish his job, before he could be returned to his base and fed. Assuming he successfully finished his mission, at least.

Either way. Neither his snack packs nor his meals were… sweet. They weren’t meant to taste good - and the cookie that Karl offered was already smelling sweet.

The Asset hesitated. He had denied feeding on anything for days, starting with starch and chocolate onto an empty stomach was just asking for trouble - but Karl clearly had waited long enough for an answer. He simply pressed the cookie against Winter’s lips, smiling broadly as the Soldat’s reflexes made him open his mouth and take a careful bite dutifully.

It was delicious. The sugar surged through his blood immediately. The thin shell of dark chocolate cracked audibly as the Asset bit down, unearthing the jelly-like patch of orange jam below, before his teeth chomped through the soft biscuit of the cake that held it all together.

Winter groaned in bliss, his eyes fluttering shut - and Karl giggled, clearly believing that the Asset was acting over the top to humour him. He didn’t. It was an honest reaction to the sweetest thing the Asset had ever eaten. (Not that the Soldat would know - but not even the sweets of the 1930’s had carried half as much sugar as modern treats could.)

His tongue moved through his mouth, scraping it for more sweet chocolatey bliss, while he could feel heat rushing through his body. A boy in his lap, who was cute and sweet and caring and trusting, a treat in his mouth… The Asset had not felt better in a long, long time.

When the Asset let his eyes flutter open again, though, new heights were reached. Karl was grinning at him. His eyes were still a little red from being rubbed against the Asset’s chest, but his smile was cheeky. He had eaten the other half of the cookie - chocolate was smeared around the edge of his lip. Winter’s breath stuttered, as desire shot through his body, pooling in his stomach, in his chest, in his loins. He – he wanted… He wanted to…? Did he want to eat the boy? There was a deep rumble, and the Soldat didn’t even realise he was the one to cause it from the depth of his chest, as he pulled Karl a little closer. He didn’t understand what was happening to him. With him. Couldn’t understand or place his desires, his needs. He could only feel his lips and tongue tingle, and that little ghost of a pull in his body wanting him to move them against something.

No. Not something.

Against Karl.

As confusing as that was, the Soldat felt the need to place his lips against Karl. Against Karl's lips? Did he want to lick the chocolate away…?

Before the Asset could start making sense of himself and the new and strange desires rushing through his body, he could hear steps, and then a key turning in a lock.

"Miláčik, som doma!", a voice from upstairs called, but Winter had known it would be the Baron before a single sound had left his lips. Too distinct was the fall of his step to confuse him for anyone else. (The fact that so far, no one but the Baron and his son had frequented this house certainly also helped.)

Karl giggled, a little coyly, likely aware that he'd be in trouble once his Tata found him, that he'd get scolded for unlocking the door and sneaking downstairs, but how could he be too worried if he made a new friend? As upset as his father could be(, as much as he had broken his favourite toy), the boy has never been scared of his Dad. He squirmed a bit on the Asset's lap, but Winter's hand stayed on his hips, not quite ready yet to let go.

Not even when he heard the man take off his shoes, and then another step or two inside his home - just to drop whatever bag he had carried and run down the stairs.

Oh, the Asset was glad that wherever they were was not permitting the carrying of firearms. Without doubt, he would have been shot the very second his captor had seen him still be there, downstairs, not having fled - the mission be damned, his and his son's safety being valued so much higher. Winter had rarely seen a man look this alarmed (and the Asset had seen many men in different levels of shock, truly), and the Baron's horror only grew when he saw his boy.

The sweet child, nestled on the Weapon's lap. The Asset being fully locked and loaded with its metal arm in place, while the boy was cuddling with his teddy and nibbling on a cookie, so easily letting himself lean against the world's most deadly assassin, all the while grinning almost bashfully at his father.

Now, a quiet voice inside the mind of the Asset wondered: When would the man have been more terrified? When he watched his only child climb his prisoner's lap? Or when the said Iron Man had killed his wife?

"Ahoj, Tata.", Karl said, shyly, clearly a little taken aback at just how angry his father looked. The boy shifted forward a little, seeking comfort in the Asset's strong arms - comfort that Winter was happy to provide. Where it had felt weird and confusing before, it felt like power now, wrapping his arm a little tighter around the boy, just to see the Baron's eyes widen in fear and his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.

"Ahoj. Daddy.", the Asset whispered, voice hoarse and thick and laced with smugness. He tilted his head, aware that he was goading the other man. It wasn't typical for the Soldat, not at all. He learned to keep his head low, take orders and not be provocative, trying to keep his punishments, the beatings, and the chair at a minimum. But - the Asset didn't feel like itself. Not after a full week of no corrective measures. Not without a pliant boy on his thigh, warm and pleasant. Not with sugar and need coursing through his body.

The Baron was gawking, frozen in disbelief and fear, and Karl was growing more tense as well, clearly picking up on the tense atmosphere, even if he might not quite understand its extent. "You're scaring your boy.", Winter pointed out - and that finally seemed to break the spell.

"Karl-", the Baron choked out, taking a step forward, no longer stuck in place like a deer staring into the headlights. But Winter was not ready yet for anyone to pluck his Karl out of his arms. Immediately, his metal arm shot up, sliding from the boy's hips to his ribs to keep a better, more protective hold onto him. His captor stopped his movement immediately - and so did Winter. Not because of the fear flickering in the man's eyes as he saw his boy be held by forty pounds of titanium. Titanium that had crushed bodies and skulls and spines to dust countless times before. Titanium the Baron had watched squishing the life out of his allies before.

No.

The Asset stopped because his fingers ran over something that shouldn't be there. His eyebrows furrowed, and without any hesitation or appeal to modesty, he yanked the boy's shirt up to take a better look at his torso.

Karl squealed. "Winter!", he protested, little cheeks flaring red. Maybe, this could have been playful, but the sickening feeling of his father being mad at him made it difficult to find any joy. Certainly no joy in his new friend pulling his shirt up, trapping his arms awkwardly, exposing the pale skin of his belly and chest.

"Soldat!", the Baron barked, panic in his voice, taking another step forward to save his boy, but the glare that the Asset gave him as he snapped his head towards him for a moment spoke clearly. Step closer - and there might just not be anything left to save.

The Asset gawked at the image he had exposed. Whereas Karl's tummy was perfect, blemishless and pale and making Winter want to devour him once more, his chest was not. His rib cage had been sewn shut not too long ago, the seam orderly and neat as opposed to the one on his bear, even if it was still red and angry on the edges. It seemed a little oily too - clearly, salve or cream was still regularly applied to it. Additionally, there was a scar under his left chest, circular and frayed at the edges. It had happened more naturally, not a consequence of surgery, but just as fresh and red and angry - and only an inch or two away from his heart. The Asset didn't mind the squirming and the fuss the boy was making, unhappy with being manhandled like that, as he moved a hand around his body, tracing his fingers over his back - only to find a second, matching scar on the other side of the boy. Yes. He had been impaled - and must have slipped death barely so.

"He's hurt.", Winter pointed out as he let the shirt fall back over the boy's body. His voice was accusing, harsh, his eyes cold as they settled on the child's father. Karl was still squirming, trying to get away, working himself up. Soon, he'd be crying - but the Asset was still not letting go, expecting an answer.

"Yes.", the Baron replied, the shame of a father who couldn't protect his child in his voice. Couldn't protect the boy then - couldn't protect him now, looking utterly helpless and tortured as Karl tried to push himself away, but the Asset didn't even seem to notice.

"Did you hurt him?", Winter asked - and if he had thought that the Baron could not look any more terrified, he had been wrong. The last bit of blood drained from his shocked face, and the Asset could hear the man's heart beat so fast that they should be worried about it bursting.

"No! No. I'd - I'd never —", the man stammered. And finally, the Asset seemed satisfied. He let go of the boy, even helped him up to stand, reaching him his teddy before he ushered him to his father. Something Karl was more than happy to do, short legs carrying him quickly into the open arms of his Daddy, who protectively wrapped them around him. Letting go was a sign of goodwill, both the Baron and the Soldat knew. If the Asset had wanted, it could have done anything. With his metal arm back in place, those shackles also wouldn't keep him in place. And so, Karl was relieved that his father didn't seem to be upset at him all that much anymore - and Baron Zemo? Baron Zemo was relieved that the Winter Soldier hadn't broken every single one of his boy's bones.

Winter watched quietly, attentively. He didn't quite understand where the jealousy was spiking from, but decided to quell and ignore it for now. Did he feel guilty about upsetting the child?

…yes.

And that was new.

The Baron seemed to be misunderstanding the Asset staring, though, taking it as an invitation to explain some more. "I try to keep him safe.", he said, voice raspy. Raw. Truthful, Winter thought. "...make the world a safer place.", he added, a hand rubbing reassuring circles onto the boy's back, telling him that he was fine in their mother tongue.

Ah. But now the man spoke in a language the Asset understood. Things fell into place, and the Soldat knew its mission.

"By eradicating the Iron Man.", Winter said - making the Baron freeze and look up at him again. Clearly, he hadn't expected the Asset to know. Hadn't expected him to know about why he was here - hadn't even expected him to know of the existence of Iron Man, truly.

"Yes.", the Baron replied, voice strained, still protectively shielding his boy.

"By having me eradicate the Iron Man.", the Asset clarified the mission his captor had sought him out for. As if he had any authority. Without the words. Without being his handler.

Once more, the man nodded. "Yes.", he whispered, aware that all the power he still held was only borrowed from the asset at hand.

He may call himself a Baron, and trapping the Winter Soldier was a grand feat, but now that the Weapon had his arm back, now that he knew how the Baron fought, and without the support of half a dozen other men… The Soldat would only submit if he wanted to.

"For Karl.", the Asset clarified, gaze dropping to the boy that had by now stopped fussing, just shyly glancing at the man his father had captured and locked in the basement, tied to a boiler on a thin plastic mattress.

The Baron looked vulnerable. He was quiet, for a moment. His face was raw from emotion he barely was able to hide, his Adam's apple wobbling as he swallowed twice, thrice. No. This was no Baron, not even a proud soldier, hardly the man who had overpowered the Soldat. This was just… Helmut. Father. Widower. Desperate.

"Yes.", he agreed, quietly.

And the Asset nodded.

Chapter Text

The air was heavy and thick, the weight of an entire dead nation on Zemo’s shoulders - with his ticket to a clear conscience still sitting on a plastic mattress in his basement, assessing him with a calculating gaze and little facial expression. His boy was still clinging to his pants, hiding his face against his father’s hips. The Soldat did not understand this reaction, could not quite follow why the boy would be this upset. This clearly was not the first time someone had betrayed the boy’s trust. Hell. The Asset had not even inflicted any pain upon the boy’s body, and the only thing he had done was to hold him down and assess the damage. Briefly, the Asset wondered if the boy’s father would see it that way: Maybe he would grant the Soldat that he hadn’t been trying to hurt the boy. More even; That maybe, in one way or another, the Soldat showed that he cared about the boy by analysing his current state. Without doubt, though, Karl was not seeing it this way.

But even then, the Soldat reasoned, even if Karl did not accept Winter inspecting him as a gesture of camaraderie, it should not have upset him that much. Karl’s precious Iron Man must have destroyed the house he had been born in, set his homeland ablaze and murdered his mother. The same Iron Man his favourite teddy had been modelled after, the one he still looked up to, even with confusion and grief, not quite able to comprehend his father’s distaste for the man. No. If someone had caused him to feel personally betrayed, it should have been his hero, and not his basement friend holding him down to look over his body against his will. Consequently, it just was not comprehensible to the Asset, hy Karl’s young mind was having difficulties wrapping itself around the situation. It was just puzzling why the boy would completely withdraw himself from the conversation now. Worse has happened to him.

Much worse.

What was even more confusing to the Asset was the large hand of his father being placed upon the boy’s back, rubbing soft circles as he was giving him… ah. Comfort.

The Soldat felt the heat pool in his stomach uncomfortably. Jealousy, his mind sluggishly provided, the question mark palpable and not to be overseen. But what else would it be, if not jealousy? He knew what it meant to be jealous. He experienced that often, just never had the option to show it. Only that this time, the Asset couldn’t tell what he was jealous about. Was he envious that the boy was receiving comfort, while he was still tied down like a dangerous, disobedient animal? Or was it the father he felt envious about, getting to touch the boy, making him relax so easily? The trust between the two of them was not to be overseen - even if Winter was able to pick up on something in the way the father carried himself. Judgement. Something the Weapon experienced on the daily as well, something he’d better recognise quickly and rectify. Only that this time, the Soldat was not quite recognising if it was really him who the judgement was directed towards.

Karl, though, was not recognising anything, just sniffling into his father’s trousers like a beaten puppy.

And just like a beaten puppy, Winter wanted him to feel better. Wanted to draw him back onto his lap and pet his light little body until he stopped his miserable sniffling and started chit chatting about silly nonsense that the Asset had no business caring about.

“Prečo nejdeš na poschodie, miláčik?”, the man murmurs, rubbing the boy’s shoulder. The hand above the Asset’s head twitched a little.

“Tata…”, the boy sniffled - and the Weapon’s jaw tensed, his muscles going rigid, ready to set into action. What action…?

“Je to v poriadku. Si v poriadku. Nie som rozrušený. Choď nahor a trochu sa pohraj. Mh?”, the man coaxed, and the boy finally nodded. He took a shy glimpse over to the Asset, glancing over him as if trying to read his intentions - before he pushed himself off his father’s legs and ran upstairs. Short little legs, pushing him up the old wooden boards, his body hardly heavy enough to make them creak but the powerful thrust of his feet coaxing sounds from them anyways.

His father was not stupid enough to look after him. His eyes were trained on the Asset, military background having prepared him for situations just like these, and he could see the Soldat’s muscle clench and twist as he shifted. Shifted enough for the metal pipe holding him in place to bend lightly. The other man raised his hands, soothingly, but that only made the Asset snarl. He was not some stray mutt that can be placated by empty gestures and–

“There is no reason to scare the boy.”, the other man claimed, and the Asset stilled instantly. Even then, his body stayed wary and rigid. There wasn’t a reason to scare the boy, he would agree. But that also implied that something would happen that might scare the boy. Or maybe, the Baron feared that the Asset would do something that would scare the boy. More than he had already spooked him.

The Asset was able to tell that the man, the Baron, was calculating something, pondering, before he took a step forward. The Soldat tilted his head, curious, still on edge, but clearly willing to engage. The Asset was rather happy with the power he had gained. The boy might not be in the basement anymore, but they both would certainly know that with his arm attached, the Soldat would not be easily kept back.

“I will kill him.”, the Asset said - and maybe for once he started to understand why his handlers enjoyed seeing fear on his face. The Baron looked like he was going to faint, like a startled animal, a bunny stuck in the middle of a road, about to be hit by a car - or jump back into the field to be devoured by a wolf.

The man’s head turned, and the Soldat knew to pay attention to where he was looking, could immediately tell that the Baron believed there to be something in the cupboard in the corner that could save him.

Only that the Baron did not require any saving. Neither did his son, the boy, Karl, that chased terror down the man’s face at the mere implication of being harmed. Not that the asset had meant to imply that. “The Iron Man.”, the Soldat clarified, and he could hear how the father’s lungs expanded again as he took a deep breath.

“Ó, vďaka bohu.”, he whispered, needing another moment to quite comprehend what the Soldat was offering to him. His skin was still pale and the Soldat picked up on a slight tremble of his lower lip when he took another deep breath. When he did, the jump was immediate. His shoulders straightened, his gaze became hard, even his jaw locked itself in place. A man of military training stood in front of him now - not the poor sod of a widower who needed to deal with the mess his baby boy had created by finding the spare key to the basement door. “You will?”, he asked, and took another step forward, standing right in front of the Asset now, eyeing him carefully. If the Soldat only pushed himself a little now, he’d be easily able to choke him out.

The Asset did not move, only nodded. “Just - just like that?”, the Baron required to know. His words were hesitant, sounding defeated, yes, but also… surprised. Willing to negotiate. The Soldat blanked.

The Soldat. Him. Most deadly assassin of HYDRA. Most deadly assassin world-wide — especially considering that HYDRA was his world. He has been used in missions all around the world. Hell. Not even time was a restriction for a man kept on ice. The Asset was good at what he was doing. The best. Which was just good enough to be worth keeping around. To be looked after. To be kept in an acceptable state, so he could continue to fulfil his task, to eliminate those who needed to be eliminated.

He was a weapon.

The Asset was a weapon - not a negotiator.

And certainly, most certainly, the Soldat was not informed about anything that might have been required for him to cooperate. He understood the Baron was asking for the Asset’s price, and was asking what would need to be sacrificed for the Asset to work. This was just as much of a mystery to the Soldat as the real reason the man in front of him was surprised, that the Soldat would work without needing to be controlled. Well. The Asset would need to be controlled - but for once, not with words etched deeply inside of his brain.

At the prolonged silence, there was realisation dawning in the other man’s face, and the Soldat hated it. He hated that the Baron was understanding something about the Asset - and the Asset didn’t even know what. His jaw clicked, as tightly as he pressed it together, disliking the ever so subtle shift in power. The Baron knew things about the Asset - and the Asset only knew who he was ought to kill, his target.

His target, and… well. He knew Karl.

And mostly, he knew that he couldn’t let go of whatever small advantage he had. And that included being useful to the Baron, but also being respected. And what was a better way to be respected than to be feared? That might just be the only way the Asset knew.

“I want the boy.”, he finally said, and the Baron almost doubled over at these words.

Sure, he was still pale, but this time, he did not look like he was going to faint. His hands formed into fists, his own jaw tightened, and once more his gaze jumped to the cupboard. Likely storing a weapon. The Baron thought that the request was so offensive and harmful, the Asset ought to be neutralised. “Do not be ridiculous.”, the Baron hissed. “The boy is not to be had.”

This led to an interesting dance between the two of them. The Soldat never negotiated, but he knew how to get what he was told to. He could just stand up, free himself with his metal arm, take what was meant to be his. Only this time around, he did not know what was meant to be his. Had not been told what his goals ought to be. And if there was one thing the Asset did even less than negotiate? It was thinking about himself.

On the other hand? The Baron? The power he held was conditional. He would not succeed in neutralising the Asset before the Asset would react and kill him. But if the Soldat disposed of the Baron, who was going to brief him on the mission? And what, if anything, was the Asset without a mission?

And then, there seemed to be the thing that the man knew…

The Soldat tutted. “Of course he is not.”, he drawled, as if that ought to be obvious. He was not certain if the Baron caught on that the Asset was navigating as they spoke, but at the very least, the man did not seem to be using that knowledge at the moment to his advantage. Instead, he just raised his eyebrows and listened, if still sceptical. “The boy cannot be owned, he is not an asset.”, the Asset said, making the Baron nod, if a bit hesitantly. “But I want Karl”, he said, making the boy’s father’s eyebrows draw together at the mere mention of the boy’s name, “to be in charge of the Asset. For me to serve, and to protect.”

The Baron did not seem to be convinced, but at least, he was no longer fiddling with the idea of breaking out whatever weapon he had hidden in that cupboard. The Asset continued: “I will avenge your fallen wife and country, dispose of who needs to be disposed of and rebuild what can be rebuilt. I desire to protect the same boy, on whose behalf you’ve stolen me from my handlers, Baron. Doesn’t that mean that our goals are aligned?”

Very slowly, the Baron nodded, even if his gaze did not quite meet the Asset’s eyes. Not that the Asset felt offended at that - rarely there was a reason to look at it. Not surprisingly, though, appealing to the man’s desire for whatever twisted idea of justice he had convinced himself of was pushing him into the right direction. “Zemo is fine.”, he did say - and the Asset could not help but bark out a laugh. The man offering his last name, a more personal way of addressing him, was maybe one of the most coy ways anyone had ever bowed to the Asset’s will.

“Alright then, Zemo.”, the Soldat smiled, wolfish and with shiny teeth reflecting in the low light of the basement. The rare flavour of satisfaction was thick on his tongue, making breathing easy and being patient hard. When was the last time the Asset had received what the Asset had wanted? …never? “Untie me, then, so we may continue.”, the Soldat urged, nodding towards the hand still tied to his boiler. He taunted him a little, maybe, making the man who had shackled him free him.Yet, both of them were aware that with the metal arm in place, the Asset could crush both his handcuff and the man who had put it there in the same time it would take the Ba– Zemo to retrieve the key.

“Alright.”, Zemo agreed, voice thick. Cautious. But he moved, taking a few steps back before turning his back, almost making the Soldat roll his eyes. As if looking at him had kept the Asset from attacking…

The little key was just placed on a shelf, too high for Karl to reach - and certainly Karl had tried after the Soldat had inquired him to. Would have been much easier for him to just retrieve the key and for the Asset to walk over to his arm, than to make the boy chug the heavy piece of metal through the room, but alas. They’ve made it.

Then again, if the Asset was thinking about it, maybe Karl should carry more heavy things. His cheeks had grown all red, plushed up into small pockets of air as he held his breath, straining under the arm that was maybe half his size but twice his weight. His arched, shaggy bangs, once falling straight from his head, curled at the very tips from where they grew wet from sweat. Honey-golden eyes, stuck to his Winter like molten caramel, had continued to dart over to the Soldat for affirmation, confirmation, encouragement. Trying to please. Trying to please the Soldat…

His father stepped up to the Asset, a warm, sweaty hand moving to the pale, numb wrist of the Soldat, already moving to marry the key into the cuff once and for all - before he froze.

The Asset furrowed his brows, and followed Zemo’s gaze. For all the padding and support the uniform he had been supplied gave, for all the wonderful places it allowed him to hide his weapons in, there were some things it did not hide well.

What Zemo saw seemed to… disgust him. Yes. Disgust. The Asset felt no shame - only impatience. Hell. There were bodily reactions that not even the Soldat could suppress. Things that would disappear if given the time to. He was seldomly presentable. The Baron making him sit in his own sweat? The blood of the Asset and the Baron’s colleagues still dried into the black of his uniform? Those were things worth being disgusted about. So what was the issue now, with a little heat curling in the nethers of the Soldat’s stomach? Certainly, his tactical pants straining over his crotch must have been the smallest of the man’s worries, and yet -

And yet Zemo seemed to be backing away. Already betraying their deal? “Zemo.”, the Asset hissed, warningly. He may be loyal to the mission, but he was not loyal to the man who was going to give it to him. (That, in itself, was new, too.)

“I cannot–”, the other man started - and the Soldat moved his metal arm immediately, grabbing onto Zemo’s forearm with enough force to make the man hiss - but not for his bones to shatter.

“Yes, you can.”, the Asset assured, nostrils flaring.

The Baron hesitated. His gaze moved from the Asset’s face, to his arm - and then back to his crotch, still fat and hot from too much blood pooling right there. “I — the boy.”, he said, and the Soldat decided to be generous and patient for just a moment longer. “The boy mustn’t be hurt.”, Zemo said, and gasped as the Soldat squeezed his arm a bit more.

“Of course.”, the Asset assured. “He will not be. You have my word. And if you require me to ensure that it stays that way, if you want me to cooperate, and if you want to stay around for it all, things will not remain as they are now. The Asset will not sit here bound and waiting.”

And maybe, the Baron was aware that when dealing with weapons like the Asset, their word was the most he could rely on. Or maybe, the little showcase of just how little the Asset depended on that key to free himself, metal arm strong enough to break far more than just bone, was what had been needed. (Or a tiny threat to the man’s life. Those helped too.)

Yet, Zemo did not look happy. Ashamed, maybe? Guilty. Something was eating him - and the Asset did not care enough about unearthing the issue as Zemo finally stepped forward to unlock the cuff as promised.

Winter’s arm fell, a dead weight from all the time it had been forced up. The Soldat didn’t even give himself the time to hiss, and instead moved to push onto his feet. His joints cracked, days of little use making him aware of all his limbs, his muscles, the weight of the metal arm, but none of that stopped him. He moved the second he could, stepping over to the staircase.

“Where- where are you going?”, Zemo asked, tense, half a step behind, as if staying close would make him able to stop the Asset from anything.

“Upstairs.”, the Soldat replied, taking two steps at a time - and yet, staying absolutely silent in the movement. The wood may usually creak, but the Asset knew where not to step, even if the last time he had used these stairs he had been drugged. Consciousness was not required - only attention and dedication.

“Yes.”, the Baron said, irritated. “But what for–”, he asked - but the Soldat only huffed. Wasn’t it obvious?

Karl.

Chapter Text

The Soldat had not been - consciously - upstairs, but he knew where he was going, following the faint sound of a little heartbeat without hesitation. His steps were broad, his arm swaying with each one he took, the weight of the metal heavy enough to swing back and forth with every move.

It was a nice house, the Soldat could tell. A little too nice. Or rather; a little bit too placative. This was not the result of a person, a couple, a family slowly accumulating furniture and items to their liking. This had been selected, all in one go. The lack of marks told the Soldat that it had not been too long ago either, when someone had furnished the entire place.

Made sense, he supposed. If their home country burnt down to ashes, there wouldn’t have been much left to place into a new home, now.

The next flight of stairs the Soldat took was nicer. Much nicer. There were little carpets on each of the steps, ensuring that nobody - especially not little boys with a tendency to run indoors - would slip and fall. The wood was polished, the railing had a little pattern carved into it. The Soldat could not help but extend a flesh hand, touching the wood as he silently crept up the stairs - the owner of the house, the man who had likely picked the colours of the walls and the fabric of the carpets a month or two ago from a catalogue, right on his heels.

It’d have been easy to tell which of the rooms belonged to the boy - even if he hadn’t been able to hear the boy’s heart, his breath, his shuffling, or smell the sweet scent of chocolate-orange-jelly-biscuits dissolving in spit.

The only door that could be Karl’s, was the one that looked like the gate to a castle. Not a real castle, of course, one of these drawn ones. Cartoons, Winter thought, and wasn’t sure how he knew. It was painted to look like wood - which was silly, considering that it was wood - and had golden letters attached to it. Prince Karl the metal read, making the Asset’s eyebrows furrow a bit more. Why would a Baron’s son be a prince…?

Bare feet stepped over to the doorframe, where the Soldat lingered, holding his breath, assessing the room, the situation, the boy.

His flesh hand twitched again the next moment he saw something he wanted to touch.

It was a decent room. Lots of spaces to hide in, the Asset noted with some satisfaction. There was a large window, which was less than ideal, but it faced nothing but some field and a beach in the distance, the water far enough away for the Asset not to be able to hear it. Huh. He cocked his head. The… Baltics? Judging by the colour of the water and the languages that had held him company on the radio for the past week… Possibly, at least. The sun that was supplied through the window illuminated the room nicely. Three of the walls were white, reflecting and spreading the light well. The Asset would be able to tell if someone was in the room that didn’t belong there, despite all the little hiding spaces.

The last wall? It had a… castle drawn on it, in soft blue, pastel colours. A knight on a brown horse, raising his sword towards a rather friendly and soft looking red dragon, smiling goofily into the room.

One side of the room held a four-poster bed, in the same playful blue tones as the castle, fashioned from a fake knight’s lance that allowed some more splashes of colour into the furniture. There was a scalloped canopy with small curtains tied back with decorative rope, thick enough to keep out the light if needed, soft enough that Winter wanted to touch.

On the other side of the room, a little desk was placed, some books lying around in some semi-organised fashion, a school bag neatly packed. The back of the chair looked like a castle wall – a style choice that was also found in the night table, the toy shelves, the wardrobe. Right next to the window, in a little niche found in the wall, a big bean bag chair was placed next to a stack of books and a little night lamp that looked like a dragon, the bulb meant to mimic it spying fire.

A nice bedroom, the Soldat could tell. Carefully picked to be matching the theme. And if he looked closely at all the knights that decorated the room, all the flags that were added to the bedposts and hung on the wall? Added by hand, painted by hand, carved into the wood by hand.

The Sokovian Flag, the Soldat recognised, and knew exactly how he knew, little flashes of old missions whirled up in his mind like a cloud of dust. He shook his head a little, not wanting to think much about his… education. …Maybe the Baron had not been quite as fake as the Soldat had assumed him to be.

And in the middle of it all? On a carpet that too showed a little knight on a horse looking for a dragon in the background? There was Karl, laying on his tummy, his legs angled up. He was holding onto his teddy closely, while pushing figurines around - not quite playing, though. He was nervous, the Soldat could tell. Anxious, and maybe a little bit scared.

The Asset would have been content to just stand there and watch the boy for a long, long period of time. On the other hand… Winter was rather glad when the boy looked up, his attention drawn towards him.

…No, the Soldat corrected. Not towards the Asset, because the Asset was silent. To his father, just behind the Asset, whose breath was too loud and steps were too heavy to sneak up on anyone.

“Winter?”, the boy asked, and he sounded insecure, his arm pulling his teddy closer as he looked for some comfort, the other hand wrapping around one of the figures he was playing with. Karl seemed hesitant. Uncertain. The lack of the carefreeness that he had shown in the basement made Winter’s stomach knit together. He had… he had scared the boy. Not only by overpowering him, no matter how gently, but also because of his father… mh.

“Yes.”, Winter confirmed, because Winter was what the boy had called him - and Winter would wear that name proudly, as long as it was given to him.

The boy inspected him quietly, biting his lower lip, before he spoke again: “You don’t need to stay in the basement anymore?”, he asked softly, and Winter shook his head. The boy’s hand around his toy softened lightly. He was quiet for a bit, just looking at Winter, standing there, on the threshold of the little boy’s pastel coloured room filled with toys, books, soft reminders of his heritage, in almost his full battle gear. If he thought too long about it, he might just feel naked without his knives and weapons…

“...Do you want to play with me?”, the boy then asked, and he sounded… coy. As if he was expecting the answer to be no. But also maybe, a little hopeful. As if there, for once, was the chance that someone would agree to play.

“Yes.”, Winter replied - and the smile creeping onto the boy’s lips, pulling his cheeks apart to show off his little milk teeth, small and perfectly white, was all the invitation that Winter needed to step inside the room.

Now, he could also recognise what it was the boy was playing with. A handful of plastic dogs, all in different colours, with some plastic vehicles in the same tones. A quick glance around the room confirmed - those little dog faces, with big eyes and toothy grins and wearing human clothes? They were popping up everywhere, now that the Asset was looking for them. On the back of a book. On the pencil case on the desk. On the side of the tiny sneakers at the door.

Sure. There was also a very nice wooden knight’s castle on one of the shelves, with intricate details and perfect little wooden men, ready to be played with. But it was only that: ready to be played with. The Soldat could not see a single mark on them to indicate that it had been played with.

The Soldat only stopped his steps when he stood right next to Karl - who looked up at him, big eyes hopeful - before picking up one of the little plastic dogs and holding it up. “You can be Rubble.”, the boy said, softly, smiling at Winter. It was still a bit hesitant - but they were making progress.

The Asset took what he was given. Which in this case, was a small, brown dog with a yellow construction hat and vest. “I… I am rubble?”, he asked, not even looking at the figurine, but at the small fingers that pressed the toy into his palm, which was so much bigger. So much more rough. His calluses alone were about the size of Karl’s pinky finger, and thrice as thick.

“Yeah!”, Karl confirmed, sounding a little happier, and patted the floor next to him, inviting Winter to take a seat right on top of the knight on his carpet. Even if Karl was still afraid, he clearly didn't believe in keeping his distance. Without hesitation, the Asset dropped to his knees - making the boy giggle, amused by the apparent enthusiasm. “He's an English Bulldog pup! And he is like - really strong. He works in construction, you know? So he has a bulldozer, you know! Here!", Karl happily rambled about his favourite toys and soon pushed a small yellow plastic car into Winter's metal hand. It was cheap and finicky and Winter had no doubt that he could squish it to dust, to actual rubble if he just squeezed his hand shut. Even the flesh one. Needless to say, the wooden knight set seemed far more sturdy - but Karl didn't seem to mind that those dogs were cheaply mass produced Chinese junk. "He can carry supplies, because he is really strong! And he fixes buildings! Oh, and train tracks!”

That - did not sound like the Asset. Was… was that what Winter was meant to be?

His gaze kept stuck on the boy, the Asset’s head tilting as he took in new information, trying to work through his confusion. He was puzzled, yes, and he doubted that any of the figurines would be able to answer any of his questions.

When Karl looked up though, it wasn’t Winter’s lost face that drew his attention, but the man standing in the door frame, who thus far had been overshadowed by Winter’s mere presence. “Tata!”, Karl called, excited, waving his father closer - and Winter noted how the Baron didn’t even twitch to fulfil his son’s wishes. “Chystáte sa hrať aj s nami?”

Winter couldn’t help but notice that the boy seemed even more excited at the prospect of his father joining him than he had been about Winter agreeing to play - a jealous pang making his eyebrows furrow deeply.

But Zemo shook his head. He looked uncomfortable, his hands balled into fists beside his thighs, hardly looking at his son, eyes set on the Asset. Overwhelmed was likely the right word. But also uncertain - was he already regretting bringing the Winter Soldier into his life? “No, Miláčik, I do not feel like playing right now, I’m afraid.”, he murmured, voice thick with emotion. Fear, maybe.

The boy’s shoulders sagged a little, but he nodded and just moved on to his next toy, showing Winter another plastic puppy – “That’s Chase! He’s my favourite!” – while Winter just sat there, quietly, holding onto what he was given. Taking rejection so well, at such a young age… Karl must have been used to it, Winter noted.

He was noting a lot. The little dimples at the corners of his lips whenever he smiled, soft skin, pulled taut over rosey cheeks, too young to have creased yet, even if Winter had no doubt that the boy would one day have little crow’s feet around his eyes, judging by how much he was smiling and laughing.

Clearly, though, sitting quietly, holding onto plastic and watching Karl was not quite meeting the boy’s expectations when it came to the idea of play.

“Hey! I said the building over there collapsed! We gotta go and save the kittens!”, Karl insisted, voice growing a bit urgent as Winter did not seem to react. For a moment, the Asset tore his eyes from the boy, glancing in the direction that he was pointing.

There were some plastic cats, certainly, but… “There is no building.”, Winter replied - making the boy scoff.

“No! You gotta pretend, Winter!”, he insisted, his little hand moving up and down over the carpet, making his dog – Chase, Winter remembered – run to his little police car. All the while, Winter still sat there numbly, the Rubble figurine not having moved in his palm yet.

“Winter, hurry! We gotta go and save the kittens! Come on, come on!”, Karl insisted — and Winter was growing tense. He was hearing commands, encouragements, knew the usual consequences of refusing orders. And yet, that annoyed huff, the scoff, the little lip being pushed out with those cheeks flushing in unhappy irritation felt so much worse. He was making Karl unhappy, he realised, and he was not certain how to stop that. “Winter! The kittens! We need Rubble to help with the collapsed building!”, the boy continued to insist urgently.

But how was one meant to save toys from a collapsed building that did not exist?

(Truly, the Soldat thought, considering what the boy had lived through, he should be expecting nothing to be saved from collapsed buildings, and be ready for the kittens to be reduced to dust and sludge.)

Karl’s little hand grabbed Winter's palm, the one holding onto the puppy he had been given - and two things happened nearly at the same time.

Winter flinched. His muscles, his metal arm, strained to be put into action. He had been given orders, and his body was trying to follow them, even if his mind did not quite compute. Tactile memory was preparing him for action, his body remembering better than the Asset’s mind that all orders ended in violence.

Simultaneously – no, a moment earlier – Baron Zemo stepped inside the room with a hurried stride, the change of position just enough to tear Winter’s attention away from Karl. “Soldier!”, he said, urgently, snapping the Asset’s eyes onto him instantly.

Karl was no threat. And while the Baron was not a real threat either, the Asset would always tend towards being more careful around grown men who had trapped him in a basement than around children who had freed him from one.

And so, it was maybe fortunate that the Asset’s attention was shifted away from the boy and towards the Baron, before the Asset could misinterpret Karl’s physical showcase on how to play properly as something that it was not.

Only then did he glance down again. Saw a little hand guide his stronger one to the carpet, encouraging it to do the same little up-and-down movements that Karl did to make his toy ‘run’.

“He is called Winter, Tata.”, Karl insisted as he too looked up at his father’s hurried entry with a bit of surprised confusion.

“Yes.”, Winter confirmed, his hand continuing to bob up and down, up and down, even when Karl’s own hand disappeared, making Rubble seemingly run on the spot for all eternity, not quite yet having gotten the point of moving the figure around like that. “I am called Winter.”, because that was what Karl had chosen him to be.

The Baron was still wary, uncertain of what would have happened - but very aware of what could happen if the loaded weapon in his house were to explode in his son’s face. Firearm safety was always important, any man with a military background would know. Even more so when the weapons involved were especially deadly. And directed towards a child.

Zemo let out a shaky breath, and Winter could smell the tea he must have drank before he had left for town on his exhale. “...I don’t think Winter”, he started, the name said under strain, though it was not scorn that pulled on Zemo’s lips, “really likes to play pretend-games, Karl. Maybe - ah. Maybe you show him one of your jigsaw puzzles?”, he encouraged softly.

Karl looked at his father. And maybe, for a brief moment, he did question why he was even still there, if he did not want to play. But these kinds of questions were complicated. Difficult to identify and more difficult to ask, even if they ought to be answered, and so, after a moment, Karl huffed and nodded. “Okay.”, he agreed, and pushed up, leaving his teddy behind on the floor as he stepped over to one of his shelves.

“...The cats?”, Winter asked, the boy’s urgency still ringing loudly in his ears. Karl, though, did not seem to connect the question with the toys under the imaginary collapsed building – Chase and Rubble already forgotten while he picked a puzzle for them to complete – but instead hummed in agreement, and pulled out a box with a large image of cartoon cats printed on it.

It turned out, the Asset was a lot better at playing this game than the last one. “You need to find me all the pieces with an even side first, okay? Like this! So we can do the frame together!”, Karl insisted, and Winter was glad to execute, carefully going through cardboard pieces to present to the boy while Karl fit them together. It was a quiet game, but one that Karl seemed to enjoy. And thus, Winter enjoyed it too.

There was always satisfaction in completing a task, after all. No matter if it was eliminating a target or finding the ‘blue button nose, Winter!’. There was also satisfaction in having Karl sit next to him, cross-legged, his knees every so often brushing against the Soldat’s thick thigh. Tiny. Leaning forward, picking up pieces and placing them down, babbling about the cats they were putting together. Little excited bounces whenever a corner was finished or the right position of a tricky jigsaw piece was found.

And once the jigsaw was completed, showing the very same picture that had been printed on the front, Winter’s steady metal hand was able to scoop it up with only the fewest pieces breaking off, and place it into the box all completed – making Karl smile broadly at him.

All the while the Baron did not take his eyes off the Soldat, watching carefully and silently from his position at the castle wall-themed desk chair.

“Let’s get you some dinner, Karl. It’s getting late.”, Zemo urged gently - and a glance out the window confirmed that the man was not wrong. The sun had started to set. If that was the Baltic sea… it might just be past six, the Soldat reasoned.

In the kitchen, the Baron stood between the Soldat and the knife block. The Asset could tell it was deliberate - and felt a weird desire to… roll his eyes? He had no desire to take any of the knives. The boy, on the other hand… Clearly, the Baron was not ready to let Karl out of his field of vision. And so, he had lifted the little boy up, placed him to sit on the edge of the windowsill, while little socked feet rested on the kitchen counter. The boy was smiling at his daddy, enjoying the attention, the eye contact. Winter could tell that it was rare, standing at the wall next to the room’s only door, leaning against it with his arms lazily crossed in front of his chest.

The Baron having his back turned towards him was no sign of trust. It was an indication of priority: Zemo cared more about keeping sharp objects out of the Asset's hands and an eye on his son at all times than he cared about his own safety. That was honourable, the Asset thought, if a little stupid. Dying now would leave his son just as defenceless as looking away would.

They were exchanging words in their mother tongue, Zemo's voice forcibly calm and quiet, thick enough that foreign syllables were blurring into one another, making them impossible for the Soldat to decipher. On purpose, most likely.

Karl's voice on the other hand was high and chirping, his caramel eyes switching from his daddy to Winter to the plastic bowl he had been stirring for the past ten minutes on Zemo's orders. Winter doubted that those tomatoes - chopped and pre-seasoned right out of the can - needed any stirring, but Karl just seemed so proud, wooden spoon in his hand, chest puffed out whenever the Baron would murmur some soft word of praise.

"Winter!", Karl chirped, grinning at him as his father took the bowl and poured its contents into a pot. The Asset didn't miss the tension in Zemo's shoulders, but his focus was clearly on the little boy. "Do you like spaghetti too?"

Winter blinked, tilted his head, glanced over to the two pots boiling on the hob. Karl seemed to mistake his silent assessment as hesitation, though, and soon was doing his best to reassure his new friend. "With tomato sauce! Tata makes it so yummy! It’s my favourite, you know?”

“Sure.”, Winter replied, and nodded. “I will like it.” He would eat whatever he was given - now that he saw no more point in his little hunger strike.

It was good food. Flavourful. Winter even liked the colour. Liked how the sauce coloured Karl’s cheeks and lips an even deeper red. He especially liked how Karl was sucking in individual strands of pasta - lips pursed tightly, eyes glimmering in cheeky satisfaction of getting to messily eat his favourite food. The spaghetti would smack and flick against his face, leaving thin stripes of red on his cheeks.

Only when Winter started to mirror the boy, inhaling one long piece of pasta after the other, getting sauce everywhere in the process, did the Baron - sitting between Winter and the boy, forcing some distance, no matter how small - clear his throat. “Can we eat with our utensils, please?”, he asked, and even though it wasn’t an order, Karl obeyed, and started twirling his spaghetti onto his fork. (Only a fork. No knives on the table. Not a coincidence.) Huh.

After another moment or two, Winter followed suit, finishing his plate, then another. And then, the Baron gave him some bread to dunk into the rest of the sauce, letting Winter clean out the metal pot with half a loaf.

“You eat a lot!”, Karl said, a little bit of awe in his voice as he watched Winter finish up another piece of bread after clearing the pot of pasta that likely would have been more than enough for lunch tomorrow as well.

“Well, he’s big and strong, Karl. Don’t you want to be as big as him?”, Zemo commented, a little desperate for Karl to finish his own plate at the very least.

Winter just shrugged - his metabolism was high, he was used to eating as much as he could when he could, and after a few days of not eating… Well. Plus… the sauce was good. Canned tomatoes or not.

There seemed to be routine in what happened after dinner for the Zemos. Once everyone finished their meal, Karl asked sweetly if he could get up, placing his plate next to the sink. He seemed a bit confused as Zemo offered to 'help him with brushing his teeth', seemingly something he would do on his own while his father finished cleaning the kitchen, but he did not seem to be opposed, even extending a small hand towards the Baron.

Winter was two steps behind. Silent, as always, but he knew that Zemo knew, simply judging by the goosebumps on the man's nape, fine hair standing to attention, warning of the threat keeping in the background.

The bathroom was decently sized, the man's razor placed safely on the top shelf, the boy's rubber ducks and plastic boats placed accessibly on a lower one.

“Can I have a bath tonight, Tata?”, Karl asked, fingers curling around one of the toys next to the sink while he pushed his toothbrush in and out of his mouth, creating white foam around his plush little lips, some of the white liquid drooling over his chin, sticking to him in a thin little rope.

Zemo hesitated for a moment, before his gaze caught the Asset’s in the bathroom mirror. The Soldat stood in the doorway, once more leaning against the wall rather casually. His face was neutral, but his gaze stayed fixed on the boy, only occasionally flicking from watching his back to watching the reflection in the mirror. “Not tonight, Miláčik.”, he decided, and shook his head, eyes still fixed on the man behind them. “Not tonight.”

Chapter Text

The Soldat following them into Karl’s room once more was of little surprise. And yet, the Baron seemed more opposed to it now. His muscles were rigid, his steps a bit more calculated. As if he was considering when to turn around and tell the Soldat to leave.

Not until all three had finally stepped into Karl’s room, did the Baron speak up: “I’ll just get Karl ready for bed.” His words were almost casual, conversational. Winter knew instantly that there was more to it, but he was not quite able to unwrap it. Could not quite see that hidden request for him to leave. And thus, he stayed, once more picking a corner, and leaned against the wall. Zemo needed to glance towards him to convince himself that Winter was still there, and sighed softly, but moved to the boy’s wardrobe without making any more of a fuss.

Winter recognised the little Chase dog on the pyjama top that the Baron pulled out of the drawer, but was far more focused on the way Zemo made sure to stand while helping Karl put his sleepwear on. It was as if Zemo was trying to shield the boy, making his shoulders broad and hunching over his son while gently pulling the boy’s shirt over his head.

But what was it that Zemo was trying to shield him from? Winter took a small step to the left - and instantly, Zemo corrected his own position, shifting. Oh. Winter’s eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head gently. The Baron was shielding Karl from Winter’s view. But why? Winter had already seen the scars… Was there more to them?

“Where does Winter have his pyjamas, Tata?”, Karl asked while pulling up the blue pants of his jammies. Zemo seemed to cringe a little at that; clearly, Karl had not quite understood under what kind of circumstances Winter had joined them, how he had gotten here.

And it seemed as if Zemo wasn’t going to correct the boy’s views on the matter either. “Once you are asleep, the Sol– Winter and I can go and find him something to sleep in.”, he reassured him instead, engaging with his son’s questions without touching any of the underlying concepts that would be confusing the boy. Karl seemed to be especially good at taking what he was given without asking too many questions, certainly a side-effect of years of being told not to push his nose too deeply into his father’s affairs, but even he was craving a little bit of transparency.

“I’m not leaving Karl.”, Winter said. His voice was calm, but it was clear from his tone that he was correcting the Baron.

“I’m not telling you to leave him.”, Zemo scoffed, turning his head over his shoulder to look at the Soldat with furrowed eyebrows. “But the boy needs to go to sleep.”, he said, sounding annoyed, nodding towards the bed, before he looked back at Winter. It caused the Baron to flinch badly, seemingly not having even noticed that Winter had stepped up to him. Ignorant to Winter having left the shadows of the room to approach him. He was barely three feet away now.

Winter looked at him blankly, but his jaw was tight, tension rising, before his eyes moved over to the boy’s bed. “Then I sleep here too.”, Winter said with a shrug - and moved his gaze to the boy as he giggled at this statement. With a spark of satisfaction at having made Karl laugh, Winter smiled at the boy.

“Like a sleepover?”, Karl asked, dressed for the night, grinning. “That sounds fun, yay!”, he agreed happily. He had already jumped onto the bean bag, picture book under his arm, turning on the little dragon-shaped lamp for their night time ritual.

Zemo did not seem to like that idea. But he also seemed to know not to look Winter in the eye for too long. Instead, he shifted away to fold Karl’s clothes. “No, Karl.”, Zemo said, barely able to keep his voice steady, his muscles rigid as he stayed on alert. “No sleepovers. Winter isn’t – he isn’t going to stay alone here with you.”

“I’m sleeping with Karl.”, Winter said once more. This time, with a little more force. A little less willingness to hear a ‘no’. He took another step towards the Baron, and extended a hand. The metal one. Heavy and cold, it was placed on Zemo’s shoulder, the Asset’s presence physically forced into the Baron’s sphere.

The Baron froze for a moment. He did not seem pleased – neither with the request, nor with the hand on his shoulder, his nostrils flaring for a moment. Winter could see him think, as his eyes moved from the boy to the Asset. Zemo’s lips were pressed into a thin line – impossibly thin, impossibly long and excessively unhappy.

This was taking too long, Winter thought. Maybe the threat just was too mild. And so, Winter squeezed. Forced his metal digits together just a little. Gave Zemo’s shoulder a good long press.

Made the man hiss immediately, his teeth pressed together as he tried not to squeak and whine at the sudden infliction of pain like an animal would. Anything not to draw the boy’s attention to himself, even if both the Baron and Winter must have been aware that Winter would be able to keep this position way longer than the Baron would…

“Alright!”, Zemo gasped - and Winter’s grip softened immediately. He was even so nice as to move his hand away, clasping it behind his back, perfectly innocent. “...Alright.”, Zemo grumbled, moving a hand to massage the sore arm. “...Alright…”, he whispered for a third time.

It took him a moment longer, a hand moving to rub his face, and just when Winter started to believe that he was playing for time and might need another little hit of motivation, the Baron finally spoke. “Karl…”, he started, and looked over to his boy, who had sat down comfortably on his bean bag and started flipping through the book.

Karl looked up at his Dad, perfectly ignorant to what had just happened between his father and his new friend, tilting his head with a curious shift - and Winter felt himself taking a deep breath, an audible one, at the sheer… visual of that movement. Something about the curious eyes peeking through tousled blond bangs just made his heart clench in longing for something he couldn’t quite place. “Yeah?”

The Baron smiled, and Winter wondered if Karl saw how forced it was. “...would you like to sleep in my bed tonight?”

Winter’s eyebrows furrowed. This wasn’t what they had just agreed upon. If the Baron believed that he’d be tricked into sleeping here without the boy’s presence…

But fortunately, that did not appear to be the Baron’s intention. “My bed’s big enough for the three of us. So - “, he cleared his throat again, reluctant and dissatisfied, “ - Winter won’t have to be… worried about you, sleeping alone.”

Karl did like that idea. Very much, even. Within a minute tops the little whirlwind had grabbed his teddy, his book and his pillow, before taking hold of Zemo’s hand, tugging him out towards the corridor. As they stepped closer to Winter, though, still lingering at the door frame, Karl noticed that with all his nightly necessities under his arm, he was lacking a second free hand to grab for Winter. Something that ought to be corrected in some way, Karl seemed to decide - and held his teddy towards the Winter Soldier. “You can hold teddy’s hand!”, he encouraged with a grin - and despite the Baron’s barely suppressed glare, Winter’s hand moved to take hold of the teddy bear’s outstretched paw, careful to stay close so Karl wouldn’t drop his pillow or book from under his arm.

The teddy might be soft - but Winter thought it was only nice because it was still a little warm from Karl’s own body. He would… he would rather hold the boy, but Karl had been clear with his request. And so, his flesh fingers carefully held onto the bear as they waddled to the bedroom, one after the other, careful not to pull or push or trip the little body between them.

Zemo’s bed was just as he had promised - big enough for the three of them. Anything else in the room - the wardrobe, the night tables, the armchair, the locked cabinet that clearly was holding some weapons - were quickly taken note of, each hiding spot or possible point of ambush registered, and then quickly ignored.

Karl had let go of Zemo’s hand - and when it became clear that Winter wouldn’t let go of the teddy even after tugging on it twice, Karl had let go of the plushy too, in order to run up to the bed and jump on it. Winter couldn’t help but stare as those little limbs pushed the boy onto the mattress, how the boy threw his pillow towards the headboard by raising it all the way over his head. Not a very effective way of throwing things, Winter thought, but while Karl’s form could be criticised, the result was satisfactory, with his pillow falling into place.

In the meantime, Zemo moved to his wardrobe to pull out a second duvet. Winter thought that this must have been the very first time he’d seen a double bed that was only half made - but he supposed it made sense. With Karl having his own bed and Zemo’s wife being dead, there wouldn’t have been many to share this space with Zemo. With his hands full raising a child, moving countries and kidnapping super soldiers from secret organisations, the Baron was likely too busy for an all too strong dating game.

Karl settled down against his pillow and the headboard, placing his book onto his lap. It wasn’t all too big, but it was colourful. A little boy was illustrated on the cover, with blond hair and green clothes, standing on some kind of stone. A lot less… threatening than the kind of books people read out of to the Asset. Then again, when people read to him, it was rarely to make him go to sleep, but rather to control him.

Quietly, the Asset stepped over to the bed. He hesitated for a moment - not because he had any qualms about invading Zemo’s private space, but because he didn’t like the thought of the mattress dipping below his weight and thus alerting Karl to his presence. But when the little boy turned to smile at him, he concluded there was no real danger to not being sneaky. And so, Winter placed one knee onto the mattress, then the other. Karl extended his hands, making small grabby motions, and Winter was ready to give him the world - only to realise that the boy was asking for his teddy. And that was… disappointing? In a way? Had the Soldat thought for a moment that it had been he who had been desired?

Still. The teddy ought to be delivered. And so, Winter crawled over to Karl coming to a stop in the dead centre of the bed, placing the well-loved plush bear onto the boy’s lap. Karl’s sleeping trousers were covering his knees, hiding soft skin that had straddled the Soldat’s thigh not all too long ago from the Asset’s deep gaze. Gently, Winter pushed the teddy up just a touch, its little plush legs falling onto either side of Karl’s own thigh. The movement made Karl giggle and pulled the boy’s trousers up a little, giving Winter an inch of skin to look at on the boy’s ankles.

With a melodic little chime of a giggle, the boy let go of his book to cup his hands around teddy’s sewn-together face, squeezing lightly. “Whatcha doin’, teddy?”, Karl asked, eyes settled on the toy, though they occasionally shifted to the Soldat’s face with a mischievous little twinkle.

“Soldat.”, Zemo said before Karl could get upset over Winter not replying to the question in the toy’s name, drawing the Asset’s attention towards the Baron, though the teddy, and thus his hand, stayed right on top of Karl’s thigh. Zemo made a little motion, shooing the Asset off to one side - and the Soldat allowed it, if with a huff, just because the Asset knew that good little boys deserved warm blankets, and Karl’s father was carrying one towards him. He let go of the teddy and sat back onto his haunches, hands loosely between his knees, elbows resting on his thighs, back a little curled. A decent position to get quickly back to his feet, if need be. And from the middle of the bed like this, he had decent view of the whole room.

Carefully, Zemo moved to place the blanket over his boy, Karl shifting down to lay on his back, with only his head propped up. He giggled again as his father pulled the blanket up all the way to his nose, wiggling out a bit so his face, hands and teddy were no longer buried under the comfy, plain duvet his father had chosen. “Alright.”, Zemo murmured, glancing over to Winter, still there in the middle of the bed, ready to pounce, evidently deciding that circling the bed right now was maybe not the best idea. Disappearing away from Winter’s field of vision could get ugly quickly…

Instead, he got one knee on the mattress, and then easily rolled himself over Karl to get to the other side of the bed. “You’re being silly!”, Karl accused Zemo with another giggle, immediately pulling himself a little closer towards his father, settling against him. And Winter took note of that. Took note of how much Karl enjoyed his father being silly. Took note of how readily he shuffled closer to cuddle.

“A little bit.”, Zemo murmured, his gaze flickering to Winter, still very aware of the predator that had decided to spare his son for now but refused to leave his side, while rubbing his lips against the boy’s blond tousled hair briefly. He leaned over the bed to his night table, grabbing hold of a thinly framed pair of glasses, before he once more settled next to the boy. Gently, he took Karl’s book while the boy continued to get comfy against Zemo’s right side, an arm wrapped around him.

Winter couldn’t quite get himself to look away from Karl for longer than absolutely necessary, but his eyes did catch the cover of the book as Zemo opened it and held it up. Almost as if he were trying to cover even more of his son from Winter’s prying gaze…

Le Petit Prince.

“He does not speak French.”, Winter said, scolding Zemo. Or so Karl had told him - and Winter would not forget anything the boy had chosen to share with him. The other man raised his eyebrows at Winter, glancing over the edge of his glasses and the edge of the book.

He inspected the Asset quietly, settled between his boy and his own legs, before nodding. "I am translating it for him." Zemo opened the book, looking for where they had left off, though he was visibly uncomfortable taking his eyes off of Winter. “What has been translated to Sokovian has always been limited, and most of it is now non-existent.”

"You gotta lay down or you're not going to fall asleep, Winter!", Karl insisted, illustratively shimmying on his back a little.

"I do not require sleep now.", the Asset replied.

"Yes, you do!", Karl replied with a lot of conviction in his voice. "Look outside! The sun is setting! It's gonna be dark soon, so we gotta go to sleep!"

The Asset's head snapped towards the window, confirming what he already knew, and what the boy had pointed out; it was evening. And so, Winter nodded, and carefully laid down. His legs were outstretched, his head resting on his flesh hand, the metal one less comfortable to lay upon - and better kept available to be used if need be. "It is going to be dark soon.", he agreed, and thus believed the rest of the boy's logic to hold as well.

Like this, his head was resting right next to Karl's feet, and thus next to Zemo's thighs. The Baron pulled his right leg up, the one closer to the Asset, seemingly under the pretence of wanting to rest the book against his knee, but Winter could tell that it was to keep more distance between them. He didn't care. His proximity to the Baron was of no concern to him. Being close to Karl, though… The boy seemed pleased, too, having Winter settling down at his instruction. So what harm could there be for the Asset to enjoy his position?

“Where were we, miláčik?”, the Baron asked instead of dwelling on the Soldat.

“The chapter with the fox, Tata!”, Karl replied quickly, shifting a little to lean against his father, tucking his head under the arm that was being wrapped around him. With his cheek resting on Zemo’s chest, his honey hair ruffling a bit under the man’s armpit, he could easily look into the book, extending his little hand to point to the right page. “There!”

The Baron nodded, eyes casting over the page to get its gist, before he started reading. Without delay, the written French was transformed into Sokovian – and thus, mostly incomprehensible to the Soldat.

And yet, he wasn’t bored. Watching the boy cuddle with his dad might make his stomach tighten with discomfort, but the boy’s wondrous little face, his eager little eyes, his plump lips parting softly as he took in what his father was reading to him… He even gave a little gasp that made Winter’s heart clench at how sheerly adorable it was.

Watching Karl was more entertainment than the Asset was usually allowed. And so, he didn't miss the boy slowly slipping off into slumber. It didn’t take him long. The Baron only turned the page once, maybe twice, before Karl’s eyes fluttered shut, and his body sagged into itself.

“Stávate sa navždy zodpovedným za to, čo ste skrotili…”, was the last sentence the Baron read out, voice a soft whisper, before he slowly closed the book, trying not to wake the boy with any hasty movements or loud noises.

That, though, was confusing to the Asset. “There is more of the book left.”, he pointed out - and the Baron looked up at him, alarmed. Almost as if he had forgotten that the Asset was even there, having blended into the dark, easily hiding in the shadows even less than a foot away.

“Yes.”, Zemo replied, and yet he did not pick up the book again, instead gently laying Karl down onto the bed. “But the boy is asleep. And that’s what’s important.”

And that - that did resonate with the Asset. Sometimes, missions were not what they seemed. Other times, a mission did not need to be finished to be considered successful.

“Come now.”, Zemo sighed as he stood up from the bed, looking over at his son with an exhausted, tense little smile. Despite the wolf in the room, there was still time for some fondness. Just not a lot of time. “...We have things to discuss.”

It was maybe ironic that the Baron felt a lot more at ease with the Asset when discussing assassination plots and war strategies than when the Asset was picking kitten-themed puzzle pieces. There was a certain rhythm to it, and the Soldat had no doubt that Zemo had a plethora of experience in planning ambushes not all too different from this one. Only that here, the Iron Man was a lot more of a threat than any other enemy of the state.

If the Asset had doubted the Baron’s nobility before, these doubts were dissolved. Just as much as any intuition that a man of his standing might have been handed his title through nepotism. No, clearly, Colonel Zemo was where he stood due to his abilities alone. And that was something the Asset could respect.

And in a way, the Colonel was also able to respect the Soldat when he repeated orders and pointed out flaws, assessing his mission with the skill, expertise and objection of a soldier - and not as another opportunity for playing with his newly found power.

It was not time to fulfil his mission yet, though. Soon, but not yet. Rather, now was time to sleep. Not only was the Asset starting to get tired, the clock approaching three am by the time they left the Baron’s office, but the Baron was exhausted to the bone as well. It certainly must have been nerve wracking to return home to watch your child playing with a loaded weapon..

“You can sleep in this.” The man’s voice was quiet as he handed him some clothes. Sweatpants. A simple shirt. They must have been very loose on the Baron, his filigree ankles and wrists likely drowning in the fabric, because they did not feel all too tight on the Asset, even if a little short. “...we’ll see that you get a proper shower tomorrow.”

Zemo averted his eyes as the Asset shed his clothes right where he stood in the corner of the bedroom, Karl peacefully sleeping in his father’s bed, but the Asset did not reciprocate that kind of respect.

Where Karl’s body was still torn up from the disaster, most of the scars on Zemo’s body seemed old and mostly healed. He had not been there when Sokovia fell.

The only exception? A handful of blue-red splotches on his shoulder. Right where the Soldat had grabbed and squeezed to extort what he’d desired just a little while ago. And maybe that was why he seemed rather coy while slipping into his own set of purple silk pyjamas? Ashamed to not have suffered with his people…?

But the Asset felt no judgement. He just stored the information, filing it into neat little packages that fit with his world view.

Before the Baron finished changing, though, the Soldat was already moving, aiming to lay claim on the best place to sleep tonight.

Which was, of course, right next to Karl.

Silently, the Asset once more crawled onto the bed, getting close to the boy but not touching, not wanting to wake him in the dark of the night. Karl was sleeping peacefully, in a position that could only be comfortable to a child; arms and legs spread like a starfish, mouth open, his teddy almost falling off the bed where the boy held it with three fingers. Only his legs were covered by the blanket now, having been kicked off in the fitful sleep that children so often experienced. From that, the boy’s pyjamas had rolled up a little, exposing pale skin up to his belly button. His hip bones were protruding slightly from his thin body, creating little dips and valleys of perfectly soft looking skin…

For once, the Soldat was glad that they had made him able to see at night so perfectly - freezing in response to his own thoughts. They had given him the ability to see…? Who…?

Why…? How…? And why didn’t that feel like a good thing…?

“Soldat.”, a soft voice came, almost hesitantly. Not only because the Baron didn’t want to wake the child, though. There was gentle confusion in his tone, not being quite able to pinpoint what the Asset was doing in the dark.

The Soldat grunted, but didn’t move. He wasn’t waking the boy. He was just watching.

And so, the Baron sighed, before he too slipped into bed. Under the covers, though, not lying on his side on top of them as the Asset was doing. “You should sleep.”, the Baron said - and Winter could tell that the man was hoping that he would. That the Asset would fall asleep before the Baron.

But the Asset had not had his fill of Karl just yet. And so, he ignored the Baron’s orders - not even feeling bad for it. His flesh hand twitched softly on top of the duvet, not quite touching Karl, but remembering how nice it had felt to do so. If he took a deep breath, he could smell the boy so nicely, too. He no longer smelled like chocolate, orange jam and sugar—the clean scent of toothpaste having erased that. But it also made it easier for the Asset to tell how the boy himself smelled underneath it all. Gently sweet, not overwhelmingly so. Like some fruit, perhaps, juicy but mellow, yet the Asset struggled to name it. Maybe like pasta, nice and warm and able to feed him…

He licked his lips.

“...Soldat.” A quiet plea. The man behind him was stiff and tense, not likely to drift asleep, too consumed with his worries. It wasn’t the Asset’s task to solve them.

The Asset propped his head up with a hand, supported by his elbow, allowing his eyes to take in as much as he could make out. In the low reflections of the moonlight, the Asset could tell that Karl had been drooling a little. Soft, glistening traces covered the boy’s face, his cheek, his lips. His plump, pink lips…

The Asset felt the desire to lick them. Lick up the drool? …Lick his lips? Lick… lick the boy’s tongue?

But he didn’t. He hardly moved. He could just look and enjoy. Only that he could feel heat expanding in his crotch again. Huh. Rare of him to experience that more than once in a while. Certainly not on the same day twice. Maybe, it was all the food that they had given him, so that for once he wasn’t running on energy savings mode, allowing his body to spend its resources on making him hot and hard.

The Asset didn’t question it too much. Instead, he deliberately crossed his legs, squeezing his thighs together. A soft little groan escaped his lips, enjoying the pressure he could supply himself, all the while continuing to watch little Karl sleep.

The sound seemed to alarm the Baron even more. The Asset could practically feel the man behind him shift as he froze. Already tense and rigid before, he seemed even more wound up now, ready to pounce, but not having anywhere to direct his energy. The Asset might not know what the big deal was (and truly, he hardly cared), but he could tell that the Baron was really bothered with the situation.

When the Soldat started to shift, though, gently rolling his hips, aimlessly rocking his waist, the Baron sat up abruptly. “Zasrané peklo.”, the man cursed under his breath, quiet but clearly exasperated. Frustrated. And maybe, just a little bit desperate…

The Soldat hardly knew what the big deal was. He… wasn’t even quite certain what he was doing. He rarely indulged himself. He certainly rarely managed to keep the heat in his loins trapped in there for more than a few moments at a time. Now, his cock felt fat and full and hot, and it felt nice when he shifted his hips. Given enough time for some trial and error, the Winter Soldier just might be able to discover the wonderful, carnal joy of self-pleasure.

Only that the Baron had different plans. He edged forward a bit, pulling his arse over the mattress until he was sitting a bit closer to the Asset, and then reached over him. Before he could make contact with whatever it was that he wanted, though, a metal hand shot forward and grasped the man’s wrist.

Zemo hissed – even though he should have been thanking the Asset for showing restraint. If he had wanted his arm to be snapped in half, that was one way to achieve it. “Let go, kurwa!”, the Baron demanded, his voice still a low hushed whisper, even if it now seemed an octave higher and maybe a tad louder. “I’m trying to help you.”

The Asset grunted - but after a moment of hesitation, he did let go of the Baron. Help him? What was it the Asset needed help with?

Zemo pulled his arm back, massaging his wrist a little, before he huffed, quietly cursing under his breath some more. “I can’t have you humping the air like some godforsaken pervert next to my boy.", he muttered. The Asset assumed he was meant to be hurt by these words, but not only had he been called worse, he currently wasn't dependent on the Baron’s opinion of him at all. “Let me take care of that, Soldat. And then the two of us can maybe get some rest…”

Take care of that? The Asset let out a deep breath, that the Baron seemed to take as affirmation. Once more, his arm snuck around the Soldat’s side, and this time, the Asset didn’t hinder him at his endeavour. Even if he was not quite certain what to expect… he couldn’t deny that there was some ground level of trust between the two established. The Asset might not be compelled to obey the Baron’s every whim, but some of them, and possibly this one, were to his own advantage too.

And so, he didn’t protest as the warm hand moved around him, calloused fingers pushing under the soft elastic waistband keeping his pants on his hips. The material was so much softer than his usual gear, so much more comfortable than his tac pants. They allowed enough room for Zemo to easily wiggle his hand into them, and Winter could hardly feel the shifting of the cord that tied them tight around him.

What he could feel though was a hand wrapping around his cock.

That was new.

Those fingers were on a mission. Not one that aimed to assess the Asset’s physical state. Not one that aimed to measure him. Or to humiliate him. He lacked the words. This was not something that his handlers usually did - but then again, Zemo was not his handler.

What he did have a good handle on was Winter’s thick, hot dick.

Without much of his own volition, Winter let out a raspy little gasp at that first established contact alone - receiving an urgent shush in return. “Quiet.”, Zemo hissed - sounding anything but pleased. It was not some soft, giggled plea shared between two lovers not wanting to be heard by their neighbours, but an order demanding to be respected. “You are not some dying animal, keep yourself together, Soldat.”

Luckily for the two of them - or rather the three of them, if one were to count the sleeping boy who was not to be woken by his father and his new friend’s… antics - , Winter was more than familiar with following orders.

The Winter Soldier fell quiet as the strong hand settled around his base. His breathing was hardly audible as it moved in slow, deliberate little pumps. There was some level of amazement in the Asset. Without doubt, this man knew what he was doing - or at least, he knew it better than the Asset did.

The sensation was foreign but welcome. It made his stomach curl and heat, and his cock feel heavier with each passing moment, sweat emerging in the crook of his knees, his armpits, just below his hip bones, slowly being teased out with every additional movement the Baron was indulging the Asset in. The Soldat considered that in one way or another, this should not please him. It didn’t seem like it would be a pleasing state to be in, and yet, here he was. He even started pushing his hips back into the Baron’s hand.

The Asset could feel thick fingers pushing even further, could feel them brushing against the tip of his cock. A thick thumb pressed against his slit, squeezing and massaging more and more fluid out - flooding the Soldat’s nose with the deep, musky scent of his own arousal, far more concentrated than he could ever remember it being before.

And while he lay there, letting his captor jerk him off with little enthusiasm but decent skill, silent aside from the soft shifting sound of the bed around him whenever he pushed his hips back, he could not tear his eyes from the boy in front of him. Perfect, sleeping little Karl with his beloved teddy…

There was desire in the Asset now, desire that he couldn’t place nor detangle. He no longer just wanted to eat the boy or lick his lips or have him hold his hand. He wanted Karl on him, next to him, below him, touching his cock, holding onto him, spreading his milky-pale legs and showing himself off. Only to the Asset. Only for Winter…

Winter came with a grunt. The noise was small and yet embarrassing, as it had been caused without his volition. At least this time, the Baron did not seem all too upset. Not about that, at least.

“Holera…”, the Baron muttered under his breath, shaking his head. The Soldat could feel the man sit up - and wetness pool between his legs, sticking the cotton material of his pants to his skin. “How the hell did you have so much fucking cu– forget it. I don’t want to know. Let me just get this…”, the Baron muttered, gagging back another sound, withdrawing his hand from the Asset’s pants dripping with thick, white cream. He sounded disgusted enough that the Asset could imagine his nose wrinkling - but the only thing the Soldat had eyes for was Karl.

Sweet, sleepy little Karl…

Winter yawned.

He had slept in worse than his own cum.