It is rare for the Winter Solder to be thawed when there is no immediate mission at hand, and it always puts all Hydra staff around him on edge. They know how to deal with him when he is a gun to be aimed. When there is no target though, he makes them nervous. He is told little about what awaits him.
The facility he is led to is small, all things considered. Hidden away in what looks like an old military training facility. Curiously, a dome shaped cage spans over the yard, like a massive aviary.
The Winter Soldier is led inside, where Alexander Pierce awaits. Smug, smarmy, and full of the arrogance that comes from believing he is not dealing with something he considers fully human. Pierce, like many Hydra higher ups, denies the Winter Soldier personhood through his attitude.
"You're being rewarded today."
Pierce walks the Winter Soldier through dimly lit corridors, past nervous looking scientists. Past labs and surgical rooms with old blood stained, crusted and black on gleaming white tiles.
"We have a pet for you."
The Winter Soldier is led into a chamber. It's empty except for a cot in the corner, upon which a body rests. At the sound of the door opening, the body stirs. It's a man. Or was one, at some point before Hydra got its hands on him. His skin is bare, and from across the distance, the Winter Soldier can see two lines of metal running down his back, like slats. Unknown purpose, as of yet. His face is covered almost fully with what looks like a falconry mask.
"Code Name Falcon. It is yours to train, care for, handle and make whatever use you wish out of. It's your pet. You may take it on missions." Pierce smiles, all fake benevolence, and then he looks at the Winter Solider. "It has not seen a single person's face since Hydra made it into a pet for you. It will imprint on you when you lift the mask. And remember. This is a reward for you. You know what happens to your rewards if you disappoint us."
And then the Winter Soldier is left alone with the Falcon.
If the staff are on edge when The Soldier has no mission, he’s already walking off the precipice: having no immediate directives to follow makes him uneasy. They’ve even let him see where they’re taking him, no blindfold, no windowless transport, just restraints to make sure he doesn’t forget who’s in charge.
It’s different and new and he feels like something is burrowing beneath his skin. Ants crawling in his bloodstream or hornets buzzing inside of his chest. He doesn’t know what anxiety it is as a concept, really, but he doesn’t like the feeling. He isn’t used to feeling at all.
Whatever confusion or anything else he’s feeling as he’s led through the strange compound is immediately put in its tracks when he sees Pierce. There is a spark of fear, discomfort, but it’s all pressed out and tamped down immediately as he explains what is going on.
A reward? He isn’t sure he’s ever had one. At least, not one he remembers. That doesn’t mean much, in the grand scheme though. He knows so little about himself, his own personal history. He wants to ask why?; why is he being rewarded? What purpose is this reward meant to serve? And a swarm of other near-childlike questions all circling this new…
Pet? He was being given a companion.
His eyes dart from Pierce’s face, to the body in the corner beginning to stir, and back again. Was it a trick? Is he supposed to refuse the… gift? This… pet? Attachments make for weak soldiers, isn’t that what he’s always been told? Why everything about whoever he may have once been had been shocked out of his mind for good? None of it makes sense with everything he’s ever been told, handed, and dealt with. They are studying something in him, he thinks. His reaction will make or break whatever is really going on. His heart thrums harder in the cage of his ribs as he stares past Pierce at the stirring Falcon.
“It-“ he frowns, like he’s still trying to pull the pieces together. “It’s mine?” He looks back at Pierce for confirmation, which he gets in a simple, curt nod with a wave of dismissal, urging him to go play with his new pet.
They’re alone, then.
Or at least it looks like they’re alone in the surface. The Soldier knows that there are microphones and cameras dotted around the room, but he knows better than to go looking for them. They’ll punish him for ruining their experiment or… whatever this is, now…
For several long minutes, he does nothing. He doesn’t approach the Falcon or speak to it, just stares at it curiously. Why did they think he needed a pet anyway? Has he even ever had one before? What is he supposed to do with a pet?
Eventually, though, curiosity gets the better of him despite himself. He crosses the room and pauses just in front of the Falcon. He studies the features closely now, only more curious about the strange slat-like lines at its back.
He feels like he should say something before he removes the mask, but he’s drawing a blank. So, instead, he simply reaches forward, slowly, every move telegraphed as though dealing with a wild or wounded animal— and maybe in some ways, he is— and carefully removes the mask from his companion’s face.
He wonders what Pierce meant when he said it will imprint on him…
There's a moment there, very briefly, in which the Soldier gets to see a person. The mask comes off, and underneath are handsome features, and large, dark brown eyes, honey gold where the light catches them just so. The man looks terrified, for a moment - perhaps not of the Soldier, but of his circumstance. There's a tinge of pain in those dark eyes, too.
And then his wild gaze lands on the Soldier, and something in the Falcon's brain... kicks, then settles.
Its eyes flutter. Long eyelashes drooping, then raising. The fear bleeds out on an exhale, the pain dulls. The Falcon stares at its master, its owner, its companion, and it settles down. It shifts onto its knees, straightens its back, and just... looks up at the Soldier.
Patient.
Waiting.... for what? For input. For anything.
It has a soft mouth and warm, dark skin mottled with bruising on the back, along those metal lines. It seems healthy otherwise.
If the Soldier moves, the Falcon's eyes follow. It looks to him, and it waits.
Like a pet, not like a person.
In their labs, the scientists scribble notes, while Pierce watches on a monitor. Imprinting: Successful.
Unfortunately, for that glimpse of the man underneath his new programming, the Soldier doesn’t have much room for things like remorse or empathy. That brief flicker of fear barely registers to him; he's used to being looked at that way whenever he's not with his handlers.
He blinks in surprise when the Falcon gets to its knees. Waiting. For what, though? He tilts his head a little and looks at his new pet with newfound curiosity. “What do you want?” But even that question feels foreign in his mouth. Wants aren't something he's allowed, so he supposes the same is true for it.
“Orders, maybe…” he hums curiously at the idea. He's not sure what kind of order to give. He doesn't do that; he just follows the ones he's given. Being on the other side feels off-putting, and the unfamiliarity gnaws at his insides.
He's decided that this is definitely some kind of test. But he has no idea what the purpose of it all is, which makes it difficult to know how best to proceed.
“Do you talk?” It's as good a place as any to start, maybe.
It opens its mouth as if to answer. Briefly. Then its eyes narrow, just a bit.
Things most people would miss, but not someone who is paying attention, not someone who is trained.
The Falcon almost says something. And then doesn't. Instead, it waits. It was asked a question. A question is not an order. It does not speak - but it could, if told to. It listens to its owner in forced obedience, with a mind that hungers for input and is restricted by Hydra conditioning.
For a moment, it just stares up at the Soldier. Then, after a moment, very reluctantly and hesitantly, it nods. Brief. Curt. It understands the question. It responds in the affirmative, much as it can without further prompting.
The Soldier doesn’t miss the way it almost speaks, then thinks better of it. It’s a familiar thing to him, but odd to be on the other side of it. In the early days of his time with Pierce, and among other various handlers as well, he spoke out of turn when he was asked questions. Some strange sensibility or other from Before to speak when spoken to that he’d long since had eviscerated out of him. He supposed that’s part of his bird’s programming, too.
“Tell me your name.” If it has one. Or maybe all it knows is its title, like he does. Names aren’t necessary for things like them. The Soldier had learned that lesson a long time ago, and he wonders if his pet already does, too.
Its breath hitches a little, something in the way its brain is wired responding with a rush of pleasantness to being given a clear order from the Soldier. It sits up a little straighter. Like a pet preening when spoken to.
It tilts its head a little at the order, parsing the implications of it. There's an intelligence there, in those dark eyes, tucked under the brainwashing, the imprinting.
"Hydra designation: Red Falcon." It hesitates, swallows. Then adds: "Or what you call me, sir. Master?" It hasn't been given a proper way to address its owner, forced to stab in the dark.
His eyebrows arch slightly at the little hitch in its breath. That seemed to please it, in some way. Interesting.
He can almost see the gears turning through those eyes, and he thinks maybe he likes the way they look in the light, in as much as the Soldier actually likes anything.
Red Falcon. He nods a little, but there’s something off-putting in being called either sir or master. He wrinkles his nose at the designation. No, that won’t do. He’ll have to find something else.
He doesn’t have a name, but he has plenty of titles: The Winter Soldier. Asset. Weapon. None of them really feel like names the way Falcon somehow feels like one, though. Or maybe it’s just because it was the first thing he heard his pet referred to as that makes it seem more like a name, somehow?
Still. He doesn’t want his pet calling him those vile options. And he doesn’t much want it to call him by the things his handlers call him either. He thinks for a moment, trying to decide what other choices there might be. Finally, he settles on, “Call me V,” he didn’t have any strong connection to it, but there was a period of time when he went by Vronsky, per his handler’s insistences. This seemed a good enough approximation to a name his pet could use for him.
Somewhere distantly, notes are being made about the choice The Winter Soldier has made in the matter of names. Theories might spring forth about it later when these notes are poured over for observation and discussion; why has he chosen that specific former alias? Did he told some connection to it, somehow? Did he often think of himself as any number of the names he’d been given during recon missions of the past? Speculation will continue.
It nods. "V." Confirmation. It takes well to direct instructions, at least form the Winter Soldier. It shifts a little, and to super soldier ears, there's a slight sound coming from it, like the scrape of metal on metal. Muffled, as if its coming from within the confines of flesh and bone that makes up the Red Falcon.
It stays in its position though. Stays attentive. Watching the Soldier - waiting. It is hard-wired to follow the Soldier's directions, to obey him. Like a loyal pet.
If the Soldier walked away without instructions, the Falcon would stay where it is, and it would keep waiting until it starved to death or was handled by Hydra, otherwise.
He tilts his head when he hears the metal scraping sound. Curiosity piqued again, he steps back and makes a motion not entirely unlike how someone might direct a dog, "On your feet," he waits until it complies with the command and, oh, that feels good. To be the one in control.
While Falcon stands at attention for him, The Soldier moves in a slow circle around him, pausing to stand behind it. He cants his head to one side as he inspects the strong lines that run along it's back. Curiously, he reaches out to run his fingers across those slat-like... bones? No, bones don't sound like scraping metal. But, then... what are they?
It complies beautifully. Those beautiful eyes attentive on the gesture, and at 'on your feet', the Falcon rises, pushes itself up onto its feet and to full height in one smooth, elegant motion. It moves like a dancer, like an acrobat. It obeys the Soldier, and it seems eager and content to do so.
It holds still at the inspection, though there's a faint tremor in its back muscles as the Soldier touches the metal lines.
"Wings. Metal and carbon fibre. Retractable."
They hurt. Like the Soldier, the Falcon is constantly in pain, but does not speak of this. The alterations made to its body are horrific, and yet beautifully weaponized.
The Soldier will see those metal slats opening, and thin sheets of metal unfurling from them, moving against one another and unfurling into impressive metal wings. They furl out to their full wing span, moving and twitching almost like actual bird wings. At their full extension, sharp metal protrusions are visible along the edges of those wings, too.
They're sharp enough to cut flesh.
The implication here is clear, of course - the Falcon is designed to fly on those wings. The Falcon could weaponize those wings.
Falcon's movements are much smoother than anything the Soldier does; he is purely about efficiency when he does anything, there is no need to be graceful or elegant. But he appreciates the way that smoothness looks on his companion.
"Retractable?" he echoes, tone all curious wonder. He doesn't even have to command the Falcon to show him, it already anticipates that demand and complies before the words even get out of his mouth. An eager puppy showing its owner a trick.
He watches in awe as the wings unfurl, shifting, twitching, almost alive in their movement. The span is wide, and it's clear these are not just adornments or aesthetics- they're practical, built to be used, to be weaponized. The Soldier thinks about the smooth grace when the Falcon rose to its feet at his command. He takes in these terrible, beautiful wings and suddenly, he wants to see it in action.
"Impressive," he murmurs, reaching up to carefully run a thumb across one of those blade-sharp wings; he doesn't cut himself, but it's clear just how easily he could if he wasn't smarter about knives than he is. "They support you in the air completely?" His mind is turning over so many scenarios now, and there is a sort of giddy expression in his storm-blue eyes. "Show me."
That command is all the Falcon needs. The Winter Soldier will feel the heat, for a moment, as small vents open within the metal fixtures on the Falcon's back. Thrusters. The wings shift, move. Spreading, and then just like that the Falcon's muscles tense, and it leaps into the air - and stays their. It hovers, for a moment, muscles and sinew tense as its weight is borne on those wings. And then the metal moves, shifts and beats like real wings, and the Falcon is off to the races. The room is small, with no free access to the aviary outside - though that might make more sense to the Winter Soldier now, the way this compound was designed to let the Falcon fly without giving him a means of escape. For now, he moves in this large, empty room. Cuts through the air like a blade, fast and deadly. He's flexible, body curling and twisting for momentum. He laps the room in a flash of movement, and then uses the wings like pitons to anchor himself against the wall, making a perch for himself where there should be none.
Looking down to the Winter Soldier, waiting for the next command, eyes alight. It's not joy; the Falcon isn't programmed to feel much of anything like that. But up there, moving through the air, the Falcon comes alive in a different way than when standing still on the ground.
The Soldier blinks in surprise at the sudden appearance of flames- he hadn't expected that. Even still, as he watches the Falcon rise and lift off the ground before going up in the air, he is in a clear sort of awe of it.
Awe and amazement break open across his face and the little air show he gets actually brings what might be the closest thing to a smile that his graced his features in decdades. The barest hint of one corner of his mouth just scantly lifted up.
"Wasn't expecting thrusters," he admits, his eyes tracking his pet closely. "Is there anything else I should know about?" He wants to know all the ins and outs, all the innerworkings of this new toy he's been presented.
Edited (hit submit to fast RIP ) Date: 2025-02-25 11:19 pm (UTC)
It cocks its head, deliberates. After a moment, it detaches from the wall. For a moment, the Falcon falls like a stone, then those wings snap outwards to catch it, turning the fall into a glide that carries it right towards the Winter Soldier. It lands softly, taking a single step for balance that puts it into the Winter Soldier's personal space.
It's shorter by only an inch or two, and it looks up at the Winter Soldier with a shrewd glint in its eyes. An eagerness shines in there. It wants to talk, wants to tell the Winter Soldier. Wants to share all it knows.
"Speak?" It asks, careful and hesitant. Then, after a moment: "Permission to speak, V?"
The fall is both graceful and terrifying all at once, and something stirs deep inside of the Soldier’s chest. Something nasty with gnarled teeth and sharp claws, something that threatens to steal all the oxygen from his lungs—
And then there’s a snap of the Falcon’s wings, and it’s gliding gently back to the ground—
In that same moment, he feels the air rush back to his lungs. He’d been holding his breath without even noticing. A cold sweat is slick across the back of his neck and he swallows, hard.
He’d doesn’t have time to dwell on whatever he had felt watching his avian companion plummet to the ground because now it’s in his space again. Those honey eyes gleaming bright and eager.
It sucks in its breath, brief and eager, almost like a small trill. And then it begins talking. It rattles off numbers, details of its capabilities, of the wing technology.
As it speaks, it never stops looking at the Winter Soldier. Its voice drops, though, low enough to make its report almost intimate. It inches closer, too, tucking itself against the Soldier, warm skin on harsh metal and leather.
It recites facts about itself that the Winter Soldier would expect to hear. And then there are things that it shouldn't know about itself, conclusions it has drawn based on what it knows and discovered.
The Falcon's mind is sharp, eager. The Falcon's mind is blank. It is mechanically and cybernetically enhanced, but it has no serum. It is combat trained, but it does not know where from. It has already accidentally decapitated or otherwise fatally maimed five handlers on its first activation while blindfolded.
It has little concept of self, beyond technical data. It clearly wants the Winter Soldier to know all that it knows, and all it believes to know, too.
There's something kind of amusing in just how eager the Falcon is to give him all of the information that seems to just come free-flowing. It's almost like a presentation, with just how detailed it all is. The Soldier takes it all in, committing every piece of it to memory the same way he does any information he's handed for a mission. Except this feels more... he's not sure. Just... more, something.
The little shift as his pet gives its report is unexpected enough to make him go rigid, not sure how to take the way it seems to want to be closer. When he realizes it is not in some sly effort to attack or otherwise harm him– this is all still so new, and there is no way for him to know what kind of programming the avian-man might have– he almost relaxes. As much as the Soldier ever is truly relaxed around anything or anyone.
For a beat or two too long, he's not sure what to say after the speech is over. And then, awkwardly, slowly, he says, "Good boy."
That's praise, and the Falcon's eyes light up. It nods in agreement. Yes. It is a good boy. With one amendment:
"For you, V."
It's at the Winter Soldier's beck and call, at his disposal. It will be the Winter Soldier's good boy. It will be good for him, to him, with him. So it stays there, in his personal space. Watching. Waiting. Close enough to be almost nuzzling against him. Like a pet, content to be close to its owner.
Somewhere in an observation room, Alexander Pierce is very pleased with how the imprinting went. What it reveals, about the Falcon and the Winter Soldier.
How it can be used to keep the Winter Soldier at heel better.
The Falcon is unaware of this. Its wings tuck in, folding back inside of his body with the devastating sound of razor sharp metal on metal.
That is praise, and the Soldier sees the way his companion almost preens at receiving it. And it's eyes light up, shining brighter for it all, too. That's kind of nice.
The Soldier has never had a pet, or not one he remembers anyway, and he doesn't really know what else to do in this instance. The praise was good, it was received well, and now... he's at a loss.
He winces a little at the sudden sharp metallic slick of the wings going back into place. Curious, he places a hand very briefly on the Falcon's shoulder, almost a silent command to stay there, as he circles around him once more. Looking to see where the wings disappeared into his back, fingers smoothing against his shoulderblades again while he inspects to see if it wounds him at all when he retracts them once more.
The Falcon is quiet, letting the Winter Soldier inspect it to his leisure. There's tension in those muscles - pain, easy to read when you know what you're looking for. The wings hurt, going in, staying in, going out. It's a constant cycle of pain, of wounding itself anew.
But like the Winter Soldier, the Falcon has no right nor room to complain about this. It's just a normal part of its state of existence.
It doesn't shy away from the touch, though. Just lets the Winter Soldier do what he wants.
Those wings are sharp. Weapons that can tear through flesh and hack away at bones. The Falcon's own flesh is not spared that discomfort.
Though he hasn't actively paid any attention to them since they were left to themselves in the room, the Soldier knows they're being watched; he's clocked at least two cameras and knows there are probably more and just as many microphones to match dotted around the room.
Suddenly, he acknowledges their observers, without looking up– he wouldn't know in which direction to do so, anyway, and he's still inspecting the wounds on his pet's back. "I'll need to keep this clean... antiseptic or something else the medics deem appropriate?" That does seem like a pretty important part of having a pet; they need to not only be trained, but kept well, and in good condition.
As if she spoke the magic word they were waiting for, a compartment opens in the wall. Inside, a box of supplies. Antiseptic, bandages, needle and thread, various nasty looking tools for engineering work.
Collar and leash. A muzzle. Cuffs. The falconry hood to blind the bird.
A cattle prod. A cane.
The tools for fixing, the tools for discipline, the tools of inflicting hurt.
Reward, training and punishment.
There are no instructions, only implications. Only offers.
His eyes snap toward the wall where the compartment had slipped open. His eyebrows lift slightly, and he wanders over toward it to collect the items that are inside. As soon as the last thing was pulled out of the box, the drawer snaps shut again. The wall doesn't even look like it could support something like that. Seamless. No evidence of where or how that little compartment could be. Useful, but secret, like so many things here.
The Soldier lays each of the items out to inspect properly, frowning thoughtfully at a few of them. He could immediately see what each tool might be used for, but some of it... makes something squirm under his skin; it's a strange feeling, one he doesn't have a name for. He doesn't like the way it sits heavy in his chest, so he chooses to forget about it. Packed away in some box in his mind, unlabeled and ready to be ignored.
For now, his focus pulls toward the medical items, and he gathers what he needs to clean the wounds at the Falcon's shoulders. He isn't... careful about it, exactly. Not purposefully rough, but not really looking to tiptoe around the job, either. He drops some antiseptic on a gauze pad, which he swipes over the wounds before he bandages it. He won't bother stitching it all closed again; there's no point; the next time the wings unfold, they would simply break anyway. His main focus is simply making sure no infection affects his pet.
The Falcon sees those items. It's smart enough to understand some implications here, but it doesn't move from its spot. It just stands there, waiting to see what will happen. The Soldier tends to its back, in the end. It's not tender, but the Falcon holds still, lets itself be treated however the Winter Soldier sees fit.
And when he's done, it glances over its shoulder. Seeks eye contact.
"Thank you, V."
Quiet and soft. Earnest. It might be the first time in the Soldier's limited memory that any living being has thanked him like this. The Falcon understands it was just cared for, and is appreciative of that. Is grateful for any shred for care from the man it has imprinted on.
The Falcon's eyes catch it's keeper's own with that glance back over his shoulder. The moment feels heavier than it should, somehow, especially with that soft gratitude shared between them. He doesn't know what to do with that, and he feels something squirming in his stomach again.
Still.
He says, "...you're welcome," just as whisper-quiet as the Falcon's words had been, almost like they were sharing some kind of secret. The words taste strange on his tongue, feel misshapen somehow, like they don't quite fit inside his mouth.
He cants his head a little to one side and, an idea striking suddenly, he speaks again, more to their observers than his companion, voice at a regular pitch again, "We need to get you clothes," his eyes drop toward where that drawer had appeared minutes ago- would they provide that, too?
Another compartment opens immediately. In it a suitcase.
That suitcase contains... clothes, by definition. They range from what could politely be called fetish gear - clothes that are clearly sexual in nature, with belts in decorative places and more skin showing than anything. There are some normal clothes, too, and then there's light tac gear, the kind the Soldier wears in the field.
It clearly is another choice, about the use the Soldier wishes to make of his pet. Will it be a toy, a person, a weapon?
There are right and wrong answers, of course, like in all things.
He grabs the suitcase out of the compartment, frowning deeply at some of the options given to them. He won't even begin to consider the fetish gear, as it has no practical purpose to him. The tac gear will be useful later, but for now he pulls out the set of plain clothes to hand to the Falcon.
"Put them on." A direct order, simple and to the point. It isn't even a modesty issue, the Soldier has no need for such things, it's practicality over everything else. There's no sense in his bird being deprived of basic garments.
The Falcon slips into the clothes. They fit it well, hugging its body. It's athletic - strong muscles, but also visibly flexible. The kind of build that comes from training, not serum.
"V..."
The voice a soft whine. The Falcon reaches over its shoulder, and the problem is easily visible. Hydra wants to test the Soldier's patience for menial things here - the clothes do not have slits for the wings.
It's as if somebody is asking whether the Soldier is growing tired of having to care for its pet yet.
"Hm?" he looks up at the little whine from the Falcon, curiosity evident in his eyes until it all clicks together. Right. The wings. They'll need space in the clothing or it'll be too constricted, no different than how everything he wears has to have one sleeve completely open.
He considers it for a moment and in the end he simply moves around behind his pet, slipping one of the many knives he has on his person out of its place– it's only now, that he's found a use for a weapon, even if not it's typical or intended one, that he realizes he was never pat down, never needed to hand over any of his accoutrements. "Don't move," he commands, and already he's reasonably sure he doesn't have to worry about that, the second he gives his avian companion any command or order it simply follows it without thought or argument at all.
It only takes the Soldier a moment to cut through the fabric, blade sharper than it would ever need to be for such a feat; he tries to make sure it will be wide enough when Falcon unfurls those great, mechanical wings that nothing will get caught and ripped- it would do them no good to bother with it at all if every time he needed to go airborne, everything simply got shredded in the process.
"Better?" he asks curiously, tilting his head slightly. It was the easiest solution, but that didn't mean it was the right one.
The Falcon rolls its shoulders. There's a brief, soft 'snikt' sound, the wings partially extending and retracting. Then a firm nod. Yes, the cuts will do. The Falcon opens its mouth to confirm, when the door opens.
Alexander Pierce walks in.
"You've had some time to acquaint yourself with your pet."
He stares at the Winter Soldier. Assessing him, measuring him.
"Tell me what you make of it."
He phrases it almost politely, but there's a steel clad order in those words. Pierce waits for the answer like a vulture, circling its slowly perishing prey.
The second the door is opening, The Soldier stands at attention. Knife tucked under his sleeve. Had he done something wrong?
Pierce is looking for a certain answer, something specific and decisive. But he isn't sure what the right one is. All he can do is answer completely honestly.
"...I would like to keep him." It feels... strange to say. Having his own opinion about things is... new. And more difficult to manage than he likes. "If that would be permitted... sir."
A sly, sharp expression enters Pierce's face at that.
"'Him'? My, you've grown attached to it fast."
Pierce circles them. Moves around the Falcon, looks it up and down like a piece of meat - would have likely done the same were the Falcon still naked. After a moment, Pierce steps up behind the Falcon. Curls his fingers around its shoulders. The Falcon is not much shorter than the Winter Soldier, and it is strong - yet somehow, here it looks small. It looks to the Soldier for guidance, for instructions.
Pierce meanwhile smirks.
"This is not a person. It is devoted because it imprinted on you. Its loyalty and adoration are entirely contingent on nothing... disrupting that."
Something burns hot in his cheeks at that comment— is it shame? Embarrassment? Hard to say. Pierce has always been very good at putting the Soldier in place, and making him uncomfortable in ways no other handler he’d ever had could.
He isn’t wrong in that assessment, though; there’s Soldier has attached quite quickly to his pet. Surely, his lack of interaction with other… living beings has something to do with that. He’s always so isolated… it’s… nice to have some…thing to take care of.
The Falcon will find all of V’s attention solely on Pierce. It’s how it has always been, he’s been punished for even a simple stray glance when the other man is in the room. The Falcon listens to the Soldier, but his owner answers to others.
It's difficult for the Falcon to not fall into distress. It is looking to the Soldier, to V, but V is not looking back at it. Someone else is touching it, and the Soldier will not meet its eyes. The Falcon wants to fret. Wants to fly. Wants to slice, cut, tear. Wants to protect the Soldier from the man who commands such a reaction.
It cannot.
It was not given any orders other than to stand still right there.
Pierce narrows his eyes, meanwhile.
"Permission granted. Careful what you do with it."
If it’s dissent or anything else that Pierce expects, he’ll be pleased to find that is nowhere near the Soldier’s mind. The idea of commanding the Falcon in any way with Pierce in the room isn’t on the table.
“I…appreciate the gift of this pet. I would like to keep it, under whatever conditions you deem appropriate, sir.”
He knows he can’t seem too eager, even though some part of him is, because that would be the quickest way for Pierce to take the Falcon away. But if he can edge along the line between that eagerness and something more practical, he might be allowed to keep his avian companion.
“The Falcon’s agility and ability to move freely in the air would prove useful on missions.”
Pierce hums, pretending to look the Falcon up and down for the first time.
"You realize, of course, that it has no serum. You will be responsible to train it, and keep it on a leash in the field. A tight leash, Soldat. And if it takes a bullet, do not come complaining to me that your pet perished. Authorization for Falcon's combat use is granted. You have full access to the facility for the purpose of training it. Requisitions will help you assemble its gear."
Pierce steps closer to the Soldier.
"Make sure to keep your pet in line. Its mistakes in the field are you mistakes. You will be punished for its transgressions."
He smiles, cold and expectant, and then walks away, leaving the Soldier with its pet once more.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2025-02-24 03:54 pm (UTC)To Know The Difference Between Flying And Falling
Date: 2025-02-24 04:20 pm (UTC)The facility he is led to is small, all things considered. Hidden away in what looks like an old military training facility. Curiously, a dome shaped cage spans over the yard, like a massive aviary.
The Winter Soldier is led inside, where Alexander Pierce awaits. Smug, smarmy, and full of the arrogance that comes from believing he is not dealing with something he considers fully human. Pierce, like many Hydra higher ups, denies the Winter Soldier personhood through his attitude.
"You're being rewarded today."
Pierce walks the Winter Soldier through dimly lit corridors, past nervous looking scientists. Past labs and surgical rooms with old blood stained, crusted and black on gleaming white tiles.
"We have a pet for you."
The Winter Soldier is led into a chamber. It's empty except for a cot in the corner, upon which a body rests. At the sound of the door opening, the body stirs. It's a man. Or was one, at some point before Hydra got its hands on him. His skin is bare, and from across the distance, the Winter Soldier can see two lines of metal running down his back, like slats. Unknown purpose, as of yet. His face is covered almost fully with what looks like a falconry mask.
"Code Name Falcon. It is yours to train, care for, handle and make whatever use you wish out of. It's your pet. You may take it on missions." Pierce smiles, all fake benevolence, and then he looks at the Winter Solider. "It has not seen a single person's face since Hydra made it into a pet for you. It will imprint on you when you lift the mask. And remember. This is a reward for you. You know what happens to your rewards if you disappoint us."
And then the Winter Soldier is left alone with the Falcon.
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Date: 2025-02-24 05:09 pm (UTC)It’s different and new and he feels like something is burrowing beneath his skin. Ants crawling in his bloodstream or hornets buzzing inside of his chest. He doesn’t know what anxiety it is as a concept, really, but he doesn’t like the feeling. He isn’t used to feeling at all.
Whatever confusion or anything else he’s feeling as he’s led through the strange compound is immediately put in its tracks when he sees Pierce. There is a spark of fear, discomfort, but it’s all pressed out and tamped down immediately as he explains what is going on.
A reward? He isn’t sure he’s ever had one. At least, not one he remembers. That doesn’t mean much, in the grand scheme though. He knows so little about himself, his own personal history. He wants to ask why?; why is he being rewarded? What purpose is this reward meant to serve? And a swarm of other near-childlike questions all circling this new…
Pet?
He was being given a companion.
His eyes dart from Pierce’s face, to the body in the corner beginning to stir, and back again. Was it a trick? Is he supposed to refuse the… gift? This… pet? Attachments make for weak soldiers, isn’t that what he’s always been told? Why everything about whoever he may have once been had been shocked out of his mind for good?
None of it makes sense with everything he’s ever been told, handed, and dealt with. They are studying something in him, he thinks. His reaction will make or break whatever is really going on. His heart thrums harder in the cage of his ribs as he stares past Pierce at the stirring Falcon.
“It-“ he frowns, like he’s still trying to pull the pieces together. “It’s mine?” He looks back at Pierce for confirmation, which he gets in a simple, curt nod with a wave of dismissal, urging him to go play with his new pet.
They’re alone, then.
Or at least it looks like they’re alone in the surface. The Soldier knows that there are microphones and cameras dotted around the room, but he knows better than to go looking for them. They’ll punish him for ruining their experiment or… whatever this is, now…
For several long minutes, he does nothing. He doesn’t approach the Falcon or speak to it, just stares at it curiously. Why did they think he needed a pet anyway? Has he even ever had one before? What is he supposed to do with a pet?
Eventually, though, curiosity gets the better of him despite himself. He crosses the room and pauses just in front of the Falcon. He studies the features closely now, only more curious about the strange slat-like lines at its back.
He feels like he should say something before he removes the mask, but he’s drawing a blank. So, instead, he simply reaches forward, slowly, every move telegraphed as though dealing with a wild or wounded animal— and maybe in some ways, he is— and carefully removes the mask from his companion’s face.
He wonders what Pierce meant when he said it will imprint on him…
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Date: 2025-02-24 05:24 pm (UTC)And then his wild gaze lands on the Soldier, and something in the Falcon's brain... kicks, then settles.
Its eyes flutter. Long eyelashes drooping, then raising. The fear bleeds out on an exhale, the pain dulls. The Falcon stares at its master, its owner, its companion, and it settles down. It shifts onto its knees, straightens its back, and just... looks up at the Soldier.
Patient.
Waiting.... for what? For input. For anything.
It has a soft mouth and warm, dark skin mottled with bruising on the back, along those metal lines. It seems healthy otherwise.
If the Soldier moves, the Falcon's eyes follow. It looks to him, and it waits.
Like a pet, not like a person.
In their labs, the scientists scribble notes, while Pierce watches on a monitor. Imprinting: Successful.
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Date: 2025-02-24 06:05 pm (UTC)He blinks in surprise when the Falcon gets to its knees. Waiting. For what, though? He tilts his head a little and looks at his new pet with newfound curiosity. “What do you want?” But even that question feels foreign in his mouth. Wants aren't something he's allowed, so he supposes the same is true for it.
“Orders, maybe…” he hums curiously at the idea. He's not sure what kind of order to give. He doesn't do that; he just follows the ones he's given. Being on the other side feels off-putting, and the unfamiliarity gnaws at his insides.
He's decided that this is definitely some kind of test. But he has no idea what the purpose of it all is, which makes it difficult to know how best to proceed.
“Do you talk?” It's as good a place as any to start, maybe.
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Date: 2025-02-24 11:00 pm (UTC)Things most people would miss, but not someone who is paying attention, not someone who is trained.
The Falcon almost says something. And then doesn't. Instead, it waits. It was asked a question. A question is not an order. It does not speak - but it could, if told to. It listens to its owner in forced obedience, with a mind that hungers for input and is restricted by Hydra conditioning.
For a moment, it just stares up at the Soldier. Then, after a moment, very reluctantly and hesitantly, it nods. Brief. Curt. It understands the question. It responds in the affirmative, much as it can without further prompting.
It doesn't stop looking up at the Soldier.
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Date: 2025-02-25 12:18 pm (UTC)“Tell me your name.” If it has one. Or maybe all it knows is its title, like he does. Names aren’t necessary for things like them. The Soldier had learned that lesson a long time ago, and he wonders if his pet already does, too.
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Date: 2025-02-25 12:26 pm (UTC)It tilts its head a little at the order, parsing the implications of it. There's an intelligence there, in those dark eyes, tucked under the brainwashing, the imprinting.
"Hydra designation: Red Falcon." It hesitates, swallows. Then adds: "Or what you call me, sir. Master?" It hasn't been given a proper way to address its owner, forced to stab in the dark.
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Date: 2025-02-25 02:18 pm (UTC)He can almost see the gears turning through those eyes, and he thinks maybe he likes the way they look in the light, in as much as the Soldier actually likes anything.
Red Falcon. He nods a little, but there’s something off-putting in being called either sir or master. He wrinkles his nose at the designation. No, that won’t do. He’ll have to find something else.
He doesn’t have a name, but he has plenty of titles: The Winter Soldier. Asset. Weapon. None of them really feel like names the way Falcon somehow feels like one, though. Or maybe it’s just because it was the first thing he heard his pet referred to as that makes it seem more like a name, somehow?
Still. He doesn’t want his pet calling him those vile options. And he doesn’t much want it to call him by the things his handlers call him either. He thinks for a moment, trying to decide what other choices there might be. Finally, he settles on, “Call me V,” he didn’t have any strong connection to it, but there was a period of time when he went by Vronsky, per his handler’s insistences. This seemed a good enough approximation to a name his pet could use for him.
Somewhere distantly, notes are being made about the choice The Winter Soldier has made in the matter of names. Theories might spring forth about it later when these notes are poured over for observation and discussion; why has he chosen that specific former alias? Did he told some connection to it, somehow? Did he often think of himself as any number of the names he’d been given during recon missions of the past? Speculation will continue.
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Date: 2025-02-25 02:28 pm (UTC)It stays in its position though. Stays attentive. Watching the Soldier - waiting. It is hard-wired to follow the Soldier's directions, to obey him. Like a loyal pet.
If the Soldier walked away without instructions, the Falcon would stay where it is, and it would keep waiting until it starved to death or was handled by Hydra, otherwise.
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Date: 2025-02-25 04:43 pm (UTC)While Falcon stands at attention for him, The Soldier moves in a slow circle around him, pausing to stand behind it. He cants his head to one side as he inspects the strong lines that run along it's back. Curiously, he reaches out to run his fingers across those slat-like... bones? No, bones don't sound like scraping metal. But, then... what are they?
"Explain your enhancements."
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Date: 2025-02-25 04:51 pm (UTC)It holds still at the inspection, though there's a faint tremor in its back muscles as the Soldier touches the metal lines.
"Wings. Metal and carbon fibre. Retractable."
They hurt. Like the Soldier, the Falcon is constantly in pain, but does not speak of this. The alterations made to its body are horrific, and yet beautifully weaponized.
The Soldier will see those metal slats opening, and thin sheets of metal unfurling from them, moving against one another and unfurling into impressive metal wings. They furl out to their full wing span, moving and twitching almost like actual bird wings. At their full extension, sharp metal protrusions are visible along the edges of those wings, too.
They're sharp enough to cut flesh.
The implication here is clear, of course - the Falcon is designed to fly on those wings. The Falcon could weaponize those wings.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-25 06:45 pm (UTC)"Retractable?" he echoes, tone all curious wonder. He doesn't even have to command the Falcon to show him, it already anticipates that demand and complies before the words even get out of his mouth. An eager puppy showing its owner a trick.
He watches in awe as the wings unfurl, shifting, twitching, almost alive in their movement. The span is wide, and it's clear these are not just adornments or aesthetics- they're practical, built to be used, to be weaponized. The Soldier thinks about the smooth grace when the Falcon rose to its feet at his command. He takes in these terrible, beautiful wings and suddenly, he wants to see it in action.
"Impressive," he murmurs, reaching up to carefully run a thumb across one of those blade-sharp wings; he doesn't cut himself, but it's clear just how easily he could if he wasn't smarter about knives than he is. "They support you in the air completely?" His mind is turning over so many scenarios now, and there is a sort of giddy expression in his storm-blue eyes. "Show me."
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Date: 2025-02-25 08:09 pm (UTC)Looking down to the Winter Soldier, waiting for the next command, eyes alight. It's not joy; the Falcon isn't programmed to feel much of anything like that. But up there, moving through the air, the Falcon comes alive in a different way than when standing still on the ground.
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Date: 2025-02-25 11:18 pm (UTC)Awe and amazement break open across his face and the little air show he gets actually brings what might be the closest thing to a smile that his graced his features in decdades. The barest hint of one corner of his mouth just scantly lifted up.
"Wasn't expecting thrusters," he admits, his eyes tracking his pet closely. "Is there anything else I should know about?" He wants to know all the ins and outs, all the innerworkings of this new toy he's been presented.
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Date: 2025-02-25 11:29 pm (UTC)It's shorter by only an inch or two, and it looks up at the Winter Soldier with a shrewd glint in its eyes. An eagerness shines in there. It wants to talk, wants to tell the Winter Soldier. Wants to share all it knows.
"Speak?" It asks, careful and hesitant. Then, after a moment: "Permission to speak, V?"
It wants to share. It needs to be told to.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-25 11:52 pm (UTC)And then there’s a snap of the Falcon’s wings, and it’s gliding gently back to the ground—
In that same moment, he feels the air rush back to his lungs. He’d been holding his breath without even noticing. A cold sweat is slick across the back of his neck and he swallows, hard.
He’d doesn’t have time to dwell on whatever he had felt watching his avian companion plummet to the ground because now it’s in his space again. Those honey eyes gleaming bright and eager.
“Permission granted.”
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Date: 2025-02-26 12:07 am (UTC)As it speaks, it never stops looking at the Winter Soldier. Its voice drops, though, low enough to make its report almost intimate. It inches closer, too, tucking itself against the Soldier, warm skin on harsh metal and leather.
It recites facts about itself that the Winter Soldier would expect to hear. And then there are things that it shouldn't know about itself, conclusions it has drawn based on what it knows and discovered.
The Falcon's mind is sharp, eager. The Falcon's mind is blank. It is mechanically and cybernetically enhanced, but it has no serum. It is combat trained, but it does not know where from. It has already accidentally decapitated or otherwise fatally maimed five handlers on its first activation while blindfolded.
It has little concept of self, beyond technical data. It clearly wants the Winter Soldier to know all that it knows, and all it believes to know, too.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 06:21 pm (UTC)The little shift as his pet gives its report is unexpected enough to make him go rigid, not sure how to take the way it seems to want to be closer. When he realizes it is not in some sly effort to attack or otherwise harm him– this is all still so new, and there is no way for him to know what kind of programming the avian-man might have– he almost relaxes. As much as the Soldier ever is truly relaxed around anything or anyone.
For a beat or two too long, he's not sure what to say after the speech is over. And then, awkwardly, slowly, he says, "Good boy."
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 06:28 pm (UTC)"For you, V."
It's at the Winter Soldier's beck and call, at his disposal. It will be the Winter Soldier's good boy. It will be good for him, to him, with him. So it stays there, in his personal space. Watching. Waiting. Close enough to be almost nuzzling against him. Like a pet, content to be close to its owner.
Somewhere in an observation room, Alexander Pierce is very pleased with how the imprinting went. What it reveals, about the Falcon and the Winter Soldier.
How it can be used to keep the Winter Soldier at heel better.
The Falcon is unaware of this. Its wings tuck in, folding back inside of his body with the devastating sound of razor sharp metal on metal.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 07:31 pm (UTC)The Soldier has never had a pet, or not one he remembers anyway, and he doesn't really know what else to do in this instance. The praise was good, it was received well, and now... he's at a loss.
He winces a little at the sudden sharp metallic slick of the wings going back into place. Curious, he places a hand very briefly on the Falcon's shoulder, almost a silent command to stay there, as he circles around him once more. Looking to see where the wings disappeared into his back, fingers smoothing against his shoulderblades again while he inspects to see if it wounds him at all when he retracts them once more.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 07:37 pm (UTC)But like the Winter Soldier, the Falcon has no right nor room to complain about this. It's just a normal part of its state of existence.
It doesn't shy away from the touch, though. Just lets the Winter Soldier do what he wants.
Those wings are sharp. Weapons that can tear through flesh and hack away at bones. The Falcon's own flesh is not spared that discomfort.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 07:50 pm (UTC)Suddenly, he acknowledges their observers, without looking up– he wouldn't know in which direction to do so, anyway, and he's still inspecting the wounds on his pet's back. "I'll need to keep this clean... antiseptic or something else the medics deem appropriate?" That does seem like a pretty important part of having a pet; they need to not only be trained, but kept well, and in good condition.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 08:26 pm (UTC)Collar and leash. A muzzle. Cuffs. The falconry hood to blind the bird.
A cattle prod. A cane.
The tools for fixing, the tools for discipline, the tools of inflicting hurt.
Reward, training and punishment.
There are no instructions, only implications. Only offers.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 09:33 pm (UTC)The Soldier lays each of the items out to inspect properly, frowning thoughtfully at a few of them. He could immediately see what each tool might be used for, but some of it... makes something squirm under his skin; it's a strange feeling, one he doesn't have a name for. He doesn't like the way it sits heavy in his chest, so he chooses to forget about it. Packed away in some box in his mind, unlabeled and ready to be ignored.
For now, his focus pulls toward the medical items, and he gathers what he needs to clean the wounds at the Falcon's shoulders. He isn't... careful about it, exactly. Not purposefully rough, but not really looking to tiptoe around the job, either. He drops some antiseptic on a gauze pad, which he swipes over the wounds before he bandages it. He won't bother stitching it all closed again; there's no point; the next time the wings unfold, they would simply break anyway. His main focus is simply making sure no infection affects his pet.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 09:58 pm (UTC)And when he's done, it glances over its shoulder. Seeks eye contact.
"Thank you, V."
Quiet and soft. Earnest. It might be the first time in the Soldier's limited memory that any living being has thanked him like this. The Falcon understands it was just cared for, and is appreciative of that. Is grateful for any shred for care from the man it has imprinted on.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 10:19 pm (UTC)Still.
He says, "...you're welcome," just as whisper-quiet as the Falcon's words had been, almost like they were sharing some kind of secret. The words taste strange on his tongue, feel misshapen somehow, like they don't quite fit inside his mouth.
He cants his head a little to one side and, an idea striking suddenly, he speaks again, more to their observers than his companion, voice at a regular pitch again, "We need to get you clothes," his eyes drop toward where that drawer had appeared minutes ago- would they provide that, too?
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 10:34 pm (UTC)That suitcase contains... clothes, by definition. They range from what could politely be called fetish gear - clothes that are clearly sexual in nature, with belts in decorative places and more skin showing than anything. There are some normal clothes, too, and then there's light tac gear, the kind the Soldier wears in the field.
It clearly is another choice, about the use the Soldier wishes to make of his pet. Will it be a toy, a person, a weapon?
There are right and wrong answers, of course, like in all things.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-26 11:13 pm (UTC)"Put them on." A direct order, simple and to the point. It isn't even a modesty issue, the Soldier has no need for such things, it's practicality over everything else. There's no sense in his bird being deprived of basic garments.
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Date: 2025-02-27 09:36 pm (UTC)"V..."
The voice a soft whine. The Falcon reaches over its shoulder, and the problem is easily visible. Hydra wants to test the Soldier's patience for menial things here - the clothes do not have slits for the wings.
It's as if somebody is asking whether the Soldier is growing tired of having to care for its pet yet.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-27 10:39 pm (UTC)He considers it for a moment and in the end he simply moves around behind his pet, slipping one of the many knives he has on his person out of its place– it's only now, that he's found a use for a weapon, even if not it's typical or intended one, that he realizes he was never pat down, never needed to hand over any of his accoutrements. "Don't move," he commands, and already he's reasonably sure he doesn't have to worry about that, the second he gives his avian companion any command or order it simply follows it without thought or argument at all.
It only takes the Soldier a moment to cut through the fabric, blade sharper than it would ever need to be for such a feat; he tries to make sure it will be wide enough when Falcon unfurls those great, mechanical wings that nothing will get caught and ripped- it would do them no good to bother with it at all if every time he needed to go airborne, everything simply got shredded in the process.
"Better?" he asks curiously, tilting his head slightly. It was the easiest solution, but that didn't mean it was the right one.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-28 12:24 am (UTC)Alexander Pierce walks in.
"You've had some time to acquaint yourself with your pet."
He stares at the Winter Soldier. Assessing him, measuring him.
"Tell me what you make of it."
He phrases it almost politely, but there's a steel clad order in those words. Pierce waits for the answer like a vulture, circling its slowly perishing prey.
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Date: 2025-02-28 08:57 am (UTC)Pierce is looking for a certain answer, something specific and decisive. But he isn't sure what the right one is. All he can do is answer completely honestly.
"...I would like to keep him." It feels... strange to say. Having his own opinion about things is... new. And more difficult to manage than he likes. "If that would be permitted... sir."
no subject
Date: 2025-02-28 11:10 am (UTC)"'Him'? My, you've grown attached to it fast."
Pierce circles them. Moves around the Falcon, looks it up and down like a piece of meat - would have likely done the same were the Falcon still naked. After a moment, Pierce steps up behind the Falcon. Curls his fingers around its shoulders. The Falcon is not much shorter than the Winter Soldier, and it is strong - yet somehow, here it looks small. It looks to the Soldier for guidance, for instructions.
Pierce meanwhile smirks.
"This is not a person. It is devoted because it imprinted on you. Its loyalty and adoration are entirely contingent on nothing... disrupting that."
no subject
Date: 2025-02-28 03:42 pm (UTC)He isn’t wrong in that assessment, though; there’s Soldier has attached quite quickly to his pet. Surely, his lack of interaction with other… living beings has something to do with that. He’s always so isolated… it’s… nice to have some…thing to take care of.
The Falcon will find all of V’s attention solely on Pierce. It’s how it has always been, he’s been punished for even a simple stray glance when the other man is in the room. The Falcon listens to the Soldier, but his owner answers to others.
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
no subject
Date: 2025-03-01 02:58 am (UTC)It cannot.
It was not given any orders other than to stand still right there.
Pierce narrows his eyes, meanwhile.
"Permission granted. Careful what you do with it."
it’s not whatever I forgot but I had to make it move forward lmao
Date: 2025-03-01 05:51 pm (UTC)If it’s dissent or anything else that Pierce expects, he’ll be pleased to find that is nowhere near the Soldier’s mind. The idea of commanding the Falcon in any way with Pierce in the room isn’t on the table.
“I…appreciate the gift of this pet. I would like to keep it, under whatever conditions you deem appropriate, sir.”
He knows he can’t seem too eager, even though some part of him is, because that would be the quickest way for Pierce to take the Falcon away. But if he can edge along the line between that eagerness and something more practical, he might be allowed to keep his avian companion.
“The Falcon’s agility and ability to move freely in the air would prove useful on missions.”
no subject
Date: 2025-03-03 03:25 am (UTC)"You realize, of course, that it has no serum. You will be responsible to train it, and keep it on a leash in the field. A tight leash, Soldat. And if it takes a bullet, do not come complaining to me that your pet perished. Authorization for Falcon's combat use is granted. You have full access to the facility for the purpose of training it. Requisitions will help you assemble its gear."
Pierce steps closer to the Soldier.
"Make sure to keep your pet in line. Its mistakes in the field are you mistakes. You will be punished for its transgressions."
He smiles, cold and expectant, and then walks away, leaving the Soldier with its pet once more.