#andywrites

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The last thing David remembered before the darkness he was surrounded by and the ringing in his ears is that he had turned his back on Crystal for just a moment. He didn’t even hit her that hard, she always had a habit of being so dramatic about everything.

He had turned for just a second, and she hit him in the back of his head. With what? He doesn’t know. It was something blunt. Of course she’d do this, she was always such a crazy bitch. And once upon a time, he actually found that attractive about her.

And as the ringing in his ears start to subside, he could hear the voices of…girls? His eyes start to dart around where he is — judging by the lights he could vaguely see over the fabric over his eyes, and the carpet of the cramped space of where he lied in a fetal position (tied up at that? what the hell?? His wrists and ankles were zip tied before the rest of his body was tied down in harsh rope and his mouth was duct taped—what the fuck was this?) he could guess it was the back of a trunk.

Did Crystal seriously throw him in the back of a trunk? Crystal of all people? Did she actually just kidnap him?

Before he could even began to ask more questions and even ponder a way to get out, the trunk door open and the blindfold that shrouded his vision was pulled up and he was met a girl. Not Crystal. A girl with white hair and dark roots in a ponytail, monolid wide eyes and heart shaped sunglasses and way too many bright colors for him to be subjected to. She looked just as surprised to see him as he was as freaked out to see her.

“Oh. You’re awake.” She says, before turning her head past the trunk, “Edith! He’s awake!” And like clockwork, he heard boots against gravel, and for a minute — he was so in shock of not only Crystal’s audacity but the lengths she would go that he didn’t even begin to struggle. Not at first. But as soon as the next girl came — all dark hair in a perfect braid, turtlenecks and sweater vests and trench coats and a detached curiosity in her eye — he started to pull at his wrists and struggle against the duct tape.

That’s when the white-haired girl had stopped him, stilling him with a rather tight hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. It’s pointless, anyway.” Her voice was casual despite the circumstances they were in as she pulled her hand away, not very subtly wiping it down on her turtleneck. “That rope is very, very strong. My grandfather used to use it to tie down cows, for slaughter.”

The girl with the braid, (whom he could assume was Edith), crossed her arms. “Hello there.” Her voice was posh, a clipped British accent. “Judging by your unseemingly face, I can only assume you must very confused. But that is alright. Because in around 30 minutes, if Charlotte would stop dallying,” Her voice went louder, eyes going to someone behind her before turning back to David, “That is going to be the least of your problems.”

It was then David picked up on the sound far, far in front of him. The rhythmic sound of a shovel hitting the ground.

“Come along, Niko,” Edith said, holding out a hand, that the white-haired girl (Niko?) took with a smile. And David didn’t miss the very pointed looks of disgust they both gave him before walking away together, before he heard more footsteps and another girl walked into his line of sight before he could even begin to see what was going on.

“Hello, mate.” This girl had a bit more shades of brown to her skin, but was still light in the headlights of the car. Her hair was curly, but almost buzzed on both sides — a grown out mohawk. She wore a red polo shirt, golden chain gleaming in the light with a dark pleated skirt and fishnets and knee socks. Her hands and face were smudged with dirt, and her smile was anything but welcoming.

“You know, I told Crystal that this was a bad idea. I didn’t like the idea of her going near you. Since you like to roughhouse girls. I still don’t. But honestly? This went about way better than I expected. Here I was thinking I’d have to kill you” She said with a soft chuckle, leaning on the side of the trunk. “I never planned on spending my time doing this for my Saturday night but — hey, the things we do for friends, am I right?”

Then she laughed, almost like she forgot something. “Sorry. Why I am talking to you about this? Given what a proper cunt I’ve heard you to be, I would assume you don’t have any friends.” Then, her smile dropped. The air got colder. Would David be a pussy to say that the first time he actually experiences fear is with that look in that girl’s eyes? Or her tone as she says, “And you never will.”

She got closer, hands curling around where she was just leaning casually, “You made a big mistake fucking with Crystal. You made even bigger one by thinking that she or us wouldn’t do anything about it. But that’s alright. Because tonight? We’re making it right again.”

“Charlotte!” A voice called (he knows that voice? the fear melts to pure hatred as he hears that fucking voice) and the girl turned, “It’s ready now.” Charlotte gave one last look to him, scoffed and stepped aside. And then, one by one — they all lined up. Charlotte, Edith, Niko and then, Crystal in the middle of them with a smile. David remembers seeing that smile as she got a kick out of telling someone bad news or when she had done something particularly devious.

It’s never funny, when the shoes on the other foot.

She leaned down — in nothing but an off-shoulder purple lace shirt, dark jeans and a black overcoat with fur. Her hair done in almost a lazy updo bun, brown roots melting to ginger hair. “Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen,” Crystal began, “We are gonna to put you in a hole over there,” She pointed behind her, and David say the hole and the four shovels near it, “Over there. Freshly dug, just for you. And once we get done burying you, I’m gonna plant some flowers on top of your grave and me and my friends gonna go to bed before our curfew starts. Maybe even have a celebratory drinking session.”

Right. She was in boarding school, her parents sent her. Some shit about her needing to be “set right” so they sent her to a school for troubled girls. The same girls she somehow managed to befriend and convince to bury him in a goddamn hole — does nobody here see how insane that sounds?

“You know, if reincarnation is real, maybe you should be born as a mouse in your next life.” Niko said, almost like it was an after thought—like she was pondering the possibility, “Since you like to put your shit everywhere.”

That sparked smiles and even an outright laugh from Charlotte, as David watched with wide eyes. Full of disbelief, anger, and fear. Oh, so much fear. Crystal almost forgot why she used to get a kick out of this in the first place, especially in the instance this is.

“I told you, David,” She said sweetly, “I didn’t need to kill you when I could just bury you. And yeah, maybe this is excessive and takes a little more planning and effort but — it’s way more fun.” Crystal giggled as she leaned closer and said, “You of all people should know about that. Okay?” Her voice took on a rougher tone, “Say hi to my grandma for me. See you in the next life, asshole.” The blindfold was sharply pulled back on him. Then, darkness.

Even between burying an actively wiggling 6’2 man and still managing to make it in time for dorm room check-ins, the janitor that roamed outside did notice a more peculiar patch of flowers near the wooded area. Black roses and Black Eyed Susans, side by side, contrasting against the fallen leaves and wildflowers and weeds that typically grew along that area.

But in St. Lilith’s School for Troubled Girls, women like her have seen stranger things. And even more puzzling and weird girls. She just clicks her tongue, sigh and continue with picking up the trash along the ground.

—

Also, I was listening to Intro ||| by NF while I wrote this. I love girls getting revenge. I love women being batshit insane. I missed writing drabbles for niche AU’s so much. If you guys want more content like this, just lmk!

The chair was cold. It always was. It bit into his back like steel fangs, locking him into place as the harsh, sterile light illuminated his face. His breaths were shallow, uneven. The edges of his vision blurred with pain, but the memory was there—faint, fleeting, like smoke slipping through his fingers.

A face. Blonde hair. A shield. Steve.

Bucky—no, The Winter Soldier, he corrected himself—stared at the floor as Dreykov’s polished shoes clicked against the concrete. The sound was sharp, purposeful. It filled the suffocating silence between his labored breaths. His hands were right behind his back, face devoid of warmth completely.

“Good. You’re awake,” Dreykov said, his tone crisp and clinical. “Do you remember you place?” Not even a moment after, he’s already telling the scientists to prep him. Wipe. To get him ready for the pain, the electricity, the loss of a conscious.

That was the cruelty of those above you. Do you remember your place? For a second, the soldier didn’t respond. He knew the answer they wanted: I am the Winter Soldier. I am also called The Asset. I have no place outside of a mission.

He blinked against the haze in his mind, searching for something, anything, to anchor himself. That name, it sounded like nickname. The tone. But, it could be an actual name. The Winter Soldier would take it gladly, opposed to the title he has been given. But, he hasn’t known anything else. Taking that name, not knowing what it’s associated with — it’s scary. And it had to show on his face because the soldier felt the atmosphere shift and saw the cruel eyes of everyone around him sharpen like hawks.

“Did you hear me?” Dreykov asks again, taking a step closer. His voice harsher. “You are The Winter Soldier. Your place is nothing else but that. Do you understand?”

The Asset lifted his head, his jaw tight. His voice was hoarse from misuse, but that was the least of his problems and it came out low and raspy. “What if I don’t want that place?” He asked, genuinely. Like a kid asking a parent why they have to clean. “What if…I’m just me?”

Dreykov’s eyes glinted with amusement but his expression remained stern and cold as ice. He tilted his head slightly. “Just you? A man doesn’t have more than 50 kills on his head. But,” The Russian general began, “A soldier knows their mission, and they complete it. A soldier can kill in a war. If someone’s in your way, you crush them. Leave them to die. That is your place, your duty.”

The Winter Soldier’s eyes darkened. His voice dropped, laced with a bitter edge. “Well, I guess if I hesitate more, I won’t be of use. What’s stopping you from crushing me too? Go ahead.” He leaned forward as much as the restraints would allow, his gaze piercing through Dreykov like a blade. “I really wouldn’t mind.”

For a moment, there was complete silence and The Asset registered what he just did. The expression on Dreykov’s face didn’t falter, but the hands behind his back tightened ever so slightly. His gaze turned to steel, and for a moment, a small part of The Winter’s Soldier was worried Dreykov might hit him. He could take it. It probably wouldn’t hurt that much. He’s been shocked, stabbed, shot, waterboarded, and learned quickly people can do far worst things than hurt you physically. It didn’t stop that irrational fear though.

But then he let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Fine.” Dreykov said, signaling to scientists to with a wave of his hand. “Release him.”

The Asset blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. The scientist hesitated but obeyed nonetheless. The restraints hissed as they unlocked, the weight lifting from The Winter Soldier’s wrists and arms. He didn’t move immediately, warily looking at the restraints come unloose like a caveman who discovered fire. With equal fascination and fear.

“I’ll shut my mouth. I’ll stop protecting you and I’ll let you go,” Dreykov continued, his voice filled with mock benevolence. “Is that good enough for you? Would that be good for you?”

Before the soldier could respond, Dreykov’s hand shot out, gripping The Asset’s chin with cruel precision, forcing him to meet his gaze. The Winter Soldier’s fists clenched, the knuckles of his human arm whitening, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

"I’ll personally deliver you to your precious Captain America." Dreykov glare was dark and cutting as he sneered. "Do you honestly believe he cares for you? The courts, the government—they would tear you to shreds.“

The Asset barely flinched, but the Russian general could see that flicker of fear in his eyes at that possibility. His jaw clenching, and both firsts that trembled so subtly.

He released The Winter Soldier’s chin with a shove, his movements growing more aggressive as he took a step back and spread his arms in mock generosity. "Would that please you, soldier? Because anything The Winter Soldier wants." He offered a mock bow, his tone dripping with disdain and sarcasm.

The soldier’s head began to spin, each word sinking deeper and deeper. They were letting him leave. Dreykov was nowhere near the door, he could just walk out. Without his restraints, he could tear this entire building apart if he wanted. Burn it all to hell, never look back.

But what if — what if they were right? If he left, what then? Who does he have to turn to? Was he just a weapon — an extension of Hydra, incapable of surviving without them? It wasn’t an order he was given, it was a choice. An open door, unarmed guards and a promise of freedom. And that scared The Asset more than anything.

The scientists and the guards voices joined, adding their own comments, agreeing with each other.

“He wouldn’t last a day out there. Does he even know how to function without orders?”

“Who would take you in? The Avengers? They’d see you as a monster, nothing more.”

“No one will love you like we have. No one will put up with your mistakes like we have. You’re a lot of work, you know.”

“You’re clumsy and impulsive. You can’t even get through a mission without guidance. Out there, on your own? You’d never survive.”

“We gave you purposely and stability? Who else would do that? Who else even wants to?”

They’re right. As much as he hated to say, they were right. Who else could care about him? Who else would? He was too much work, he couldn’t even do the simplest task of killing two Avengers. What was he, if not The Winter Soldier? The Asset? At least his work is appreciated here, at least he gets a “well done, soldier.” when someone’s blood is on his hands? Shouldn’t that be enough? Everything grew louder, like an unrelenting storm.

“You’re nothing without us.”

“He’s weak and dependent.”

“You’ll never be anything more than a soldier.”

“All you know is how to destroy.”

“I give him three days. Tops.”

Dreykov leaned over into his space, hands resting on the armrests of the chair. His eyes bore into him behind those glasses, as he said “You don’t have a place in the world. Even if you ever did, you’d never be able to go back.”

The weight of their voices pressed down on him, each word cutting deeper, each accusation twisting like a knife. The Asset’s breaths quickened, his chest heaving as the walls seemed to close in around him. Tears brimmed in his eyes, his throat seemed to close up as everything seemed louder and louder.

No one could care. No one would care.

The faces of his targets flashed before his eyes—so many lives, so much blood on his hands. And then, one face. Blue eyes, soft and full of something he couldn’t name. Bucky. That’s what the man had called him. Was that who he used to be? Was that even real? What if there was nothing for him out there? What if this was all he was?

He shook his head violently, trying to drown out the noise, the memories, the doubts. “STOP!” he screamed, his voice raw, breaking. His head dropped, his shoulders shaking. "Just — just wipe me already.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the echo of his plea hanging in the air. A cruel smile came across Dreykov’s face, faint and triumphant. He signaled to the scientists, who hurried to restrain Bucky again.

As the chair’s restraints locked into place once more — two on his human arm, one of the bionic one, the familiar hiss of machinery filled the room. The Winter Soldier slumped, his energy drained, his spirit crushed. He opened his mouth to receive the mouth guard, the familiar taste of rubber and plastic sickeningly seemed comforting.

Maybe this time, he thought, they’d erase everything. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t remember. Maybe this time, he’d finally be the Winter Soldier they wanted.

“You’ll understand this very soon.” Dreykov said, and the pain started, the screams were ripped out of his throat before he could stop them but it felt familiar. It had to be better, compared to whatever could happen out there. It’s too late to go back, he knows that. So why even bother?

And mercifully, when it felt like he wasn’t being eaten by electricity anymore — it all went to black.

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I was listening to “Good For You” in the Dear Evan Hansan musical while I wrote this. I may be too sad, but hey, I love any opportunity to write manipulation and project on a character. Anyways, if you want more of this content, just lemme know!