Back to Barnes // the winter soldier

3: dirty

     I waltzed through the doors to the cell, dropping another unorganized cardboard box on the floor. Unlike last time, it wasn't another set of chains. The current ones had lasted just fine even though yes, they left gnarly marks on his flesh wrist. No, this box held slightly less entertaining things.

The thud of the box didn't wake him up. I'm honestly sure it was the first time he'd slept since he'd been in SHIELDs care for almost two weeks. Just goes to show you can only go so long, even if you're a master assassin.

I got on one knee and dug through the box, sorting out what I'd need in order to fulfill Fury's (Steve's) orders. I grabbed a brush, stood up, ducked under a chain, and stood behind him, unsure of exactly what to do.

His head hung, legs sprawled out in front of him and hair draped over his face. It was so dirty. My hands itched just looking at the sweaty mop. I shook my head, sighing. He barely snored, meaning no noise ever came from him. It made sense. I mean, stealthy little men can't make noise, now can they?

I decided that it was either now or in three hours when I'd rather be in my room, and I wasn't going to wait that long, so I began running the brush through his hair. So tangled, so matted. Apparently Hydra doesn't own brushes. I tugged my way through it ungracefully, but finally got it through. Once finished, I went back to the box and pulled out my personal dry shampoo. Fury said no showers yet, but I wasn't going to live with that smell. I stood up and read the label, catching slow movement to my right. I looked up briefly, then back down at the can.

"You awake?" I asked, exhaling.

He pursed his lips and nodded, knitting his eyebrows together. "What are you doing?"

I shook the bottle, showing him. "Cleaning your astonishingly disgusting hair."

He yawned, closing his eyes. I laughed.

"Not gonna attempt to murder me, Winter?" I ducked back under the chain and stood behind him, waiting for a tantrum. "Nope? Nothing?"

"I'm tired." He replied, shaking his head.

"That's what happens when you don't eat or sleep for twelve days," I stated, spraying the solution on his hair. He coughed raucously, trying to bury his nose in his bare arm.

"What are you doing?" He asked again, voice muffled by his arm.

"Cleaning you up. Captain Rogers believes you deserve to be treated better than a ripped t-shirt, Kevlar pants and combat boots." I exhaled sharply, then muttered the last part under my breath. "I think he's wrong, but ... " I took the brush back in my hands and ran it through his now oil-free and untangled hair.

"Who's Captain Rogers?" He asked, finally bringing his head up so I could work with his hair.

I took the band from my wrist and tied his hair atop his head. "Steve Rogers- Or, oh."

I watched the captive stiffen. The muscles in his back and neck tensed. A look of almost overwhelming discomfort overtook his face but he tried to push it down. Damnit. Shit. Wasn't supposed to mention his name.

Stepping back, I nodded. "Steve Rogers." I wasn't exactly sure what to say.

"Where is he?" He barked, straining against his chains.

"Uh-uh. No. You're not going to kill him, either." I placed a hand on his shoulder, oddly soothed by the cold metal.

He settled only the slightest. "I have to!"

I removed my hand, walking back to the box. I picked up a bag of facial wipes and stood straight again. "You don't. What makes you think that?" Wasn't he wiped? Fury said he was wiped. I didn't agree to deal with him if he wasn't wiped.