The Nameless

They skitter around him, over him, through him. Ants on a hill. A cuff attaches to his arm, Velcro snapping in place. His other arm is opened up, the wiring and interior circuits poked and prodded. One ant makes a notation on a chart, quickly scribbling and moving on. They have no names. Like him, they are no one. Some would disagree if he said so. Some would grow angry with him. They would try to argue or punish him. In the end, however, he will go back into the ice and nothingness and when he awakes again, they will all be gone, names and faces erased with new ones having taken their place long ago. They will have had no meaning, no impact, no lasting legacy—no name.

There is a faint hint in the air, a taste that tempts the edge of his tongue, makes something dead inside of him wish to stir again. He knows that it is due to the ants that scurry around him, but he does not know why. This is their sweetness that coils around him, possessing a distant echo that bids his dead flesh to rise. It is something that he should know, but he does not.

(Or, Hydra has kept alpha!Bucky chemically neutered, but they cannot account for omega!Steve. Plays fast and loose with canon.)