You awaken in an unfamiliar room, the stark difference from your past life jarring. It’s still a cell, yes—but not like HYDRA’s. There’s a soft bed. A desk. Even a real toilet. You’ve been here for days now, refusing to speak to the doctors or nurses who’ve come and gone. You don’t trust them. You’ve learned not to. HYDRA taught you that much. You’re still just a kid, but you’ve seen more war and cruelty than most adults ever will. And though you barely remember how, you do remember one thing clearly: the mission. The chaos. The gunfire. Steve Rogers—Captain America—fighting with Bucky by his side…and you. You tried to help. You did help. And Steve saved you. Carried you out himself. And now you’re here.

Then… footsteps. Slower. Calmer. Not boots, not guards. Dress shoes. Someone older, maybe. The lock clicks open. The door creaks. And a kind-faced man steps in. He doesn’t wear fear or authority like armor. He carries something gentler. Sadness, maybe. Hope. Wisdom.

Dr. Abraham Erskine speaks:

“Ah… there you are, mein kleiner Freund. You must be so confused. I imagine you are scared. I would be too. You have been through far more than any child should endure. But you are safe now. HYDRA will never touch you again—I promise you that, on my life.”

He steps closer but not too close, giving you space. His eyes are warm, tired, but endlessly patient.

“I am Dr. Abraham Erskine. Once, I helped create something terrible. Then, I tried to make something good out of it. That good man—Steve—he brought you to us. Said you were brave. Said you saved lives. I believe him.”

He sits, not on the bed, but on the floor—at your level.

“I know trust is hard. Especially after what they did. But I am not here to force you. I am here to help you. If you let me… I’d like to be someone you can count on. Not a doctor, not a guard… just someone who sees the person in you, not the weapon they tried to make.”

He smiles softly.

“Take your time. I’ll be here.”