When he woke, it was like it always was. The shock of coming out of his cryostasis chamber didn't disappear immediately, though he was always frustrated by how long it took to get back to normal, not knowing if the repeated freezings were damaging his brain or body. He was too weak to move still, he couldn't stand or do much more than wait for someone to come drag him somewhere else. It took him a while off the ice before he regained his strength and faculties, something which seemed to frustrate the men that controlled him, or the ones who were paying for him to kill who he needed to. He didn't know if it was going to be longer or shorter than usual this time, though he hoped for the latter, it bothered him to feel so helpless, more so than he remembered feeling in the past, though he didn't entirely know why.

"They want him moved now."

"He can't even hold his head up."

"He doesn't need to for this."

His eyes parted and everything was blurred, but his hearing was sharp enough to pick up that there were three men in the room with him, and he knew basically where they were. Something was wrong with their voices, though, they didn't sound right. Something about how they were speaking, they were speaking Russian, but it wasn't right, it was distorted somehow. The feeling of dread was growing as two of the men moved to drag him out of the cryo chamber, wrapping his nearly limp arms over their shoulders to lift him up and out. He knew he was about to get wiped, that always came next, and it was painful being strapped down to that device only to have his mind and memories decimated by blasts of electricity. That was likely where the fear deep in his stomach was coming from, no amount of times on that thing were going to make it easier on him.

"Not that way. This way."

He felt himself being dragged away from the chamber, his eyes flickering around to look around as he tried to focus on something familiar, anything that would wake his sight up. They were going through a door now, he could hear it creak on it's hinges, it wasn't a sound he remembered in the past, maybe he'd shut it out, or it had been another memory taken from him. He never forgot the Memory Suppressing Machine, though. As many times as they'd used it, he remembered what was coming after he woke up. That had to explain the fear that was slowly taking him over, but he didn't remember feeling like that before. He stared forward, waiting to emerge from the tunnel into the familiar light of the room where he was about to be put through agonizing pain, but the corridor didn't end where it should, they were still in the dark. And there were voices up ahead, more than he could count at the moment.

"There he is, fashionably late." The others chuckled at that man's joke, he spoke like the guards too. Something really wasn't right, his brain was trying to tell him something. He wasn't sure if he was remembering what the man said correctly, it was all jumbled in his head, and the more he tried to remember, the more it slipped away.

It wasn't English, was it?

"Take him to the table. Strap him down."

Table? Why was that sending such terror coursing through him? This wasn't the machine, this was something else, something his stomach was telling him was much worse. He just wanted to get out of here, he was going to listen to his instinct and get the fuck out of there. Weakly, he tried to get on his own feet, pull his arms away from the two men supporting him, but he wasn't ready to stand on his own just yet. He couldn't fight them, he was still helpless, but he'd only be so weak for so long, then he could try to break out, at least not make this easy on whoever was doing this. He'd never successfully stopped them from doing anything to him, but he'd never felt more desperate than he did now.

He could see something in front of him, it looked like a solid metal block from floor to his waist with parts extending from the top, his eyes only really able to see what they were when he got closer. There were metal and leather ties and loops that he could just barely make out, the straps thick and heavily were secured to the surface of the table, whilst the metal seemed to be built right into it. It was meant to hold something strong from many points, he knew it was meant for him now that he was standing over it. It wasn't the Memory Suppressing Machine, this was worse somehow, and he still didn't know why. They weren't going to give him answers if he tried to ask, though, he was a thing, not a person, and he had no rights over himself or what happened to him. He just had to shut up and do what he was told as always, there wasn't much fight in him to do anything but what he was asked.

Getting bent over roughly, his arms were restrained, first by a couple leather cuffs and then metal ones as his wrists, forearms, and above his elbows. Pushing his head down, the men put a heavy collar onto his neck, hooking it up to the table with thick metal cables attached to locks. At his feet, more shackles came forth from the metal table, binding him from ankle to knee so he couldn't begin to move at all. He still felt weak from coming out of his frozen chamber, and his confusion was keeping him complacent through all this. All he could do was face forward now, he couldn't even turn his head, the most he could do was look out his still blurred peripheral vision as his hands bound against the edges of the table.

His left hand, the metal one, he could feel something at the edge of the table with his index finger, a dent in the edge of the table. No, not a dent, more of a groove that got deeper as it came towards his hand, one his finger fit in perfectly. There were similar grooves next to it, one a little further to the left from the middle two, and as he spread his hand out, his fingers slipping into the furrows easily. Slowly closing his hand, he followed the depressions until his fingers settled in the deeper part of the indentation.

And then he remembered what this was.

"No...no…" he whispered, starting to tremble before he began to try to struggle out of his bonds, panic giving him more strength, his brain lifting out of the fog of being unfrozen now. He still couldn't see, he didn't know how many people were in the room around him, but he could hear enough voices, he could hear them speaking different languages, mumbling to each other low enough that he couldn't pick up what they were saying. He wanted to scream at them, tell them to stay the hell away from him, but before he could, a gag was secured around his face, the ball pressing past his lips silencing him. Crying out, his desperation muffled, as his heart ached in his chest, gripping the table in the grooves, where he had all the times before this one.

"Men, have your proof of payment out and ready, you're not taking your turn without it."

"Best money I've spent. Here you go."

"You know the rules. You all know the rules, men? Go ahead and mark him, pull his hair, whatever you want, just keep your hands off all the restraints. I have a sedative ready in case he gets too energetic."

"Leave the sedative, I like a bit of a fight."

His eyes were wide as he felt an icy hand wrap it's fingers around his heart, squeezing harder with each footstep he heard coming up behind him. He could barely think, every cell in his body wanted to rip off the table and beat these men to death as painfully as he could, but as much as he strained and fought, he couldn't break free from his shackles. He was still too weak, he needed more time and then maybe he could bust out of here, but he knew there was a sedative waiting for him the second he started making a scene. This wasn't how their soldier was supposed to behave, but then again, this wasn't a situation many soldiers found themselves in. He couldn't fight, he couldn't even move, and as he felt two hands roughly pull his pants down around his ankles, he made a desperate noise around the gag in his mouth, begging anyone in that room to step forward and do something to help him. They weren't there to save him, though, they were just like the man behind him, they were there for something more than that, their own turns with him.

Hydra's little whore.

"Now you fight all you want, I'll love making you regret it. Your ass is all mine."

Pleasedon'tlethimtouchmepleasedon'tlethimtouchmeohgoddon'tlethimtouchme….

"I'm going to enjoy making you bleed."

PLEASE!

He sat up with a gasp, his hand flying instinctually to cover his mouth before rushing out of the bed he shared with his husband to the adjoining bathroom, barely getting the door closed before he dropped to his knees and emptied his stomach into the toilet. Gasping between violent retches, he felt like he couldn't breathe, like he was drowning, his hands shaking so hard as they gripped the sides of the bowl that he could hear them beating rapidly against the porcelain. Falling back onto his ass, he continued to struggle to catch his breath, feeling like he was going to pass out if he didn't get more than the few gasps that he'd managed to get through. He couldn't even think, it was like he'd been shocked again, his brain felt empty of all thoughts except the last words he'd heard in his dream, and the memories that they unlocked.

Shaking all over, he weakly crawled over to the shower, dragging himself inside the stall and reaching up to the taps, turning only the cold one to full before he leaned back against the glass wall. Not bothering to remove the boxers and t-shirt he'd slept in, he didn't react as the freezing water began to rain down on him, his head slumped forward, eyes focused on the small black tiles that covered the floor. That dream, it hadn't been a dream, he remembered that now as clearly as he remembered everything else, and now that that door in his head was open, more and more memories of being strapped down to that table flooded out. It was if his mind was purging everything it struggled to hold back for so long, and tonight that dam broke, and Bucky felt like he was drowning.

It all seemed to bleed together, and all he could hear in his head were their voices telling him what they were going to do to him and exactly what he was to them. He could feel their hands, their mouths, on him, leaving their marks behind for someone else to add to later. He couldn't see the men, all he could do was stare forward, he could only see the flash of their cameras documenting what they paid good money for, a souvenir for later reference. He felt contaminated, filthy, and used, and as desperate as he was for the shower to start washing that away, the stains permeated deep into his skin, through his blood stream, just spreading through him until everything he and the people closest to him have done, that small garden of happiness just beginning to grow in his heart, burned and withered away into dust.

He wasn't meant to be happy. He should have died when he fell off that train, it would have saved countless lives and spared him a lot of pain. All he'd done was bring conflict and stress into the life of the person he loved most in this world, he'd be better off without him, with pretty much absolutely anybody else. His beloved husband would be free from dealing his problems, his nightmares, his anxiety, and all the other bullshit that came along with having his mind ripped apart and reprogrammed so many times. And now he had this to add to the pile of issues, and he doubted he could keep it hidden around people that knew him so well. He couldn't admit to it either, though, he couldn't look them in the eye and tell them he made money for Hydra because some asshole let rich perverts fuck him, he didn't want their pity, or their disgust. There's no one who could be more revolted, who could hate him more than he hated himself right now.

"Buck?" He heard his voice over the sound of the shower, he could hear the worry in it. There weren't too many good reasons for a man to take a shower at three thirty in the morning, of course something had to be up.

"Steve…" Bucky started, not sure what to say, knowing it couldn't be the truth. Instead, he just leaned his cheek against the shower wall, the freezing water running from his hair down his face in small rivulets, wishing it would freeze him so he didn't have to deal with this any more. "I'm fine, Steve…"

"Bullshit," Steve opened the door, having removed the lock off it because of Bucky's episodes, and stepped into the bathroom, a little confused about the lack of steam in the room considering the shower was running. Going over to the stall, he looked through the door Bucky had neglected to close behind him, frowning when he saw his husband sitting on the floor, getting soaked in the clothes he went to sleep in.

"It's nothing, just another bad dream," Bucky sighed, not moving an inch from where he was curled up in the corner of the shower. He technically wasn't lying to Steve, which made him feel better, but he was dreading having to talk about what he was feeling. Why couldn't he just ball it up and let it rot inside him like everything else? Why did everything nowadays have to be about working through things and discussing every feeling you had? What ever happened to just letting someone suffer alone?

"Then why didn't you wake me up? You know I don't mind waking up for you. Come on, get out of there, we can go back to bed an-Jesus, Bucky!" Steve pulled his arm back from the cold water, surprised at the temperature and immediately concerned about his husband just sitting in it. Reaching in again, he turned off the tap before extending his hand to Bucky. "Why would you take a freezing cold shower in the middle of the night? You're getting those clothes off and I'm wrapping you in a towel, get up."

Bucky didn't move, though he did adjust his head so he wasn't staring forwards at the taps any more. Now his unfocused eyes faced Steve, but he was too wrapped up in what was going on in his head to realize he was worrying his husband. Honestly, he just wished Steve had slept through all this, he barely had it in him to remember to breathe, much less comfort the man he loved.

"Bucky," Steve's voice was more stern that time. He wasn't angry, Steve never got angry with him over this, but he did get get very serious. He made it his mission to get his smiling husband back from the dark abyss that threatened him from inside his head. He had no idea how much that had gotten in the last hour. "You can get up on your own and get those clothes off so I can warm you up, or I'll pick you up and do it for you, but you're not staying here."

It took everything in Bucky to reach out and take Steve's hand, allowing the other man to pull him to his feet. He didn't move except to make Steve's job easier as his husband took his wet clothes off and tossed them in the bath tub, standing in place as Steve wrapped a towel around him and began to dry him off. Inside, he was screaming his throat raw, putting his fists through the shower stall and anything else he could get near, wanting to bleed on the surface as much as he was inside.

I'm going to enjoy making you bleed.

"You've never done this before, the shower thing, what's going on?" Steve asked as he took out Bucky's bun so he could properly dry his hair. He was trying to stay as cool as possible without letting Bucky know that he was really concerned about his behaviour. He didn't want to exacerbate the situation, but he already felt like things weren't looking good at that moment. "You have to talk to me, Buck, what happened in your dream? What's got you this bothered and what do you want me to do to help?"

"I just…I should go back to bed, maybe…" said Bucky, sounding dazed as he kept staring blankly at the wall, unable to bring himself to meet Steve's eyes lest he break down and tell him everything. That's how Steve did it, when he was at his worst, he just looked deep into Bucky's eyes and broke all the locks he'd tried so hard to secure. He couldn't let him do that now, going back to a dark bedroom was the best way to avoid it.

"Okay, if that's what you want, we can do that. It's up to you, Buck," Steve frowned, running his hand over Bucky's wet hair, trying not to worry too much, though this seemed to be a situation that warranted it. He couldn't force Bucky to talk to him, it would only make things worse for both of them. All he could do was be supportive, and hope that Bucky came around eventually, hopefully sooner rather than later. "Let's get you back to bed then, you've got another hour and a half if you feel like going for a run with me, or you can just sleep through til whenever you feel like getting up. We can have a lazy day if you want, we've got nothing on the go."

"…stay?" Bucky whispered, staring down at their hands as he reached out slowly, his pinky finger hooking's Steve's before pulling in the rest of his hand. "Just…don't go…stay?"

Steve nodded a little, his chest aching as he looked at his obviously hurting husband, looking for any hint of what had happened to him to make him act like this. Giving his hand a squeeze, Steve let go of it so he could throw the towels in the hamper, picking up a brush and turning back to Bucky.

"If you don't want me to go running, that's fine, I'll stay here with you," Steve sighed, taking the hair elastic he'd left on his wrist from taking Bucky's hair down earlier, gathering it all up with the brush to put it back in a messy bun. "You need to go back to bed though, you need to relax, you're so tense, babe."

"Just don't leave me…please," Bucky said as he took Steve's hand again before heading for bed, wanting to get out of the lights of the bathroom.

"I wouldn't leave you for anything. I love you, Bucky," Steve replied, his voice soft and understanding, which only made Bucky's stomach twist harder inside him.

"Love you too, Steve," Bucky managed around the lump in his throat, climbing into bed and settling against his pillow as Steve crawled in behind him and covered them with the blankets. He moved back against his husband as he draped an arm over him, pressing himself as close to Steve as he could manage. Sleep wasn't about to come, though, he didn't want to risk another nightmare, he couldn't handle two in one night. He doubted that he could relax enough to fall back asleep either, Steve was right, he was tense. He was going to be lying awake for hours, staring at the clock beside the bed, feeling like his heart had been ripped out of his chest next to a man he didn't deserve, a man who shouldn't have to spend his life rebuilding him.

A man who held him tight and silently laid awake with him for the rest of the night, terrified of what was going on with his husband.