(A/N) As always, I adore all my lovely followers. You guys rock! And Mudkipz, don't be fearing, we will get around to the mechanics of that at some point in the future.
Warnings: There is rape and self-harm in this chapter. While the rape isn't particularly graphic, I'd say the self-harm kinda is. Thou hast been warned.
To Have and To Hold
Chapter 9: Do you take…?
Clint flew through the few remaining hours of the night and most of the day, making certain they didn't have any sort of trace before landing on a small island in the Mediterranean.
"Nat and I use this place as a layover sometimes," Clint explained as he locked the jet down. "I thought somewhere remote would be best until we get our bearings."
"And it wouldn't behoove this quest of ours to head somewhere where there's a little more…information to be had?" Bruce asked, glancing through the forward windshield at the forest surrounding their landing site.
"I tapped a few contacts in-flight. Shouldn't take too long to turn up a lead. But for now, all we can do is wait."
Growling in frustration, Steve buried his fist in the steel wall of the jet, savoring the all too brief flash of pain that spiked up his arm.
"Feel better?" Clint asked.
"That…felt a lot better than it should have," he said slowly, eyeing the fist-shaped indentation he'd left in the wall with trepidation.
"Well, if you need something to punch, I'd advise doing it elsewhere. We're gonna need this bird in a few days."
"Right," Steve said, nodding to himself as he exited the jet and headed off into the forest. It had been a long time since he'd felt like this…nearly a year, in fact. Normally, whenever this feeling of helplessness crept up on him, he could just hang up a few punching bags and go at it, but there were none of those to be had just now…and he found himself a little frightened by how much he'd liked the feeling of pain when he'd punched the jet wall.
Knowing he shouldn't do this…that it was stupid and that Bucky would kill him if he ever found out…Steve mounted his shield on a tree and began to punch it.
The pain was sharp and instant. The vibranium didn't give an inch, but the bones in his hands certainly started to. It wasn't necessarily the pain he enjoyed; it was the punishment. In some therapeutic, psychotic way, punching the star-and-striped shield was a little like punching his own face.
This is your fault! You let this happen! You could have fought harder! Something! Anything! What good are you if you can't even protect the only person you love?! Go on! Tear yourself up some more! You deserve this! Do you feel this pain? They're hurting him now…just like this…
Damn it! Damn it! God damn you!
It was hours later and long after dark when Clint found him. At first, the archer couldn't see how serious the situation was. He just saw Steve flying at his shield over and over again.
"Y'know, this isn't exactly what I had in mind when I said go punch something," he said, aiming for levity. Steve didn't seem to hear him, though. He just went at the shield all over again.
"Hey, Cap, take it easy. You're not-" That was when he noticed the formerly red, white, and blue shield was only red. The invulnerable metal was dripping with blood.
"Steve! What the Hell are you doing?!" he shouted, moving forward to try and stop the berserker super soldier. Steve easily threw him off, though. Clint could actually hear the crunch of broken bone as his fist connected with the shield yet again.
"Don't make me get Banner out here, Rogers, cuz I will," he threatened as he moved into Steve's furious path. The blow Steve dealt him was strong, easily knocking him off his feet, but it wasn't this that stuck with him…it was the fact that whatever had connected with his face hadn't felt very much like a fist…not anymore.
"Damn it, Steve, pull it together!" Clint shouted as he got to his feet. "What would Bucky think if he saw you like this?"
This was the trigger that finally cooled Steve's rage. He dropped to his knees just a step from his shield, staring up at his symbol…covered in his blood.
"God," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "Jesus…Christ."
"What were you trying to do?" Clint asked as he moved to sit beside him.
"It…it healed the first time…so I kept doing it," he struggled to explain, not really looking at his friend. "I wanted…to feel pain…like he's feeling pain…"
"You're gonna need those, you know," Clint pointed out, glancing down at Steve's mangled hands.
"Doesn't matter. They'll be fine in a few days," he mumbled.
"You think I don't get how this feels? They've got my family, too…the only family I have. You can't just fall apart like this. Punishing yourself isn't going to save them."
"It isn't…just that…feeling guilty for what happened. I've been feeling this…for months," he admitted, both to Clint and himself. "Ever since I asked him to marry me…I feel like…every moment we share couldn't possibly be real…that it's all going to be over any minute. I feel like…he's fading away…disappearing from me…like I'm losing him all over again…and there's nothing I can do to stop it. What Mimir said…just made it worse…about him not having a name. It was suddenly like everyone else could see what I'd been feeling all that time."
"That…that's something to do with how their magic works," Clint tried to explain. "I saw some of it with Loki. Knowing someone's true name can give you power over them…and this Mimir character must be some kind of powerful if he can just pull true names out of a hat like that. Must have bothered him…that he couldn't see Bucky's name."
"But…why couldn't he?" Steve asked miserably, as if not knowing was causing Bucky to slip even further away from him.
"It's all based on descent with these guys. You have to know where you came from in order to understand where you're going. It's all about who your father was…like Tony and Howard, Thor and Odin, I guess your dad's name was Joseph."
"Well…Bucky never knew his parents. He was dumped at the orphanage when he was barely a few hours old. Could be his mom didn't even know who his dad was."
"So you think he was abandoned?"
"We're pretty sure. Whoever his mom was…she didn't even take the time to name him…didn't leave a note or anything," he said. He would have clenched his hands into fists if they'd been in any condition to do so. Bucky had always tried to forget about it, but it was a source of constant anger for him that someone could just leave Bucky…abandon him on a doorstep…treat him so poorly…when he was the absolute center of Steve's world. If they'd cared…even a little bit…they could have at least named him…but they hadn't, and Steve had always been the angrier for it.
"Then…I guess…the Asgardians might see him as being incomplete in some way."
"That's bullshit!" Steve hissed.
"I didn't say it was true. I'm just trying to help you understand what Mimir said, because it isn't about not knowing your dad…he called me Clinton Jackson, and I know the name of the guy who died in the crash wasn't Jack…so I guess my mom was foolin' around or something. Point is I didn't know that, so that isn't why this guy can't see Bucky's true name."
"Maybe…something really is wrong…and he's really disappearing…" Steve whispered, barely able to get the words out for the fear that was choking his throat.
"Can't be thinking like that if we're gonna get through this."
"No…I know that…I just…I think that's why I did it," he said, glancing down at his hands, "because…for a little while there…I felt like the only way I could hold onto him was…to punish myself…and I don't bleed any other way but this. It just heals."
"You do know that's crazy talk, yeah?" Clint asked, his tone neutral, but his eyes filled with concern for his friend and captain.
"I know…but I guess you do go a little crazy…being on ice for seventy years," he said, still staring at his bloody hands.
"Just so we're clear, I am gonna tell him about this when we find them," Clint said, not even a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
This finally got Steve to look up. "Why does he have to know? Why does anyone?"
"Anyone remember what happened last time we started keeping secrets from each other? I seem to recall you feeling pretty hurt that Bucky was keeping something from you. Are you really gonna do the same thing to him now? If you don't tell him, I will."
"All right, fine…but not until we've got the arc reactor issue resolved."
"Fair enough," Clint started as he got to his feet, then hauled Steve up by his shoulders. Then he went for the still-dripping shield and slung it over his own shoulders. "We should probably be heading back, though. Banner's gonna be wondering."
"Yeah," Steve agreed, following after the archer as he led the way back to the quinjet.
XxX
The only way Natasha and Bucky had of keeping track of time was that their captors would dim the lights in their cell for an appropriate number of hours to correlate to night. Whether it actually was night, they had no way of knowing, but after about a week of these cycles, the guards came for them, led by Gudrun.
"Herr Schmidt requests an audience with the two Avengers," she announced.
"Well, how magnanimous of him to refer to it as an audience," Bucky said, crossing his arms as he rose from his cot. The guards moved in to surround him and Natasha and Gudrun led the way out into the hallway.
As they moved, Bucky began to see cells…not like the closed off one he and Natasha shared…more like county jail cells, closed off only by bars. Some were empty; others were occupied…the one that stuck with him the most, though, was the sight of a little girl sitting in her cell, curled into a ball, and repeating to herself over and over again…
"Eve Meier, Eve Meier, Eve Meier, Eve Meier."
"What's she doing?" Bucky asked Natasha quietly.
"They're erasing her name," Natasha explained, keeping her face carefully blank.
"What?"
"You know how…if you repeat a word over and over again, it starts to lose meaning? It just becomes noise…a few syllables on your tongue that don't mean anything. That's what this is. They force the initiates to repeat their names…all day…and if you don't do it, you don't eat or sleep. It takes about a week to lose your name."
"My God," Bucky murmured, glancing back over his shoulder at the quickly receding cell, Eve Meier's voice fading into the background. "She…she can't be more than five."
"That's how old I was. It's not so much that you forget your name…it just stops meaning anything. It's just something they call you…until you earn a new name. You forget the people who gave it to you…the life you had."
"How…how did you escape?"
"Clint pulled me out…literally out of Hell…with his bare hands," Natasha said, not looking at him as they moved.
"So they can be…brought back?"
"Sometimes. You have to want to come back. Normally, they don't. How many people would want to wake up from this…and see what they've become?" she asked, still staring straight ahead.
"Well…we did," Bucky pointed out, resting a hand on her shoulder. Letting go a sigh, Natasha's shoulders slumped slightly, but she nodded, letting him know she'd heard. They were silent the rest of the way to Schmidt's quarters…which were quite plush in comparison with the Spartan accommodations they'd grown used to, and very highly favoring the color red.
"You know, Sergeant Barnes, I remember you," Schmidt said as he appeared from behind a red curtain, clothed in a tight leather suit. "From the factory…before the captain went on his rampage…I remember you."
"Is that supposed to flatter me?" Bucky asked, watching their enemy through narrowed eyes.
"Very much so. You see, you outlasted Zola's other subjects…long outlasted. I had an inkling then of what you might become. I find myself wondering where we would be now if I'd seized my opportunity then, but no matter. We are here now," he said, moving toward a table on which was set a bottle of vodka and three glasses. "Would either of you care for a drink?"
"Pregnant," Natasha said.
"No thanks," Bucky said, mistrustful of the feigned politeness. The Skull he was familiar with didn't play games like this.
"Suit yourselves," he said, pouring himself a glass and downing it quickly. "She does not drink alcohol, this woman. It bothers her that I do this."
"Ah," Bucky said, the game starting to make a little more sense. Schmidt wasn't just at war with them; he was at war in his own head, fighting against his body's rightful owner.
"Shall we be frank with each other, Sergeant?"
"Yeah, we could do that. That'd be nice," he said, watching every move Schmidt made.
"You have proven yourself resilient against torture of many forms. Your own pain seems to mean very little to you."
"Yeah, well, you do tend to get bored with it after a few months," he said casually.
"Shall I be honest and say that I mean to torture you…worse than you have ever been tortured in your life?"
Bucky actually laughed at this. "Okay, Schmidt, I'm sorry, but what do you think you can do? What can you possibly do to me that Loki hasn't done first and done better?"
"There is…one pain you haven't yet suffered, James, but that will come in its own good time. Were you aware I witnessed what the Asgardian did to you?"
"No," Bucky said quietly, stiffening at the thought of Schmidt watching the things Loki had done to him.
"Yes. Loki's exploits were all well-documented. If you were to serve our masters, careful records had to be kept."
"Their masters?" Natasha asked, glancing sideways at Bucky.
"I had to be good for something other than serving as Loki's slave," Bucky explained without looking at her. "Otherwise, they wouldn't have let him perform the experiments in the first place."
"Just so. Did you know, Agent Romanoff, that the Winter Soldier is a name that inspires terror throughout the galaxies? Your ally is a murderer more times over than you can imagine…more even than you yourself are. Can you imagine what our dear captain would think if he knew?" Schmidt queried, moving toward them, getting right up in Bucky's face. The former mercenary didn't react at all.
"He wouldn't care," Natasha stated flat out, speaking to Bucky rather than to Schmidt. "You mean the world to him, and he knows what happened before wasn't your fault."
"I know that," Bucky said softly, not really speaking to any of them. "He'd never blame me for anything I've done. I can do no wrong in his eyes…but it would still hurt him…to know what they made me do."
"And that's the point of all this…to hurt him," Schmidt said, running a finger along his bare chest. Bucky turned his face away. "It won't be your own pain that destroys you and resurrects the Winter Soldier…it will be the pain you cause your love."
And with that, Bucky knew he had already lost. Schmidt had him all figured out. Hurt him and he wouldn't even flinch. Up until a year ago, he had lived with the pain of unrequited love most of his life…and he had endured the worst physical tortures devised by both men and Asgardians. Pain meant nothing to him. Steve's pain, on the other hand…to know that he was to be used as the object of torment for the only person he loved…that was the one thing he could not endure…the one thing that would break him. Bucky was so lost in the horrifying realization, he almost didn't notice when Schmidt pressed his lips to his. He did hear what he whispered against them, though.
"I'm going to bed you, James."
Natasha almost laughed, trying to make light of his intentions. "You? Rape him? How's that going to work, exactly?"
"As these things usually do. You see, Agent Romanoff, this isn't about him, and he knows that. He is nothing but an object…a pawn to be used in the battle between myself and Rogers. He is nothing," Schmidt hissed, and in that hiss, he slipped the silver engagement ring from Bucky's finger.
Instantly, Bucky exploded. He threw off the guards and snapped the chains that held his wrists, heading straight for Schmidt, who swiftly thrust his knee into his gut. This didn't stop him, though. He continued his pursuit.
"Put it down now!" he shouted. "Get your filthy hands off it!"
"Ah, ah, ah, ah," Schmidt chastised him when he got a hold of him, wrapping his hands around his throat. Then Bucky heard the sound of a trigger cocking.
Slowly, he looked back to see several of the guards holding Natasha while Gudrun held her gun, not against her head, but against her stomach. Natasha's face had gone white.
"Certainly, your own pain means nothing to you…but what about hers? You swore to protect them, after all. Perhaps the agent would survive…but the child would not. So go ahead…struggle, fight me for the ring…it will make our coupling more interesting…but if you get out of hand, little soldier, Natasha Romanoff forfeits her one chance at being a mother."
Slowly, Bucky let his hands fall away from Schmidt's throat, staring at nothing as his enemy led him over to his bed. The situation was hopeless…utterly un-winnable.
It killed something in Natasha to see her powerful comrade defeated so. Bucky was strong…even ruthless, if the situation called for it…and the Black Widow bitterly wished that his fall didn't have to be on her hands. She wished she could tell him not to worry about her…not to give in to the Red Skull, that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself…and in any other situation, she would have been, but the instinct to protect her baby was too strong, and the only way she could win now…was not to fight…and she would have to give Bucky as a sacrifice in order to do that.
Bucky…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…
Bucky lay down on the bed without too much coaxing, and Schmidt took the opportunity to secure him to the headboard with the pieces of broken chain at his wrists. Bucky growled at him, struggling briefly when Schmidt placed the ring on his own finger, but one glance in Natasha's direction was all it took to quiet him.
"Gudrun?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"You may take Agent Romanoff back to her cell now. She has served her purpose; I have what I need right here with me."
Once they were alone, Bucky finally looked up at Schmidt and asked him, "So how exactly do you expect me to get up for you? Cuz this…this really isn't doing anything for me," he said, trying to reclaim some small measure of his dignity.
"Still trying to be brave are we? I think you know what happens if you prove incapable of performing…little soldier," Schmidt repeated Loki's demeaning pet name, and it was this, more than anything, that roped Bucky into submission. The name took him back to dark places…places he never wanted to go again…but he couldn't afford to shut down now. So instead, he sunk his mind into a memory of Steve…a night when all the others had been out doing something or other…and he'd given the super soldier a blowjob in the lounge the Avengers usually inhabited. The nearness of discovery…along with the sounds of Steve's moaned protests in his memories…were not hard pressed to get the former mercenary turned on.
It was a struggle to remain so, though. As Schmidt stripped them both of clothing, the phrase was burned into his skin by the Red Skull's lips over and over and over again…
"Little soldier…little soldier…my little soldier…"
He was trapped…trapped in darkness and despair all over again. On the outside, it might have looked like a man and a woman having sex, but to Bucky, it was like being buried alive…unable even to draw breath to scream.
Steve…I can't…I can't do this. I'm not strong enough. Please…I need you…save me!
By the time Schmidt had finished with him, Bucky had shut down completely. He lay on the red silk sheets, staring blankly up at the ceiling while Schmidt sat on top of him, still joined with him as he ran his fingers along his heaving chest.
"Good boy, James…an exemplary performance. I'll look forward to the next time."
Next time? The horrible phrase echoed in a distant, barely-aware part of his brain. He had barely endured this time. What hope did he have of bearing it again? However, just when he thought he might lose his grip and slip permanently into madness, an image swam to the surface of his addled mind…Steve's face…that day on the train…the absolutely destroyed look in his eyes as he fell…
No…can't let go…can't die now…it'll kill him. He still needs me…gotta…hang on…'til he comes.
By the time Bucky's thoughts resolved themselves into coherency after his near brush with insanity, he found himself being shoved back into his cell, collapsing to his knees as the door clanged shut behind him.
"Bucky…are you all right?" he heard Natasha asking him. "Did he hurt you?"
"'m not…hurt," he mumbled, even though it wasn't true. He hadn't been physically harmed. Slowly, he looked up to find Natasha crouched over beside her cot in a similar position to his own. "What's wrong?" he asked her.
"Zasha's…going crazy in here…has been ever since they got me back in the cell. I can't…really move," she struggled to explain, wincing in pain.
Nodding his understanding, Bucky crawled over to her, draping an arm around her shoulders.
"Would you mind…if I tried something?"
"At this point, I'll try anything," Natasha groaned.
"Lie down," he said softly, and she quickly complied. He lay down behind her, draping an arm around her middle and pulling her body close against his.
"What are you going to do?"
"Gonna sing to her," he explained. "I used to do it for Steve…back when we were kids."
"Well…if you think it'll help…"
Oh Shenandoah,
I long to hear you,
Away you rolling river,
Oh Shenandoah,
I long to see you,
Away, I'm bound away
'Cross the wide Missouri.
Oh Shenandoah,
I love your daughter,
Away you rolling river,
For her I'd cross
Your rollin' water,
Away, I'm bound away
'Cross the wide Missouri.
As Natasha listened to his song, she actually felt tears spring to her eyes. She heard in his voice that this wasn't just a song for Bucky. It was a vessel…for both heartbreak and love. In a way…the melody was his soul…and the soothing vibrations of it that traveled through their bodies actually seemed to be calming the baby.
'Tis seven years,
I've been a rover,
Away you rolling river,
When I return,
I'll be your lover,
Away, I'm bound away
'Cross the wide Missouri.
Oh Shenandoah,
I'm bound to leave you.
Away you rolling river,
Oh Shenandoah,
I'll not deceive you.
Away, I'm bound away
'Cross the wide Missouri.
By the time Bucky had finished, both Natasha and the baby had fallen into a much-needed sleep. Bucky didn't sleep himself, couldn't, really…but he did continue to hold the sleeping Black Widow. Neither of them could be with whom they wanted to at the moment, so this would have to do instead.
XxX
To say that Tony Stark was no stranger to captivity was a cruel and insensitive joke. Tony would laugh at it, of course, Tony being Tony, but the utterer of said joke would soon find himself dangling from the roof of Stark Tower.
Thankfully, though, S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't yet employed anyone stupid enough to make such a joke, and the fact that Tony was essentially being held captive by both S.H.I.E.L.D. and Asgard aboard the Helicarrier whilst he worked on the new arc reactor remained more implicit than anything else.
It had taken nearly a week to negotiate the terms of the Tesseract's use with Odin, and after another week of work, Tony had just about gotten a working prototype of the reactor technology amalgamated with Tesseract energy…and if the Asgardians didn't reserve the right to pull the plug on this model, he might almost consider making one for himself, given the increase in energy output this new model was displaying.
A test with the prototype seemed to be going well when the red alert suddenly sounded throughout the ship. Tony quickly backed away from the rig that held the reactor with a look that very much said 'I didn't do it.' Because of course, he would be only too glad to take the credit if he had done it. Momentarily, though, the alert was shut down, and Fury's thoroughly irked voice sounded over the PA.
"Thor! Just because Jane went into labor early does not give you license to use the alert system."
XxX
After the first incident with Schmidt, Bucky and Natasha took to sleeping on the floor of their cell, as it was somehow more comfortable than the cots, and it was also a slight form of rebellion against their captors, which did help to bolster their spirits, even if only by a little bit.
It would be more accurate, though, to say that Natasha slept. Bucky usually stayed awake, unable or unwilling to sleep by turns. His sessions with the Red Skull sent him back to Loki's torture chamber often enough and he knew that his nightmares would be a thousand times worse, so he tried to avoid sleep when he could.
During this particular night cycle, Bucky found himself flirting rather dangerously with an exhausted sleep when he heard the door to their cell opening. He felt Natasha stiffen in his arms, waking instantly at the noise.
"Agent Barnes? Agent James Buchanan Barnes? Can you hear me?" a voice asked quietly. Bucky glanced over his shoulder to have a look at the intruder. The uniform said he was Red Room and not HYDRA.
"What do you want?" he asked sharply.
"The security in your cell has been shut down for the moment. We can speak freely here. I'm not 2R. I'm an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. undercover, and I need to speak with you."
Slowly, Natasha sat up, afraid to look behind her. Perhaps Bucky didn't recognize the voice of this man, but she certainly did. It had been two years since she'd heard his voice in her earpiece, nagging at her to be careful, saying that drinks were on him if she and Clint came home alive from their latest mission.
"Phil?"
XxX
(A/N) (Gasp!) So, just cuz I'm curious, did you guys totally see that coming or did I manage to pull a fast one on you? Lullaby is Shenandoah (one of its many variants, anyway). And if you're confused, don't worry. It will all sort itself out in the end; I do know what I'm doing (although, I imagine most of the time I just come off as being a nutjob, eheh).
