*A/N - This is honestly purely a whump fic. I've had this idea on my mind for a while and I couldn't let it go. I love seeing the characters come together as a family and somehow trauma does that better than a lot of other ways in fanfic, so here we are. If you don't like reading about the Avengers in pain or emotional distress then this is NOT the fic for you! I'm not nice to them at all here, multiple Trigger Warnings in effect for multiple reasons. If you'd like me to be more specific about what happens before you read it, feel free to PM me.
Also, if as you're reading this and you're confused about whether you're reading Steve's present or memory thoughts that's kind of what I was going for. It's all very jumbled together and hard to separate, which is how I assume it would feel in his mind.
—-
He was really really hoping they were going to forget about him. He wasn't sure why they would save him for last anyways, so they must not think his memories were worth the time, and that was fine by him.
He took stock of his surroundings, Natasha was still attached to the chair, sleeping fitfully, but not physically injured, and he was glad for that, but the psychological effects of what they'd all just witnessed were going to be felt for a long time.
Tony was chained across the room for him, head resting on his knees. Steve didn't think he was asleep, but he wasn't sure.
Bruce was unconscious, they hadn't let him wake up since they'd run him through the machine first. He was facedown, chained tightly, with an IV plugged directly into his spine. The thought of it made Steve sick, but it was better than dead. It was better than dead.
Clint was laying on his back, his arms were chained across his chest, and his legs were also in shackles, but he'd scooted as close as he could to Natasha in the chair, trying to offer some sort of support.
He was really counting on Thor finding them or to get help and get them out of here ASAP, but since he didn't even know where here was, it was a bit of a grim prospect.
He sighed at his own predicament. They had him basically spread eagle hanging from the ceiling, his arms were stretched wide, attached to the ceiling and his legs were pulled apart and fastened to the floor. It was not a position he'd ever found himself captured in and he could tell great thought had gone into it. Along with the IV that was inserted into his arm, making things just slightly fuzzy, he had no ability to use leverage or his strength. He was, at this moment, just a puppet on some strings.
If he really tried he could pull his arms forward, he for some reason wasn't in chains, his hands and feet were trapped in metal orbs that were magneted to a contraption that was mounted to the ceiling and floor. When he was first put into the contraption, he'd tried yanking his arms and had been immediately met with threats to his teammates including a nasty blow to Clint's face, so he'd stopped. The guards weren't in here at the moment, and he was trying to plan when exactly he should try again. The motion could definitely rip his arms out of their sockets, and there was the issue of all of his teammates being either shackled or drugged or both, but Steve had never given up before trying to keep people safe and he wasn't about to start now, he just had to push through this fuzziness and decide how he was going to get them out of this mess.
Natasha gasped and his eyes shot to her face. She shivered and her breath stuttered as her eyes crinkled in distress.
"Tasha," he whispered, the drugs causing a slight slur, "Tasha, wake up, it's just a nightmare." He groaned at his shoulders that were now just in a constant state of agony from hanging for over 24 hours. The irony was not lost on him that waking her up from her nightmare to her present circumstances was somehow still an improvement.
He'd just witnessed her memories. Snippets of the life of an abused orphan to a brainwashed assassin. Ballet and bullets and training and torture no one should have to endure. Even though they didn't get to witness the happy memories, he was thankful that her story had a somewhat happy-ish ending. Her worst memories were all pretty far removed from the present day, but she'd been the last to go. And he had not been unaware that with each of his teammates, the memories had gotten worse and worse.
Bruce's was mostly the pain of being turned into the hulk, and the responding manhunt from Ross. And while the scene of him attempting suicide and the hulk spitting the bullet back out had been gut wrenching, they'd already known about it, it had been horrible, awful, but it hadn't been a surprise.
Tony's was similar to Bruce's, all the things he'd gone through, the torture in the cave, the following years of drunkenness and depression, followed by anxiety attacks and the fallout with the Mandarin. While there had been a few unknown details, most of that had been recorded or covered on the news, and the team sat with grim faces as they rewatched all of his worst moments. Tony's face had gone blank at the torture in the cave, and Steve knew that look, he'd seen it too many times on the battlefield.
Clint had gone next, some bad days, mostly to do with his children being held hostage just once before he'd had Fury bury their existence. A miscarriage no one had known about had them all gap mouthed and Clint seething with rage at his wife's most vulnerable moments on display. Then his brainwashing by Loki followed by the horrible things he'd done under mind control. He'd been panting and shaking at the end of his "session" in the chair, and no one had said a word.
Natasha had fought hard against the guards as they dragged her towards the machine. She's kicked and she'd clawed at their faces, her expression one of fury but absolute terror at realizing she was about to have to relive the worst moments of her life. And now she sat, withered and shaking in the chair.
The door creaked open and his head shot up, pounding with whatever was floating in his system.
Quentin Beck and Helmut Zemo stepped casually through the door, looking at their captives.
"Just you left?" Beck asked Steve, as if he didn't know.
"Ah yes, just America's Golden boy." Zemo said in his accent, a sneer on his face. "Although when we catch your brainwashed friend, and the girl with the interesting powers we will be sure to add them to the list."
Steve grit his teeth. He would never let them get their hands on Bucky. He hadn't been able to find him anyways, so he hoped they wouldn't either.
His earlier annoyance a few days ago, about Wanda and Vision missing their check-in, had turned to relief when it became clear they hadn't captured them. He hopes they stay safe, and very far away from here.
"You're not going touch a hair on their heads." He rasps, anger coming through, but sounding slurred under the drugs' influence.
"I'm wondering how you think you'll protect them when you haven't even been able to protect the teammates right in front of you?" Zemo queries. Steve's jaw clicks shut and he tenses at the truth in his words. How could he protect anyone? He couldn't. He hadn't. Look at where they were…
"Ah, shut it." A voice says, Steve looked up to see Tony glaring at Beck. "You guys keep yapping, what's your play here? Okay, so we've all got bad memories, and?" He sighes and shifts on the concrete floor. "What are you hoping to accomplish?"
"Our long monologue about our evil plan will have to wait." Beck says impatiently, cutting off Zemo who had opened his mouth to speak. They glare at each other, but Zemo just waves him forward. Beck walks over to Steve and holds up a knife. "You make any moves that I don't give you explicit permission for? You're going to regret it."
Zemo steps forward and hauls Natasha off the chair, she awakens with a start but stills at the feeling of a blade at her throat. She's dragged back to the shackles she'd used before it was her turn, and allows herself to be chained up once again.
Zemo pulls the knife away, releasing her, then kneels down and holds the knife in a calculated position over Clint's chest. He shakes him awake and Clint opens his eyes slowly, taking in the weapon and sneering face above him.
"Wake up, little sparrow, it's time to watch your Captain's despair."
"It's Hawkeye," Clint grumbles and he sits back up, scooting towards the wall and leaning as close to Natasha as he can.
"What are we even going to watch for Cap?" Tony says, rolling his eyes, "him dance on stage? Oh no how horrible." He has an air of annoyance butSteve could feel the tension behind his words, he's suddenly aware thatthis is Howard's son and probably has knowlegde of Steve that the others don't.
"Yeah," Steve adds, trying to play along, "I don't have anything you gotta worry about, I'll tell you whatever you want to know." He says it casually, trying to get a deep breath to calm down.
"Ah, you think it's secret information that we want?" Zemo smiles, "that will only be a bonus."
"Then why?" Clint snaps.
Zemo looks ready to launch into an explanation, but Beck cut him off once again. "No time."
Zemo nods again, only looking slightly annoyed, but he stands with his knife held lightly at his side over Natasha.
Steve isn't fooled, when they'd first gotten here, before Beck had ripped Tony's glasses from his face, FRIDAY had quickly informed him that Baron Helmut Zemo had been part of Sokovia's most elite kill squad, him being at ease meant nothing. His friends could be killed without thought and he wouldn't risk that, which is why he now falls to the floor— his joints aching and walks numbly to the chair. The metal orbs hanging from his hands and feet heavily.
They push him down, dragging the IV line to his side, and clamping the restraints over his chest, arms, legs, and neck. The cold of the metal reminds him of the capsule and he takes a deep breath, trying to push any unpleasant memory to the back of his mind. He would fight this. He doesn't know how, but there were things he just can't bear to see again, so he has to try.
They place the wires around his temples, and he sighs. He was not ready for this. Cold fingers touch his scalp and his eyes shoot up. Beck is standing over him, a razor in his hand.
"Hold still, I don't want to cut you, it would be annoying to have to wait for it to heal even with the serum." Steve just stares in confusion at the razor when Beck lowers it against his scalp.
"It works better without hair blocking the electrodes." Beck says scientifically.
"For what?" He asks, the drugs still making him a little fuzzy.
"You're a special case captain. We want them to see and feel it. Make it more… meaningful." He says the word but his facial expression says something else.
"About what?" He asks, his anxiety ratcheting up even if his brain is having a hard time understanding what he is trying to say.
"In due time." Was all Beck responds with.
His eyes slide over to where Zemo is rolling equipment into the room. A large machine with five sets of wires hang off of it. He has no idea what it is, but it can't be anything good.
He feels Beck shaving small sections of his scalp until he knows he has 6 bald spots, an electrode sticking to each one, and he watches as Beck attaches his wires to the machine in the middle.
Confusion and more panic take over him as he watches them attach a metal headband to each of his teammates and their own set of electrodes attaching to their temples and the bases of their skulls. Bruce is not awakened or attached, Steve notices. They don't want to wake the Hulk, he thinks grimly.
The drugs are making it hard to concentrate. He needs to concentrate. He needs to get them out of here.
"What's this?" Tony asks, his jaw set nervously. Steve could see his wrists bleeding as they strain against his restraints.
"You've all had the pleasure of watching memories, but now, we think you should be able to watch and feel your dear Capitan's memories. We think his memories will surprise you and will have a distinct…. What's the word you would use, Beck?"
"Affect." Beck says offhandedly.
"That's not the word I was thinking of, but you understand." He smiles knowingly at Steve, who is growing more nauseous by the second.
"Why?" Steve asks, his eyes not leaving Zemo's face. "Why do you think mine will?"
"With all the research on you I have had to do, all the work we put in, building your prison, studying your serum, and figuring out how to-"
"Zemo." Beck cuts in sharply.
"Right, right…" he bows slightly. "My apologies, I tend to over explain."
"Please do." Tony jeers.
"All in due time." He says maddeningly.
Breathing is becoming more difficult, they can't actually mean it, can they? There's no way.
"It will kill them." He gasps, panic shooting through him.
"Not necessarily." Beck says with a wave of his hand. "Trauma without the physical injury. Mentally damaging, maybe, but not fatal." He pauses. "That we know of. We haven't tested it on you yet."
"Why? I don't understand why!" He cries out, the drugs making him dizzy as he struggles against the restraints. They squeak in protest.
"Up the dosage." Zemo orders.
"We can't, we need him lucid for it."
"Captain, I need you to stop struggling." Zemo says mildly as he holds a knife to Clint's neck. He makes a small nick and Clint winces. A tiny trail of blood starts to flow and Steve stills.
"I'll stop." He pants, "I stopped."
"Very good. What a good soldier, taking orders." Zemo pats him on the chest and he has to remind himself not to snarl at the condescending comment.
"Shall we begin?" Zemo rubs his hands together almost jovially, and Beck nods as he makes a few last adjustments to his machine.
"If it wasn't clear before," Tony snaps at Beck, "you're fired when we get out of here."
"Oh Tony," Beck laughs derisively. "The only one getting out of here is—"
"Beck." Zemo shouts, "and you claim that I-"
"I know, I know," Beck sneers. "I don't know what it is about being around these imbeciles that makes me want to rub it all in their faces." He scrubs a hand over his face and then turns to Stark.
"I'm excited to show you the newest upgrade to the tech, boss." He mocks, then steps out of the room to sit at the controls behind the observation window.
"I'm—I'm real sorry guys," Steve winces, "I don't-"
"It's fine, Cap," Clint pants, his mind clearly elsewhere, "it can't be anything worse than what we've already seen."
Steve doesn't respond, and he notices that Natasha and Tony don't either. Because they know… they know that it can indeed be much worse.
—-
Steve gasps as his mind starts to whir, he tries to fight it but there's no use, the drugs make his mind hazy. Memories start to flash in his mind as if it's a computer being programmed and he feels vertigo.
Suddenly he's in his childhood home. A tiny apartment in Brooklyn that is warm and cozy. It's a mess of browns, and blues and yellows, because he couldn't see all the colors until he had the serum, but even his lacking vision could show you that it was cozy— small, and plain, but home.
He can't process why they are watching this memory until his ma steps into view. She is carrying toddler Steve who is thin and bony. She sets him down on the counter where he sits still except for the occasional cough.
"Honey, I know you don't want to be sick, so you need to sleep, you need rest."
Tony snorts and it almost breaks the illusion as Steve's attention goes elsewhere, but it comes back with a vengeance as the door to the apartment slams open. He watches as his ma's back straightens and grows stiff. He feels dread as his toddler self starts to whimper and lean off the counter to grasp his ma's apron.
"Sarah?" A slurred voice calls.
"Yes, Joe. We're in the kitchen."
A man steps through, dark hair, intense eyes, and a staggered step.
"What's he doing on the counter?" He glares.
Sarah carefully picks Steve up and sets him on her hip. "I just needed to set him down. I'm taking him back to bed."
"Why." His tone sharpens.
"He just needs some rest."
"He's sick again, ain't he?"
"No." She responds quickly, a bit too quickly and his pa catches her tone.
"We can't afford no more doctors."
"I know, Joe. He doesn't need one."
"No more spending money on him."
Sarah steels her shoulders and whips around.
"You've only been home two weeks, and I know you got laid low during the war, but I've been taking care of things at home, so I don't need you ordering me ab—" Sarah Rogers doubles over as her husband's fist makes contact with her gut. Little Steve falls to the floor, his head slamming back on the wood and a thudding pain presenting itself in Steve's head. He hears Clint groan and dread fills him as Beck's words suddenly become true.
"How dare you!" He hears his ma say. She stands up and grabs Steve off the floor. "You pack your stuff and get out!"
"I'm not leaving this home—" Joe rages. "It's not my fault you raised a sick, pathetic, weakling for a son while I was gone! He's a good for nothi—"
"Stop!" Sarah shouts, shoving him away with her free hand. She tries to step into the bedroom and close the door but his speed surprises her. He grabs her wrist, yanking her forward. Her shoe catches on the lip of their rug and she keels forward. Her cheek catching on the edge of the wooden dining chair and Steve falls again with a thunk, his little hands trying to stop his fall. He begins crying and Sarah stands up, stepping in front of him, hiding him in her skirts. Steve watches as Joe reaches for little Steve.
"You leave him alone." Sarah commands.
Joe sneers in disgust. "You soft hearted—" he leans forward and grabs her apron, yanking her close as she struggles, she shoves against him and throws him off balance. He holds tightly though and she tumbles back to the floor.
Joe shouts in anger and grabs Steve's arm, pulling him up and off the floor. Little Steve begins to cry harder and Joe responds by backhanding him. Blinding pain flashed across Steve's face and he hears more than sees as Sarah Rogers launches herself at her husband.
"Don't you touch him! Don't you dare touch him!" She screams, throwing her body weight at Joe. He yanks both of her arms and then shoves her back. She stumbles and sits down hard, but is up again in an instant. Her body blocking Steve as she glares at her husband. He slaps her but she doesn't move.
"How long you gunna protect that worthless runt?" Joe yells, making little Steve flinch back.
Sarah Rogers wipes at her lip which has started to bleed and stares at her husband. Her mouth set in a firm line as she speaks,
"I can do this all day."
A soft gasp from Natasha, almost brings a sob from Steve's lips. They hadn't known the significance of that phrase, and his eyes refuse to look into theirs even though he knows they are watching.
Okay, so maybe saying his father died in the war was a bit of a stretch. But like his ma had explained, the man she loved had died in the war, and a stranger had returned in his place. She'd tried to find a way to help her husband cope with the horrors he'd seen and how it turned into a drinking problem, but after a few more days like the one they'd just witnessed, she'd packed up her and Steve's things and left him. Steve had found out later she'd tried to go see him, and had friends she trusted go check on him and try to help, but he would always refuse assistance. He only saw him a few more times after that, and then he heard he'd died of complications of the liver.
He glances at Tony who has a look of disbelief on his face.
—-
The next memory takes him off guard. He's lying in bed, practically dying of Scarlet Fever. His ma is trying to cool his head, and Bucky is sitting at the end of the bed, wrapped around his feet trying to keep them warm. He is in so much pain. His throat is killing him, and the fever is taking a toll on his mental state. He feels like he is burning up and freezing cold at the same time.
Groans from his teammates remind him that they are feeling his pain and he winces as a wave of sharp stabbing pain in his lymph nodes roll through his throat.
More scenes, similar to the last, flash past. Seemingly only to cause pain. Him sick in bed with pneumonia, the mumps, flu after flu, aching joints from his arthritis, and some of the worst: his asthma attacks.
One such scene appears. Steve, maybe 9 years old, is walking home from school; Bucky had needed to stay late from something, and Steve is taking the back way home. He doesn't want to run into Harry Jacobs and his jerk friends.
Steve is two blocks from home when a large truck, filled with sawdust rumbles past. Steve is caught in the downdraft and his lungs revolt at the dust filling the air.
He stops and gasps as he waves a hand in front of him, trying to clear the dust away. He takes in more sawdust with the next breath and clutches at his throat.
He pants and sinks to his knees, crawling up alongside a building, trying to get out of the dusty air, but it's too late. His lungs are on fire and his throat is constricting, trying to keep the dust out.
He's never had an attack all by himself and he can feel fear closing his airways even further.
Steve gasps and gasps, trying to get any air in at all. Sharp pains in his chest raises his panic higher and his vision blurs. His lungs fight with his closing throat and his vision begins to get dark around the edges. Steve watches as his young self slumps over, head pounding as his brain fights for whatever oxygen is left. He rasps and fights to stay conscious. Someone's hands grab him, hauling him up when the memory ends.
The scene changes and Steve feels his lungs refill with air. Relief floods through him and he hears gasps coming from the people around him. He pants, still on the verge of gasping, he— he'd forgotten how terrifying those attacks could be.
"Wow, asthma sucks." A small voice whispers. Steve huffs air out and tries to laugh weakly. But is cut off when he feels a sucker punch land on his cheek.
"You're such a pathetic runt, Rogers! Just go kick the bucket and get it over with!"
Speaking of Harry Jacobs. Another punch to the gut makes the memory Steve double over. A kick to his shins has him falling face first and his brittle left wrist snaps on impact with the hard ground.
"Beatin' up a runt, huh, Jacobs?" Steve wheezes, snark coloring his tone, "such a hero." Harry's facial expression turns to rage and a boot stomps down onto Steve's face. A violent shooting pain explodes across, and the memory shifts.
He's 12 and he's got such a bad case of pneumonia that his head feels like it's being split open, the shriek of pain from his memory self mirrors those in the room around him, and when his next memory comes, he's lost hearing in his left ear.
He's 13 and he's so skinny that he can count all his bones. The burning hunger in his stomach is constant. He looks out at the almost bare fruit stand, his eyes on one of the few remaining apples and he physically feels sick from hunger. He heaves and bile burns its way up his throat and out of his mouth. An older lady hits him with a broom. "Get out of here you street urchin! I'll not be having you stealing my fruit!" She hits him again and he can't think straight. Hunger and dehydration making it fuzzy. Tony, a man who hasn't known hunger his entire life, not even in the caves of Afghanistan, almost passes out from the feeling of burning emptiness. He watches as Bucky drags him home, force feeding him mint water to stave off the hunger pains, hoping Mrs. Rogers was able to get paid today.
He's 14 when he's tied up and thrown off the docks for defending an African American family from kids who were throwing rocks at them. They laugh as he flounders about. He somehow manages to latch onto a rope that's hanging off the side of a boat, with his ankles. But he can't swim anywhere, his hands are tied behind him. He's shivering, and losing feeling in his limbs. He begins to sink, running out of strength to hold on, water is starting to cover his face as he gets too tired to float, making it difficult to breathe when a sailor sees him and calls for help. He doesn't know why but next it shows Bucky standing over him with an anguished expression. The pneumonia is back with a vengeance. A priest is present and his ma is crying and he can't remember why.
He's 15 and being beat up behind a diner. He loses a tooth and has internal bleeding.
He's 16 and being stuffed into a trunk, a girl with a bleeding lip is crying and he remembers calling out a group of boys who touched her inappropriately as she'd walked past. They slam his fingers in the trunk door and he hears Clint shout at the pain. He remembers not being able to draw for months and crying because his right hand took years to heal right.
He's 16 and he remembers coming home. His ma is standing at the sink coughing violently. Once the blood appears on her handkerchief she sends him away to the Barnes' because she knows it's TB and he'll die if he catches it. Bucky has to watch him like a hawk so we won't sneak away.
Bucky holds him down in the hospital as he screams to be let go. He needs to see her, he needs to be with her. But they refuse him. He punches and kicks at Bucky but Bucky just cries and holds strong to his arms, refusing to let Steve go.
A week later he's being told he can't even see her dead body because she's probably still contagious. He's restrained again as he fights the doctors trying to get into her room. He manages to slip their grasp and runs into the room. Her cold form lays on the bed, a sheet pulled over her and he rips it back. He cries and cries and he shouts at anyone who comes near him to leave him alone, he doesn't care if he catches it, he doesn't care, he needs to see her. They leave him be. He can hear Bucky crying in a chair in the corner but he's furious at him for keeping him from her so he ignores him.
The memory flickers and Steve finds he can't breathe again. Huge gasping sobs are escaping him. He's not the only one in the room crying, and it makes him cry even harder that not even one of his greatest griefs can remain his own. They feel the ache in his chest, the desperation of loss. He's laid bare before them.
He's 17 and at the orphanage that he'd lied to Bucky about. He finds his sketchbook on fire. The last gift his ma had given him. He gets third degree burns putting it out.
He's 19 and it's late at night, he left work way later than planned and is taking a shorter route home that he's less familiar with. The streets are quiet and basically empty. He is walking past a bar that is closed when a large man appears and grabs his arm.
"Hey," the man slurs.
"Good evening" Steve says shortly, trying to pull his bicep out of the man's grasp, but it just tightens painfully.
"Whatcha doin' out here so late." He grins looking around. Steve looks around and notices that there aren't any other people in sight. He tries again to get his arm out of the drunk man's hold.
"I'm just trying to get home." He says.
"Oh… Where's home?"
"Just around the corner." He lies.
"You live close, huh? You want some company?" The last word drags out a bit too long and Steve now begins in earnest to yank out of this guy's grip. This man is not just drunk.
"You know… somebody would probably pay a lot of money for your company. Soft golden hair—" the man reaches up and tousles Steve's hair with his free hand, Steve recoils. "Pretty blue eyes…so deep." Steve remembers this and the panic he felt then is present again. He knows he's not strong enough to fight this guy off, and he won't let go of his arm. The man is slowly dragging him step by step into a small alley behind the bar as Steve is struggling, trying to process what is happening. "Such a small frame," the man continues as his eyes rove over Steve's body and Steve hunches inward, trying to get out of his eyeline. "So small and frail… Childlike almost." The hunger in the man's eyes becomes crystal clear to his memory and the disgust and panic is palpable, he hears Tony retch, confirming that he feels it too.
"Let me go." He shouts, yanking his arm. The man twists it behind him painfully and shoves him against the brick wall of the bar, cracking his nose. Steve feels a hand grasping at his hair and neck and he begins shouting for help. He's whipped around again and a fist cracks against his jaw sending white hot pain everywhere.
"Shut up!" The man seethes. He feels his body pushed down into the dirt, hands grasping at his belt buckle, and it's only with the strength given him with the strongest sense of survival that he is able to kick out. He connects with the man's stomach and he goes down cursing. Steve can feel the bruises forming on his face, but he can't even think about the pain right now, he leaps up and stumbles back towards the public street. He wants to shout again but his jaw won't cooperate. The man is up and wrapping his arms around Steve's torso, he feels the man dragging him backward, his hands on Steve's waist, clambering under his shirt and sweaty calloused hands are raking over and grabbing his skin. Adrenaline and fear surge and he shoves again, wildly. The man stumbles back but latches onto his jacket. Steve rips the jacket off his body as quickly as he can, the man reaches for him again and he bolts. Running as far as he can until he's gasping for breath and crying so hard that he crumples and his knees hit the ground, his aching wrist joints shoot pains as he catches himself. Blood is dripping from his mouth and he can't feel his jaw or move it without waves of pain.
He crawls and hides behind a dumpster still terrified the man might come after him. The memory continues to his surprise.
He doesn't remember hearing Bucky calling his name, but he remembers Bucky appearing in front of him looking terrified and furious. "What happened! Who did this to you?" Bucky is shouting. He can see Bucky's about to run off looking for the assailant and Steve clutches his jacket, shaking his head as hard as he can. His crippling fear that the shouting and Bucky searching might cause the man to find them.
"Do-don't." Steve whispers, his jaw screaming in pain, "don't leave."
"Steve you've been missing since yesterday-"
"Stay." Steve croaks out.
Bucky looks about ready to murder someone, but he helps Steve up and they stumble back to the apartment. For weeks Bucky tries to convince him to tell him what happened. The fear, the panic has him nauseous. What if that man finds him again? What if he's not drunk next time? He always starts to tense up and withdraw. Bucky stops asking. He remembers not being able to eat solid foods because of his jaw for almost two months and being back to skin and bone with haunted eyes. He never takes that street home again and he never tells Bucky what happened.
He hears someone throw up in the room and he's mumbling apologies.
"I'm sorry!" He cries out, feeling 19 again and terrified. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"Steve." Tony calls out. "Stop apologizing. Why didn't you tell som—"
He doesn't have time to hear the rest before the next memory comes in. They've skipped ahead, he thinks numbly. The capsule appears and now Steve realizes where this memory is going.
"Stop." He whispers shakily. He went through this once and he doesn't want to do it again. Not any of it, not the pain, not Erskine. "Stop!" He cries out louder. But no one comes and the memory does not stop.
The capsule encloses him and the pain begins. He can hear shouting and screaming around him, but he can't even think of them as his own pain rolls through him in waves. Eternity. The pain lasts for eternity. But then he's out and being touched and not a moment passes before he's watching Erskine die in his arms.
A choked sound from somewhere next to him.
Next he's getting shot over and over on his missions.
The Howling Commandos feature heavily, and it feels like Beck and Zemo are intent on him experiencing every piece of pain he's ever felt over again.
He watches as friends get blown to bits.
He watches as he and his commandos carry the burned bodies of innocent villagers from their homes to be buried. Hydra cares nothing for the innocent.
He hears Clint panting as he is shoved off a bridge somewhere in France and lands on the water below, slapping the surface so hard he has a concussion and is taken off duty for two weeks. Only the serum saving him from brain damage.
Tony makes a strangled sound as he watches a younger Steve hoist Peggy's unconscious body from the foxhole she's in. He carries her body over his shoulder, her hot blood from a wound dripping down his uniform. He makes it halfway there when he is shot in the knee and tumbles forward. He catches Peggy's head as it nears the ground. Another bullet enters the back of his leg and he still gets up, limping heavily, her body held like a doll in front of him. The radiating pain makes him bite down so hard he feels a tooth crack and he wonders idly as he runs the next 2 miles back to their camp if the serum will fix that.
He can feel himself becoming numb to the memories. His body shutting down and only the consistent pain his teammates are feeling keep him from completely disappearing inside his own mind.
Then he sees the giant metal door to a facility and he jolts. No.
"Stop!" He screams. "Stop, please!" He's frantic and he twists to look at his teammates whose eyes are glassy as they watch the memory. He tries to think of something else, anything else, but an electrical jolt brings him back and he's forced to watch.
He doesn't need to remember. He can never forget this particular mission. The commandos had been told that some high level scientist was doing testing at this facility and so they needed to capture him and bring him back to the SSR. But it had been a trap from the get go. They got to the facility and were ambushed. Steve feels the electrical shocks that they use to knock him out. He awakens in a dark chamber with a ball and chain on his feet. A large tank of water in one corner of the room.
Soon the scientists are there and he's being dragged to the tank.
"Let us see what the serum can really do." An accented voice he doesn't know says into his ear. He tries to fight but is shocked again over and over, left panting. They hook him to something using the shackles around his wrists and he is being hoisted up into the air. He's dropped into the tank. The cold water makes him gasp. He swims as hard as he can, kicking with his feet shackled together until he bursts through the surface. He's barely taken a breath when he feels the weight of the ball and chain dragging him back down.
He kicks and fights for almost 11 hours, the serum pushing him to the limits. Finally he knows he's going under. He takes a deep breath and sinks. He tries to stay calm as he hears a dull clunk as the ball hits the bottom of the tank.
He counts. It's the only thing keeping him sane. How long can he hold his breath, he doesn't know. Maybe he can stay here for a few minutes and then kick back to the surface.
He's able to stay calm and according to his shaky count it's been 37 minutes. His lungs and muscles are starting to burn. His heart rate erratic as it struggles to pump. Some part of hsi tired mind thinks he could have held his breath longer if he wasn't so exhausted. He starts to kick to the surface when a lid slams down on the top of the tank.
"You didn't think we were going to let you live?" Sneers the scientist, his voice warbled through the glass, but he knows Steve can hear him and he smiles. Panic takes over and he can't help but try to take a breath. He coughs as he breathes in water.
He's drowning, he's dying. Not even super soldier serum can save him from this. His body is seizing and it's more painful than anything he can remember, even the capsule.
He hears agonized sounds around him, but he can't even think straight, he's still immersed in the memory. A loud crack and then the sound of something shattering happens and he feels his body being dragged sideways in a wave of water.
He's barely conscious as he hears shouting and the sound of bullets whizzing around. Something touches his face, then slaps it. More pain, but it just fades in with the rest.
"Steve!" A voice he knows says, Gabe maybe? "Barnes, over here! He's barely got a pulse!"
Another set of hands are grabbing him and shaking him. "Steve, stay with me!" Harsh pounding on his back and chest are the only things he can register. "Dugan!" Bucky cries, "I need you!" Thundering footsteps approach.
Even harder pounding has him retching up so much water so violently that he bursts blood vessels in his eyes and nose.
They don't have tools to remove the ball and chain and he has to wear it for the next day and a half as they travel back to their camp, he apologizes to Dugan constantly since he's the only one who can carry his weight. Bucky is besides them carrying the ball and chain.
He remembers that he can't see anything but blurs and shapes for the next three days. He remembers the haunted look on all his commandos faces when he can see again.
—-
The memory stops abruptly. His vision is his own again and he's trembling in the chair.
The door slams open and Beck strides in.
"Alright, we're going to make a few adjustments, we gotta take a quick break, but don't worry, the best is yet to come!" He pats Steve on the cheek and checks each of their shackles.
Zemo just stands in the doorway, watching Steve like a hawk.
They leave, shutting the door and sliding the heavy lock into place.
Steve keeps his eyes on the door. He can't look at them, he doesn't want to see their accusing faces.
He can hear Clint's heartbeat still pounding wildly.
Natasha has her fingers clenched so hard around her shackles that he can hear them grating against her nails.
Tony is barely breathing. Steve knows that water and his torture in Afghanistan are always close in his mind and the guilt of him bringing that back to the surface is overwhelming.
"None of the history books—" Clint finally speaks. "None of the history books mentions your capture."
"The army wouldn't let the SSR report it." He whispers, "no one wanted to think that Captain America could be brought down. It wasn't the only time either." He admits, trying to mentally prepare them for more of the same.
He hears a scoff of derision from Natasha and he closes his eyes, shame washing over him.
"I know that's a foolish way of thinking about it, but I didn't really have a say, and I'm really, really sorry. Maybe if I can-"
"Steve." He heard Tony snap, and his eyes lock on Tony's face. "If you do not stop apologizing— I swear on my dead father's grave—" he takes a deep breath and clasps his fingers together. His knuckles turn white and Steve can see him shaking. "If I had known. Geez there's— If we had had any idea. I—" a noise in the hallway tells them that they're almost back.
Fear shoots through his spine at the thought of resuming and the grim look on his teammates' faces tell the same story.
"I can't—" he gasps. "I know what's coming."
"What?" Clint asks confused, "what could be worse?" The pain must be scrambling his brain because how can Clint forget what's yet to come?
"Steve." Tony says sharply. "Steve, look at me."
He does.
"It's not real. You can fight it. It's called Binarily Augmented Retro-framing Tech. If it's like what we were working on at Stark Industries than that means you can—"
The door slams open and Beck enters in a huff.
"Okay we're going to need to speed this up."
"Something wrong?" Tony asks dryly.
"He's sooner than we expected."
"Who?" Natasha snaps.
Zemo cuts in, walking in with his arms crossed, "it's too risky. We planned on—" his eyes glance over to Bruce and Steve hears Natasha's heart rate speed up.
"I know! I know, but maybe we go this route instead. More believable."
"True."
A blast above them sends dust raining down.
"Crap." Beck mutters. "Okay, are you going up there or am I?"
"I'll handle the visitor. You better have a knife to his throat when I come down. Can't give this one an inch."
Beck nods and grabs a knife. He sticks it under Steve's chin and the cold makes him wince.
"You move one muscle, I jab this in your carotid. And then I yank it out and throw it at him." His eyes snap to Tony who sighs in annoyance and rolls his eyes. But Steve can see the fake bravado.
Through the haze of drugs Steve thinks: Who is here?