Thank you to the one who asked about this plot line in the comments and forced me to write this chapter sooner rather than later. Honestly, I'd been putting it off (I think you'll see why). But here it is. Pain :
TRIGGER WARNING: This is probably one of my more graphic chapters. So if you're squeamish…
Bucky has a countdown. He's been in the tower just over 2 months, and he's waiting to see if he notices a change.
He'd mentioned his concerns to Natasha that one night, but after that had scolded himself for letting it slip. He and Steve hadn't lived with each other in over 65 years. There was no guarantee that their living styles would be the same as they were in the 40's. He'd been through a lot as the prisoner of Hydra, and Steve had a huge life change waking up in a new century. So it was perfectly normal for things to be different.
But he can't shake the feeling. If Steve is really okay, then why did his room feel so wrong? Why did he feel like everytime he asks the team something, and they stare at him like he has two heads, he gets this sick feeling like they should already know this.
Natasha had asked him a few weeks ago what he'd meant that night in the elevator, but he'd told her to wait, he was hoping it would address itself.
But it didn't.
Steve was getting more comfortable and relaxed by the session. He almost seemed cheery most days.
So why does it feel like something was missing?
—-
The resolve settles into Bucky's heart after a walk through Central Park with Steve.
Bucky remembers the few times they'd had the time off and the weather was nice enough that he and Steve could spare a few coins to take the train down to Central Park.
He'd always allowed himself to be dragged around by Steve to each new artist they came across. Painters, sketchers, watercolors, even the odd sculpturist were sights to behold and he remembers vividly the gleam of excitement in Steve's eyes as he watched them create something new and wonderful. He would be talking animatedly, his thin fingers punctuating his words as he talked about this technique, or that new medium that would 'change the art world'.
So when they walk through Central Park, and Bucky sees the first man with an easel and paints, he expects to be dragged over there. He does not expect Steve to tuck his hands into his pockets and keep walking without a glance.
This happens four more times. The last artist has a giant sketchbook and charcoals, masterfully creating a sketch of the fountain in front of him, and Bucky knows that Steve can't resist charcoal. It was always his favorite medium because it was cheap and he loved the raw look they created. He watches as Steve's eyes slide over the artwork. Finally, thinks Bucky.
But instead of Steve's eyes lighting up, they go a bit dimmer and he keeps walking.
Bucky's steps stutter, and his voice catches in his throat. Steve doesn't notice and keeps walking further from him. He catches up soon after, glancing up at the man whose eyes never leave the horizon in front of them.
—-
He settles into his chair and puts the band around his temples. He's ready this time. He can't let it go anymore.
"Who would like to begin?" Dr. Raymond's voice crackles over the speaker.
"Me." Bucky says, a hint of steel in his voice. Natasha eyes him a bit warily, but Steve seems relaxed so he closes his eyes.
The first memory is Steve's 6th birthday. He's given a small notebook and a set of charcoals. He clutches it in his hands, refusing to let it go and even falls asleep with it in his bed.
He can feel the group shifting, unsure why he's showing them this memory, but he needs them to see. He needs them to see the Steve he knows. The next memory is Steve at 9 years old. He and Bucky are playing something on the floor in the tiny room, but Bucky looks up and sees dozens of sketches on the walls. Steve's skills have increased dramatically from his rudimentary 6 year old pictures, to the more detailed and artistic ones above his desk.
Then he thinks forward: Steve's 12th birthday when his mom had somehow managed to get her hands on a tiny set of paints. The glow on Steve's face doesn't leave for a week. He uses the paint so sparingly, but creates beautiful scenes and even a portrait or two when he starts feeling brave enough.
Now it's Bucky in his own home. He's looking up at his wall where a sketch of him and Steve is displayed proudly, tacked to the wall. Steve's neat signature at the bottom right. He then thinks of the doll they found in the trash that Steve had cleaned off and repainted the face so delicately for his little sister Alice. She loved that doll.
His memory flashes in scenes:
The painting of Mr. Simmons sits leaning against the oak door. Steve had painted it sneakily, not letting the man know. When it was finished, Steve had left it on his doorstep and taken off, but Bucky had stayed behind. He watched as the door opened and Mr. Simmons stopped in his tracks, surprised by the unexpected item. Bucky watched as he picked it up and traced the familiar face with his finger. Mr. Simmons had fought in The Great War and lost his left ear, eye, and part of his jaw saving his platoon from a grenade. Steve had painstakingly painted the man in portrait form, looking striking and brave as he stared out at the world from the canvas. Steve had used his own father's war portrait as reference for the dress uniform, he wasn't sure what stripes or medals he should be. He had almost chickened out giving it to him. But Bucky had vehemently insisted, and watching the tears slip out of Mr. Simmons' good eye as he clutched the painting to his chest, he knew it was the right choice.
Steve's room is impeccably neat. The only exception is the hundreds of sketches and paintings that are stuck to the wall precariously. His ma just shakes her head at him, but Bucky sees the proud gleam in them.
He remembers Steve crowing with excitement when the school principal had asked Steve to draw up a poster for the school's upcoming social event.
He remembers the tears in his own ma's eyes when Steve shyly hands over a Barnes' family portrait.
Bucky takes a deep breath and shifts the memory.
Steve is standing outside his apartment. His hands in his pockets and his shoes scuffing the ground.
"You want to go in?" Bucky asks softly.
"No. They're selling all the furniture and I already have my clothes and the few other items I need." Steve says, no emotion in his voice.
"You want to keep anything of your ma's?"
Steve's hands tug against his jacket pockets as he shrugs. Bucky can see his hands are shaking but he doesn't say anything.
"I have the few pictures, and my dad's watch is in the family trunk." His voice quakes just the tiniest bit and he starts walking back down the rickety wooden stairs.
It's not until their halfway back to Bucky's house, Steve's tiny worn suitcase in his hand, and the family trunk in Bucky's that Bucky stops in his tracks.
"Steve! Your pictures!" He starts to turn back but Steve stops him.
"It's fine, Buck."
"What do you mean it's fine? You can't leave those."
"I didn't leave them."
Bucky's brow furrows, "where are they?"
"I threw them out. My aunt didn't want them in her house."
Steve is still walking but Bucky is frozen in place. When Steve's ma had died, Steve had mentioned that he was going to live with a great aunt that Bucky hadn't even known existed.
Bucky had offered for him to come live with his family, but Steve had declined. Steve knew times were tough for everyone, and he wasn't about to give them another mouth to feed, let alone put his medical bills on Bucky's family.
"She can't just do that. They're yours!" Bucky runs forward, grabbing his shoulders and pulling Steve to face him. "You can keep them at my house."
Steve's staring off into the distance when he replies. "It's fine, Buck. I already threw them away." He pulls out of Bucky's hands and keeps walking. Bucky's wide eyes follow him in disbelief.
It's late at night. He's sneaking back to Steve's apartment. He kicks the brick to the side, revealing the key that he guessed Steve would have forgotten about. He lets himself into the apartment and his throat clenches at how empty the place feels. The furniture is still there, the buyers would pick it up in a few days, but somehow this place that he'd called a second home felt more like a tomb.
He stepped past Mrs. Roger's room and into Steve's, his heart dropped when he saw that everyone of the pictures on the walls was gone. He'd hoped that Steve had been lying, just saying that so Bucky wouldn't go back, but the walls stared back at him, as empty as Steve's eyes had been at the funeral.
He stepped closer, running his hands over the walls he hadn't seen in years.
"You'll keep him safe?" Mrs. Roger's had whispered to him when she'd first received the diagnosis and came to drop off Steve's stuff to the Barnes'.
"Always. I promise." Bucky responds with no hesitation.
He runs back out of the apartment, leaving the key where he found it and racing to the big dumpster that the Rogers' had always used. He peers over the edge and sees a pile of papers poking out from under a few bags. He climbs up, wrinkles his nose at the smell and jumps in.
He allows himself a small smile at how many drawings and paintings he was able to salvage from the bin. He couldn't find or save them all. Some had been too covered in substances best left to the imagination. But he had some, and one day, when Steve was ready, he'd get them back.
—-
"Bucky." He hears Steve call, a new strain in his voice. In fact, Steve's voice sounds more brittle than he can remember in recent history. But he holds his hand up.
"I'm not finished, Steve. It's my turn." He hasn't opened his eyes yet and a new memory washes over the room.
A memory of Bucky pulling bandages off Steve's badly burnt hands.
"Geez, Steve, how'd you even manage this?" Steve winces as the bandage sticks to a swollen piece of skin.
"Spilled a hot cup of water." He huffs at the pain. "Won't happen again."
—
He's following Steve. School is out for the day, and he said goodbye to Steve at the intersection of Kingston and Maple. He walks away, but then doubles back a few minutes later.
He trusted Steve. Steve had said he had a far removed great aunt that he was going to live with. Bucky had believed him.
He follows Steve at a distance. At 17, Bucky's already nearing 6'0, but Steve hasn't grown past 5'4, so he has to keep weaving through the crowds to make sure he doesn't lose him. He watches as Steve glances around, and then ducks down a small side street, turning left and then right onto a quieter block. He walks with his bag slung over his hunched shoulders and hands stuffed in his pockets to ward off the spring chill. Bucky now has to wait longer periods of time to follow because there isn't a crowd to hide behind. He loses Steve around a corner and races to catch up.
He's peeking around a corner, watching Steve walk up to an unfamiliar building. Once the door behind Steve has closed, he steps forward and the large sign over the door catches his eye.
Brooklyn Orphan Asylum
The name stops Bucky dead in his tracks and his lungs refuse to take in air.
He stares at the large imposing brick building.
He can't believe Steve lied. He can't believe that he believed Steve so easily.
—
The memory shifts to a few days later.
Steve is sitting opposite him at lunch time. Bucky brings lunch everyday and keeps offering Steve some food, but he always politely refuses.
"So, how is it going with your aunt?" He asks casually. He watches Steve out of the corner of his eye.
"It's fine." Steve says nonchalantly, not a trace of deceit on his face. "She's a bit of a grouch, but she's gotta be pushing at least 80 so I guess she's earned it."
The ease with which Steve lies makes the hair on the back of Bucky's neck stick up. If he didn't know the truth, he'd be convinced by Steve's demeanor alone.
"You think I can come visit soon? I haven't seen your new home."
"Sorry, Buck." Steve says, with what Bucky can only see as a genuinely rueful smile. "Aunt Rose is a bit of a stickler about guests, and the place is really small. So I don't think she'd appreciate a visitor. But hey, just think, next year? We can get our own place." Steve shifts the conversation and Bucky is only half aware as Steve describes what he heard the teachers saying about the upcoming exam schedule.
His best friend in the whole world is lying to him. And somehow he's furious at him and not even mad at Steve. He's mad at the world for making Steve think he's not worth anyone's time. After finding out about the orphanage, he'd put the pieces together that Steve didn't want Bucky's parents to be burdened by him, and Bucky can barely stop the anger at his friend's disregard for himself from flashing across his face.
—
It's a few weeks later. Bucky has decided he needs to check out the orphanage. Bucky had volunteered Steve to help make signs for the neighborhood bake sale. He needed him out of the way for a few hours.
He stood in front of the building. The words glaring at him. Brooklyn Orphan Asylum.
It takes him longer than he cares to admit to work up the courage to sneak in the door. He doesn't see anyone and luckily there's enough signage that he finds the door marked:
Male
15-17 years
He pushes the door open and it creaks. He steps in and walks along the row of beds. Twelve beds in total, and for some reason it makes him sick that he can't figure out which one is Steve's.
He starts looking for Steve's family trunk or suitcase or anything that will identify which bed is his. The door creaks open again and a boy steps through. Bucky straightens as the kid catches him.
"Who're you?" The kid asks, a sneer on his face. "Don't tell me we're gettin' another boy in this room. It's already full."
"No, I'm just here looking for someone."
"Oh yeah? Who?"
"His name is Steve—"
The kid groans before Bucky can even finish.
"Ugh, that crumb? What do you want him for? Need a punching bag?"
Bucky feels his chest burn but keeps his voice even. "No, he's a friend. You lay one hand on him and I'll—"
"You'll what? You ain't got the guts." The cocky grin on the kid's face makes Bucky's teeth clench. The kid is probably about his same age, he looks skinny and malnourished. Bucky knows he could take him, but he can't be caught fighting here.
"Just tell me which bed is his."
The kid points at the bed against the wall and turns to what must be his own bed. "Don't go rifling through his sketchbook. He's a bit touchy about it." The words trickle down Bucky's spine and he spins around to stare at the kid who laughs at the response and then is gone.
Alone in teh room again, he walks to Steve's bed. It's neatly made and looks like all the rest. Bucky scans the wall and surfaces around. There's not a sketch or painting in sight. He kneels down and sees Steve's suitcase. His eyes land on the family trunk and he pulls it out. It's small, and the ROGERS on the front is a bit faded, but Bucky knows it's the last thing Steve has that connects him to a family. His throat is tight as he opens the lid gently.
He sees a few pictures, and trinkets. But his eyes catch on the sketchbook. The one Mrs. Roger's had given Steve for his 16th birthday. It's half burnt, with the edges warped from the heat. He opens it and even though the pages are messed up he hopes for something, anything. But every page is blank.
—
He never tells Steve he found out about the orphanage. Steve never tells him he lived there.
—
The walls are bare as he and Steve move into their new apartment. Bucky keeps making comments about how he wishes they had something good to hang up. Steve never comments.
When Steve leaves to go haggle with the lady who was selling a worn out sofa, Bucky hangs up all the drawings and paintings he'd saved from the garbage. He places the sketch of he and Steve on the fireplace.
When Steve comes home, he freezes in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth open. Bucky watches as he takes in all the pictures. Before Bucky can say anything he's crying and clutching his arms across his stomach. Bucky is bolting forward and wrapping his arms around Steve's shaking frame.
"Steve? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have—"
He's cut off by Steve's thin hand clutching at his arm and pulling him closer.
"No, Buck." His voice raw with emotion. "Thank you. I forgot. I forgot."
They hug for a moment longer before Steve breaks out of the embrace and goes to study the pictures.
He studies one he did when he was 15. It's three girls jumping rope and a scruffy dog standing guard. His fingers trace the brick sidewalk and he speaks softly.
"When ma died… I didn't want to draw anymore. Putting up pictures on the wall feels like making something a home. But I didn't know when that home, or this one might be ripped out of my hands as well. So I—" He stops fidgets, his hand pulls softly at the edge of a picture. He takes a determined breath and faces Bucky with a serious face, "I think I want to go to Art school in the fall. Auburndale… what do you think?"
The smile that Bucky wears lights up the room.
—
He can feel Steve preparing to jump in, to address the memories they just watched, but he doesn't let him. That's only the first part. He needs to get this out. He needs Steve to know now. So he doesn't even pause as he brings up the next memory.
—
He walks into the tent he and Steve share and laughs to find Steve drawing again.
"Can't believe the army gives you art supplies." He quips.
"Well," Steve says thoughtfully, not lifting his eyes off the page in front of him. "I asked nicely,"
Bucky doesn't mention that the secretary he'd asked had been beside herself giddy that she was talking to Captain America, and had probably made the request seem more official than it was. But who is he to complain? Drawing helped Steve process after a mission.
"Hey, one of the boys is celebrating his birthday at the mess hall tonight. Think you can make it?"
Steve wrinkles his nose. "I'm not a canary, Buck. You know I don-"
"The kid is 19, Steve. Come on, he's heading out to the frontlines tomorrow, you gotta."
Steve rubs his eyes, leaving a streak of charcoal across the bridge of his nose and right eyebrow, which makes Bucky want to laugh because he can picture 12 year old Steve doing the same thing, but he stays serious.
"FIne." Steve huffs. "But I'm not singing it alone."
"Deal."
Bucky glances around the inside of their tent. The canvas walls are covered in sketches, pinned to the thick fabric. He sees his own face in many of them, along with each of the commandos, Steve's ma, his parents and sisters and one of Peggy that's on the entrance side, so that way anyone who pokes their head in can't see it. Bucky wasn't sure about Peggy at first, then he heard her talk about Steve during their time at Camp LeHigh, and he realized she loved him before the serum, so he doesn't have any objections.
The look of sheer concentration on Steve's face as he attempts shading in sunlight makes Bucky smile. He's exiting the tent when Steve's voice floats over,
"Not Jacques."
Bucky laughs back, Jacques can't carry a tune in a bucket. "Not Jacques."
—
The commandos along with Peggy are trapped behind enemy lines. They were sent out on a hostage rescue to another one of Hydra's factories. But the intel is off somehow and the factory isn't where it is supposed to be.
They are walking through the woods, trying to find their way back to safer territory when a plane passes over. They all look up to see the Hydra symbol on the underside of the wings. The trees are bare and Bucky looks at Steve, who he can tell is having the same thought: If we can see them, they can probably see us.
"Run." Is Steve's sharp command. The commandos take off, and they make it a good distance before the plane has circled back around and firing rounds at them.
"Take cover!" Steve shouts, bringing his shield up and using it to reflect the bullets back at the plane.
A bullet hits the fuel tank and the plane bursts into flames, a screaming explosion streaking through the sky, crashing not 200ft from them.
"You guys keep running." Steve shouts, as he takes off towards the plane.
"Where's he going?" Monty cries out, wiping mud off his face.
"The pilot." Is all Gabe has to say before Bucky is cursing Steve to high heavens and taking off after him.
He gets there not moments after Steve, but he's already pulling the burning body of the pilot out of the cockpit with his gloved hands.
Steve hauls the soldier far enough away from the crash and lays him down.
"He's dead, Steve." Bucky snarls. "Leave him." He wants to remind Steve that this man just tried to kill him and his whole team, but he knows it won't make a difference.
Steve nods, staring at the burnt body.
"Let's go. Someone is sure to have seen that." This snaps Steve back to reality and they take off after their team.
They've just begun to hope that maybe they've escaped detection when the sounds of boots are heard in the distance.
"Get ready." Steve hisses, crouching behind a stump and ordering his men to take cover.
The battle is going their way until the grenade. It's a move they've done a hundred times. An enemy tosses an explosive, usually a grenade, and whoever is closest, kicks it to Steve who holds the shield over it, letting the inside of the shield absorb the blast.
A grenade lands not two feet from Bucky and he looks over to make sure Steve is ready. He is and in a split second he's kicking the grenade towards his best friend. Steve slams the shield down over it, but a root catches the lip of the shield, preventing it from laying flat.
The explosion blasts Steve backwards, tossing him against a jagged rock. Bucky feels the scorching heat sear across his cheeks as he slams into a tree. The world around him goes dark.
—-
He comes to not long after.
He tries to move but his hands are tied together and so are his feet. He groans at the ringing in his ears and rolls over. He opens his eyes slowly and a mustache is the first sight to greet him.
"Hey Sarge."
"Hey Dugan." He looks up and doesn't recognize his surroundings. "What happened?"
The lack of response makes Bucky's blood run cold. He shakes his head, wincing at the pounding and fully examines the situation.
He, Dugan, Peggy, and Morita are tied up in a cell.
"The others?" He asks.
"Falsworth, Jones, and Denier? They escaped." Dugan says.
"We think." Morita clarifies. He has a nasty gash on his arm, but otherwise looks okay. Bucky glances at Peggy who doesn't look injured but her eyes are looking behind him, and the anger in them is a bit frightening.
It only takes a few seconds for Bucky to realize that they had left someone out of that list.
"Wait." He stares at Dugan, "You said, Falsworth, Jones, and Denier?" Dugan nods slowly.
"Where's Steve?" Dugan, a man who doesn't fear much and can handle a lot under pressure, winces at the sharpness in Bucky's tone.
"He's—" His eye's glance behind Bucky and the grimace that crosses his face makes Bucky tense. He slowly turns around, realizing that the wall behind him is not a wall at all but the bars of a cell. But it's not the bars of the cell that get his attention. It's what's beyond them.
In a strained voice, Bucky hears Steve in the room say, "I don't remember this." But he doesn't stop the memory.
Steve is strung up from the ceiling. His arms pulled over his head and bound at his wrists. His feet hang a few feet off the ground and his boots have come off, laying in a heap under him. His uniform is shredded and torn from the blast.
"Steve!" He shouts, as the others start grabbing him and shushing him. He's struggling against them when Steve's head starts to move. There's blood all over and Bucky can't tell where it's coming from, but his cowl is removed and Steve's blonde hair is matted to the side with it.
Dugan's hand is clamped over his mouth and he can't comprehend why. He shoves Dugan's hand away and yells again. "Steve, Steve are you okay? Steve, it's me, it's Bucky."
Steve's eyes flutter. "Buc-" Only one syllable is uttered before a loud buzzing is heard and Steve's body convulses, his arms bending and back arching as sparks emit from the cuffs at his wrists. Steve cries out in pain but the voltage only increases. Bucky is rooted to the spot as the electricity finally stops and his friend is left panting, struggling to get enough air into his lungs as he hangs from his wrists.
"What—"
Peggy's quiet voice, cuts like glass. "If he speaks, or makes any noise." She breathes in through her nose, eyes closing, "they shock him."
Bucky's mouth hangs open and he stares in shock at them.
"You're lying." He accuses, even though he knows they have no reason to.
"I can assure you, we are not."
"How long have I been out?" He rasps.
"About 6 hours. Smashed your head pretty good on a tree."
"What happened after the grenade?"
Morita takes over, sparing a glance at Steve every few seconds. "Well, Cap took the worst of it. He got burnt pretty bad, and lots of shrapnel." He grimaces, "if we get out of here, we're gunna have to dig that out of his skin." Bucky's stomach rolls but he forces himself to listen. "When he didn't get back up we knew it was bad, so Dugan and I ran to grab him, he was conscious but real shaky. When Steve realized the Hydra boots had grabbed you. He told them he'd go with them willingly if they let you go." Bucky's face must show his anger but Morita cuts him off, "I know, and we protested, which is how, after a quick gun fight, we ended up here and Steve there. We're hoping the others can figure out a way to contact Phillips to come get us."
Steve's chains rattle and four pairs of eyes whip towards him. His eyes are closed but his breathing is uneven.
"How long has he been strung up?" Bucky asks.
"Since we got here, like 4 hours ago."
Bucky's voice drops low. "And how many times has he been shocked?"
Dugan's Adam's apple bobs as he pulls on the sides of his mustache. "Too many."
The hiss that exits Bucky's lips makes Morita jump.
—
The memory flashes forward.
It's been 12 hours and they're still trapped.
Steve has woken up three more times and each time has ended in a shock. Now Steve is conscious, but silent.
Watching the blood dripping from his friend's nose and ears makes him want to rage against their captors. But so far no one has come into the room.
Peggy is pacing back and forth. Her fists clenched under her arms as she crosses them against her chest.
Finally, a metal door creaks open and two Hydra guards march in, followed by a man in a mechanic's jumpsuit.
"So," the man begins, poking a finger at Steve's chest. "The mighty Captain America."
Steve glares at him, not responding.
"I see we've learned the consequences of speaking out of turn." The nasty smile on the man's face makes Peggy almost growl. "That is good. So many nasty Americans, speaking out of turn."
Steve opens his mouth to retort but Peggy calls out.
"Steve, don't. Please don't." The sound of her voice makes his mouth snap shut and the man smiles wider.
"Let's play a little game shall we?" He waves at the cell where they sit.
"You tell me their names, and I don't shock you."
Steve says nothing. The man huffs in annoyance and clicks a button on a small remote in his hand. Steve's muscles spasm as they tense under the onslaught. He's unlucky enough to let out a groan which only causes the voltage to increase. He cries out again and the voltage goes so high that Bucky can see smoke emanating from Steve's skin.
"STOP!" He screams. "STOP, You're killing him!"
The voltage ceases and the man turns towards the cell. "I don't think he can be killed so easily, do you?" He turns back to Steve, eyeing the smoke. "Besides, he isn't dying today. We have that schedule for tomorrow. Now, what are your friends' names?" He looks expectantly at Steve who is staring at him a bit glassy eyed.
Dugan speaks up, "I'm Timo-'' Electricity arcs through Steve again and Bucky cries out as he watches Steve, unprepared for the onslaught, bite down hard on his tongue, drawing blood and shouting at the pain. The man smiles and increases the voltage yet again, this time defined burn streaks appear across Steve's arms, and face, the closest to the cuffs.
"Now." The man says. "I asked Captain America what your names are. I expect him to cooperate. You telling me your own name ruins the game. And now you know what happens when you speak out of turn."
Dugan's horrified face is enough to make the man laugh and he reaches over and hands the remote to one of the guards. "I'll be back in a bit and we will try again."
The guards leave, but Bucky is sure they are still monitoring the room.
"Steve?" Peggy whispers. Steve doesn't look at them. Bucky doesn't know if he can't or if he's unconscious. "Steve, I swear to you, we are going to get you out of this. But you have to promise me, give the man what he wants. Who cares if he knows our blasted names."
"Listen to her, Steve." Bucky commands.
The man comes in a few hours later with a box in his hands.
He sets the box down on a table on the far side of the room and steps in front of the cell.
"Do any of you know what mental warfare means?"
No one responds. The man doesn't seem displeased, he continues in a calm voice as if he is talking about the weather.
"It's a new concept. Most don't believe in it yet, but they haven't seen what I have seen. I watched men come back changed from The Great War. I watched them become different humans entirely as their brains fought with the ghosts of the terrible things they'd done in the name of patriotism."
He stares at Bucky for a long while. "Want to take his place?" He asks, eyebrow arched.
'Yes." Bucky says without hesitation.
The man smiles and he walks back over to Steve. "Hear that? Your comrade wants to take your place. All you have to do is say 'yes'. And I won't even zap you for doing so."
Steve's eyes narrow as he stares at the man. Bucky knows that look, he's seen it a thousand times. "No." Steve says, not a hint of hesitation in his voice. The man smiles and electricity arcs through Steve once more.
—-
"As I was saying," the man sets the remote down by the box. He clicks open the top and brings out a small piece of cloth. "Mental warfare is a relatively unheard of concept, but I believe it will play a big factor in future wars. The body can be strong, but if the mind is weakened then the man is weak." He snaps at the guards and one of them shuffles over, bringing a chair.
The man climbs up, and wraps what Bucky can now see is a blindfold around Steve's eyes. "When you can't see, your other senses pick up the slack. And from what I hear, your senses are already finely tuned." He steps back off the chair and disappears out the door for just a moment before wheeling in a large metal box.
"This is an amplifier." The man says cheerily. "I think that having some music in here would lighten the mood wouldn't you?" He leans over, selecting a setting, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out ear plugs. He fits them in his ears and then looks at Bucky. "Might want to plug your ears for this." He flips a switch and blood curdling screams rip through the speaker and blast through the room. Peggy, Dugan, Morita, and Bucky all do their best to cover their ears with their bound hands. But Steve doesn't have that option. Even with his biceps covering his ears, by default of his hanging position, the sensitivity of his eardrums picks up every sound. The screams morph into a thousand terrible sounds, raging from metal scraping against metal, birds cawing in a cacophonous rage, and bomb blasts over and over.
Steve is crying and he must be making noise because Bucky can see the electricity arc through him again and again. Bucky can feel his own tears on his cheeks and he's screaming for the man to stop, but all the man does is smile and turn it louder.
—
Bucky isn't sure when the noise stopped. His ears are ringing and he can tell the others ears are too.
He looks at Steve, hanging limply, head hanging against his chest. "Steve?" No response. "Steve?"
Dugan's boot nudges his and he turns towards the man. "I don't think he can hear you." He says gravely.
Bucky's throat constricts but he knows Dugan is probably right. He also knows that Steve's eardrums can heal. But it doesn't make it any less horrible.
The door opens and the man walks in. Bucky's eyes don't leave Steve and he can tell Dugan is right by the fact that Steve doesn't even shift at the noisy entrance. He hears Morita say something but the words sound like they're being spoken through cotton.
The man holds up a piece of paper. Waving it at them. He writes two words on the paper before holding it under Steve's nose, pulling up the blindfold so he can see. Steve shakes his head and the man makes a "tut-tut" noise, letting the blindfold fall back into place.
"Come on Captain, you've got to give a verbal answer. If you don't say it, I'll assume you mean yes." Bucky watches as Steve's jaw clenches. He hopes his tongue has healed.
"No." Steve's voice sounds like sandpaper, but the unwavering answer is clear.
"Suit yourself." The electricity seems to start at a higher level this time. Bucky watches in horror as it starts to burn away at the frayed edges of Steve's uniform, leaving more exposed skin. Steve's mouth is clenched closed.
The voltage stops and the man waves the paper towards them. Bucky can clearly see the words written on it: The Girl?
Peggy leaps at the bars, her bound feet and hands making movement difficult but somehow she manages to stand, pressed against the cold metal.
"You bastard." She snarls. "Why don't you come over here and I'll show you who the girl is." Her words are dripping vehemence and the man looks just the tiniest bit startled at her reaction. The surprise settles into glee.
"Oh, I see." He looks back at Steve. "You like him?" He steps back on the chair and brings a knife slowly out of his pocket. "Does he like you back? Are you written on his heart?" The man flips open the knife and presses the sharp tip against a small piece of Steve's chest exposed through shreds of his top vest. Steve tenses and the man pushes harder, drawing blood.
"Stop." Dugan shouts. "You made your point. What do you want from us?"
The man quickly runs the blade horizontally leaving a gash that surprises Steve and makes him gasp. The man considers pushing the button, but waits. When the electricity doesn't come, Steve breathes out, and Bucky watches as his shoulders relax. The man watches this too and uses that second to jab the knife into Steve's side, surprising him and making him shout. Another round of electricity is marked by guttural screams as the voltage is drawn to the metal now placed between Steve's ribs. A burning patch of skins round the embedded blade turns black and streaks stretch out from it. Some part of Steve realizes that the screams are only making it worse and he manages to snap his mouth closed. Bucky can see him using every ounce of willpower to keep from making any noise.
Seconds later the torture stops and the man saunters over to the bars of their cage.
"What do I want?" The man asks, looking unimpressed at them, "I've been explaining it to you this whole time. Americans, so pompous, and yet, complete idiots."
"So explain it like you would to an idiot." Morita fumes.
"Like I said, a strong man is only as good as his mind. If I can break down Captain America, then I know I can do it on any weaker man. I want to create soldiers who will do my bidding. Who no longer have a mind of their own, who just follow orders, and let others do the thinking for them."
"Like you?" Peggy hisses.
"Exactly." He points back towards Steve. "When I get him to switch with one of you willingly. Then I will know he is broken. And he will break. Then I will kill you four and I will keep him around as my personal attack dog. What do you think of my plan?"
"It's a shit plan." Bucky growls. "And it's not happening."
"We will see."
—-
Twice more Steve is offered to switch, first with Morita, and then with Dugan. Each time his answer is steady, "No." But the subsequent anguished shouts echo in Bucky's mind.
The blindfold remains on, and the toll it takes, not being able to see his friend's eyes, makes Bucky start to go insane.
"Steve, just tell him our names, or tell him you'll switch with us. Anything!"
Steve's head just shakes slightly.
—
The memory flashes forward to the 24 hour mark. Steve has stopped responding to anything. Bucky thinks his hearing is back, but he doesn't respond, not to their calls, not to their captor, and not to the electricity.
After Steve had refused to switch with any of them, the man in the jumpsuit starts asking any question he can think of. "Where were you born? Why did Erskine choose you? Who are your friends in the cage?" When Steve doesn't answer, he clicks the button, sending electricity through the cuffs. Steve's body moves under the force of the voltage, but no sound escapes his lips.
Somehow the silence is worse to Bucky than the screaming.
—-
The man in the jumpsuit bursts through the door at hour 27 with an agitated look on his face.
"Cavalry's here." Bucky, who hasn't slept since he woke up 21 hours ago, stars uncomprehendingly at the man. "I don't suppose you know the quickest way to kill your friend here?"
The words have Bucky springing up, "Don't you dare touch him!" His eyes rove over Steve in despair. The scorch marks crisscross his whole body, new blood drips on top of dried blood and the bruising under Steve's arms from being ripped out of their sockets by being strung up for 27 hours is mottled and swollen.
"Well, I couldn't break him fast enough. But it's still quite the blow to American morale if he is dead, no?" The man pulls out what looks like a screw driver except the point is sharp.
"Stop, whatever you're doing, STOP." Bucky shouts. His distress has the others waking up and clamoring to their feet.
"Steve?" Peggy calls out.
"Stop!" Bucky tries again, "I'll do whatever you want!" The desperation in his voice is palpable, but the man just places the sharp tip against Steve's temple, and places the but of his palm against the handle.
"There's nothing you can do that is worth more to me or Schmidt than the death of Captain America."
The man's hand draws back and Bucky can hear himself screaming at the man. Peggy is screaming and somewhere behind him, hands clutched at the back of his blue combat jacket, Dugan is cursing and bellowing.
The crunch and squelch noise the tool makes as it pierces through Steve's skull and into the frontal lobe of his brain makes Bucky gag and keel forward. His forehead slams on the metal bars and he can't breathe.
Morita is hauling him off the ground and the man is about to exit the door. He pauses and holds up the remote. "For good measure."
Electricity rolls through Steve's body one last time, but not even his fingers twitch.
—-
No one moves.
They can hear some sort of commotion but their eyes are trained on the soldier hanging in front of them. Bucky can't think or breathe or do anything but stare.
Peggy is curled up as tight as she can manage against the corner of the cell, her eyes on Steve and her nails digging so far into her ankles she's drawing blood.
The door blasts open and Phillips, Falsworth, Denier, and Jones come running in. They're halted in their tracks as they take in their surroundings.
Denier's hand covered his mouth in shock and horror as Gabe gags.
Phillips is already on the chair when Bucky returns to his senses. "DON'T TOUCH HIM!" He shouts, not carrying that he's a general or in charge or anything. "GET ME OUT OF HERE, DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM."
Phillips says' nothing, just motions for the boys to open the cell and they make quick work of the locks and bonds.
Bucky hauls Peggy up on her feet and she allows herself to be dragged out.
Bucky steps on the chair, becoming level with Steve's face. It's worse up close. The bruising, burns and blood, are in stark contrast to the now pale face of his best friend.
He chokes back a sob and places his arms under Steve's shoulders.
"Cut. Him. Down."
Falsworth obliges, using tools to sever the thick chains holding Steve. As he takes on Steve's entire body weight, he steps down and sits down heavily on the concrete floor. He motions for Peggy to sit next to him and she does. His eyes are blurry as he adjusts Steve's body so his head is on Peggy's lap and Bucky is kneeling at his side.
Peggy's fingers gently pull the blindfold off. Steve's eyes are still open and Bucky chokes at the blood rimmed eyes and blown out pupils. Peggy's tears fall onto Steve's forehead and she gently brushes them off. She reaches down and closes Steve's eyelids.
No one around them is speaking. Bucky cries and clutches the tattered pieces of Steve's uniform and he can hear Peggy's sobs and the rest of the commandos mourning their Captain.
"Can you get it out?" He rasps, glancing at the tool still stuck in Steve's temple, and then at Peggy. He knows she trained as a nurse. It doesn't matter now, but he still asks her.
She nods numbly and gently, so gently, slides the tool out. Blood continues to drip from the wound and Bucky rips off a part of his shirt and holds it there.
"We should go." Phillips says gravely.
"We can't leave him!" Bucky cries out sharply.
"We won't, son. We won't. He's coming with us."
Peggy presses both hands on the sides of Steve's face, one overlapping Bucky's. She leans forward, resting her forehead on his again and crying.
"Steve?" She says so softly that only Bucky can hear. "Come back to me, Steve. We haven't danced, you promised me a dance." Her face twists into anguish and she closes her eyes. Ever so slowly, she presses her lips to his. "Goodbye, my darling."
—
Bucky won't allow anyone else to carry his body. 95lbs or 220lbs, it doesn't matter. Steve has always been his little brother to take care of.
He places him gently on the back of the truck. He and Peggy sandwich his body between them as they drive over the bumpy terrain. Peggy holding one hand and Bucky holding the other.
It takes a day and a half of travel to get back to base from where they'd been held.
Bucky carries him to the medical tent and refuses to leave his side until he knows what is going to happen to Steve's body.
Only 20 minutes later, Phillips enters the tent and stares at the two of them.
"There's a plane headed for New York leaving from London two days from now. You'll both be on it."
Bucky just grasps Steve's cold hand harder and nods ever so slightly. Phillips leaves him be.
—-
Something shifts under him. He jerks awake and stands up, his brain instantly assuming that someone is here to take Steve's body away without his permission.
He sees Peggy, sleeping on the ground next to the cot that Steve's body is lying on. He glances down and Steve is still there. He takes a deep breath and sings back down, resting his chin on his forearms. "I got you, Steve. I'm not going anywhere."
A soft groan makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. A gasp has him jumping backwards and tumbling over the back. of his chair.
The noise wakes Peggy and she flys to her feet, a knife in her hand.
"Bucky?" She looks for him, but he's on the ground, legs tangled in the chair.
"Peggy, down here."
She comes and helps him up. "What happened?"
"I dunno, I just thought I heard something."
Another groan has them stiffening in surprise. They turn to see Steve's nose scrunching up in pain, and his eyes fluttering open.
"Steve!" Peggy shouts at the same time as Bucky. They fall to their knees at his bedside and are reaching for him when he recoils from them.
They draw back and his eyes blink several times, taking them in.
Bucky can barely breathe, Steve's eyes are open and Bucky can see the heartbeat in his throat. The burns are still there, but he doesn't care.
"Steve!" He chokes out over a sob. "Steve."
Steve's blue eyes follow his, and his brow furrows in confusion. "Who is Steve?"
—-
*Oof, Sorry about the cliffhanger on this one, but at almost 8200 words I needed to cut a break somewhere!