CHAPTER 7 - Captured

Clint held himself still as awareness flooded through his system. He could feel that his system was slowly recovering from a drug. The feelings of him becoming away again was always how he could tell if he was in medical or had been kidnapped. This drug... It was a 'kidnap' type of drug. Those always sucked, especially cause the kidnappers had no idea which drug would hurt him. In fact, the drug he had been given did knock him out but also had the side affect where he couldn't always think straight afterwards. But hey, at least he knew to not show that he was awake. He just needed to concentrate on the rest of what was going on.

The air was stale, dry. A room that wasn't used often but not underground like typical kidnap/prison rooms he'd been in. There was no air movement so likely an interior room that had no windows. It had to be separate from the rest of the place's electricity and maybe even AC and duck works. The room was silent as well so... No one else was here.

Shifting his body a bit without making it too noticeable, Clint noted that he was sitting. Strapped to a chair. Wait... Strapped to a...

"NO!" Clint cried, his eyes snapping open to look. And just as he feared. He was in The Chair. Automatically he started jerking around, trying to escape even though he knew that he couldn't. This Chair had been built to with stand Bucky. In his haze of panic, Clint hardly heard the click of a lock being undone.

"Nice of you to join us," a familiar voice called as a door opened. Clint's attention slowly drew upwards, the panic of being in The Chair easing a bit to see who was around. He had to focus. Focus on what was happening.

"Thought you died... Again," Clint growled the second he laid eyes on the speaker.

"Life Model Decoys can be made by the hundreds," Rumlow replied with a laugh. Clint's eyes narrowed. Just like Rumlow had said before. It was a 'LMD' that had died. How many LMD's were made of Rumlow? Could the guy have been someone long since dead and all they did was make more copies of him?

"So you could be one?" the archer asked, honestly curious. Rumlow snorted.

"Real deal, right here," the man chuckled. Clint raised an eyebrow. How was he so certain? The other one had said a similar thing. So, which one was the real one?

"But do you really know that? The other Rumlows thought the same thing," Clint suggested. Rumlow smirked and leaned forward as if the answer would be obvious.

"Because they were made that way."

"And you weren't?" Clint countered, fighting hard to not roll his eyes at the statement. A fist was slammed into his face. That cleared up the remaining traces of the drug's haze. Nodding, Clint chuckled. "Deserved that. But question still stands. Are you sure you are the real Rumlow?"

Another punch that had Clint spitting blood but also laughing this time. Rumlow backed away with a snarl. "Wipe him."

"Sir," another voice called. Clint looked around. Well, he sucked. Apparently there were more people here than the archer expected. And it was going to be his downfall. Clint could only watch helplessly as the Chair was prepped and it moved backwards. He closed his eyes as the machine placed itself around him. A second later, his head was filled with pain.

God it was just as bad as Clint remembered. Thanks for that Wanda. Jeez, couldn't block some of those fucking memories, nah. Not that it mattered now cause here he was getting fucking 'wiped' away again. By the time the pain stopped, Clint hardly remembered what happened to him in the last few days. There was a vague sense of having been in Wakanda. Something with Vibranium... Cryo?

"How ya doing?" Rumlow wondered, grabbing Clint's chin to lift the archer's head. Clint spit the excess blood in his mouth onto the man's face. Rumlow grimaced and backed away. "Again."

The pain this time was worse. How it got worse, Clint couldn't tell he just knew it was worse. Much worse. Oh god, Bucky survived nearly seventy years like this? What the fucking hell? This is bullshit. It was painful fucking bullshit. And scary. He knew that he was slowly losing memories but he couldn't draw on what he was losing. It could be something from yesterday... Something from his past... What was he missing? Then the pain stopped again.

"Doin' better?" Rumlow asked. Clint blinked rapidly, slowly looking up to the other man before his eyes narrowed. Rumlow. An enemy agent. "I don't think so. Wipe him again."

"Sir," a tech cried. Rumlow spun on them.

"I don't care! WIPE HIM!" Rumlow screamed. Then Clint screamed as the pain hit a third time. Thankfully, it didn't last as long as the others cause... He blacked out.

A groan escaped Clint before he could even attempt to figure out what the hell was going on. His head hurt like Hulk had smashed it in, then Mjolnir had been dropped on it, followed by Cap's shield slamming into it and finally also gotten run over by an eighteen wheeler. Opening his eyes slowly, Clint realized he at least wasn't in the Chair anymore. Instead he was in a room that was actually designed as a prison cell. Just, without the bars or furniture. And maybe a see through wall. Okay. He could work with that.

Slowly he attempted to stand. Thanks to the serum running through his body, the pain in his head was vanishing quickly but it also brought a wave of memories. Everything that he had lost from the damn Chair. Nice to know that the centering made it easier for everything to come back as well. Downside... They'd do the wipes much more often in an effort to keep the wipe sticking. Clint shivered at that thought. Maybe he should just act like it worked? That would protect him, right? But, how far back had they gotten?

"Ah, you're awake," Rumlow's voice echoed into the cell. The wall that Clint figured was see through suddenly went clear. Rumlow was sitting on some type of lounge chair, relaxing in it's comfortable padding. It was like he was trying torment Clint with that fact that the archer only had the ground to be able to rest on. But, Clint didn't care. He had slept on worse. "Faster than last time."

"What do you want?" Clint hissed, not even willing to attempt losing memories anymore. Fucking Rumlow. He was going to go down.

"An Asset," Rumlow answered. "We would have loved the Soldat back. But we figure we get you and then he'd come for you."

"Sure. Doubt that'd work," Clint laughed. While outwardly he didn't show it, Clint panicked. Before all this, Clint was certain no one would come to his rescue. But after all that time in Wakanda, he knew. They'd all risk coming to get him. And this was one of the few times that Clint seriously wished no one would come. "No one cares about me."

"Why is it that your enemies have more faith in your friends than you do?" Rumlow wondered, leaning closer to stare at Clint. The archer sneered at him. "It was something Pierce always talked about whenever he read the mission reports and some pretty good water cooler gossip."

"Glad I entertain some people," Clint huffed, turning away from Rumlow to hide that he was beginning to panic even more. He couldn't have Bucky come get him. Nor any of the others. It wasn't safe for any of them. But he also couldn't get a message out to them. He'd be safe here. It'd be okay. Actually... He should use his magic. Break down the barrier and just leave. But... God forbid Hydra found out about his magic. There hadn't been any mention of it in the file Sam had handed him. If Hydra knew, they'd want Clint more than they'd want Bucky. Not that Clint exactly knew much magic. Most of what he did know was offensive magic though.

"You really have no self esteem, do you?" Rumlow questioned. Clint flipped him off. He needed to delay. Needed to figure out a way out of this. Rumlow laughed, shaking his head. "Well, lets hope you're wrong and someone actually cares about you."

"You set your hope too high," Clint muttered, turning his back on Rumlow before getting himself to the back wall of the cell. He then turned back, laid his back against the wall and then slid down onto his ass. His knees pressed up into his chest and he draped his arms over his knees. "Hope you weren't relaying too much on my 'rescue.'"

"We'll see, Hawkeye," Rumlow retorted before taking his leave. Clint frowned, noting that the wall hadn't gone opaque. Interesting. Carefully, he got to his feet again and headed over to the wall. He placed a hand on it and was stunned when electricity was slammed into his body. Jerking back, Clint huffed a breath of surprise even as the serum fixed whatever damage had been done.

"Fuck," Clint mumbled. He remembered this. It was S.H.I.E.L.D tech for regular humans that needed to be held prisoner far away from other people. And, sometimes it got used for interrogation. Once Hill used both Clint and Natasha to try and escape from this type of cell. Even working together, neither of them had gotten close. Maybe with the serum, he'd have better luck?

Clint was left for nearly two hours of fruitless attempts at escaping before someone came over. Well, not someone. A bunch of someones. Clint got to his feet again, having sat down some time ago. The wall vanished and the group was on Clint, holding him down. Clint roared as he fought back against them until someone jabbed him with an electric baton. He cried out in pain as the person held it on him so they could push him into moving. When it stopped, Clint was now set in the room with The Chair again. But they hadn't locked him in.

"No," Clint whispered. No way was he going to get in that chair. Without Bucky, they'd be hard pressed to get him inside.

"Get in the chair, Barton," Rumlow ordered from Clint's left. The archer looked over. Rumlow looked pissed off and Clint noted a red notebook in his hand. Things were so much worse now. Was that the same notebook that created the damn control words, or was it more on how often Clint could be wiped? Either way, Clint was not getting in that fucking chair.

"Go suck a cock," the archer snarled. Rumlow laughed seconds before the electric baton was shoved into the small of Clint's back once again. Clint was pushed closer to the Chair in his pain but just before he touched the metal, the archer jerked to the side. The baton slipped off his back, stopping the flow of electricity that had been holding him back. Free, Clint stumbled for half a step before spinning and attacking the first body he spotted. It wasn't the one who held the baton. Clint was able to get a spin kick and a heavy punch into the bodies surrounding him before the baton connected with him again. He roared in surprise and pulled away. The baton dropped.

BANG

Clint stilled. What the fuck? Slowly, he looked down. There, his gut was sluggishly bleeding. Surprised, Clint looked back up to see Rumlow was pointing a gun at him. The guy had shot him. Rumlow just fucking shot him! Distracted with shock and pain, Clint hardly felt the men shoving him into the Chair and locking him down. But as soon as the last lock clicked into place, Clint realized what the hell was going on. He paled, jerking harshly against the locks and straps even though he knew it was pointless and hurt like hell. Bucky's serum was stronger than Clint's. If Bucky hadn't been able to escape, there was no way Clint ever would.

"Wipe him," Rumlow ordered before Clint even had the chance to settle. No one replied but the Chair leaned back and the top drifted to cover Clint's moving face. The archer had half a second to realize they hadn't given him the mouth guard before the pain laced through his head. Without the mouth guard, Clint could feel his jaw tighten as his body tried to scream. Creaking and cracking noises echoed through the electric sounds until finally it all stopped. As the Chair moved back to a sitting position, Clint realized that he had dislocated his lower jaw and possibly broke a tooth... Or two. His eyes snapped up to glare at Rumlow. The other agent rolled his eyes. "Again."

Clint hardly had a second before the Chair moved and it happened all over again. This time he could feel memories fading. When had Hydra gotten him again? Was Wakanda infiltrated? Did Hydra get Bucky as well? God. His mind was never going to come back from this. Wanda said as much! Wait... Come back from what?

Then the pain stopped. As Clint felt himself shift, he fought himself to keep his eyes open and look around. He was in a medical lab of some sort. Locked down on a chair that connected to various wires which led too... Oh shit. This was The Chair! This was Bucky's chair!

"Agent Barton?" Rumlow's voice wondered. Clint's focus centered on the traitor, his mouth giving a sudden jerk that he ignored. The traitor who was supposed to have died in Lagos. Rumlow rolled his eyes before Clint could speak. He lifted a red notebook. "This time, hold him down longer. We need to get him blank."

"What?" Clint went to ask but nearly as soon as his mouth opened, a plastic guard was shoved into it. What the fuck? Then the Chair moved backwards again. Jesus! They're wiping him? Why the fuck where they wiping him? Why not Steve? Or... Wait... There was a reason they couldn't do St- Clint's mind roared in absolute pain. Time faded away as his brain was lanced with electricity. By the time Clint came back up from it all, he could hardly think. Gasping, Clint just blinked rapidly, watched as something dropped from his mouth and stared at it in his lap. Who had him? What were they doing? What did they want to know? A hand touched his chin. Surprised, Clint jerked backward and looked dead at Rumlow. He frowned. "Rumlow?"

"Fucking hell! What is it gonna take to erase him!?" Rumlow screamed, backing away in anger as he threw something at men waiting near a computer interface. What the hell was happening? Was Rumlow there to save him? But... What did he mean erase?

A plastic guard was shoved into the archer's mouth moments before the seat moved backwards again. Distantly, part of Clint's mind knew this was bad and that he should be fighting. But his focus was centered solely on Rumlow. Why wasn't he helping? Then the pain.

"We still there?" a voice questioned. Clint shivered. What? Slowly he looked up.

"Who?" Clint started, curious. The man smiled.

"What's your name?" the man wondered. Clint frowned. Why did that matter? Where was Buck? Jacques... Barney? Someone?

"Clint," he replied, unsure what else he should say. The man snarled and Clint knew it wasn't a good thing to have said. He winced, closing his eyes, when the man jerked upright but when nothing hit him, Clint opened his eyes. The man was raging on the other side of the room. Telling people they 'fucked' up and that this needed to get done... Soon. What needed to get done? Where was Widow? She said she'd keep him safe... Why wasn't she here? The man jerked back around.

"You better be gone," the man snapped as a plastic guard was pushed against his lips. Clint struggled for a moment but his guard was weak and whoever was holding the guard was experienced. It slid into place. Clint hardly had a moment to think about it before the chair he was in dipped backwards. Fuck! Where was Coulson? Why hadn't S.H.I.E.L.D found him? Wait... What miss- Pain shattered his thought process. The next thing Clint knew, a soft hand was pushing his head up. Slowly, languidly, Clint opened his eyes. The man before him didn't look like a doctor. Didn't look like anyone he knew. Waverly was a small town. Clint knew all the police men. Knew all the doctors. Knew everyone really. But, he didn't know this man.

"Where's my mom?" he whispered before pausing. That wasn't his voice. His voice was higher pitched. What was going on? The man smiled, backing away.

"Okay. Let's get this done fast. I don't want that serum returning him before we can get the words in him," the man called out to whoever was around. Clint frowned. What words? Serum? What was this guy talking about? A sharp pain pulsed through his left arm. He looked over in time to see another person pulling back, an empty needle in their hand. What was that for? Another pain had Clint look to his right arm but when he focused on it. He couldn't remember why he was looking at his arm. What was happening? Slowly, his mind began to drift. "Longing, Rusted, Seventeen." What? What did those words mean? "Daybreak, Furnace, Nine, Benign." They were important. Why where they important? "Homecoming, One, Freight Car."

Slowly, Clint's mind focused a bit. He looked up to see the strange man again. The man was smiling. A moment later, something was shoved into his mouth. Unaware of what was happening, Clint didn't fight it.

"Do a quick one. Then we'll repeat the process. Just like the book says," the man announced to the room at large. Clint frowned even as he felt his body shift backwards. Book? What did a book have to-

As I am sure you all noticed, I am late by a day on this chapter. That is mostly because I spent most of yesterday sleeping because Thursday night I did not sleep. I also on that day received some bad not really unexpected news. I have moles that are pre-cancerous moles. My family has a history of skin cancer so that's why it wasn't unexpected.

Darius is good. He's been happy, playing, and overall good. We had an issue on Thursday in which our dog Appa hadn't been able to get outside due to our yard getting a chemical treatment so he pissed in our living room. And of course, Darius hadn't cleaned up his toys. They were thankfully easy toys to clean but the entire thing got me highly upset, even though I knew Appa wasn't truly to blame. For that, Friday morning, hubby had to deal with letting the dog out and feeding cause I was mad at him still. Again, I know he isn't to blame it just sucks and I stupidly blame him. Darius has had some truly epic moments this week too.

He was playing Ghostbusters (mostly wandering around with a stick and making noise as he captures a 'ghost') and while he was doing so, for every time he made a noise, Appa would spin in a circle chasing his tail. Happened quiet a few times. There was also a point where we had gotten dinner and Darius had ordered pasta. Well, it arrived and he asked us to feed him. We said that we were busy and that he could do it. His response would he'd make a mess (a well known fact that he does with anything that wasn't finger foods or could be turned into finger foods). We still told him that he had to do it on his own. He insisted. We insisted. When he finally gave in, he either intentionally or accidentally dropped the pasta on the floor. It thankfully was clumped together to a degree so not much was spilt on the floor and he didn't lose much of his dinner. So, he then looked right at us and said 'see, I told you I'd make a mess.'

Two days after that, Darius wanted to play neighbors and I couldn't fully get what he wanted as he kept spending most time away from me. So, considering he only had two houses made from magnatiles (or whatever) I told him I'd like a bigger neighborhood. He added one house. I asked for more. He added a road. I asked for more houses again. Road got torn up for new houses. Then more pieces came down. And more... and more. I think he built like eight or nine houses or something. So what did I do? I asked for a road. Then the neighborhood died in a blaze of yellow rain...