HYDRA base location:
somewhere within the 100-mile Wilderness, Maine.
You couldn't make out much of anything. They'd blindfolded you. Typical. There was very minimal talking, some of it was in Russian, a language you didn't understand. You wish Nat could have translated. Not that it would have done you much good.
You knew wherever you were. It was far from Delacroix. You didn't know if HYDRA went back for your friends, the people you called family. If they were still alive, they were lucky. HYDRA is infamous for leaving no messes behind. You were sitting in a chair and whatever room they had thrown you into, smelled like a cave. You tried using your powers to burn your restraints but that only left you exhausted.
As your hearing steadily came back to you, you managed to listen to some incoherent arguing going on beyond your room. You heard a large metal door open and close, footsteps making their way to you. You bit your cheek, if you said anything foolish they would kill Sam, Nat, Karli, little Nate, and Bucky. As much as it made you cringe inside not to spit in their faces, you had to keep your composure.
"Brock, You better be right about this. I'm a busy man." one voice said you'd recognized it as Alexander Pierce. Nick Fury killed the bastard in your world, but he was still thriving in this one.
"This is the real deal Sir. Look for yourself." Brock said, with a harsh tug a flood of light came into your vision, blinding you momentarily. Pierce peered into you, studying you, took several circles around you, examining all that he could. Probing you with his index finger occasionally.
"This isn't one of those high tech face mask tricks is it?" Alexander asked, returning to Brock's side.
"No, we tried that is subject M14." Confirmed Brock, shifting his weight on his feet, his hand ready on his holstered pistol. Ready to fire if necessary. Brock was dressed in tactical gear and all black, the signature trademark of HYDRA's loyal guard dogs?
Pierce seemed perplexed, "M14? But we terminated that one after H7's success. If this is some trick, it's impeccable. Everything is correct. You said there was an oddity with this one. Enhanced? We could use that to our benefit." he rambled on.
"Any info on Soldat? Did you need to break him?" Pierce asked.
"He's compliant, but I know he is hiding. This one might entice him." Brock motioned towards you.
"Who are you?" Pierce asked, finally turning to you, his eyes continuing to scan you like a hawk.
"Y/N M/N Barnes. Thought that was obvious, Squidward." you couldn't resist making fun of the Kraken like symbol that HYDRA was famous for. You despised everything about them. For what they did to your Bucky, and there was no telling what they'd done to this world's Steve.
"You think this is a joke, huh? You need to be disciplined, bratty bitch." Rumlow stepped forward. Alexander jutted out a defensive arm, holding Brock back.
"Let me see it. What you're capable of. You, not the y/n we got rid of. I might spare you if I like what I see." Pierce proposed.
"Get fucked." You responded with a wry grin, several locks of your hair falling into your face.
"You know who you're talking to. Sweetheart? I wasn't asking, show me." Pierce paused, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging, slamming your head against the metal of the chair you were chained to.
The blue began, in short sparks in your hands, beneath your palms. Cobalt streaming, and growing, burning into the arms of the chair, scorching the cloth material. You stared into the dullness of Pierce's eyes. The lifelessness, the inhumanity. You stayed steady, your jaw pressing forward, your last wall of defense against making them ashes on the floor.
Frankly the only thing keeping you from cremating them was that there were consequences to your actions. It was more important to be patient and gain an advantage against your enemies than to be rash because of emotions. That didn't make it any easier to resist though.
Pierce gave an amused smile and turned to Rumlow, still momentarily distracted by your receding flames, until you were back to normal. Pierce turned on his heels and rested a hand on Rumlow's shoulder. His head turned slowly, with finality and determination.
"Break her. When you're done with it, throw subject M15 into cell 18. Make sure he knows," Alexander walked towards the heavy door, opening it, as Rumlow licked his lips. "Don't play with her. There are better missions for M15."
"Understood." Rumlow responded and that was all you saw of Pierce. Rumlow looked disappointed that he couldn't play with you as Pierce put it. You didn't want to find out what that meant either. But the prospect of breaking you, didn't make you feel much better. Your heart sank the moment that door closed, and you were alone, with him.
Your jaw was bruised, for your quick tongue rumlow punched you, several times. The blows landing in the same spot on your dainty jaw. You'd been shivering for hours, he had turned on the tap and dowsed you with frigid water. It was the kind of cold that took your breath away like a gut punch, and stinged you to your bones.
The familiar taste of iron filled your mouth, you must have bit your cheek on the last punch. You spit at Rumlow's feet. Defiance still aflame within you. A hot searing pain whipped across your opposite cheek, followed by a strong grip, gradually tightening on your throat like a vice.
"You're real fuckin' lucky I can't play with you. I'll have my fun sooner or later, Pretty Girl. I like it when they're feisty. Makes it more fun to break." Rumlow said creepily, licking the shell of your ear for just a second, a tantalizing taste for him. You knew what he had in mind, you weren't stupid. You'd be sure to castrate him by fire before he did anything to you.
Rumlow let go before you were able to pass out, black dots invading your vision as you gasped for breath. You were close to passing out. You couldn't let that happen though. There was no telling what was going to happen to you if you did. If you gave in. Time had no reason, there, in that wretched place.
Rumlow had a grin on his face. One that you didn't think you would forget for a long time. From a cold metal medical tray he readied a syringe. You noticed it's lack of color, for a moment you thought he was going to inject you with Super-Soldier serum. At this point anything is possible right?
You struggled against your restraints, your eyes jutting to the heavy door, as Rumlow creeped closer. Your lips quivered, almost crying, almost giving in. you hoped that Bucky was beyond that door, coming to rescue you. To save you from that place. What a childish thought. Maybe hope was more of a curse than we realized? You knew, no one would come to save you. Not even yourself.
The needle pierced your flesh and into a vein uncomfortably. As if defeated, you gasped pitifully, a tear racing down your cheek, disappearing into your clothes.
"Red Rover, Red Rover, bring Y/N on over." Rumlow whispered into your ear with an eariness. You hated this, that someone could keep you captive, away from the family you re-built. Rumlow discarded the syringe after its contents had been emptied into your bloodstream. With a crash it landed on the floor.
Being distracted by Rumlow's treatment of you, he chuckled, " Go ahead Firestarter. Let me see what you've got." You didn't respond. You didn't want to give him any more sick satisfaction. He crouched down on your level, his hands stroking up and down your calves, snaking up to your thighs. Your body still shivered from the relentless cold, you wanted nothing more than to soak up the warm Delacroix sun.
Brock didn't break eye contact with you. Your palms sparked, your familiar blue. But you found it difficult to get the sparks lit, was it the shower? Your sparks fizzled out. Nothing like this had ever happened to you before. You were powerless.
"Not so spunky now are we? Good." Rumlow tapped on your thigh and rose to his feet.
"What was that shit?" you asked, but it came out more like a demand.
"No need to know the ingredients, Sweetheart. The finest HYDRA juice equals no more enhanced. HYDRA giveth and HYDRA taketh." He caressed your cheek, the pain from your bruised jawbone flaring. You averted your eyes and turned your head in disgust.
"Since we can't put you in the chair, we'll have to teach you the old school way." Rumlow said, rolling up his sleeves and cracking his knuckles.
" Kобыла," (Mare) he began. You couldn't really register because he'd suckerpunched you in the jaw, the side that was already sore from hours of abuse. Blood trickled from your mouth and into your lap. To keep yourself somewhat sane, you counted the drops of blood that flowed down. All your resolve had left your body.
"Пятнадцать." (15) he continued before you had a chance to regain your senses, what little you had left.
"Пожар." (Fire), the blows kept coming.
"Страдание." (Pain/Suffering), and coming.
"Жена." (Wife),
"Матушка." (Mother),
"Гибель." (Death),
"Копировать." (Copy),
"Прислуга." (Servant),
"Зимняя роза." (Winter Rose). With the final phrase and blow. You'd been broken. Your mind wandered to distant places, but stayed there in that room. Shins, ribs, forearms, eyes; almost every part of your body was littered in forming bruises. You didn't speak or acknowledge Brock's presence. He lifted your chin, you moaned in protest, your jaw overwhelming you with waves of pain, quickly turning into nausea.
"There's my Little Girl. Found you." Rumlow chuckled as if he found the look on your face cute. You didn't have the energy to stay awake or alert. Your head lolling from side to side. Darkness overtook you but at least it relieved you from the pain, momentarily.
You didn't whimper when the guards threw you to the ground. You forgot to do such a thing. Your head was reeling, and killing you in ways you haven't experienced yet, not even with the hangovers you had with Nat. Everything in your body ached relentlessly. You felt you were run over by a truck. Any tiny movement you made brought you immense pain. Rumlow came into the cell and threw something light onto your body, a blanket maybe? No, a change of clothes. Rumlow yanked on your ring finger, finding an interest in taking away your wedding ring.
You did not resist. If you did, you would only get beaten more. Instead you wept silently to yourself, each breath ragged and piercing your lungs with pain. That was the only keepsake reminding you of your husband, your real husband back home in Brooklyn. You remember the way it shone on your delicate finger, in its unique onyx and gold. It was perfect and of course you said yes immediately. How could you refuse?
But once you looked up at the man kneeling before you, he was faceless. You couldn't remember the man's name. You twirled a place on your finger, something was missing, something important. You needed to remember that thing, that you had lost but, it was quickly escaping you and you didn't have the energy right now. Sleep. You wanted to sleep.
For now you only thought about the basic things. Sleep. Warmth. Pain. You could barely see from your left eye, the swelling no doubt had closed it shut almost entirely. Everything on your body hurt all at once, it was too painful to tell what hurt worse, or where. You watched Rumlow walk off and away from your line of sight, down a darkened hallway and into an abysmal black. Gone. accompanied by two armed guards.
You took shallow breaths, even though it hurt. You began to shiver, as you did before in the other room. You would have broken down right then and there, if not for some unseen force covering your frigid body with a woolen blanket. You started to scream but your mouth was covered, your heart was back at firing all pistons.
You backed your body against the cold steel bars of the cell, anything to keep your distance. The wool blanket fell from your body in your struggle for safety. The figure came into the dim light of the cell block. A camera always watching, waiting for something to go wrong, down at the end of the hall. Near the door where Rumlow and the guards exited.
A face you recognized came into view, but it was hard to remember a name. He was male, strong and bulky build- as a wild Stallion, defined muscles visible wherever you looked. Anywhere that wasn't covered in black tactical clothes, empty of any weapons he might use against the guards, or himself. Short blonde hair dusted in a rusty hue, blood, not his own. Bright blue of his eyes stood apart from all his other rugged features, gentle and somehow dull, forever muted from happiness. Very carefully he picked up the scratchy wool and draped it over your trembling form.
He was patient and sympathetic. Emotions you didn't know he had, or didn't know were salvaged. His wide hands clasped over your shoulders, rubbing them over the wool to create friction. An attempt to warm you. In the dim light, something caught your eye, the glint of metal. His left arm was formed, sculpted, a stupendous piece of machinery. Your gaze followed it from the knuckles to the shoulder and where it disappeared into the tactical gear. Perched on his shoulder was a red star, like a stamp of ownership. Not one to be proud of or admire, it was proof that he was owned, that he was a product.
Now you felt the same, a caged, weakened animal, locked in a pen. Very gently and with no effort at all, he picked you up, being careful not to touch anywhere that was severely bruised from your 'lesson'. Still you couldn't hold back a light whimper from the pressure. But it was over within seconds. He set you down on an old mattress. From there he sat with his back against the cold stonewall of the cell. Between you and the dingy excuse for a toilet, hopefully a functioning one.
It was a long moment before he spoke. Honestly you were quite surprised he was willing to speak at all. Though he did so in a hushed tone, a deterrent for the cameras listening in, no less.
"The bruises will heal in a week or so." said Steve, staring out into the dim light of the hallway. You did not respond, you didn't have the energy to speak, somehow he knew that.
"You're not from here. You look like her, but you… are different." he shifted his weight, turning towards you and away from the camera, just enough.
"I will only ask this once. Did he violate you?" He asked, his eyes somehow deepening with sorrow. You shook your head in response.
"Then they want something from you. I cannot guarantee your safety. But you will be safe as long as they don't put me to sleep. Rest, you'll need it." he said returning to his previous position. It was quiet. You weren't sure if you were able to sleep. But you were definitely exhausted enough to. But you were worried about what awaited you once you woke up.
For as long as she slept, he stayed awake, watching the door, much like a guard dog. He wishes he could not remember, but all he was made of was memories. Pieces of who he was mashed together, and fragmented at the same time. Lying in bed was a ghost, a beautiful phantom of the first woman he'd fallen in love with. How ironic? To find such sweet adoration in this Hellish place, void of life.
They'd asked him to steal her, in the middle of the night with clear instructions not to hurt her. He remembers the fear in her eyes and the way she immediately protected her swollen belly, not caring about herself. He remembers her voice and that it was the most calming sound he had heard in several decades. She was unlike anyone he had ever met. She had softened his armor, and that was the beginning of his own personal Hell.
He thought, with everything he's been through thus far, that he too had become ghost-like. A bloody legend under the claws of HYDRA. He barely remembers who he was then. His frailty, his dream to do better, not to collect scrap for a cause. He remembers the cold winter and screaming of the torn metal, hanging out of the traincar, Bucky saving him at the last second. His Deus Ex Machina.
Returning the favor by getting captured, so that Bucky didn't have was his sacrifice, his choice, and his alone. But he never thought HYDRA would use him to spill blood, especially hers. She told him stories when he returned to his cell, committing Pierce's dirty work.
She told him of a man that became a hero, that was a hero in his time, and defied that time- became an Avenger. This was the same man that saved him from alleyway bullies and gave him advice on girls. Not that he needed such things, because to Steve the most beautiful person that he'd want to spend the rest of his days with, was always in front of him. Until the day he wasn't.
Serving his country and eradicating bullies as infamous as the Nazi's and their subgroup HYDRA, was not the only reason he shipped over seas. He had to follow his heart. And his heart was fighting in the war. y/n filled in the gaps, the crucial missing puzzle pieces.
He wasn't exactly sure if the love he was feeling was residual, or if it was for her tender nature. Something he was devoid of for such a long time. He wishes he could hear one of her stories again. He remembers staying with her until the wretched time came. When she was due to give birth to her child. They made him stay with her, they knew of his fondness towards her. And weaponized those precious emotions. He remembers it as if it happened yesterday.
The strained screams filled his ears for hours. It was not an easy task for her, they told her she was contributing to history by doing this for them. She was targeted, only because the child within her had been the offspring of Captain America. The very man y/n reminded Steve of in her stories. His best friend and first love. To him it was all so confusing, so desperate for truth among the chaos he was witnessing. It lasted more than a day. It pained him to see her in such a state, he was helpless. His mind was in a daze, with the stories she told him, mingling with the faces of those he'd slain over the years.
Until a shrill cry rang out in the room. The child was healthy, and strong. For a brief moment he lay awestruck underneath y/n's exhausted form.
Y/N barely had enough energy, but she knew what was going to happen to her and her newborn. If the little one had any chance at all, it would be with the broken soldier. Her quivering hand gripped at Steve's hand and she leaned into his ear.
"Promise me. You'll take care of her." But what did that mean? Such a crucial oath was not for him. Surely this renowned killer couldn't care for a child.
Pierce had a large grin spread upon his face, one Steve didn't like. The doctor gave the swaddled child to Pierce.
"Thank you for your contribution. What an honor to bring the new fist of HYDRA into existence." Pierce handed the baby girl off to Rumlow and he continued to inform the room.
"Congratulations, Brock on your parentage of the new fist of HYDRA, H7. I trust you and Sharon will raise H7 the proper way. To celebrate, send Captain America a gift. Tweak the footage too. Make sure he's in checkmate." Rumlow nodded and began to walk out of the room. Something snapping within the soldier, a need to protect an innocent life. One not yet corrupted by the evil tentacles of HYDRA. Is this what Y/N meant? Was this the promise he needed to fulfill?
The only reason the soldier stopped dead in his tracks was because the first command word was uttered.
"Хрупкий," (Frail) Alexander Pierce said.
Steve shuddered, more than anything he didn't want to become that thing again.
" зрение," (Vision), Steve turned on his heel, waiting in a painful silence, for instruction.
"Сердце," (Heart), Steve could feel his control giving way, like the destruction of a dam, holding back fierce waves.
"Восемнадцать," (18)
"Миссия, " (Mission)
"Побратим," (Blood Brother) "Stop it!" Steve cried out more desperately than he ever had in his entire life.
"Заброшенный," (Abandoned)
"Свидетель, " (Witness)
"Собака, " (Dog). Steve screamed out into the ether. All control slipping away as easy as smoke through fingers.
"Охранять, " (Guard). Steve's features solidified, as if they were made with cold marble.
"Soldier?" Pierce asked. "Я жду приказов" (I am waiting for orders) said the soldier coldly.
"Dispose of M14, she is no longer needed." Pierce commanded. The Soldier smoothly removed a gun from his boot, aiming it at Y/N's head, his target. The soldier did not understand why his eyes were filled with tears. He didn't know this woman. Yet he wept for her, or was he weeping for himself?
"It's okay. Steve, it's okay." Y/N replied weakly. The soldier fired, one shot. A tear staining his cheek, yet he felt nothing.
"Good job, soldier. You may return to your cell. We have no further tasks for you." Pierce finalized a cruel grin on his face.
"My pleasure, Sir." the Soldier replied exiting the room.
End chapter 4.