Those scars have taken over what was your heart
Now you hate everyone that's not what you are

All my life I've been addicted to the wrong side
Every road we took I despised
So this time you won't take me down

Don't pretend that you're my angel
When you drag me straight to hell
You fly on broken wings with all of my dreams
When you drag me straight to hell

"Drag Me to Hell" by Dark Signal

The first thing Bucky noticed about solitary confinement was how quiet it was. Ever since he'd first set foot in the jail, he'd been assaulted by noise on all sides. There was always someone shouting, arguing, banging on something... But in this little cell, the air was heavy and still.

His eyes stopped burning once he washed his face in the sink, though they still felt hot and dry for the rest of that day. The few bruises and scrapes he'd gotten in the fight healed in a matter of hours too, so the only sign he'd been in a fight was that he'd lost his shower slippers somewhere along the way. He hadn't noticed he was barefoot until Officer Petty brought his belongings to the cell along with his shoes.

"How long am I in here?" Bucky hastened to ask before Petty could leave.

Petty paused in the doorway. When he spoke, Bucky realized he'd been the one to cuff him and bring him down here. "Fourteen days. That fit with your schedule, 'Winter Soldier'?" With a scoff, he slammed the door closed and locked Bucky in.

Life in the 'bing,' as it was called, wasn't too bad. Bucky told himself that several times a day. It was much quieter than the old cell block, though he could still hear other inmates shouting from time to time, especially when an officer would walk past in the hallway. Each day, he was escorted outside to a small cage for an hour of 'rec time,' though there wasn't much to do but pace around like a lion at the zoo. Every other day, he was taken out of his cell to take a shower in a room all by himself, which he greatly preferred to the communal shower.

Best of all, he didn't have to constantly watch his back. He didn't have to worry about Brad jumping him, he didn't feel the need to watch dozens of men at once or analyze the ever-shifting atmosphere to steer clear of potential danger. For the first time since he'd come to this jail, he could fall asleep easily. The door that locked him in also protected him from anyone who might take advantage of him when he was vulnerable.

But...that wasn't completely true.

There was an enemy he carried with him everywhere he went. It had stayed locked behind a steel door while Bucky had spent every waking moment on the alert, more focused on his physical surroundings than what was happening in his head. But it seemed that, once Stephanos had stepped out to give him support when he needed it most, the door had been left ajar.

And now the monster was loose again.

He started thinking about Korey, wondering if he was doing all right and hoping things were better since Brad was in the bing too. Before too long, though, intrusive thoughts kept shoving their way to the front of his mind. Vivid memories of the terror in Korey's eyes, the sweaty smell of vicious anticipation, the hate-filled smile that bared Brad's teeth like a predator about to spring...

Bucky would shake his head and pace around his tiny cell and try to wrench his mind away from such thoughts. But he couldn't escape the voice whispering in his ear, Doesn't he remind you of someone...?

And then his stomach would churn as memories he longed to blot out of existence bubbled up to the surface again. Other men with lecherous smiles, closing in on their helpless prey. Other victims staring up in terror—at him. His hands, beating mercilessly against unprotected flesh. Holding a boy down while he screamed and pleaded and cried for his mother. Drawing a knife across his neck and feeling the warm blood spurt over his fingers...

You're so proud of yourself, aren't you? the voice sneered as he raked his fingers through his hair and beat his fist against his forehead, as if that would dislodge the images from behind his eyelids. Good for you, saving one pitiful kid. Do you really think that makes up for anything? Do you actually think you're any better than Brad is?

What made everything worse was that Bucky not only had nothing to distract himself from these thoughts, but he didn't have any way of talking to Steve about it either. He wasn't allowed any visits or phone calls while he was in the bing. He couldn't tell Steve what had happened, and he couldn't ask him for help. His one sure defense was completely out of reach.

The only one he could turn to in here was Stephanos. And even knowing that the monster was a liar, sometimes it was so hard to listen to what Stephanos had to say instead.

You're nothing like Brad, Stephanos would tell him, standing straight and tall as Bucky lay in his bunk, staring at the cracked ceiling. Remember, none of those things were your choice. You would never choose that. Think about Korey. You had a choice with him. No one was forcing you to do anything, and you had every reason to not get involved, but you went out of your way to protect him. That's who you are.

Bucky clung to those words with all his might. He wished he could hear Steve, the real Steve, telling him these things in person. It would be so much more convincing than the voice of his own mind.

But his own mind was all he had in here. So until his two weeks were up, that would have to be enough.

Without the long, arduous process of visiting Bucky several times a week, Steve found himself with much more time on his hands. He did his best to fill the extra hours with things that would keep his mind off how much he missed Bucky.

He and Sam got everything unpacked, helping each other hang things on the walls and put up some new shelves. Steve helped Jake arrange his new room and fill the bookcase and toy chest with his belongings—though Steve still ended up making all of the decisions.

Steve also tried to get Jake used to living in the city. He taught him about looking both ways and holding his hand when crossing the street. Jake didn't look particularly comfortable about holding hands, but he obeyed as always. Steve always wished that little hand wouldn't slip from his when they reached the sidewalk on the other side.

They went to the grocery store, where Jake trailed along beside the shopping cart, staring in amazement at the shelves packed with brightly-colored packages, boxes, and bottles. They walked along the streets and passed strangers of every description, each one earning Jake's staring scrutiny. They passed people walking their dogs, and Jake shied away from each one, whether it was a Great Dane or a Pomeranian.

One sunny day, Steve took Jake to the park. When he noticed how intently Jake was staring at the kids running around the playground in the middle, Steve wondered what he was thinking. How much contact had he had with the other children in Project Legacy? Had they interacted at all, or did his only experience with children come from books?

Steve found himself gazing longingly at the parents who had brought their children here. Mothers, brushing their children off and giving them a kiss when they fell down. Fathers, pushing their children in the swings. Catching their children at the bottom of the slide. Spinning them around and giving them piggy-back rides and tickling them until they fell, laughing hysterically, into the grass.

But then Steve looked down at Jake, who stood still at his side, eyes darting around at the children running and playing as if staring into a pool of overexcited piranhas. Maybe one day, after slowly building up to it, they could have fun here just like everyone else...but not quite yet.

Hopefully, all of these new experiences were doing Jake some good. In the city, he could see a lot more examples of what normal life was like away from Hydra. Eventually, Steve hoped, Jake would realize that the people he'd grown up around were the abnormal ones.

Overall, Jake seemed even more wary and jumpy than he had been at the Avengers compound, but that was to be expected. It would take some time for him to get used to yet another location with all of its new routines. Steve did his best to keep their schedule consistent and let Jake know ahead of time what they were going to do, to minimize the amount of things that would take him by surprise. Soon, he would get used to it, and hopefully that would be less stressful for him.

In the meantime, Steve did his best to keep from thinking about Bucky or worrying over the dark circles under Jake's eyes. He tried to focus on the positive like Sam was always telling him to do, and just enjoy the tiny baby steps of progress every day.

Such as how Jake simply set the table for each meal and no longer looked up at him nervously to make sure he'd done it right. Or how he finally seemed to understand that he didn't have to wait for Steve's permission to leave his room in the morning.

Or one night at supper, when Steve looked across the table at Jake's plate and saw that, for once, Jake hadn't scarfed down everything in sight like a half-starved animal. He'd finished all of his chicken and rice, but there was still a sizable pile of broccoli on one side. "Aren't you going to eat your broccoli?" he asked.

Jake stared down at the broccoli with an intense frown and shook his head.

"You need to eat your veggies if you want to grow up big and strong."

Jake looked up at him, his little fist tight around his fork. "No."

Steve was torn. On one hand, Jake needed to eat his supper...but on the other hand, this was the first time he'd actually resisted. For someone who had been forced into submission all his life...that was a good thing, right? He was finally making choices based on his own preferences. He was letting Steve know what he wanted, rather than just letting Steve dictate everything.

"Okay," Steve said slowly. "If you finish your broccoli, you can have a brownie for dessert. But if you don't want your broccoli, then no brownie."

Jake scowled down at his pile of broccoli going cold on his plate. After a minute or two of silence, he finally stabbed a sprig and slowly, reluctantly began to eat.

Steve couldn't suppress a small smile. For once, his little boy was acting like any other four-year-old.

As distasteful as life in general population had been, by turns nerve-wracking and monotonous, Bucky couldn't wait to get out of the bing. He would take the real Brad over the one in his head any day, and more than anything else, he needed to talk to Steve.

When Officer Petty finally came to escort him back, Bucky already had all of his belongings gathered up and ready to go. Petty raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't say anything until they reached the cell block. As the lock buzzed and Petty opened the door, he said sternly, "Watch yourself, Barnes. I don't want any more trouble from you, hear me?"

Bucky nodded, barely listening. The noise and chaos of the other inmates were already washing over him, a shock to the system after the heavy silence of solitary confinement.

"Look who's back!" someone nearby said, accompanied by jeers and catcalls.

Bucky ignored them and carried his things back upstairs to his old cell. He wondered if everyone knew exactly what had happened by now.

His heart pounded as he got closer to his cell. How was Brad going to react when they came face-to-face again? It had been two weeks, but that meant two whole weeks for Brad to think about the fight over and over again.

But to his relief, the cell was empty when he got there. He was able to put his bedding in place and get his few belongings situated without anyone bothering him. Already, his head was beginning to pound with the cacophony around him, but he headed back into the main room and made a beeline for the phones. He wasn't going to let another hour pass without talking to Steve.

As he stood at one of the phones, listening to the line beep, Bucky glanced around the room. Were there more people looking his way than usual? Were they whispering to each other about him, or was he just being paranoid? Well, as long as they kept their distance, he didn't care what they said.

Then there was the usual message about the conversation being recorded, swiftly followed by Steve's voice. "Bucky?"

Bucky turned back to face the wall, so no one would see the relieved grin on his face. "Hey, punk. Miss me?"

Shoving aside his feeble attempt at banter, Steve said, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Didn't Matt tell you?"

"I wanted to hear it from you." Steve's voice was dripping with concern. "I was...really worried."

"What, you thought I couldn't take 'em?"

"Of course not," Steve said. "But that doesn't stop me from wanting to make sure you're okay. Really okay."

There were more consequences to a fight than just the physical ones. Steve knew that as well as Bucky. The silence filled with all the things they both wanted to say, but the separation of a phone line was like a wall between them. They couldn't even look at each other and let their eyes do the talking.

Finally, Bucky managed to mumble, "I've been a lot worse." It didn't sound like much of a reassurance, even to him.

There was an awkward pause in which Bucky tried in vain to imagine Steve's expression. Steve broke the silence at last by saying, "Can I come visit you tomorrow?"

The thought of seeing Steve again, even on the other side of a wall of glass, brought his heart into his throat. Swallowing hard, he whispered, "Please do."

"Then I will. That's a promise."

There wasn't much more to say after that. After hanging up, Bucky headed back to his cell. There wasn't much time before the guards' shift change, when they would all be locked into their cells for the night.

But he'd been so focused on his conversation with Steve that he hadn't paid attention to anything happening around him. When he returned to his cell, he came to an abrupt halt in the doorway.

Brad was back.

The big man was arranging his belongings in his bunk. He turned to the door and met Bucky's gaze, his eyes burning with sheer loathing.

Bucky tensed all over, his hand clenching into a fist.

Brad turned away and continued tucking in his sheets, as if Bucky didn't exist.

Bucky lingered hesitantly in the doorway for a minute or so, then stepped inside to climb into his bunk. He watched Brad closely, ready at any moment to leap back and defend himself.

But Brad continued to ignore him completely. He just put his things away, then sat on his bunk until the evening headcount. He didn't say a word to Bucky that entire night, as they lay in their bunks in the darkness.

Bucky didn't close his eyes longer than a second all night.

The security procedures visitors had to go through before they were allowed inside the prison always seemed unbearably long, but this time everything seemed to take twice as long as usual. Steve tried to be patient, reminding himself of all the reasons it would be extremely unwise to tear the doors off their hinges and go racing straight to Bucky's side.

But finally, after an eternity of waiting, Steve walked into the visitation room and sat down at a free spot. A minute later, a guard walked Bucky in and uncuffed his hand so he could reach the phone.

Steve raked his eyes over Bucky, trying to pick up on even the slightest sign of injury. He knew better—it had been two weeks, so any cuts or bruises would definitely have healed by now—but he couldn't stop himself. There were dark circles under Bucky's eyes, and judging from the way he sat stiffly, his one shoulder tense...his back must be killing him.

"Hey, Buck," Steve said the instant Bucky put the phone to his ear.

Bucky gave him a small but genuine smile. "'S good to see you again."

"Yeah. I...I've missed you." He had to swallow hard before he could continue. "How've you been?"

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly, but Steve didn't miss the tiny wince when he did. "Just peachy. I got a two-week vacation, that's all."

"Is your back hurting?"

After a blink of surprise, Bucky smiled wryly. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"Is it because of the fight?" Steve was itching to give Bucky a backrub. He knew exactly where the trouble spots were, exactly where the knots built up on the back of his neck.

"Well, my vacation didn't exactly include a five-star hotel..."

"You should go to the infirmary or something," Steve said. "See if they can do something that would help."

Bucky shook his head and made an obvious effort to sit straighter, though that made him wince again. "It's fine," he said shortly. "This...isn't permanent. Just have to hang on till I get out of here."

Silence fell between them, as Steve tried to gauge whether Bucky wanted to talk about what had happened or not. Well...Bucky could always just change the subject if he wanted. Steve just wanted to give Bucky an opportunity to process it out loud. He knew Bucky didn't have anyone else to talk to about these things.

So he asked quietly, "What was it like?"

Bucky frowned thoughtfully. "It was...not like I was expecting."

"Yeah?"

Bucky nodded. "Partly because...you know. One arm. No weapons. But also..." His lips twitched into a shape that was almost a smile. "No one told me to do it. I wasn't even following anybody. I guess it's just...it's been a long time since it was my idea to start a fight. For so long, it's always been...well, you know what I mean."

There was something haunted in Bucky's eyes as he glanced off to the side, expression faltering. Steve knew him just a little too well to overlook that. "All quiet on the Western front?"

As soon as Bucky hesitated, his eyes still downcast, Steve knew what the answer was. Slowly, he looked back up at Steve. "Shells are getting closer, I think."

Looking into Bucky's eyes, so weary and worn, Steve could almost see those long, dark nights stuck in a cell all by himself, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. He longed to punch through the glass separating them and throw his arms around his friend. He knew that what Bucky needed most of all in a moment like this was to feel the warm touch of his skin, grounding him in reality and reassuring him that he wasn't alone.

But he couldn't even hold Bucky's hand like this.

"I love you, Buck," Steve murmured, holding Bucky's gaze steadily. He knew it wasn't enough, but he tried to pour as much affection into his voice as he could. "And no matter what...what he's telling you, it's not true. I can promise you that."

Bucky's chin trembled slightly, and he dropped his eyes back to the tabletop, biting his lip.

"I'm proud of you," Steve continued. "The first thing I thought when Matt told me the whole story was, 'Yep. That's my Bucky. Always stepping in for the little guy.' Don't forget that, okay?"

There was more—so much more—that Steve wanted to say. Things that they probably needed to talk about. Steve wanted to know the details of the situation Bucky had stepped into. He wanted to know if Bucky was still in danger. He wanted to know exactly what the voices in his head were saying, and whether they were dredging up old memories. Memories of things Bucky had done. Had been forced to do. He wanted to know exactly what Bucky needed to hear to banish the encroaching shadows.

He wished he could just sit at Bucky's side, hold his hand, and let him talk. Or cry. Or sit in silence for hours until he was ready to open up about the dark thoughts circling his brain.

But Steve was all too aware of their surroundings. Complete strangers sat on either side. There were guards at the doors, and even the words they said over the phones were being recorded. Steve didn't care what anyone thought of them, but he hated the thought of someone who neither knew nor cared about Bucky learning about such intimate details of his past. Bucky deserved that kind of privacy.

Unfortunately, that locked them in silence. The most important things were things they couldn't discuss with the chance that someone was listening in.

"Bucky? Can you look at me?"

Visibly struggling to restrain his emotion, Bucky looked up again. His eyes were brighter than normal, but they looked steadily into Steve's.

"You're strong enough for this. You're going to make it through. I believe that with all my heart."

"I don't—" Bucky's voice broke.

Steve gave him a sad little smirk. "Would I lie to you?"

Bucky shook his head. He didn't seem able to get any words out.

This was the part of the conversation where they would normally go for a hug. The air separating them felt empty, but there was nothing they could do about that. So they just looked at each other, hoping their eyes could bridge the gap instead.

Brad's gang was watching him. They tried to be subtle about it, but Bucky wasn't fooled. He watched them too, but he was pretty sure he was doing a better job of hiding it. Whenever he cast his gaze in Brad's direction, everyone seemed to suddenly find something interesting in the opposite direction, but when he turned his head, he could see out of the corner of his eye that they were staring at him again.

The snatches of conversation he managed to pick up with his keen ears made his stomach churn. They were trying to decide how to take care of him. How to put him in his place. How to do it without getting caught.

Bucky couldn't say he was surprised. He'd spoiled their plans before. He'd humiliated them, and that wasn't going to go unpunished. For all that he'd tried to shrug off Steve's concerns and downplay how bad the fight had been, he really didn't want to have to go through that again.

So he took pains to make sure he was within sight of the security cameras or one of the guards at all times. He stayed out of Brad's way and tried to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. He made sure to only go to the showers when there were several men there already, so they couldn't corner him there alone, and he always showered as quickly as possible to get back within sight of the cameras.

The hyper-vigilance that dominated every waking moment made Bucky realize he had attracted a shadow. Ever since he'd returned from the bing, Korey had started following him around everywhere. He played it cool, casually slipping into a chair nearby or leaning against a wall as if he just happened to be hanging out in the same area. But whenever Bucky turned around, there Korey was.

Korey never said anything to him. The first time Bucky noticed him hanging around, their eyes met briefly and Korey gave him a hesitant nod of...gratitude, Bucky thought, before hunching his shoulders a bit and staring awkwardly at the floor. After that, they rarely even acknowledged each other's presence.

It was strange, but Bucky realized that Korey was the one person in this entire prison that he could trust. Well...he didn't think he could trust Korey to have his back in a fight or anything. They weren't really friends, and he doubted Korey would want to risk angering Brad any more than he already had. But Bucky sensed that, out of an entire cell block of dangerous inmates, Korey was the one person he wouldn't have to worry about stabbing him in the back. And Korey had probably realized that about Bucky as well. They'd never even had a single conversation before, but a silent pact connected them.

One place Korey always made sure to follow Bucky was the showers. Bucky tried to somewhat vary the times he went in, to foil any attempts to take advantage of his routine. But even if he had to scramble to gather up his shower things or sit with his towel and soap for an hour, Korey was always right behind Bucky when he ventured into the shower room.

Bucky didn't mind. He would rather have someone awkwardly following him everywhere than for something to happen to the kid without him knowing about it. By the end of the first week of this, Bucky even started catching Korey's eye and tilting his head slightly in the direction of the showers to let him know when he was planning to go.

So on Saturday evening, Bucky headed into the showers with Korey in tow. It was a bit busier than usual for the evening, but that was exactly why Bucky had decided to go. There were four men showering already, and another man rubbing a towel over his hair in front of the sink in the corner. Too many witnesses. Good.

As Bucky hurried through his shower and kept an ear open to his surroundings, he tried not to think about how much he missed taking a relaxing bath. That was probably what he really needed—soaking his stiff, aching muscles in a piping-hot tub. And then lying face-down on his bed and asking Steve to give him a full back massage... That's what I'll do, Bucky told himself. The first day I'm back home, I'll—

"Dude, watch out!"

Bucky whirled around at Korey's cry beside him, and barely dodged in time to miss a fist to his face. Reacting on instinct alone, Bucky grabbed the man's wrist and yanked him to the side, knocking him off balance. Blinking water out of his eyes, Bucky glanced around and saw the other men in the room advancing on him, one fully clothed and the others just wearing towels. Belatedly, he recognized a couple of them as members of Brad's gang. Probably the others were too. They were all White.

Suddenly, Korey stepped forward with a cry and a clumsy, wild blow that the nearest man easily sidestepped. His blow met its mark with a loud smack against Korey's cheek, sending him reeling backwards and knocking his head hard against the wall.

"Get lost, kid!" Bucky growled, turning back to the first man who had attacked him and kicking his legs out from under him. "I don't need your help!"

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate having backup. But he couldn't fight and keep an eye on Korey at the same time. Not when they were outnumbered like this.

For a moment, Korey hesitated, looking like he might protest. But when the man who had hit him took a threatening step forward, Korey yelped and scrambled for the door, grabbing his towel along the way.

As Bucky's eyes darted from one man to the next, he realized that they weren't getting any closer. The man he'd tripped got to his feet again, but they just stood there, eyeing him tensely with fists raised. Like they were...waiting for something.

The sound of a scuffle in the doorway drew Bucky's attention, though he kept an eye on the men surrounding him. Korey had run smack into a broad-shouldered man in the doorway, who grabbed his arms and kept him from leaving.

"Let 'im go, Stiles," Brad said, shouldering past him. He didn't even glance at Korey, his eyes zeroing in on Bucky instead. "We're not after easy prey. Tonight's for trophy hunting."

The broad-shouldered Stiles shoved Korey roughly out the door, then stepped aside to let four more gang members come in, lining up behind Brad. Slowly, they surrounded Bucky in a semi-circle, Brad facing him squarely in the middle.

Bucky's heart pounded as adrenaline roared through his veins, his breath tearing at the back of his throat. Ten men faced him. Ten pairs of eyes glared at him with hatred, loathing, disdain...

Ten men who wanted him dead.

"What's the matter, Brad?" Bucky said, his eyes darting around for the first sign of an attack. "Too scared to face a one-armed man without your whole gang backing you up?"

Brad's lip curled with distaste, but he didn't budge. "Nice try. Get 'im, boys."

Brad and a couple others hung back while the others surged forward. Bucky kicked one, punched another, ducked away from a third. It was much like the other fight, except that this time he didn't have the element of surprise. But even though he was vastly outnumbered and backed into a corner, he could still hold his own.

It certainly helped that he was still naked and dripping with soapy water from his shower. Several times, a man tried to grapple him from behind or hold his arms in place, but his skin was so slick that he could easily twist out of their grasp. Several times, one of his attackers slipped on the wet floor, but Bucky's footing was sure.

Flip this man over his shoulder. Shove that one into the wall. Grab an ankle, yank him off-balance, fist to the chin. Ram his knee into that one's stomach, jab his elbow at the man behind him, spin and take down the next with a kick. It was like a dance. A deadly dance, and he knew all the steps by heart.

The only problem was how sore and stiff his muscles were. He couldn't move quite as fast as usual, couldn't put as much strength into his punches without his back and shoulder screaming at him. Well, maybe that would help him remember to not actually kill any of these guys...

A large fist rushed towards his face, and only his enhanced speed saved him. He ducked, then spun away, putting some space between himself and the one man who was still on his feet.

Brad. Of course it was Brad. Everyone else was flat on the floor or struggling to get back to their feet, but for the moment, the room might as well have been empty except for Bucky and Brad.

With a snarl, Brad lunged forward. He was a tall man with long arms, so Bucky almost didn't lean back far enough to avoid his fist. Bucky dodged to the side, feinted, landed a blow on Brad's right shoulder, then raised his other arm to block—

No. He didn't have a left arm anymore.

Bucky's eyes widened in surprise as Brad's right fist landed a blow on his unprotected left side. He jumped back, trying to get out of Brad's range again, but that put him right next to a man who had just clambered upright again. He swiped at Bucky with more desperation than finesse, blows that Bucky could easily block with his arm.

From the other side, Brad rushed him, and Bucky couldn't block both attacks at the same time. Brad's fist jabbed at Bucky's left side again.

Bucky grunted at the all-too-familiar sensation of something sharp stabbing into his flesh. He whirled away from both men, clapping his one hand to a warm, wet spot on his side. Brad held something clenched in his fist—something sharp and pointed, glistening red with his blood.

Up to this point, the entire fight had been little more than a blur of motion and instinct, but suddenly every detail slammed into sharp focus. Bucky sucked in a breath of the steamy air, and he caught the sharp scent of blood beneath the smell of shampoo and sweat. He could see every pore in Brad's face. He could feel every muscle in his body quivering in anticipation.

For a moment, Bucky stared at the makeshift knife in Brad's hand, and he thought that arm was a tentacle. That the man standing before him was a being made of shadow, with burning eyes and razor-sharp teeth. Brad reveled in his pain. He demanded that Bucky keep hurting himself, over and over again, shoving him down into the mud until he drowned...

No more.

Bucky charged forward as fast as he could, too fast for Brad to react. He grabbed Brad's wrist, the one holding the knife, and twisted his arm behind his back as far as it would go. Brad tried to get out of his grasp, but Bucky kicked him and sent him crashing to his knees, then shoved his face against the nearest wall.

The hand clutching the knife was in his grasp. It would be a simple matter to twist it just so and stab those few inches of sharpened metal right into the back of this hideous monster that had tormented him for so long. Make him feel some of the pain Bucky had suffered...

Bucky caught sight of Brad's face as he struggled, trying to crane his neck around to see Bucky. As usual, hatred burned in his small, beady eyes, but behind that...fear. Mortal terror.

He wasn't the monster. He wasn't the tentacled creature of darkness that tormented Bucky's thoughts mercilessly. This Brad was just a human being. A cruel, brutish, disgusting man...but a man nevertheless.

So with a single, smooth motion, Bucky twisted Brad's arm and pulled it sharply at just the right angle. He heard the crack of bone breaking a moment before Brad yelled in pain.

As Bucky let go of Brad and stepped back, the tiled walls rang with the shouts of the guards. Just like before, Bucky was shoved to the ground and handcuffed, but this time he was able to squeeze his eyes shut and turn away in time to avoid a faceful of mace.

His side burned as the guard shoved him down against the floor, and it took a moment before he seemed to realize that Bucky was bleeding. Someone patched him up with rough, swift motions, holding him down all the while. And then they hauled him to his feet, forced him into a pair of pants that didn't quite fit, and marched him out of the room.

Since he could see this time, Bucky glanced around as they left the room. All around him, the men who had cornered him were either lying still on the ground, or being herded out by guards in riot gear. Two guards were working together to get Brad to his feet; his face was white as a sheet, his right arm hanging at an odd angle. He didn't even glance in Bucky's direction.

As the guard hurried him towards the door, Bucky felt eyes on him. Everyone in the cell block was facedown on the floor with their hands on their heads, so as not to be a threat to the guards dealing with the fight. But even so, Bucky caught several men peeking over to watch what was happening. Korey was one of them.

Then the door banged shut behind him, and they were marching through the hallway again. Maybe they would stop by the infirmary first, but Bucky knew what his ultimate destination would be: the bing.

For you equipped me with strength for the battle;
you made those who rise against me sink under me.

- Psalm 18:39