Chapter 10
Steve watches Bucky’s chest rise and fall in slow, controlled breaths. Bucky kneels on the cold floor, head bowed, hands resting on his thighs.
Bucky isn’t listening.
For ten minutes, he has tried everything—talking, reasoning, pleading—but it’s like there’s an invisible wall. None of it works. Bucky just isn’t listening.
Beside him, Natasha stands with her arms crossed.
"You see what I mean now?" she says.
His hands curl into fists at his sides.
"I’m not hurting him."
Natasha exhales, shaking her head. "Okay."
Then she steps forward—too fast for Steve to stop her—and backhands Bucky across the face.
The sound cracks through the air. Bucky’s head jerks to the side, but he doesn’t make a sound.
Steve inhales sharply. "Natasha—"
She turns and shoots him a warning look.
Steve swallows the nausea rising in his throat.
Natasha grabs a handful of Bucky’s hair, jerking his head back just enough to meet her eyes. The motion forces Bucky to look at her, but his expression remains blank.
"You like it when he’s kind, don’t you?" she murmurs.
No answer. Bucky stays silent.
Natasha hums, considering. Then she slaps him again on the same side—harder this time, his skin already reddening where she has struck before.
Steve flinches at the impact.
"That’s enough—" He takes a step forward—
Natasha’s fingers lock around his wrist in an grip. Her nails press into his skin to warn him. Her voice drops to a low whisper.
"I’m doing you a favor here, Steve. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be."
Then, in the next instant, her expression smoothes into something almost pleasant. Her voice turns light and playful.
"Permission to discipline Bucky?"
He hates her.
Bucky’s fingers twitch—so slight. His breath is uneven for just a moment.
At least he is listening.
Natasha waits.
Bucky is going to hate him even more after this.
You want him normal or you want him alive?
Steve gives the smallest nod.
Now he hates himself.
Natasha gives Steve a look that clearly says, Great. Now back off.
She turns, never loosening her grip on Bucky’s hair, fingers woven tightly into the strands as if she is holding onto a leash. Bucky doesn’t resist, doesn’t even make a sound to protest.
"You know what you did wrong?" she asks, shaking his head slightly.
Bucky says nothing. His gaze flickers to the side, deliberately avoiding hers.
Natasha moves in an instant—her knee drives up, slamming into his face, the impact forcing Bucky’s head back. A crack echoes through the room.
Fuck
Blood slides from his nose instantly.
Fuck fuck fuck that could have broken his nose fuck
Bucky makes a low grunt—more breath than pain—but still, he barely reacts. He swallowes once, hard, as if choking it down.
The first step is understanding that the Bucky you knew? might not be the Bucky here right now.
Slow drip of blood hits the floor.
Stay. Stay. Don’t interfere. This is for Bucky this is for Bucky this is…
Is this how Hydra treated him?
Bucky was their weapon, their perfect soldier. He had done everything they asked They should have been terrified of him. They should have been thanking him. They should’ve given him medals. They should’ve rewarded him for keeping their fucked-up operation running, not –
Is this how Natasha was treated in the Red Room?
"Speak when you are spoken to," She tightens her grip, pulling his head back just enough to keep him from turning away.
How can this be good for Bucky? How is this any different than…
"The Asset engaged in unauthorized self-destructive behavior."
He blinks.
The what?
Bucky’s hand twitches, instinctively rising toward his face, but he stops just before touching the wound midair.
His eyes flickers to Natasha first, then to Steve, like he is afraid that the simple act of wiping the blood from his face would anger them.
Instead, he sniffs twice, trying to clear the blood in his nose without touching it.
The blood is still there on his nose and lips.
This is how Hydra works. Obedience equals survival. You’re playing by their game now, Steve.
Natasha hesitates too for a second.
"Good. And what happens when the Asset disobeys?"
Bucky shoots Steve a resentful glare.
"The Asset is punished by immediate handler."
His mind goes completely blank.
Natasha is taken aback for a split second as well.
"Who is your immediate handler, Bucky?" Her fingers loosen slightly in his hair.
His head dips just slightly and Bucky, almost imperceptibly, rolled his eyes.
"Current handler Steve Rogers. Code name Captain America."
Steve finally stops pretending.
The Asset knows this game all too well. He fell for it before. They all acted so kind at first, giving him the space to make mistakes. But it was always those handlers who ended up being the most violent and unpredictable. He knows the pattern.
There was a man—Yashin—he would never forget his name. The man had actually been kind to him. One night, before he was shoved back into cryo-chamber, Yashin had slipped a small key into his hand. He had told him that something was going to happen. That this was his only chance. But the Asset never understood what he meant.
I’m not afraid and I call on you not to be afraid. Russia will be free and so will you.
He didn’t understand it then, and still, he doesn’t. But he buried the key in the corner of his cell like it was a gift—he never saw him again. The next time he was thawed from cryo, years had passed. Sometimes he wonders what happened to him. He'd probably be in his 90s by now, if he is still alive at all.
He hears Natasha and Steve talking quietly in the corner. It’s probably one of their tactics. Pierce was good at that—talking around you like you weren’t really there. The way he’d speak to the medics in front of him, discussing what he’d do to him, it was terrorizing.
It wasn’t the physical pain that hurt. It was the fear—the fear that came from hearing Pierce’s voice with disappointment. He could read it in his eyes, too. The furrow of his brows, the tightness of his lips, the way his gaze turned distant.
Steve—Steve is like that sometimes.
He could see it. Even when Steve tries to hide it, he wears that same look. He watches Steve long enough to know the signs. It’s in the way Steve's gaze would shift, and how he would sigh slightly before looking away. They never say it out loud. Steve is like Pierce in so many ways.
"You can ask Wanda to read his mind, but you’re gonna get the same answer, Steve."
Steve doesn’t look up, but he shook his head slightly. "I’m not going to read his mind, Nat."
"You know, Wanda could probably make him forget Hydra ever happened. All of it. No pain. Just a snap of the fingers."
"That’s not my choice to make."
As long as Steve doesn’t send him to a therapist, this can still be okay. At least Natasha understands the rules. She won’t leave permanent damage, not unless it’s necessary. But the Asset is so tired of Steve’s mind games.
"Then show him you’re in charge. Make him see you have control. That’s how you get him to trust you again."
Steve’s brow furrows. He looks lost. That familiar expression crosses his face again. It’s the same look he has seen in Steve’s eyes for years. That worry.
He’d seen that look before. Before the war started. Steve had always been this way. He didn’t understand what Steve was worried about. Steve always cared too much—too much about things that had nothing to do with him. About people he didn’t know, about situations that didn’t involve him at all. He couldn’t understand it. He had never been like that. When they shipped him to England, he never once stopped to wonder what might happen.
And Steve? He’s just… soft. A good man, maybe. do you know what’s going to happen? One day, the world is going to break him. It’s going to chew him up and spit him out
The only thing he was worried about…was Steve. It was almost absurd, thinking back on it. There was a time when he was actually worried about Steve. Was Steve smaller, somehow?
I know you care about him. That’s why I’m telling you this. Steve isn’t our enemy. He’s just misguided. If you really want to protect him, you have to stop him. Before he gets himself—and countless others—killed.
"When he refuses to listen, you punish him." Natasha’s voice is softer now.
"I’m not punishing him..." It’s that worried look again. There is something oddly comforting about Steve’s worry.
"You already are."
That’s why you have to protect him. Not in the way he’d want, but in the way he needs. He won’t understand—he’ll try to stop you. If you truly care about Steve, if you truly want him to live, do what’s necessary—even if he hates you for it.
“You think he’s scared of you? No. He’s scared that you don’t know what you’re doing. That’s why he doesn’t trust you.” Natasha’s voice is even lower now.
It never occurred to him that Steve might not know the rules. Steve had always been this way. Steve believes in a world that doesn’t exist.
You’ve been on the front lines of war, you’ve watched what happens when men are left to their own devices. You know what happens to people who believe in Steve Rogers. They die.
In another life if Steve could believe in Secretary Pierce just a little more, maybe they would be in a different place now. If Secretary Pierce and Steve could’ve worked together…if he could’ve finished his mission….
“This isn’t about you, Steve. It’s not about your guilt, your morals, your feelings. It’s about what he needs.” Her eyes locked onto Steve with a look that almost like pity.
Then Natasha turns to face the Asset again.
"You’re making this hard for him, you know." Her voice is quiet, almost sympathetic. "He doesn’t want to hurt you. But you’re forcing him to."
He braces himself, waiting for the blow, but this time, Steve grabs Natasha’s wrist.
"I’ll do it."
Steve forces himself to move.
He crouches down in front of Bucky.
“Look at me.” Steve uses his Captain America voice. Bucky flinches, but he obeys. His eyes look at him with a kind of terror—they widen for a moment before narrowing again.
Steve reaches out. Slowly. He doesn’t strike. He just grabs Bucky’s chin and holds it. The feel of Bucky’s skin under his fingertips. He uses just enough pressure to hold Bucky in place, to ensure Bucky’s attention is entirely on him.
If Bucky needs a handler, then Steve would be his goddamn handler.
“That won’t happen again.” His grip on Bucky’s jaw tightens, “You are not allowed to harm yourself.”
Bucky stays silent.
His grip forces Bucky’s lips into a pout.
"You don’t get to decide when you shut down." his voice sounds cold even to himself. "You will listen when I give you an order. You will eat when I tell you to eat, sleep when I tell you to sleep. You are not allowed to take orders from anyone but me. Is that understood?"
Bucky is still silent.
He pulls Bucky’s face closer, until the space between them becomes almost suffocating.
"Say it."
Finally, Bucky lips parted.
"Yes, sir."
He isn’t sure if he wants to throw up or break down.
He needs answers. He needs Bucky to comply.
"No." He presses harder on Bucky’s face.
"Say it right. Say what you did wrong."
Bucky’s breath hitches, his eyes meeting Steve’s for a split second before quickly darting away.
“The Asset attempted to self-terminate. The Asset will not do it again.”
Behind him, Natasha exhales softly. He couldn’t turn to face her.
He lets go of Bucky’s face. He doesn’t want to see the hurt in Bucky’s eyes.
"Stay there until I say otherwise."
He turns away, his pulse hammering in his eyes. He presses his fingers to his temples. He feels his head is going to explode.
What did he just do?
Bucky wouldn’t understand the difference.
"And here I thought you might not be able to do it." Natasha sounds almost amused.
"You’re a natural, Steve."
His eyes drifts back to Bucky—Bucky’s breath is still shallow, but he seems calmer now. His shoulders are relaxed.
Natasha is right
“You wanted to know what happened to him off the record, right?” She tilts her head slightly, pointing toward Bucky. “You don’t have to ask a therapist anymore.”
It already started, and there is no going back.
"He’ll show you.”
The moment Steve steps into the room, the Asset flinches.
Steve spent an hour pacing just outside the door after Natasha left.
He’d been kneeling here staring at nothing the whole time.
“Sit down.”
Have you ever wondered why he didn't come looking for you?
His gaze flickers to the floor beneath him. The wooden boards creak softly under Steve’s sneakers. He remembers Pierce’s house—the thick, plush rugs that had always cushioned his knees. It had never hurt in Pierce's house. But Steve’s apartment only has cold hardwood floor.
He moved on, Bucky.
His knees hurt. There was a time when he was chained to a wall, his arms stretched above his head, the metal cuffs biting into his wrists. He could barely stand, his legs trembling from exhaustion and pain.
"I said sit down, Bucky."
Steve’s voice never raises. Steve doesn’t yell. Doesn’t even look mad.
He isn’t supposed to sit down. He isn’t supposed to sit with his handler.
Steve is always so composed—like Secretary Pierce. Pierce with his perfectly tailored suits and those elegant, designer brown glasses. What would Steve look like in one of those suits? The crisp fabric, the clean lines—would he fit in the way Pierce did? Would Steve look as effortless as Pierce did?
He liked to hear Pierce talk. It was something about the way his voice flowed, smooth and controlled, like a constant, calming current. There was a certain peace in that. He had never met anyone like Pierce before. Pierce was gentle. Even in his harshest moments, there was something gentle and polite in his demeanor.
People gravitated toward Secretary Pierce, found solace in his presence, trusted him. Pierce had a talent for making people believe in him without them ever realizing. It was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic, how easy it was to follow him.
I know you love him. I know you’d do anything for him. And I am giving you the chance to save him.
Steve moves closer as he towering over the Asset.
"Then you kneel all night."
It is the same confidence that made Steve so easy to follow, so easy to trust.
The tone of his voice is so reassuring. It is the kind of voice that makes him feel like he is still tethered to something real, something stable in this world. It feels like a lifeline, even if it is one he can’t reach.
The Asset suddenly realizes something he hasn’t allowed himself to fully admit.
He likes to hear Steve talk.
“We’ll talk when you’re ready to listen, Buck.”
Steve is like his Gordian knot, one you can’t untangle but can’t bear to cut either.
And then the door clicks shut.