Chapter 11
He’s startled awake when the door opens and Steve steps inside. Has it already been morning? He’s been leaning against the wall, and he must’ve fallen asleep at some point. It’s the best sleep he’s had since moving in with Steve.
His knees are burning.
He tries to adjust, but he doesn't dare move too quickly. He doesn’t want Steve to notice.
Steve hasn’t said anything. He just walks in, sits on the edge of the bed, and looks exhausted—more than he usually does. He almost wants to laugh. It's not like Steve has been on his knees all night.
He keeps his head down, avoiding Steve’s gaze. It’s a habit now, almost second nature. It’s safer this way.
Steve reaches out with his fingers, gently lifting his chin. He just stays still, keeping his gaze focused on the floor.
Steve takes a cloth from his cuff, soft cotton that feels too gentle against his skin. Steve wipes at the corner of his mouth, gently swiping under his nose, and he can see the dried blood staining it when Steve stops. He doesn’t understand why Steve does this—what these gestures mean.
There are too many things he’s already lost comprehension of. Too many things that Steve does that leave him feeling hollow. The same kind of emptiness after being wiped from the chair—except Steve doesn’t even need a chair.
He hopes it ruins Steve’s shirt.
“Sit.”
He doesn’t move at first.
“You’re really going to make me do this again?” Steve’s words are softer.
He still wants to resist. He really does. He wants to spit in Steve’s face. But he knows the cost.
“If I have to say it again,” Steve warns, voice low, “I can make this much worse, Bucky. Do you really want to test me?”
Slowly, stiffly, the Asset lowers himself to sit on the floor.
“What would they do if you refused an order?” Steve said quietly.
His voice is a rough rasp when he answers, barely audible after the silence of the night. How long has it been since he had any water?
“You’ll have to restrain me if you want to do that.”
His pulse picks up speed. He’s been through this before. It’s nothing new. What else can Steve do? Don’t show fear. He swallows, but the dryness still burns.
“That’s not what I asked.” Steve’s voice a little louder now.
The Asset risks a glance up. Fuck him. Fuck Steve. He forces himself to look away. He doesn’t want to give Steve any satisfaction from his fear.
He raises his eyebrows, expression indifferent. “Typically, electrocution.”
Lights, screaming, scent of burning hair
"Wrist, neck, spine. The current level was increased until compliance was achieved."
He stretches his jaw, but his voice still quivers slightly. “Isolation. Minimum of 72 hours. Physical correction. Sensory deprivation.”
Just pretend it happens to someone else.
“If you don’t gag me during reconditioning,” he adds, “I’m going to make sounds.” He gives Steve a pointed look, almost daring him. “And it won’t be my fault.”
“Did they…” Steve takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to calm the anger. “Did they do that every time?”
The Asset almost rolls his eyes. “We didn’t always have access to the equipment. Handlers had to improvise.”
Steve waits, so he keeps talking.
“They displayed me in the facility's common area once, for observation.”
He can feel shame and the flush on his face and neck. He wonders if Steve is enjoying this.
“You and your friends can do whatever you want,” the Asset mutters with the bitterness in his voice. “Bet you’d love that one, huh.”
“Is that what Pierce did?” Steve’s voice has gone cold and the anger is back again, and the Asset can hear the sound of his knuckles. “When you refused a command?”
He frowns. Steve must think he’s like this all the time, always broken. Steve always thinks so little of him, doesn’t he?
“No.”
His voice betrays the impatience he feels.
“I was always good with the Secretary.”
He was the Winter Soldier. Pierce trusted him with the most important missions, the ones that shaped history. Pierce saw his potential, knew him in ways Steve never could.
“I never disobeyed Secretary Pierce.”
There’s a strange sense of satisfaction when he says it. There’s no hiding the pride that sneaks into his voice.
He had done good. He had been perfect. No malfunctions, no mistakes. Pierce trusted his compliance. Pierce had relied on him. The Asset had been everything Pierce needed. He would put a bullet in his own head if Pierce ordered it.
“He’s a good handler.”
Unlike Steve.
“He never hurt you?” Steve asks with disbelief in his tone. “Pierce?”
Of course Steve doesn’t believe him. Why would he? After all the times he disobeyed Steve. After everything Steve has seen—everything he’s watched the Asset resist. Why would Steve believe that he could’ve been a good Asset under Pierce?
“Only when I failed a mission,” he swallows hard. “But that was different. I needed to learn.”
“Secretary made sure I never made the same mistake twice,” he adds. He wants Steve to hear it, to understand the subtext: Steve isn’t as good a handler as Pierce. If he malfunctions, it’s because Steve is the problem, not him.
Steve doesn’t acknowledge the challenge. He just stares at the Asset, waiting.
“What would…” Steve pauses, his lips pressing together in frustration. “What would Rumlow do?”
He immediately moves his gaze back down to the cracks in the floor.
“When you refused an order—did that ever happen?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. He can feel Steve’s eyes on him.
“I’m not going to ask you again, Bucky,” Steve warns.
After a long pause, he answers, quieter now, “Why does it matter?”
His eyes snap up, a brief flash of defiance before they fall back to the ground. “Why do you want to know?”
"No." Steve inhales deeply. “I ask the questions. You answer.”
Steve leans forward, close enough that the Asset can feel his presence.
“Something to say?”
His teeth grinds together. “No, sir.”
“Good.” Steve leans even closer. “Because I don’t need your thoughts. Just answers. You hesitate, you lie, you’ll be back on your knees. I’ll leave you like that for longer, Bucky. So answer me clearly: What did Rumlow do?”
He doesn’t want to say it. Not to Steve.
“He... he punished me.” He murmurs.
“What did he do, Bucky?” Steve presses.
“He... he’d hurt me. But it wasn’t that bad,” he adds quickly. “It was necessary. It helped me get better. If I couldn’t handle the pain, I wouldn’t survive the missions.”
“What else?” Steve asks again. His patience is running thin.
He didn’t want to talk about it. The pressure in his chest is building until it felt like it might suffocate him.
Is that what Steve wants?
To hear every detail, to pull it all out of him and make him relive it?
“If I didn’t comply, they’d all be there. Usually he just watched, correcting the others when they went too far, when I didn’t react the way they wanted.”
Steve’s eyes never leave him. He doesn’t look away.
Oh.
He likes this, doesn’t he?
This whole thing is just a show for him.
The Asset raises his chin, defiant now. “He was protecting me.”
Steve’s voice is softer, though the anger is still there. “And you still think it was okay.”
“It worked,” he replies, meeting Steve’s eyes head-on. “Every time. Every mission. Everything he did—it worked. He took control and made things happen.”
“You think Rumlow was right.”
He doesn’t look away this time.
“At least he’s not weak. He made me better. That’s what I wanted. And it was worth it.”
“What you wanted...” Steve laughs bitterly, “You’re saying he never made you do things you didn’t want to do?”
“Fuck you.”
The words were already coming out before he could stop them.
Before he can process the impulse, Steve slams him against the wall, the force knocking the air from his lungs, the back of his head cracking against the hard surface. Steve’s fingers tighten around his throat—barely any force, but enough to make him feel it.
The Asset licks his lips.
“I don’t know what gave you the idea that you can speak to me like that, but it won’t happen again.”
Steve’s fingers tightened slightly before releasing, giving him the space to breathe again.
Steve sit back on the bed with an almost indifferent calm.
“Wanna apologize?”
Without thinking, he starts to crawl forward, dropping his head and pressing his lips to the ground at Steve’s feet.
The moment his lips met the floor, Steve suddenly took a step back. He flinches violently, his body instinctively shrinking away, as though preparing for a blow.
“I’m sorry.”
Steve’s heart is shattered.
He can’t bear another second of this.
He needs to hold Bucky. He needs to wrap him in soft blankets and feed him warm soup, the kind his mom used to make. He needs to take away all the years of pain and suffering.
He needs to drag Pierce out of his grave, pull him apart piece by piece, and burn him alive again. He needs to get his hands on Rumlow...
Bucky needs help. But it’s not just for Bucky anymore. It’s for him too. How long can he keep going like this, watching Bucky crumble and not knowing how to fix it? If he breaks down in front of Bucky again, it will only make things worse for both of them. He can’t do that. Not again.
"You’re going to see a therapist, Bucky." Steve says it like a command, his heart is breaking with every word.
Bucky’s head jerks up, and the terror in his eyes makes him want to cry.
“Please—please, I’m sorry...” Bucky’s voice is desperate, he scrambles forward, hands reaching for Steve's feet again.
“I can do better,” Bucky gasps as he clutches at Steve. His face is pressed to the ground.
Steve takes another half-step back, but Bucky follows, his hands still gripping his legs.
“I’ll be good. I’ll obey—I swear. I’ll take the punishment, just—just don’t send me back there.”
What is Bucky afraid of? What does he think Steve wants from him?
“Bucky. I’m not sending you anywhere. I’m not...”
Bucky thinks he wants to hurt him.
But Bucky isn’t hearing him. The words spill from him, trembling and broken.
“I’ll do it right this time. Just tell me what to do, please. I can—I can be what you want—”
“Hey. Hey. Stop. Stop—look at me.”
Steve kneels down as he lifts Bucky’s face from the floor.
"Therapy... it’s not like that. It’s not like Hydra. No one will hurt you there.”
But Bucky’s eyes don’t meet his. They’re unfocused like a wounded animal too afraid to look its captor in the eye. He’s failed Bucky in ways he can’t even begin to fix.
“Why are you doing this?” Bucky whispers and full of confusion.
Bucky’s whole body stiffens.
“I did everything I could to please you.”
Steve feels sick to his stomach.
“Bucky…” His voice cracks with his own helplessness and pain. “Why do you not want to go to therapy?”
The room falls into suffocating silence.
Bucky’s eyes—there’s a mix of fear and sheer exhaustion. It takes Steve a moment to understand what he’s seeing. To realize that to Bucky, no matter what he does, it will never be enough to prove that he isn’t just another handler.
“Every time you came up—when you were around—it just made everything worse,” Bucky whispers.
“Rollins, especially, he hated you.”
Steve feels his heart drops.
“I remembered the day you joined SHIELD. I don’t even know what happened, but Pierce was furious,” Bucky continues, his tone detached, as if he’s speaking about someone else’s life. “Commander wasn’t the same with me.”
“He didn’t care about the missions anymore.” Bucky’s eyes flick to Steve, a brief moment of searching, as if to see if Steve is really hearing him. “And it was because of you, Steve. You made them hate me.”
A wave of guilt crashes over him.
“I thought it was just because I wasn’t enough,” Bucky says, his eyes not meeting Steve’s anymore. “I thought maybe if I was better, they’d stop hurting me.”
He should have seen it.
“But it was never about me, was it?”
The realization comes crashing down on him.
It’s his fault. They hurt Bucky because of him.
“Commander said if you ever found out what I let him do, you’d never look at me again.” Bucky’s voice is calm.
“Bucky…” Steve chokes on his words again.
“He lied. Whatever they did to you—whatever he did to you—none of it is on you.”
But Bucky doesn’t react.
Steve can’t find the words anymore. He wants to tell Bucky how sorry he is, how deeply sorry, but the words feel so inadequate in the face of what Bucky has endured. He wants to beg for Bucky’s forgiveness, to promise him that this will all be over.
“You know that, right?”
He lowers himself to the floor, kneeling in front of Bucky as he reaches out.
“You were so angry when I said he never made you do things you didn’t want to do,” Steve says quietly. "I think it’s because deep down, you know what he did was wrong."
This time he touches Bucky’s shoulder gently.
“What do you want from me, Steve?”
He feels completely exposed.
“Bucky. Do you remember what he did to you?”
He didn’t ask for this. None of this is fair.
“Please answer me, Bucky.”
His eyes snap up, meeting Steve's, and for a moment, there's something that almost feels like the person he used to be. But it's gone just as quickly.
“Commander did make me do things—things I didn’t want to do.” The words taste like bile. He can feel Steve’s eyes judging him.
“If I failed, he’d lock me away—no light, no sound, no food. Just the smell of the steel on the floor.”
His voice is hollow, but the memory is still vivid as if he’s back there on the cold metal ground, his bones aching, and that endless, oppressive nothingness.
He wonders if Steve wants him there—to be contained and obedient.
“And then he would bring me out and... punish me.”
Steve just wants to know how bad it got. He probably feels powerful—having him kneel here, unraveling in front of him.
“Sometimes... sometimes it was just him. But it was more effective when it was the whole team.”
The heat of humiliation crawls up his neck again. He doesn’t want to keep going, doesn’t want to say more, but Steve is still there, waiting.
So this is what Steve wants
“I begged for everything—water, food, for them to stop, or they’d hurt me more.” His fingers dig into his thighs.
He can’t tell if Steve is horrified or fascinated. Maybe both. Steve wants to hear about it. He wants to picture it.
“Sometimes, they’d make me... make me hurt myself.” His stutters.
“Sometimes they used gags—metal. Designed to restrict breathing and induce panic.”
He talks like he's already choking on a piece of steel and and the air feels too thin.
“Is that what you want, Steve? To hear the details?”
Tears blur his vision, and he blinks rapidly, desperate to keep them from falling.
“You’re getting off on hearing me talk about it?” his laugh is brittle.
His throat is burning, and his eyes are stinging.
Steve’s face blurs, and for a second, he sees Pierce instead.
“What—you want to replay what they did?”
A sob escapes, unsteady and broken. He blinks hard, but it doesn’t stop the tears from gathering.
He doesn't want to cry—he doesn’t want to look so weak. He doesn't want to give Steve the satisfaction. Why does his body never listen to him? Why does he keep breaking apart?
The wetness on his cheeks feels like failure.
“You want to know how he fucked me as well? ‘cause I’ll give you every fucking detail.”
The words come out of him jagged and venomous.
Maybe it will hurt Steve before Steve can hurt him.
He forces a laugh, harsh and strangled, as tears streaming down his face. He hates himself for it.
Steve chokes out a sound—shock, horror, disgust—he can’t tell.
“I let his friends fuck me." His eyebrows lift in a bitter challenge.
"I didn’t like it. But I was willing to do it for him.” The Asset's voice cracks, his lips trembling.
If Steve wants to see the damage, wants to see just how ruined he really is, then he will rip open his wounds for Steve to see every crack and scar.
Isn’t this what Steve wanted all along?
“I’d do anything for him.”
Why does he keeps crying?
Steve turns his back to him, his shoulders tense.
“He was the only one who cared about me,” the Asset forces out, “You can lie to me all you want, but I know what I’d do for him.”
He sniffs again. His sobs start to die down, leaving behind an ache in his chest.
Steve remains silent, his back still turned. The Asset can't see his face.
Steve’s silence is worse than any punishment.
“I—I answered your question. I did what you wanted.” His voice trembles, uncertain. His fingers flex involuntarily.
The silence stretches on.
Why won’t he say something? Why won’t he just end this?
This is what Steve wanted, right? To see him stripped bare, pathetic and weak? Steve always wanted him to talk, to be honest, to tear himself open and show all the filth Hydra left behind. And now that he has, Steve won't even look at him.
Steve made him tear away the last shred of his dignity, and now he’s just—standing there.
Steve still has his back on him.
The longer it goes on, the more the unease he feels.
What happens to him now?
“You know, I spoke out of turn in Hydra once, and they sutured my mouth closed. You should’ve done that if you didn’t want to hear me talk.”
A part of him almost hopes Steve will react—shout, snap, anything but this silence.
Well.
He said what he said.
But Steve is still standing like that, stiff and motionless.
Is this how Steve plans to punish him—by ignoring him?
“Steve…?”
He hates the way it sounds—small, pleading.
He stays on his knees. Maybe he went too far this time. He’s said too much. Maybe Steve is finally done—finally realized what a mess he is.
“Steve…Sir, I’m sorry.”
The title slips out, a last-ditch effort to show Steve that he can still obey and be compliant. What did he even say that made Steve so angry? He can't even remember.
“Sir?”
Steve warned him about this. Warned him about talking back. Why did he do it anyway? Why can't he just stay quiet, just do what Steve wants and be good?
There's no getting out of this anymore. He malfunctioned too badly, broke too openly to avoid being sent to therapy now.
“Sir…”
His voice is so small now like a plea.
Then Steve finally turns back to him, his eyes red-rimmed.
He doesn’t know what to expect.
But then Steve reaches out, grabbing his hair with force, tilting his head back, exposing his throat.
“I don’t care what Hydra taught you. I don’t care what happened between you and any of your handlers,” Steve’s voice is low, almost calm.
“You’re mine now. Not Rumlow. Not Pierce.”
He tries to swallow.
It’s strange how it doesn’t feel like a threat anymore.
"From now on, you answer to me. You follow my rules. No one touches you without my permission. You want something? You ask me. You don’t want something? You ask me. You don’t hurt yourself without my say-so. And you don’t let anyone hurt you without my permission."
It doesn’t scare him the way it used to.
“I won’t send you to a therapist,” Steve continues, his tone hardening. “But if you break my rules again, Bucky, I’ll send you straight to one.”
Steve knows how to fix him.
"Maybe I’ve let you think you have some say in this. You don’t. Is that clear?”
Steve’s gaze locks onto his, but the Asset doesn’t look away. He knows this look.
Somehow it doesn’t bother him as much as it should.
Steve pauses before he speaks again. “I’m giving you a chance here. If you don’t speak, Bucky, I’ll make you speak.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, almost without thinking.
Steve’s grip loosens, but his gaze doesn’t soften. It’s still measuring, but there’s no anger in it now.
"If you..." Steve trails off.
Steve steps back, creating just enough distance between them.
“If you do well, Bucky…” Steve whispers.
“I’ll let you see Rumlow again.”
He feels his eyes widen and shimmer.