Chapter 11
You're exhausted. Inside and out.
You don't know how many days you've been here.
You don't care, because all you care about is Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.
But you're not going to give your powers up to HYDRA. It's a power that dubs you as one of the most powerful being in the world, and HYDRA could use you as a wrecking ball if they had control if it. They could take control of the Earth as easily as they'd take control of a kid's playground.
And you'd be the one helping them.
But you just want to give up, and there's agonizing pain everywhere, every move you make just hurts so damn much, and you can't help it that every time your former love comes towards you, you flinch, because you imagine his cold hands gripping a knife and dragging it across your skin, the sound hidden by your screams.
You wish the Avengers could come rescue you, but at the same time you wish they won't, because you don't want them to see you like this, broken, half dead, exhausted.
Hearing that ever so familiar pattern of steps, you sigh. A sigh of defeat, yet saying, "Don't even think about it."
The Winter Soldier strides into your cell.
His eyes roam around the stand, and this time he takes a small carving knife.
The small ones hurt the most.
You shrink away as he strides towards you. You don't want the pain. You don't want it.
The same words, again, through the same speaker: "Give up now, Miss Stark, and you won't have to suffer any pain. All you'll be is a new asset."
"No..." you sob. It doesn't help that you used to be depressed, even before this whole.... this whole.... this whole enchilada. "What kind of cruel.... cruel son of a bitch are you?"
He sighs. "Same as always. Go on, asset."
The Winter Soldier leisurely walks over to you, and you feel yourself visibly tremble. "Bucky, please....."
He kneels down, and in a gruff voice, snaps, "Who the hell is Bucky?"
Oh, cruel fate.
You feel your heart shatter. Trying to do something, you curl up in a ball.
He takes your wrist in a steel grip and wrenches it away, earning a cry of pain from your lips. You're still unhealed from yesterday's sessions, but they cut you anyway. You want to tell them to stop.
The cry means nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
"He was given.... ah, some special orders today, Miss (Y/N)." You can hear the smile in his voice. "Enjoy."
You want to scream to them, to yell at them how they could be this inhuman.
Closing your eyes, you wait for the pain.
Whispering to yourself, and to him, too: "Just remember, it was the Winter Soldier who did this. Not you."