The last thing Steve saw before he was sedated was Bucky, slumping limp and senseless in the arms of the guards, out of reach no matter how much he struggled. The sight sent a wave of numb, leaden despair through him, enough that he sagged n defeat while he waited for the by-now familiar feeling of a needle sliding home into his neck.
It was almost a relief, when the blackness started to close in on him. Dark senselessness was better than the agony of failure.
He woke up in the process of being secured to the chair, to the chatter of scientists and the creak of leather bindings and the hum of that damned, nightmarishthing. He could hear it whirring to life, crackling with the electricity that always hungrily scoured his mind, taking everything, leaving nothing.
A scientist was trying to force a mouthguard between his lips. Steve tried to bite, but two more guards held his head in place, forced his mouth open, and held it shut so he couldn't spit the thing out. It would only be worse for him if he did, but Steve didn't care, he didn't care how much he suffered just as long as he fought, but his limbs felt leaden and numb even besides the restraints and his vision was going black as the helmet descended over his head.
All was black and dark, isolated and cold. There were no more hands on him, but Steve barely had a scant second to consider any of that before pain.
It was like barbed wire being wrapped around his head, tearing and shredding, the hum of electricity blocking out any attempt at thought. It was like being burned away and broken down.
He tried to hold on. Steve Rogers. His name was Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers.
His name was...
His name...
His...
But it all slipped away, until he forgot even that he'd been trying to hold on to anything.
HYDRA wanted to make use of their bond with one another, now that it had proven so persistent. Even that sense of familairity, that sense of knowing and caring, could be used. But they had to be certain that it would only stop at a sense, that it wouldn't properly trigger memories. Reinforcing the damage done specifically to the memory portions of their minds could help ensure that.
Further contact would still have to be carefully monitored, but it would be arranged.
They gave it another few weeks, putting Steve ruthlessly back on his routine as soon as he recovered physically from the wipes. Once they were certain that he was no longer operating under the desire to see Bucky again, once they were certain that he'd lost any specific sense of who Bucky was...only then, did they re-introduce them.
This time, in a bare, white room, divided by a clear pane of soundproof, bulletproof glass with Bucky on the other side with his own escort of guards. His friend still only had one arm.
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It was almost a relief, when the blackness started to close in on him. Dark senselessness was better than the agony of failure.
He woke up in the process of being secured to the chair, to the chatter of scientists and the creak of leather bindings and the hum of that damned, nightmarish thing. He could hear it whirring to life, crackling with the electricity that always hungrily scoured his mind, taking everything, leaving nothing.
A scientist was trying to force a mouthguard between his lips. Steve tried to bite, but two more guards held his head in place, forced his mouth open, and held it shut so he couldn't spit the thing out. It would only be worse for him if he did, but Steve didn't care, he didn't care how much he suffered just as long as he fought, but his limbs felt leaden and numb even besides the restraints and his vision was going black as the helmet descended over his head.
All was black and dark, isolated and cold. There were no more hands on him, but Steve barely had a scant second to consider any of that before pain.
It was like barbed wire being wrapped around his head, tearing and shredding, the hum of electricity blocking out any attempt at thought. It was like being burned away and broken down.
He tried to hold on. Steve Rogers. His name was Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers.
His name was...
His name...
His...
But it all slipped away, until he forgot even that he'd been trying to hold on to anything.
HYDRA wanted to make use of their bond with one another, now that it had proven so persistent. Even that sense of familairity, that sense of knowing and caring, could be used. But they had to be certain that it would only stop at a sense, that it wouldn't properly trigger memories. Reinforcing the damage done specifically to the memory portions of their minds could help ensure that.
Further contact would still have to be carefully monitored, but it would be arranged.
They gave it another few weeks, putting Steve ruthlessly back on his routine as soon as he recovered physically from the wipes. Once they were certain that he was no longer operating under the desire to see Bucky again, once they were certain that he'd lost any specific sense of who Bucky was...only then, did they re-introduce them.
This time, in a bare, white room, divided by a clear pane of soundproof, bulletproof glass with Bucky on the other side with his own escort of guards. His friend still only had one arm.