It was getting closer, little-by-little, step-by-step. Months ago, he had learned quickly to ignore the thread that tied him to another man, shut Wilson out so only his existence as being 'alive' could be found. Even in his deepest hatred that mingled with the isolation and agony of change, he had not reached down the limited link that had formed. Now, despite his best efforts, he was aware of it like a splinter festering in his mind, tugging at him in a way that had previously been impossible.

Brock Rumlow had lived twenty-five years of his life hormone neutral, a state frequently used by alphas so as not to be reduced to in-fighting in stressful jobs and situations. They worked better that way, and it allowed him to hide his identity as something he was not. He knew from pathetic smell back then that Sam was an alpha, but ironically not as broad shouldered or muscled as he had been when he was in his prime physical state as a neutral.

Now his sense of smell was back, and he wished for any kind suppressant to ruin it again. Instead, his nostrils flared as the door opened and his bond stepped into the room, training a gun on him like he was some kind of threat, like HYDRA hadn't shot him in here to isolation to relish his own patheticness. His fingers twitched where they dangled just beyond his knees, watching the man he hated beyond anyone else, even that bastard of an old man.

Wilson looked good if worn at the edges. Combat ready, sure-footed, and ready to put a bullet in his brain if he made a wrong move.

Perfect.

Rumlow slowly uncurled from his position and rose to his bare feet, the full scope of his change evident even as he lifted his chin in familiar alpha-like challenge. "You tired of being a pathetic excuse of a SHIELD agent? All pseudo and bullshit," he replied, his young face darkening. "A single bullet is all it takes to be free. It would hurt for a little while, but you'd heal."

He tapped the middle of his forehead with a finger. "Right there, yeah?"