The floor of the van was cool, cold even, against his forearms and biting into the knees of his threadbare jumpsuit. He was gulping in air, trying both to protect himself from the intensity of their bond and resisting throwing himself back into it. He was caught in the eye of the storm, that single bit of peace while the winds and rage swirled around him, threatening to pull him back down the line.

He felt Steve move and stiffened up even if the super-soldier wasn't coming towards him. He grabbed at his long hair, pulling on it until pain flooded him, stilling the chaos and giving him something to grasp onto. He was too exposed, too close to Wilson but couldn't help the soft mantra of 'order through pain' sounding through his being.

Yet, something so very base alpha drew him staggering to his feet, an illusion he had long ago built for himself and mentally hadn't entirely let go. Something of his was in danger, and he turned with a snarl on Steve Rogers.

Wilson was his. Confused but aggressive, he moved to attack the super-soldier because there was nothing he could do about the bond that plucked at him. It became stronger too as his proximity with Wilson closed and despite all disadvantages, he was onto Steve's back and moving to get the chain linking his wrists down and around the man's throat, snarling...

...opening himself and the bond connection flooded him again. Disorienting him, the bond dragged him down as he dragged himself to Wilson.