spaces_between | We're all going to Hell

We're all going to Hell

Who: Brock Rumlow & Sam Wilson
When: 6+ months post-TWS
What: Tans knows. I know. Yet another reason we have poor life choices because of conversations with each other.
Warnings: Rumlow, dubious science, sex no doubt.

Time was a slippery mistress to chase when one hadn't seen the outside world in a long time. The Hive was a facility that was designed to be both a prison and a feast of scientific advancement, buried in the ground and having little need to have any come to the top three prison levels for any more than resupplying. It was a revolving door of fresh faces and experimentation, hidden within plain sight and maintained by an apparent good standing in a functioning if hard penal system.

Rumlow hadn't had a chance to look at the date when he was stolen from the hospital room, not exactly his first priority. He knew upon awakening and being told he was at the Hive that he had been traded to another division to use up what was left of him. That was fine by him as all previous estimations were that he would never been fully functional as an agent again with the extent of damage that he had suffered. He was fine living out the rest of his life being of service.

Except he didn't die.

HYDRA was always on some advancement, and it seemed interested in the relative youth of the super-soldiers and the limited youth effects of Centipede. It had a good serum made up that was in test phase, and who better to test the effects on then the washed out remains of soldiers from the Washington D.C. failure. It began slowly at first and earnestly when responses were recorded. Alphas, fueled by testosterone and aggression and dominance, showed little production and response, though there was some age-stopping effects noted. Betas, the middle ground that swayed between nature and nurture, were moderately successful and lost a few apparent years and maladies that were associated with age. Omegas, nurturing and estrogen based and designed to take all manner of punishment, responded better than anyone expected. Years bled away (literally), they returned to prime 'breeding' years as it was called and they were suddenly on great interest.

Brock had healed well, his scarring bleeding away with the years that reversed him. Aches, pains and old injures sorted themselves out. He was a rarity. Among the omega population, only twenty percent were born male and the rest were all female, who had a more nurturing nature. His rarity had been a curse for most of his life, only HYDRA saving him from life in the underbelly. He had joined first because he had been guaranteed heavy duty and very experimental suppressants; as one of the few male omegas, he had first crack at them and disregarded any danger associated with them. It was better to be on them than risk heats every three months in his prime.

Now with the experimentation at its peak, he was back to where he had started when he was twelve and showed his nature. He hadn't been on suppressants since the Triskelion had fallen on him, and his highly regarded and coveted 'maleness' fell away. His hips ached constantly, the scent glands on his neck had developed out of forced dormancy, a considerable amount of his old musculature had not returned despite his aggressive attempts, and looking every bit like the man he had been when he was twenty-five or so, even his facial hair, once so prized by him and always left somewhat rugged, struggled to grow.

Worse, his second heat in twenty-five years had come and gone, leaving him in isolation so as not to send all the other omegas (all female but one other) into heats of their own.

The worst of it was the itch that he had spent most of his time ignoring getting stronger. At first, he thought little of it until the noises of doctors and guards alike giving orders and hurried moving equipment and paperwork. Within hours, the itch grew and Rumlow knew. The Hive had been discovered and was being taken down by whatever remained of SHIELD or the Avengers or whatever organization was giving HYDRA the chase around at this point. He had hoped that he wouldn't come, but the thin thread of bond that was still so new and foreign was searching and crawling through his mind. It was deep already.

Wilson.

Rumlow remained at the back of his cell, his knees pulled up and his arms resting across them as he stared at the door. The prison jumpsuit was almost threadbare and at least see-through in more than a few places, an indication of the time that had passed. It was probably too much to ask that he would be passed over in the raid, and he huffed softly at the sound of gunfire and the invasion. Perhaps Wilson would consider him a lost cause and let him go, but no... even with only thirty minutes of contact, his near death and then disappearance, the bond remained unbroken. Who would leave their bond behind? Him maybe.

Maybe not with his hormones running on full, and while he certainly wasn't a typical omega, he still was one. Certain rules of his nature applied even after thirty years of neglect of them and the same amount of time hating them. He had learned long ago how to manipulate with his hormones; he could do so again as long as his bond didn't step in. Chances? Slim to none.

"Don't do it. You'll regret every single moment of it," he whispered at the closed door. "I'll make you regret."

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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?"

One shot, point blank.

Easy.

Only then he'd have to live with himself for the rest of his life knowing that was the sort of person he was.

“Wouldn't be free.” Sam muttered, shaking his head and holstering his gun. Maybe he would have healed, not end up dragged down for a slow pending sort of death from a severed bond. “You'd still be right there, man. You're worse than a rash.”

He looked Rumlow over now that he was standing, the physical changes flaring a sort of protective instinct he felt better elbowing away. Soft and young (how, how was he so young when the guy had to be pushing an amazing looking forty at least last spring?) maybe it was a compliment that Sam didn't immediately trust his back to him or treat him like the defensive omega his stature, his hips and his scent all but shouted.

“Did they do this to you? Did they make you an omega?”

There wasn't a lot of time, especially since they were going to hustle Rumlow out of here with as minimal contact with the rest of the operation as necessary. Steve knew, Hill knew and he'd been informed that Director Coulson knew- which was all probably a working list of Rumlow's least favor people in the world with him right on there too. Still, he had questions he wanted answered before they moved out.

And considering the amount of things he'd read and seen, it wouldn't be the most outrageous conclusion to make – somehow HYDRA had figured a way to mess with a person's biology enough to switch their entire nature. It'd explain the bond, why Rumlow hadn't smelled like anything but blank while walking, talking, barking and punching like a true weight alpha. Far more than he came off personally, though Sam used being sometimes mistaken for a beta first glance, not scent, to his advantage.

His gaze flicked to the handgun as it disappeared, and there was a brief flare of disappointment. If Wilson was here, then HYDRA was overrun or evacuated, and that put him in the position of being a prisoner in this sham of a bond and whatever else SHIELD could come up for him. That bullet was his ticket to freedom.

Except if he was given opportunity to thrive, assault and break out. He had his old digs back after all, the kind of body that men his age spent years wishing for again. The experience he had in a young body, back in his prime when he could make the most of the information and his skills.

"I'm sure you could fill the hole somehow," he drawled and ran a hand through his admittedly too long hair. He needed to get it cut badly.

Rumlow snorted softly at the line of questioning, and he had a feeling that it was going to be asked of him again and again. He crossed his arms over his chest and just stared at Wilson for a long time before he smirked. "Yeah, they did this to me, one more service to HYDRA. Shed the years like a second skin, painful... but worthwhile."

He began to walk forward, closing the distance between them despite his better judgement to keep a distance between them. He was not going to be triggered, he told himself. He wanted to make one thing very clear, though he slowed as the musky scent that was entirely Sam filled his nose when he got too close. Unlike their last battle when his sense of smell had been the shits, he now drank it in easily and snorted, as if surprised to have access to it again. "Suppressants... you don't give me that bullet, then I want suppressants."

That's what he can't imagine, being in a situation where someone not putting a bullet right in your brain is a source of disappointment. It's just a flicker but Sam sees it and some of that overwhelming protective anger filters back in. He keeps trying to remind himself this was the man that near gleefully pummeled him months ago, easily betrayed Steve and aligned himself whole-heatedly to an organization that thought nothing about killing a couple hundred-million for their tyranical cause.

But his very bones and his nerves and his teeth kept saying that he's his.

When Rumlow moved forward it broke the freeze on him that kept him blocking the door. He took a deep breath, mimicking Rumlow's scenting only to be absolutely assulted by the heavy dredges of a thick heat recently passed, traces that clung to Rumlow- Sam doubted they'd let him out since then.

He heard his growling demand but he was moving automatically, yanked by the bond and the scent and months and months of not having what his body and mind craved. So close that their foreheads pressed together, Rumlow just an inch or so shorter than him he breathed all of it in and felt a rippling shudder slide down his back. "You'll get them."

After all, it was deemed as pretty cruel to deny omegas those when they we wanted. Laws got passed making them available, easier to buy with minimal medical evaluation.

But he wanted this before the suppressants ruined Rumlow's scent- messed up an engineered as he believed it was. God, it almost felt natural.

While he was aware his disappointment had filtered, though he couldn't figure out why because they had been in one another's presence no more than half an hour before, he was forced to endure the tingle of protective anger. He curled a lip in the face of it, not needing the protection of anyone because he was strong enough to do for himself what had never been done for him in the past. He was on his own regardless of the damn bond.

His nostrils continued to flare with each breath, drinking in the scent that he mentally tagged as 'Wilson'. It was rich and fresh, like the air on a clear day after the fog had gotten burnt off, but just a touch of dirty, gunpowder, and something warm. He spent time considering it, rolling it over in his mind, since the last time he had actually scented an alpha he had probably been about seventeen and rebelling full force against his nature but still desperate for connection.

He froze when Sam stepped in, clearly scenting him, and he stiffened at the feel of warm skin against his forehead. He momentarily bristled before tiredly sighed and nodded. It had been a rough heat. He hadn't slept much.

Sam's scent and the warm radiating from the man fogged him momentarily. In a gesture he would be caught dead doing or admitting to, his left arm rose between them to pull away Sam's uniform collar so his right arm crossed to rub the scent gland on his wrist over the one on Sam's neck. His head tipped, nudging noses before realizing what was happening and immediately moving to back off.

"Good, that's the only quarter, I want. Everything else doesn't matter. CIA still tortures people, right?"

The last thing he expected was acquiescence bu t it came without a fight and his agreement to provide causing Sam to let out the breath he'd been holding and drink in the hot metal tinge, like wood and iron, flesh that very clearly needed a wash but still satisfying to his nose. Comforting when it had no right to be.

Sam realized his eyes had closed at the contact and with the thread of their bond humming strong. When Rumlow moved they opened, dark brown eyeing Rumlow's face as his collar was pulled down and their scents were mixed. A gesture he allowed, allowed with a low crawling sound from his chest all approval.

"Pretty sure even Steve frowning at them won't stop that."

Candid as his reply had been, he wasn't going to let them torture him and how the thought made his hackles rise sang through the bond. Sam's hand napped to keep, hand blurring up to clasp around Rumlow's wrist and press it back to his own scent gland. This could escalate. They needed to part but- "Can we- "

What? Make this work? Talk about it? They needed to talk about it. Preferably not here in this cell with HYDRA's stink the only think that could turn sterile putrid. But as soon as they left there was going to be the whole deal of processing, debriefing and plying for the information Rumlow carried.

The sound of footsteps- Steve's - snapped him out of whatever it was and he pulled back, eyes focusing again. He switched to breathing through his mouth and hoped he hadn't started pumping out hormones that'd induce heat.

"Any others?" By the time Steve peered in Sam had let go. And by the Steve's grim face it was clear Rumlow was the only one remaining in the ward alive and present.

This wasn't like their first confrontation at all, which had been rough and violent and fighting against themselves and the bond that sought to ruin their conflict. He had been so heavily dosed on suppressants at the same, so worked up that he hadn't thought a bond could take, and it certainly hadn't stopped him from waging war on Wilson. The bond was never something he wanted because he hated dependency. He wanted his own strength, and he damn well wasn't giving it up for someone else.

Except just like that, he did. Tension bled from him at the mingling of their scents, and he felt the bond he had under strict control flare and needle at his mind. He tried to stamp it out, but it wiggled beyond his attempts, lodging harder and deeper than before.

"Ah well, hopefully they know what they're doing. I'd have to be bored with lame attempts," he drawled, though there was an undertone of challenge that was all 'do your worst'.

He froze again at the sudden fingers around his wrist, and under normal circumstances, he would have punched the other in the throat. However, the warmth of that grip held him only to clenching his hands into fists, and the question provoked a growl from him. This wasn't even supposed to be happening as it was! He didn't bond, and yet the vulnerability ate at him.

He turned his head and surged in those short seconds between Sam releasing his wrist and his lips and nose butting the scent gland under Wilson's wrist. The first hit is free; you'll pay dearly for all the others. He still flared his nostrils once, flicked the tip of his tongue against the skin and was gone within five seconds, distancing himself from the other man.

The expression was enough that he knew; in the hurry to escape and take everything, he was the only one left. Ah well, he'd faced bad odds before. "Does that mean we can go now since I've got no roommates in my cell block? Isolation is such a bore," he drawled, but his eyes darted back to Sam too often to hide the faint neediness clawing internally at him.

All omega. Bond and hormone withdrawal for far, far too long.

Sam was about as thankful for Steve's presence as he is chafing against it because it served as a damn good reminder of who he was, who Rumlow was and where they where. Three key points that scattered, just dissolved at touch of Rumlow's tongue to his wrist. He was glad because there was something preventing him from just losing it after months of keeping it together under a strain he had never truly recognized until now, shoving Rumlow with all his allure and the scent of him he needed against the wall and having him there. No one had taken care of him through his heat and not even in the sense of relieving it. He hadn't been there to deal with it and part of himself paced angry, incensed by that knowledge.

It wasn't who he wanted to be and he didn't know if he liked it at all, despite how right it'd felt a few moments ago.

Steve was looking between them, already having done his double-take at Rumlow's appearance and now Sam felt the weight of both of their eyes (Rumlow's flicking away too often) on him. Steve's more questioning, checking and to that he could only shake his head, reaching up and turning back on his comm link.

"West ward clear. Only one recovered. Heading back to the drop off with them."

Then wordlessly he snagged the zipper to his jacket and pulled it down, shrugging out of it to hand to Rumlow without another word. The need was bleeding through and since they couldn't do anything about that he could at least offer that for the both of their sanities.

Besides, desert nights were cold and that uniform was threadbare at best.

Rumlow liked to think that once he was out of this room full of his own old stink that he would be clear-headed again and working to salvage himself. He was used to people glancing at him a lot because of the way that he looked, especially with the sheer success that he was for the experimentation. No one would know that he was in fact close to forty-five than the twenty-five that he appeared to be.

Both Sam and Steve's reactions to him were not unexpected. Men who know what he looked like, the broad-shouldered muscular appearance with the carefully careless rugged appearance was completely different from the almost fresh-faced young man who stood before them. He had been told that his eyes gave him away, older, shrewd and cunning in a way that serum couldn't detract.

He rubbed his face with a hand to prevent himself from continually looking at Sam, and he had long ago stopped looking at his thread-bare uniform. There are holes in the back and the knees and elbows, something he was also long used to.

He was surprised when Sam gave up a jacket to him, and he made a show of taking it reluctantly. He draped it over his shoulders rather than putting it on completely, and that was that as Steve stepped in to cuff his wrists together. Ah, they'd gotten upgrades, had they? Too bad that, since he was used to dislocating his thumbs but these made it impossible.

Sam's scent rising from the jacket filled his head, and he went without a fuss through the hallways between the two men. His eyes flicked around to take stock of the man power and if he would be able to get a weapon easily. A few people stopped to stare at him, some might have even recognized him.

Ah, so this must have been what the Asset had felt like on the walk between cryostasis and maintenance, huh? He tucked his nose briefly into the jacket collar to breathe deeply before returning his attention to the long walk, and slowly his usual confident swagger began to bleed into his gait, his shoulders setting in that lax powerful set that had maintained, but it was all wrong with his current size and musculature.

People were milling and sweeping as they made their way out, tracking through the main open level of the open Hive and then down to were a veritable fleet of cars waited. Apparently the other two teams had finished up as well and about half of them were waiting while the other half went about clean-up and recovery. There was no threat but he still felt on-edge with the number of alphas around and their casting gazes though he knew, they weren't attempting to contend...for the most part.

The ones that stopped to obviously gawk got a pointed look with Sam eventually giving in and closing the gap that between him and Rumlow as they crossed towards the vans. It felt like a longer walk than it was and the whole time he was either casting about for potential threats or fixated on the man in front of him, catching him breathing into the collar of his jacket and the gradual shift of his stride.

It was all wrong with those hips and the too long hair. That sort of aggressive sway begged for a crew-cut, for broader shoulders. A lot of bravado for an omega, which caught the looks of the people that didn't appear to immediately recognize Rumlow.

Steve opened up the back of the furthest van up, quipping something to Rumlow before tilting his head to gesture for him to get in. -not personal, was all he caught over the sudden fire of chatter over his comm. He followed after Rumlow's scent and form more than anything else, sitting next to him on the padded benches. Steve climbed in on the other side, closing the door before it opened a few seconds later.

Maria Hill peered her way in, reeling back at the combination of scents before her eyes settled on Rumlow. "Huh."

She held a laptop, open still as her eyes shifted over to Cap. "Well, one's better tha none, right? We'll see you boys back at base."

The door slammed again, echoed by the back of Sam's head hitting the metal wall of the van.

This was going to be a long two hour ride.

Most of the team that had been put together were either alphas or betas, but most of the alphas. He was used to the sight having served as much as he had on STRIKE where tough bastards always rose to the top; there had been a theory that omegas had no place challenging the domain of that kind of aggression and need for manliness. He wasn't the first to change that theory, but he had also not told anyone what he was. He had built himself up before he joined.

He stared down the other gawkers all his own, the corner of his lip rising in a smirk of challenge, arrogant and certain despite his reduced size. He ignored the fact that he hadn't been given an opportunity to bathe since his heat began, and his scent clung to him like a belated advertisement. As if Wilson would let anyone get close enough, protective act and all.

Rumlow didn't put up a fuss in climbing into the back of the van and flopping down on the padded seat which was far more comfortable than anything he had sat on for a long time. He used both hands to tug the collar of Sam's jacket around his neck a little more tightly as he was soon joined by his protective bond and Rogers.

He tilted his head at the appearance of Hill. He immediately smirked at her. "Wow Hill, you're looking old. I still owe you a bullet to your pretty little forehead," he said, spreading his legs as he would have as an alpha. "Don't think I've forgotten."

Of course, the door was shut and he was alone with Sam and Steve. "Ah, it's good to be among friends again."

Rumlow at least got a lip curl for his efforts before the door was shut.

Sam huffed in the pause between that and the engine starting up and Rumlow starting his mouth up right afterwards. He wished absently that there were actually windows in the back part of the van, something to give a little air to the coiling iron-sweetness coming from the man next to him.

"Man, don't start..."

A long-suffering plea. He remembered enough of their brief conversation (most of it snarling, yelling) at the Triskelion to not want his snark for two hours. "When's the last time you ate?"

Apparently, Steve was going to let him handle most of this.

He figured that picking at Hill was the only solace that he was going to get in this trip, wherever they were going. He had always come to the Hive in the past by a quinjet, never over land, but he knew it's about location on a map. He had no idea how long they were going to be trapped in this steel can, but at least it didn't stink like heat neediness. That was the only real benefit.

He growled at the plea, turning his head to look around the SHIELD standard van for something to do. It hadn't changed at all, and it was almost comfortable to be back in one. How many hours had he been in one of these pigs? Probably more than the hours he spent in his old bed.

He shrugged at the question, curling his hands together in his lap as he rested his head back against the side of the truck and considered the question. "I don't know. Maybe a day or so ago. Nothing for... that four days I was hormonal," he reflected. He wouldn't have eaten in an active heat anyway.

"Am I getting shoved in a deep dark pit to rot, or am I going to be plumbed for information first?"

Four days.

Not the longest some heats could go but still a nasty chunk of time, especially without anyone else to help you through it. Sam's own growl in return to Rumlow's was automatic, low and thrumming but without any real heat.

He was tempted to kick at Steve's knee for the smirk that put on his lips. Otherwise it looked like he was talking to Bucky, the expression on his face softer and distant.

Sam leaned over, opening up the storage bin under the seat closest to the wall dividing them from the cabin up front and dragged out a water bottle and some old SHIELD issue energy bars. Flipping over the package, they still seemed to be good so he handed one over then the other. He then took out two more waters, tossing one of them to Steve.

"Depends. You going to talk at all?"

The first had been longer, almost a full seven days, and it had been one of those experiences where he had almost clawed at his own skin to get some relief. Whatever SHIELD was going to do to him was nothing compared to the torture of that, not so long after having nothing at all to consider. Suppressants had still been good to him, and he had no regrets about them, even if they did pretty much make him celibate. It allowed him to focus on the job at hand.

He turned his head and watched Sam digging around like the guy knew this place like the glove or something. Like a real member of SHIELD. He eyed Rogers, not understanding the soft distant expression. He and Sam had never communicated, and the only time he had ever reached back down the link was when he was defenseless in sleep.

Rumlow reached out and took the bottle of water and food, raising an eyebrow when he had caught his bond looking at the expiration date. "You didn't really just do that? You know that shit can't actually go bad."

He tore open the package and bite a chuck of it off. It tasted like cardboard with an attempt at flavouring, but he'd practically survived on them. He smirked around his mouthful at the question, leaning closer to Sam and making a show of breathing in the alpha's scent as he swallowed the bit of bar in his mouth.

"Depends, what do you want me to talk about? You know I have a lot to say about nothing, even more about something." He smirked and uncapped his bottle of water to take a drag from it with a sigh.

Sam was pretty hesitant to reach out and find out if they could communicate like Steve and Bucky could. He already had a bad feeling about what the answer would be and having Rumlow's voice actively in his head on top of his constant presence was just another level too deep when they were already up the creek without a paddle.

"Excuse me for offending you for checking, damn. It's a habit."

The grouse sounded a little petulant even to his own ears. Sam cracked open his bottle, huffing out a sigh as he took a deep swing before Rumlow leaned towards him. The flat look and thinned lips expressed exactly how he felt.

"Seriously, man." Sam insisted. "Lot of people want to shove you exactly in that hole but it doesn't have to be that way."

He lowered his bottle. "They left you there." Or was it on purpose?

His eyes flicked from Steve to Sam, aware that something was going on but unwilling to question. It was clear that it would be suicide to make a go for Captain America right now, not with his bond right there to knock him on his ass. It wasn't as if he had been that active in the last week except for sweating and cursing his life.

"Ah Wilson, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger," he replied cheekily. "Live a little."

Ah, that was the superior unimpressed look, and he knew it well. He just continued to smirk in the face of it even as he went back to his ration bar, willing to eat just about anything right about now. He was only then reminded how hungry he was after burning calories writhing on the floor seeking relief.

"There is no other option for a caught and confined HYDRA agent," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. He'd either break out or someone would get him again. That depended on how important he was to their research.

"Isolation isn't exactly a very active place. They were in a hurry to get out with what they had," he drawled easily. "Are you upset on my behalf of being left behind, or are you just that happy to see me again?"

-or are you just that happy to see me again?

For a second his thoughts flashed back to when they were in the room, painfully close and drowning in one another's scents, aching, lips almost touching. He wasn't sure he could call that happiness but it felt like a facsimile. Even now he felt more settled in his skin than he'd been for the last half a year.

The silence stretched between them before Sam realized that it was drawing and he looked away.

“That's the main thing they're going to want to know: where they moved out to.”

Such a careful non-answer to the question.

The link between them filled the silence that reigned, and he knew that there were many questions between them that would hopefully never be answered. As soon as he was strong enough and hopefully had some good suppressants on board, he'd be breaking he way out and going back to what he knew best, which was HYDRA.

Oh Wilson might be a little upset for a minute or two, but they were better separated. There was a draw to the other man that clouded his head. Even now, the jacket was the safest place he had ever been. Not good.

He returned to eating the bar and drinking the water. He shrugged at the information no doubt wanted. "Can't help there. They left without me; who knows where they would have gone."

There were a lot of HYDRA research facilities after all. He'd just have to get to one himself.

"...what's he doing," he asked as he stared at Steve's distant expression.

"Mhm." Exactly the answer he expected. Since he'd been locked up in solitary, used as a convenient guinea pig it was pretty doubtful that he was going to be briefed on an evacuation plan but the CIA would breathe thick for any list of bases, safehouses, members of the government who were suspected but couldn't be pinned down. The later worth it's weight in gold and Rumlow's conditional freedom.

Sam blinked before following his bond's attention across the van. Steve's eyes were shut, his expression softer but not sleep-soft and he sat comfortably with his arms crossed and his actual attention a million miles away.

"He's talking to his bonded. You can probably guess who that is." Easiest million dollar question ever.

"You're lucky he's actually got his eyes closed, sometimes they're open and it's just freaky as hell."

The commentary gets Steve's attention to come back, blue eyes opening and fixing with a baleful look. If Sam's unimpressed looks were getting more impressive it was only because he was learning from a master. "Yeah, I'm talking about you, Cap. Nothing you haven't heard before. Go back to him." The last part added as a gentle nudge, reassurance that things were at least as okay as they could get at this immediate point in time.

Rumlow was looking for no pity of his situation, and there was still more for him to give HYDRA once he slipped away. He was no traitor, and there was also no reason to give up information. He had a feeling that this might be the most relaxing few hours that he had before things got rough, but he had lived a rough life. He didn't think it wasn't anything that he couldn't handle.

Yet, he admitted curiosity as to what the hell Steve was doing. He'd never seen the man have an expression like that, there but not. He stiffed at the sheer idea of communicating with a bond rather than who; he knew damn well who it was. "You can do that, huh? Sounds awful... having someone in your head all the time poking around like it's their business."

He took another sip of water from the bottle, watching Steve closely as if maybe he could discover what was passing between the two. Of course, there was that look and he tipped his bottle at Rogers like some kind of salute.

"Makes a piss poor guard that way, you know. I could escape without someone actually guarding me."

"It's not so bad," Steve's easy reply came with a shrug. "Spent too long without him there."

Sam was the one to shake his head.

"Yeah, have fun making it back anywhere on your own." There'd been a brief sweep for trackers before getting into the van, who knew if Rumlow had anything internally that'd let HYDRA know just where he was but he wouldn't put it pass them. Hill still had a scatterer running, enough noise being produced that should throw anything off.

"What do you think I'm doing?" He was probably going to regret that question, wasn't he?

Rumlow liked his head space right where it was, thank you very much, and he eyed Sam out of the corner of his eye. Nothing had been tried yet, but how close did one have to be before that little ability developed? He wasn't interested. Only Rogers would delve that deep and not get lost as far as he was concerned.

"I've got a few skills left," he said simply, which was pretty much that he knew how to hide. His clothing, his bound wrists and the fact he had no supplies certainly wouldn't serve him well, but he figured he could take his chances. It was better than a CIA hole as far as he was concerned.

He turned his head to look Sam over, and he nestled his nose into the jacket collar again, breathing deep. His eyes half-closed a moment before he shook himself out of it enough to answer. "Sitting on your ass hoping I fall in a ditch and die. Or sitting on your ass thinking how unlucky you are. One of the two."

“But not guarding, okay.”

Sam considering himself to be though he had to keep reminding himself he was somewhat compromised right now. Every time Rumlow went to draw in his scent it was obvious. It brought a curling want right back to the front of his mind – one that needed to draw Rumlow closer to him than just at his side, mesh them together and...

“It probably would have been a lot easier if one of us had kicked it, true. I spent the first couple of months figuring you would. It felt...flickering. Then it got stronger.”

Despite the distance. Despite their ages and the brief amount of time around one another. Despite pretty much everything that should have made bonding impossible between them or at least sent the tether fraying and dissolving once they weren't in immediate proximity.

“Likelihood someone's going to come and try and put you down?” HYDRA wasn't so fond of loose ends they could tie up, after all.

"Well... are you?"

Sam didn't seem to be on guard with him, not in the sense of keeping him in his seat. If anything, the other man seemed intent on watching him as much as he was, and he knew that their proximity made this entire ride (however long it would be) very dangerous. Already, the bond was a blanket of warmth at the edge of his mind, creeping closer to cover him entirely if he wasn't on guard.

He shrugged at the mention of flickering, aware that there had been more than once where his injures had been discussed in a manner that made experimentation dangerous. He wasn't used up entirely, so they went ahead. If he died, he would still have been of brief use.

"Surviving is in my nature, so maybe you should have tried a little harder to get off'd." He sighed and leaned his head back against the truck, watching Steve being all distant across from them. "Maybe, or they'll recapture me. I am a medical miracle."

Slowly, curious as much as tired, he mentally reached for Sam. There was that spot he ignored most of the time in his consciousness, like a string that tugged on him from time-to-time. He mentally touched on it and stiffened at the warmth that flooded his body.

That might have been what coming home felt like. He wouldn't know; he'd never felt it before.

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