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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Thinking about HYDRA recapturing him, taking him away earned a clipped growl- gone almost as soon as it formed. Sam shook his head though he knew it was completely viable. Years just...gone. Rumlow had the unfortunate privilege of being some sort of fountain of youth, or at least a product of it.

“I am,” he insisted. He wouldn't let anyone hurt Rumlow and he wasn't going to let Rumlow harm anyone else as much as possible.

But he'd admit, he was too easily distracted now and the moment he felt Rumlow reach for their bond his attention fell solely to that. His eyes shut and he sighed, tension bleeding out from him as he stopped pushing the awareness away and just let it run through. It felt like finally bedding down after a long day, the air cold around but everything cozy and perfect and right underneath the covers.

He knew what home left like and he knew, so acutely, that he hadn't felt it ever since SHIELD came down.

Just this much contact was already strengthening the hungry thread, building it further. Sam reached out without thinking, needing contact along with the wrap of their minds and slid his hand down Rumlow's forearm until their wrists were pressed together, scents mingling just above the line of the cuffs.

It felt right. Resonating all through him. Sam turned his head in and towards his bond, wondering how the hell he could miss someone he barely knew this much.

While the growl wasn't loud, he sensed the flare of protectiveness from the bond next to him. It might have been endearing if it didn't momentarily disgust him, like Sam needed to protect him when he had spent all of his life protecting himself. He knew how to use his status against others, and why would he resist the very organization that had given him everything that he had ever wanted? All that it had required in return was life-long service.

The moment of the next combat faded when the bond between them flared mutually, and he felt his chest constrict as the warmth and rightness flooded through him. It made breathing difficult, and his back straighten as he struggled to cope with the so very newness of that kind of sensation. Part of him wanted to surrender and just be washed away, but another part which had dominated his life since he was aware of himself clung to control with every last fingernail.

Rumlow stilled as the brush of skin, the slide of it down his arm until their scent glands were pressed together, mingling their hormones. He shifted his wrist so that the cuff moved down his arm, and it was as shocking and warm as the last time they had done this. He was breathing fast and shallow, caught between being overwhelmed as the bond grew inside of him to a monstrous thing that pushed outwards against his control and realizing he was about to jump from a high cliff.

His head turned to sight Wilson next to him, swallowing hard and twitching across his shoulders and arms as their contact continued.

He was drowning. He couldn't breathe. He was being swallowed up, his control stripped away until he was just a shivering mess of an omega so long starved that it was bridging on painful to have this contact. He made a low desperate sound, his eyes widening, and he looked like he might just be having a heart-attack right there in the truck except that his gaze was fixed on Wilson.

Too much. Too much all at once after nothing and Rumlow hadn't even had the same resources or freedom to try and stave off the effects of being separated for so long. Sam felt his panic well as he turned to him and his fingers reached down, threading with Rumlow's like it was the most natural thing in the world and held tight.

That wasn't really reducing contact but he found that he was moving automatically, instinct guiding him in what he should do. He wanted to kiss him- feed at his mouth with the brutal intensity ripping at them both but he had the good sense to know that if he started he wouldn't be able to stop. Again, Steve's presence was a godsend and a torment. He wasn't going to get on and start rutting with someone else watching.

But that desperate keen, Rumlow's wide searching eyes made him want and need to do something. God, it was too strong. They shouldn't be like this with HYDRA making Rumlow some sort of engineered omega. Something should be wrong.

He set his face into his omega's neck without thing, nuzzling close to tilt it back. At the same time he took the mass of their bond and dragged it back in his head, shifted the tide so it was flowing towards him more than anything else. Sam grunted at the intensity, a shudder running down his spine but he breathed in Rumlow's scent and found strength in that. “Right here. I'm right here. I've got it. Easy.”

Teeth nipped but didn't bite. They ached too, though. God, did he ever want to mark him.

Despite himself, he made a low desperate sound, having to forcibly refuse to break the contact of their hands so that he could claw at his throat. No, there was something all too grounding about the lacing of their fingers even as he gasped and struggled to keep still on the padded seat.

He needed air. He tried to drink it in, but his throat closed as the bond swallowed him up. He found corners of himself that he knew existed by often ignored, little places where old hurts had long been buried away. His face reddened and his trembling increased to near-shaking until...

...the bond pulled back, the two-way conduit of them establishing something soul-breaking and grounding turning aside from him. He inhaled sharply a deep breath, and he gripped Wilson's hand in a death-grip as he breathed deep and freely, his eyes darting over to Steve watching them maneuver around each other far more deeply than physical.

He was drawn away and stiffened at the tease of teeth on his neck. He immediately jerked back, sending himself sprawling backwards and ramming his shoulders against the bulkhead of the truck, tearing their grips apart and him ending up rolling to hit the floor on his elbows on and knees. He trembled and gasped there.

"N-no biting... never that..."

Rumlow ripped himself away with a violence that echoed in his head far more painfully than the yank and scrape of his cuffs against his bared wrist. The clanging thud of him hitting the van's walls echoed. Steve's eyes had snapped open, his whole body shifting into the ready but Sam was already shoving himself to the opposite side of the truck, hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“No biting,” he repeated, promising it with a pained knit over his features as his gaze settled on Rumlow's shaking form. Apology was there, for what it was worth. Guilt washed through him thick enough to echo down the bond.

He'd asked back in Rumlow's cell with hitching hopeful uncertainty if they could-

And he didn't know what he'd been thinking.

“Shit, Steve. Steve. I can't hold all this, how do you shut it down- just- make it less-” There were remnants of something raw and lashing from Rumlow cutting into him. That on top of still pulling the majority of the bond like he'd done was threatening to send him into a similar drowning spiral. He hunched over, head dropping between his knees as Steve put himself directly in front of him, leaning close while he tried to talk him through easing the intensity of their open connection.

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.

Maybe it was a testament to both of them being poor guards, assuming a little too much with Rumlow's current state both cuffed and omega, that he got the jump on Steve. Both Steve and Sam jerked up at the snarl, the lunge. Rumlow had the chain around Steve's neck throwing him back in a flash.

“Rumlow” Sam barked it, pushing up to his feet even as the resonate of his voice rounded with alpha tones filled the cabin.

The bond flooded open both ways at the same time and with it Rumlow was already leaving Steve, crawling across the brief space and Sam was there to grab him. He hauled him up against the front of the cabin back up on the bench, pressing close on top of him and caging him in. “You stand down.” It was hissed viciously in Rumlow's ear with the same tones. Attacking Steve was not acceptable.

The van lurched to a halt with that final crash, urging them closer for a second before it settled. He heard the front door open but didn't move, too caught up waiting for Rumlow's submission. His very breathing was ragged against the renewed flare of their bond. It didn't hurt but it did through sheer intensity. If they could just calm down it'd probably start feeling overwhelming good again.

So he radiated calm, pulled on a more controlled set of breathing.

The barked command shouldn't have worked on him, shouldn't have drawn him like a submissive dog with its tail between its legs. It hadn't worked on him in so long that he had forgotten what it was like to be under alpha-command. He couldn't stop the whine the emanated from his throat, baring the side of his neck in forced submission as he chewed on the sudden flare of renewed hate for everything.

His hate at the world and everything in it was his armour even as he was hauled up to the bench and caged in while he lay on his back. He used it to try to soften the impact of the bond that was clawing at him again, tightening his chest. He hated it.

Yet, the command was firm and pressed him, and he did in fact stand down, laying almost boneless against the bench, his bound hand clenched tight enough to be painful. He gritted his teeth, trying to master himself and his reactions as the bond shifted to that tantalizing promise of warmth and connection. The calm press eased some of the heart-twisting tightness.

He glared up at Wilson, wishing to savage the alpha with it before his head was lifting and nestling deep into the crook of Sam's neck. He breathed deep the calming scent, his nose butting against the gland there, tongue darting out to taste it and calm returned to him even if he knew that this was all going to be very short lived.

Hill was not going to let this stand. He wouldn't either if he was in her position.

Sam wouldn't completely blame his superiors for taking one look at the mess of their bond and deciding that it was too much of a liability to try and fix. At this point he wasn't sure if they could balance each other, nevermind the strength. They'd just shove him in a lab, keep him alive for the feat that HYDRA accomplished with what they did to him and he'd have to go on forward, living with the giant bleeding hole of a missing half as best as he could.

It sounded hellish, honestly.

Sam stayed where he was hovering over Rumlow's form as he heard the front cabin of the truck open and shut. He had closed his eyes once he started focus on his breathing and soothing the thrashing panic being tossed between both of them. Hill's (probably Hill's, no idea if anyone else was up with her in the front) footsteps tracked around the van, muffled through metal.

He opened his eyes just in time for the full treat of Rumlow's impressive glare from under the tossed spill of his hair.

"Yeah, I know. You hate me." Didn't stop him from taking the line of his neck that Sam offered. He hunched forward, dipping down so Rumlow didn't have to strain to have what he was seeking. The back door open and while he tensed he stayed where he was, shifting through the tides of the bond starting to settle instead if giving his whole attention to Steve's low conversation with Hill behind him. The swipe of Rumlow's tongue was fine distraction. Sam had to swallow down the moan that wanted to bubble up. Shivered instead.

The tone was tense and clipped. Not a happy one.

"Wilson?" Hill questioned at length.

"We're good. It's fine. Just a little excitement." One hell of an understatement but hey, what could you do.

"I hate everyone," he gritted out before his face fit into Sam's neck. He didn't want his bond to have any reason to feel special for his treatment because this was all second nature to him. What he couldn't control, he often simply hated until which time that he found a way to use it to his benefit. He was no close to many people; HYDRA was his life.

He breathed deeply the scent that came off of Wilson, letting it fill his head, to wash away the possessive impulse to still go after Steve, to just push away the buzzing need that threatened to pull him down again.

He heard the door open to the back of the van, and his legs jerked, almost considering getting himself up. Hill couldn't see him like this, but there was nothing to do because forcing himself wasn't happening with the warm press of Sam over him, arms caging him in and body so close to his own. He finally and childishly thought that if he didn't have to look at the woman, she wouldn't look at him.

His bound hands caught and grasped the front of Sam's shirt, only then realizing he had lost his bond's jacket to the floor. Calm started to suffuse him regardless.

"Fuck off, you old hag. Wilson is mine," he snarled from his place in Sam's neck. "Take him away, and I won't cooperate with anything."

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