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

"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."

Not that either of them could see it but Hill was strictly giving Steve the most long-suffering expression she could muster. It ramped up several degrees at Rumlow's snarl. She didn't want to have to see more than she strictly needed to, thank you very much.

“Just...keep them decent for when we get there.” The door slammed shut again leaving all three original occupants. Sam relaxed, blowing out a hard breath of air and burying his face into Rumlow's neck in return. He felt the rumble of the engine starting up again and the van pulling forward.

“You know hating everything is really shitty for your blood pressure.” They were curled up in the middle of a van with Captain America politely trying not to intrude and Sam couldn't keep his hand from threading into Rumlow's hair, scratching his scalp.

When it seemed that Hill was not going to separate them, Rumlow slowly relaxed into the padded seat under him. His fingers even loosened in Wilson's shirt, and with her gone, their close proximity forced him to recognize how the bond had stabilize now that they weren't actively moving down it to each other. It was a calm warming presence in his mind, but no longer tearing the breathe from his lungs.

He noted that the space it inhabited in his mind had grown too, no longer just a pinprick to ignore, but larger and steadier than it had ever been. He shifted to accommodate Sam's face in his neck, nuzzling the gland near him as he tried to settle down again and focus on Wilson's word that there would be no biting.

"No, my blood pressure is just fine," he murmured into the warmth of Sam's neck. He inhaled sharply at the hand on his hair, surprised by the boldness but sinking into it as he had the press to his forehead back his cell. When was the last time he let anyone touch him like that? "How's your blood pressure, old man?"

“Don't play that card when we both know you're the old one here.” Sam's lips were conspicuously away from Rumlow's neck. The warmth of the bond couldn't wipe away the sheer terror that'd flared at even a hint of a mating bite being laid and Sam didn't want a repeat performance.

He pressed his cheek and and his nose into skin, muttered back with a rumble of annoyance too soon smoothed by Rumlow allowing the touch in his hair. Those little intimacies had always been his bread and butter with relationships even if none of them had been the bonded sort.

They rumble along for a few more minutes before Sam eased himself up, pulling Rumlow with him by his bound hands. Strange as it was he hadn't been thinking about mating in the least as they calmed down but the glint of the metal made him catch on a possibility, a want. “I can't stay braced like than for an hour an a half.”

Sam reached down, picking up his fallen jacket. “Scoot. On your side.”

"Yeah, practically robbing the cradle," he said with a roll of his eyes. They were hilariously close to thirteen or so years apart. He chortled at the idea that he had differentiated into an omega in and around the same time that Wilson had been born, his own private joke. "You were in diapers when I was being productive."

He grumbled back at Wilson in their own little disapproving language, and he save the question of getting his hair cut the way that he liked it for the time being. However, his grumbling noise of disapproval was back when Sam moved away from him, forcing his face away and he reluctantly followed.

"Is that how long it's going to take to get wherever we're going?" Half an hour wasn't that long. He eyed the jacket and settled down, putting his back to the truck where it was more defensible and folded his bound hands close to his chin. "Don't think you get to order me around all the time."

“Don't think you can go and be an asshole to everyone I know all the time,” Sam shot back mildly enough. He sat himself on the floor on the van right next to where Rumlow's head was and shoved his jacket at him until there was a lift and proper pillowing. After that he left his arm where it was, half-draped over the edge of the cushion in a position that wasn't really more comfortable but far more sustainable.

He could pet, touch and keep mingling their scents like this which is all he felt like he couldn't get enough of.

“But yeah, about that long.” Sam added to answer the question. “How old are you, anyway?”

"Well, I'm going to act like myself whenever I want to, so if the people you know are close, you better warn them that my natural state of being is that of an asshole," he replied with a hint of regret about it. He wasn't going to change who he was just because someone didn't like how he happened to act. That was just the way of things.

Yet, he huffed and lifted his head until the jacket was under his head, a comfortable enough pillow. He could even give himself the illusion it was safe for a sleep and God knew he was tired enough. He felt the brush of Wilson's arm when he moved his head, eyeing the other man resting close by.

"Haven't read my file yet? It's all kiss and tell in there," he said with a smirk. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm forty-five."

"Well, that's fair warning for one," Sam replied, glancing over to where Steve was watching with his personal brand of dry amusement. One of the most important save for his family. The thought of them made him sober a bit. He hadn't told his family who had a long and strong tradition of impressive bonds about his own. Classified for one and the second-? How was he supposed to explain?

They'd want to meet him, know him, make him a part of the family and at this immediate moment he's really not sure how to mesh both parts of his life with limited bloodshed.

And he'd honestly kill the man if he did anything to his family. Bond or no bond.

There'd been a hint of a smirk on Sam's lips until that train of thought, by the time Rumlow gave him his age it had faded. He whistled though. Not too far off from what he'd estimated. "People offered to give it to me. Turned them down. Didn't want to get too attached."

For a severe bit of irony.

Rumlow shrugged, figuring that Wilson didn't particularly need a warning about him. He was practically a walking warning by now, given his history and now his presence here with Sam as a far younger looking man than he should have been. He hadn't been coherent for test result details, but he knew that the doctors had tested on him more than the others.

He expected that there would be little to no life for him beyond wherever SHIELD threw him. They'd want to test him of course, keep him isolated so that there was no contact to the outside world. The bond might make things complicated at first, but suppressants might shut it down.

Or maybe Wilson was going to have to be stuck on a time table close to him.

"Ah well, that's a good policy to have," he agreed soberly. "It's a good policy to keep especially now. This is... deeper than it should be."

Probably the latter.

His world was about to narrow down a whole hell of a lot and not all of him could resent Rumlow for it at the moment. More, he chafed against knowing what was waiting once they climbed out of the van at the end of this little trip.

Sam sighed out, laying his head on his outstretched arm. “No joke, man. This is nuts.” To be perfectly frank.

Can we-? The question still echoed in him. Another one started to form which didn't have the easy answer it should have: if they can get this thing dissolved, would they? He figured Rumlow would in a heartbeat for his own freedom, couldn't blame him. He wanted the same but... “You don't reach and I won't. Can't promise it'll keep things as they are right now but it certainly won't add to the process.”

He couldn't imagine much worse than the way that the bond choked him when it was hitting him full force. Even now, he felt it warm and pulsing at the back of his mind, a constant presence despite all he was doing to ignore it. It felt like he was about to overheat at any moment if he paid too much attention to it or worse... he'd go back to being unable to breathe.

He snorted and kept his eyes closed, pretending like he could sleep but unwilling to let his guard down that much. Instead, he slid his arms under the jacket and his head to increase the firmness of his 'pillow.'

"We've survived isolation before," he said simply, as if it were just that easy. His fingers flexed and brushed against Sam's arm on the other side of the jacket. That too was just that easy. "If this doesn't dig any deeper, we'll just... have to avoid contact or something. It can't get worse that way, right?"

He opened one eye and peered at Sam. "Right?" He was showing his ignorance on bonds because he had no idea how to stop or even start the process.

Both of Sam's brows were raised in response, mouth slightly open with an incredulous air.

“Yeah, we survived. But we barely even were near each other for what? Fifteen minutes and the bond still didn't fail.” Something that new and tremulous would have had every reason to unravel like it did for even for normal pairs. There was a lot of talk and speculation (and even more marketing) behind soul resonance and probability for a strong lasting bond to form. Sam had only kept up with it because of his requirements down at the VA, but personally? Dating alphas made the whole thing moot.

Rumlow talked about avoiding contact at the same time he reached out to touch him, making it hard to think about going back to the cold fog of not having that contact or the whole warming in the back of his head.

“You can only stay away from your bond so long before it starts eating at you. We were lucky it was only as strong as it was before.So we'd have to at least see each other. I'm not going nuts just because of this. ” And you aren't either. went unvoiced but felt.

“That's Bonding 101, though, man.”

He wouldn't voice the fact that their bond had formed when he had been on heavy suppressants, the new experimental ones that deadened pretty much everything that could and would be omega. He hadn't even considered the possibility that he could take a bond at all like that, but here they were, sitting around a truck talking about it.

Like some bond pair. Or civilized adults. Maybe he slept through the bond lessons? Or better yet, maybe he'd just skipped that day entirely.

"Are you saying because we had that little... episode, that we're not going to be able to be separated for long periods of time?" He frowned at that because it was going to make life difficult given where he was going to end up. He was going to bring Wilson down with him, was that it? Would Steve allow that? Would Wilson?

"Once I get my suppressants, maybe it will dumb down."

"Maybe the kind your were on." For people with normal-level bonds? People who weren't suddenly shifted People tried not to damper them. The bond was sacred, a good thing. So on and so forth.

Maybe for them it wouldn't be too outrageous to find ones that could damper a bondlink. Just for something less intense, less pulling. Sam looked back at his bonded with a flatness that clearly spoke to Rumlow answering his own question while he was asking it.

"But it's possible. I don't know. I haven't done this before, fyi. Cap says it's manageable but... he's sort of different too." Steve wasn't keen on being experimented on so he'd been told it was largely untested but there were loose theories of how the supersoldier serum enhanced the synchrony of bonding while allowing bondmates to survive apart with less strain.

Or it was just Steve being Steve.

Sam chewed on the inside of his mouth, wanting to mention the secondary plans that were in place just in case SHIELD didn't let both of them go in a way that was actually reasonable, which he'd been doubting the whole mission. They needed to tag along on the run to get Rumlow out, they didn't need them much after figuring out if Rumlow was going to stay stable.

"For the record, I'm going to say it makes no sense that this happened to us." And he'd heard of some cooky bonds.

"I want those suppressants again," was all he said because everything else about the bond and how little sense it made was news to him. He hadn't been in one until a few months ago, and this was the closest and most cordial they had been to one another. The bond was also digging at him more, warming him and giving him the false notion that he was safe and could let his guard down.

That was a lie. He was in the hands of the enemy being taken to only HYDRA knew where to be pulled apart bit-by-bit. It didn't stop him from shifting his arm deeper under the jacket he was using for a pillow and grip Wilson's wrist, his thumb passing over the scent gland for the remainder of their trip as he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. He was no where close to it as much as he knew he needed it.

He didn't know how long they spent in the van, but his eyes snapped open when it stopped. He pushed himself up and allowed himself to be drawn away to a SHIELD facility, one that he knew only from the books and little else. It was a medical center, and he suspected it now doubled as a prison and a military outpost to launch missions from. Of course, he would only see two ends of that, and he glanced back only once to Wilson as they were separated in the hallway. It was a lingering glance.

He was stripped down, given an opportunity to bathe under supervision, do his teeth, brush his hair and shave what little hair he had managed to grow on his face. Then the tests started, blood tests first (how the hell did they need that much?), questions about his project at the facility. He was read his rights around that time, impressing upon him that he had no other option but to cooperate and the only way that he was going to get the one thing that he wanted (suppressants) was to at least give them everything on what had happened to him in the Hive.

When he resisted, he was taken to a prison cell that doubled as a ward room. He was hooked up to an intravenous fluid drip to replenish his fluids and a bland meal that looked like something they would feed the asset. He picked at it, mostly because he was distracted by the bond that linked him with Wilson.

He didn't like being separated. He gritted his teeth, insisting to himself that it was an 'omega' thing and once he had the pills, he'd be just fine again. Ah yes, his blood results were back hours later. His hormones were all over the place, and not just from post-heat either: he was showing long term signs of deprivation. He was also malnourished, dehydrated but enviously functional like any good twenty-five year old. That he expected and still didn't answer their questions about how he was what he was. They'd take more samples soon enough he knew, once the tubes of blood already taken led to no real results.

He sighed and picked at the edge of the tape holding his catheter in his vein, ignoring the pull to reach out or call out for Wilson. Just an omega thing. No big deal; he'd handled it before. You know, when he was like seventeen.

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