Brock Rumlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
infligere) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
spaces_between2015-03-13 08:06 pm
infligere) wrote in spaces_between2015-03-13 08:06 pm
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."
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."
no subject
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..."
no subject
“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.
no subject
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.
no subject
“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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
“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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
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.”
no subject
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."
no subject
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?”
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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.”
no subject
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.
no subject
“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.”
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
And he was about as conflicted, twisting over how much effort it took to sit in his plastic chair and stay put through the beginning session of their debriefing. He could still feel the weight of Rumlow's eyes on him before they were set in opposite directions - his hair had been mused from sleeping on the jacket Sam didn't even try to let him keep, his face continuing along in its soft guise which wasn't quite right but still appealing. It'd been a glance though it stuck for a moment. Even after Rumlow was lead off he stared after him, only nudged into moving by Steve's hand on his shoulder and his voice softly calling.
Debriefing was always the most annoying part of the whole mission, even past the wearying grind of waiting boredom. Hill headed it, each of the three teams reported with Steve giving theirs on the isolation and Specialized Projects wards. Rumlow was mentioned, a few of the other HYDRA agents recovered had still been fitted with their own self-termination triggers, which they hadn't hesitated in pulling once they realized who their rescuers were.
All in all the mission had been fairly successful and unsettling like anything dealing with HYDRA was. Though it raised a fair number of new questions there were still some answered.
After the formal debrief came the individual one with Coulson on tap through a holographic screen that made HD look pretty paltry. That's when attention turned sharply towards him and Rumlow, towards the bond. Did he learn anything? (Not much) Did Rumlow elaborate on what was done to him? (Minimally) How deep was the bond?( Significant. Though Sam started to find himself hedging, feeling too exposed under the scrutiny and the bonding expert brought in).
He echoed Rumlow's demands for suppressants, arguing that he might actually be more manageable on them than not. He did so with his hand right on Rumlow's file, which he was flipping through to find exactly what he'd been taken before. "He wasn't always like this and an omega, he's probably not able to balance himself-"
Which is when Hill cut in with a pinch between her brows. Then she told him, told him that Rumlow was always an omega to Sam's uncomprehending stare.
She slid back several pages in the electronic file on the tablet he held to the HYDRA one, not SHIELD"s which still clearly listed Brock Rumlow as Alpha.
Omega.
With the line of the suppresants he'd been taken typed in neatly. He wasn't familiar with the brand (or rather, not-brand) but it had Omega in it's designation.
Sam's eyes flicked over to the date. Last updated a good year before Project Insight came crashing down.
"...Always?"
"By birth."
"He never said that."
Sam wasn't quite so proud at how he mostly tuned out after that. Tactful and perhaps sympathetic, Hill kept the rest of the briefing short but Sam found himself chafing with the combination of side-looks from Coulson, Maria and Steve.
He was dragged to medical just the same, blood was drawn and the promise of results soon but one look over from the doctor had him saying that he looked bond-starved.
Sam was severely tempted not to follow the thread pulling at him towards where he felt Rumlow was, let him rot. Let him just stay there and be a lab toy because he didn't want to look at him.
Except for he did.
They weren't all that enthused to let him in when he showed up on the medical floor of the facility but some low steady insistence and maybe whatever the agent saw in the flat look of his eyes convinced him to give them at least fifteen minutes. Everything was sterile, without the twisted rank of the Hive laying underneath. Chrome-blue walls and glass fronts to the cells. Part-prison, part-med ward, part-lab. Rumlow was the sole occupant all over again. He found his cell and came near with his boots scuffing light.
He leaned on the glass wall, one arm bent up and bracing flat against the cold surface. "Hey."
Which he wasn't pushing alpha tones, they were there shadowing the bottom of that single word without any effort, pulling on the bond, shifting though the speaker that turned on once he reached over to the side and placed his hand on the light-blue patch of glass that turned it on. His position was still up and braced, caging without touch.
"You got anything else you need to tell me?"
One more shot.
no subject
HYDRA had been his salvation, the one place to offer him the only things that he wanted: purpose and physical ability to deny what he was. He had given everything that he could to HYDRA because it had given him what he needed, and his commitment was for life without a hint of wayward thought on the matter. He served well and easily. No one bothered him because of his status but bothered him when he wasn't measuring up. Otherwise, he earned his place and his lumps like everyone else.
The bond tugged at him, foreign but familiar now. The distance between himself and Wilson was closing, and he tried vainly to squish the pleasure of knowing that his bond was close and getting closer. Why would anyone else want to visit him aside from to plumb for information on what he knew?
Something was off in that bond though, and it was curious enough that he turned his head to view the glass that separated his little cell with the halls and rooms. It was a nicer prison but still one, and he had no doubt that he would be kept here for as long as it took to tease the details of his existence and current appearance out of him. Maybe Wilson was coming to say good-bye, off on another mission somewhere and leaving him behind to endure. It was what he was good at.
His dark eyes took in his bond when Wilson appeared at the window, and he stood from the bed, grabbing the IV pole to pull it with him over to the window. As he came closer, he stopped a few steps away and knew that the truth was out, that Wilson knew what he was and how they happened to be a real match rather than a really natural oddity. Alphas didn't bond with alphas; alphas bonded omegas and sometimes betas.
Rumlow sighed heavily, meeting Sam's gaze despite the fact he probably shouldn't. He approached the rest of the way and leaned his arm against the window, letting his temple settle on the glass near Wilson's arm.
"I've been on suppressants since I was nineteen. I've wanted them since I was seventeen," he said simply. "HYDRA asked only for my loyalty if I got what I wanted; we both won, so it came to be." He knew that anything he said could be used against him, but that part should be obvious by now, if Sam knew that he had been born into his world as he was.
"The only one to hate my status more than myself was... my old man," he said very softly. "Always wanted a son, he said, then I turned twelve and... well, whatever." He shrugged his shoulders like it was all water under the bridge for him, something long ago accepted as just another aspect of his past which he so often didn't look back on. "My suppressants are all experimental. Before Insight washed out, I was basically killing myself with that shit, but I didn't care. To everyone, I could be alpha so long as it didn't kill my liver and they got to know how that shit worked in real life situations."
He huffed and cast a glance at Wilson. "Then I was transferred to the Hive where the serum they created worked best on omegas. Anything else you want to know?"
no subject
Sam's right hand curled into a fist and lightly thumped against the wall. He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath,.
“I was up there pushing for that shit without a clue. I asked you back there.” He was going to ask if Rumlow was just going to let him keep on thinking that he'd always been an alpha until recently but the answer was clear enough through demonstration and recent explanation.
“We're so fucked.” There had been some hopeful shred keeping him calm when he thought that maybe the serum or at least the designation could be reversed but now that was gone and he felt trapped. Trapped and wholly unsure how they were going to make this work. His laugh was short and tight and only amused in the most obscure sense. “Even when you were on them back then we still bonded.”
no subject
Bonds did that, right? He would perhaps actually request information on it.
"I answered one of your questions, but I didn't specify which one. HYDRA de-aged me, and they technically turned me back into an omega by denying me suppressants." It was a weak technicality that wouldn't even hold up in court, but it had been his choice to do as he pleased, the first time in awhile.
He tilted his head and closed his eyes, feeling the stirring that had never quite gone away in the lab the last week. It was getting stronger again, a slow burn that first crept awareness up his spine. "Clearly you and I were really meant for each other," he said sardonically. He suddenly shoved off the glass and gripped his pole again. "And if we want to keep from the fucking part of your statement, you better get out of here."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)