Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It was my fault,” he'd said softly, tears trickling down his face. “I failed you, Buck. You fell and...”

He'd shushed the other man, insisted he was wrong because that was what you were supposed to do. What people did. The asset – Bucky – remembered this somehow. It was like how he knew how to load a Carbine or how to sweep for potential bugs in a room.

Bucky. He was Bucky now. Bucky was supposed to be good and comfort Steve. Bucky was a good man.

He watched Steve during the day. Watched Sam. Watched them interact and talk, and sometimes smile at eachother or laugh.

Sometimes Sam looked at him and something flickered in the man's brown eyes. Then he would nod at the as... at Bucky and he would smile a little. Bucky could tell that it was a forced smile.

He was having dreams and there were memories. Steve was in the memories. Steve was in the memories. He led Bucky from the metal table, from Zola's lab and the base Azzano. The men cheered when they were back at camp.

“Let's hear it for Captain America!”

Bucky looked at his friend in adoration.

It was like a scene in a film, all scripted out. It felt wrong somehow.

It felt real. He could see from Barnes's eyes. He had said those things, yes. He had meant them. But they felt like the propaganda the Russians showed him – grainy films he barely remembered.

The Americans were evil. They were rapists. They raped the women of Berlin and the women of Paris and they would rape the women of Moscow just as well if they had the chance.

He knows what rape is. Rape happens to women in wars, but it also happens to prisoners in cells. It is interrogation, it is punishment.

He thinks he knows what rape is. Rape is evil and it is not supposed to happen. It is not supposed to be done. Rape is evil.

Sam and Steve and the psychiatrist Bucky talks to, Patricia – they all tell him that what Hydra did to him is wrong. Sam and Steve don't know about the rape, the punishment, but Patricia does.

He has dreams. Sometimes they run through fields and forests where frost covers the ground and he can see his breath. There are bullets and bayonets and bright splashes of blood in his vision. The blood makes him feel hungry in a way he only feels during combat. He hears wolves, the growls of a canine in his ears. He awakes and he thinks that he is a wolf. He was already a wolf before Hydra.

Wolves are animals. They are not good or bad.

He watches a documentary on wolves on Netflix. The wolves are described as noble, but wolves are not noble. They surround their prey in a pack and tear it down.

He thinks of the Howling Commandos and he thinks their name was accurate. They did not howl as they approached their target though Dugan liked to whoop. They acted as a pack and hunted.

He misses that sensation. He likes being part of a pack.

Rumlow and Rollins used to be part of his pack.

But they raped him.

They punished him when he made mistakes. They tied him or ordered him to spread open and they fucked him, fucked into him until he bled. Tears trailed down his face but he kept his teeth shut tight because unless they wanted to hear him scream, they didn't want to hear him scream, so he had to be quiet.

Then Rumlow would shout Scream bitch and kick the back of his head or kick his ass and he would scream. He would beg and plead for more.

Fuck my ass, fuck my ass, please. I need it! I need it!

Then the punishment would end and he would be in pain. But he would be better because Hydra would give him the chance to be better. They would give him the chance not to fail again. He would not be decomissioned because they would not bother to punish him, to fuck him, if he did could not be better.

Steve does not give him the chance to be better. Steve just smiles at him and gives him food and clothing and hugs. The hugs are not bad. But he doesn't understand the purpose of them. They are not orders. They are not missions. They are worthless.

Steve is worthless.

Days pass and he has more dreams. Once, Steve was not worthless. He was a good commander and he led the Howling Commandos. But he allowed Bucky to fall from the train and he allowed Hydra to take him.

He knows these thoughts are wrong because they are not thoughts good people have. He should not have them. He should stop. He will not be wiped for them, but they are not thoughts good people have.

He is supposed to forgive Steve and sooth him.

Instead, he wants to punish him.

He watches Steve walk around the apartment. Steve makes him pancakes for breakfast. Makes him bacon. Steve smiles at him and offers, asks if Bucky would like to watch something with him. It is sort of an order but Bucky can say no and what kind of handler allows him to say no?

Not a very good handler.

He thinks Steve must have been a handler at some point because he has this hold over the asset, over Bucky.

Days pass and he hates that name. Bucky. Buck-y. Bucky bucky bucky bucky. It's such a stupid name.

“It's such a stupid name,” he finally growls at Steve who looks at him in puzzlement. Steve said “I'm glad you're here, Buck” and the asset said he hated that name and Steve looked at him and asked why.

He has such a stupid face when he asks why. The asset hates that face.

Bucky hates that face, he thinks with a sneer. In the old days he wouldn't make a stupid face and ask why. He would give commands.

He is worthless. He couldn't even stop them from raping his precious Bucky.

'Til the end of the line.'

He laughs. He fell off at the end of the line and now Steve is looking at him with that stupid puzzled face.

“Let's go to the bedroom,” he stares into Steve's face. Steve continues to look puzzled.

“Wh- my bedroom?”

The asset, Bucky, shrugs. It doesn't matter.

Steve gets up, puts his coffee on the table. He leads the way to his bedroom and Bucky follows.

“Something wrong, Buck?” he asks when he gets there. Buck. That isn't so bad, it's not as bad as Bucky, except that a buck is a deer and bucks get shot and bucks get eaten by wolves.

He punches Steve in the face with his metal hand, knocks him onto the bed.

Steve looks up at him in confusion. His nose is starting to bleed and he's blinking in shock.

“Buck..?”

He punches Steve again, this time with his flesh hand. It hurts his knuckles, but he likes it, likes the pain. He needs the pain. Needs clarity.

Steve needs pain. It will help him see. It will help him be strong again.

“I will help you be strong,” he whispers, as he lunges onto the bed and pins Steve down, straddling him.

“Bucky,” he says softly and his voice sounds pleading. “'Buck...”

“Be quiet,” he snarls, remembering his handler's words. “Shut up, bitch.”

“Bucky,” Steve's eyes are wet. “Bucky-”

“Shut up!” he roars and slaps him across the face with his flesh hand. It feels so good to hit him with the flesh hand, hit his stupid face. It brings blood to the surface of his pale skin and to the surface of the asset's palm. Bucky's palm.

It feels good to think of it as Bucky's palm somehow. He feels elation. He laughs.

“Is... is this something you need?” Steve is trying to understand. The asset stares at him, his brows furrowing. His smile fades. He shakes his head.

“This is something you need,” he replies.

Steve just stares at him. His lip is swollen where Bucky slapped him. He reaches down to grab Steve's throat and tightens his hand around it. Steve just parts his lips and looks up at him, eyes tearing up.

He nods after a moment.

“I do,” he agrees. “I'm... I'm sorry, Buck,” he sobs finally. “I'm so sorry. It's all my fault.”

“It is,” the asset growls, tightening his hand. Steve gasps. Then the asset yanks his hand away. He doesn't know why. Steve needs to have his breath cut off -

But no, Steve can't have his breath cut off, Stevie breathe, please Stevie breathe-

He yells and grabs at his own hair.

“Get out!” he roars.

Steve starts to scoot away, scramble up. The asset snarls and grabs his shoulders, shoves him back down in place.

“I wasn't talking to you, stupid bitch!” He slaps Steve across the face again. It feels good. He grinds down against him, feeling himself getting hard. It makes him gasp and he shivers.

“You need this, Buck?” he asks. He's shaking. Steve doesn't shake. Shouldn't shake. Handlers don't shake. Not when they rape him.

His upper lip curls and he snarls. He will not shake when he fucks Steve.

He scoots back, grabbing the hem of Steve's running shorts and rips them off. His metal fingers and human finger nails scratch Steve's hips but the man merely tenses and a wince briefly shadows his face.

“Buck, I've got... I have lube and-”

“Shut up,” he growls. Steve nods, lips working as if to say something, but he merely rests his head back against the bed. He just lies there, ready.

Ready for orders.

The asset calms. This is good. This is right.

He spreads Steve open, eyeing his hole. Steve's breath is shallow and fast. He's starting to harden. The asset huffs.

Sometimes he would harden when his handlers fucked him. This happens.

Sometimes they would pull on his dick and laugh. He does this now, grabbing Steve's cock and smiling a little, tugging on it.

“You like this,” he sneers. Steve is shaking a little. He nods, swallowing.

“I like it if you do, Buck.”

He tugs on it hard and Steve gasps, closing his eyes. The cock fills with more blood. The asset thinks about biting it, but he doesn't. He eyes Steve stonily, then slowly pulls his flesh hand off the cock, squeezing as he does. Steve's eyelids flutter, his breath soft and fast.

Slut, the asset thinks. Fucking slut. Bitch. Cunt. He feels satisfaction in his chest. He feels good. Powerful.

This is what the handlers felt, he thinks. Good in their rightness.

He spreads Steve open with his thumbs. He spits on the hole just like the handlers would do. Then he spits on his cock, smears the spit over it.

Steve is shivering a little. He moves his own hands behind his thighs and pulls them up, pulls himself more open for the asset. The asset stops to glare at him. He didn't give Steve any instructions to do so.

Still, perhaps he is trying to aide in his own punishment and the asset sometimes did this without prompting.

Finally he looks down at Steve's hole, then glances up as he begins to guide himself in.

Steve gasps softly. Then his eyes widen as the asset, as Bucky, stretches him.

He groans when he finally feels himself slip home into Steve's tight ass. His eyes close and he sighs.

Steve is breathing deeply, shaking. When the asset, Bucky, opens his eyes, he sees that Steve's eyes are closed tightly and he's grimacing. Tears leak from his eyes.

The asset waits, feeling the way Steve grips him tightly. He starts to feel want. He wonders if this was how the handlers felt. Of course. They were not weapons, they were people.

They felt want. He is a person and feels want. This is good.

He groans as he begins to roll his hips slowly. Steve gasps and his eyes finally open. They're unfocused at first, then they look at Bucky.

“Buck,” he whispers, and his eyes are lost.

“Shut up,” Bucky says, his own eyes dazed. It feels so good in Steve it's fucking criminal. He doesn't know where that thought comes from, it just bubbles up from somewhere and-

Steve is skinny and they're both laughing softly as he mounts the narrow bed on his knees. Steve's laid out in front of him, on his back, skinny little knees parted and Bucky's using his fingers first, teasing him.

Steve's groaning at the feeling of the fingers, smiling up at Buck. Bucky loves the way his eyes are, closing slowly in ecstasy, chin tilting up, head back. Then he slips his fingers out.

“You ready, baby?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, face relaxed, open. “Fill me, Buck.”

“Mm, gonna do that sweetheart. Gonna fill you up, doll.”

“Yeah, fill me daddy.”

They both giggle at that. Bucky begins to push in and Steve groans.

The asset gasps. He blinks spots out of his eyes and Steve is below him. Steve is crying softly.

“Buck. Oh god, fill me, Buck! Please...”

Fuck my ass, fuck my ass, please!

The asset growls. His eyes are wet so he blinks against them.

“You made me do this,” he says, rocking his hips forward hard. “I didn't want to. You made me!”

You made us do this, bitch. We didn't want to hurt you, but you fucked us over. So now we fuck you.

“I'm sorry,” Steve looks up at him, eyes full of tears. “God, Buck I'm so sorry...”

“You made me do this,” his lips are twisted up for some reason and he finds it hard to speak. He continues to shove into Steve, hurting him, making him groan.

“Bucky...” His hands wander down toward the asset's hips as if trying to stabilize himself. “B-Bucky! Buck...”

Steve's eyes widen and he gasps. He's coming.

He's coming!

The asset remembers coming with Rumlow fucking him and groaning in his ear.

“Yeah you like that, huh bitch? You like that? Fucking slut!”

“You like that?” he gasps, feeling himself coming too. “Mmn!” He grasps Steve's shirt, clutches at his shoulders, fucks hard into him. His eyes cross and he groans as everything around him goes blissfully white and red. He's coming. He's coming inside-

Stevie and it feels so fucking good. Oh fuck, Stevie you feel so good, baby

He comes back with the sound of Steve moaning in his ears Buck, Bucky you feel so good, come inside me, come!

He looks down to see Steve staring up at him. His eyes are dazed, glazed over with tears. He sniffs, then licks his lips as he looks up at the asset, at Bucky.

Bucky stares at him. There are tears dripping from his eyes.

“No.”

“Bucky...” Steve whispers, reaching up to him.

“No!” He begins to scramble off of Steve, pulling out of him- no he can't pull out too quickly he'll hurt Steve but he has to get away he has to! “No!”

He scrambles back and hits the bedroom wall when he stumbles off the bed. Then he's up on his feet.

Steve is pushing himself up into a sitting position, flinching at the pain but sitting up anyway. He reaches out toward Bucky.

“Buck, please, it's okay-”

“No! No, it's not!” He sobs and runs from the room. He runs to his own room and slams the door. He paces for a moment, then falls to his knees, clutching at his hair.

When he comes to himself again, he's curled up in the corner of the room on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, hair over his face, arms guarding his head.

His fly is still undone. His cock is settling, still throbbing slightly. It's sticky with blood and come. He feels sick at the sight and the smell of it, so he scrambles up and shoves it into his pants, zipping himself up.

He's sick. He's done this. He's... he raped Steve.

No. No! He deserves this. He said so! He let it happen!

Stevie. Stevie lying out before him, pale and delicate and beautiful. Young and sweet. Big blue eyes gazing up at him, dark with desire, wheat colored hair falling over his forehead. Stevie spreading his legs for Buck, taking him in.

No. He's not delicate and beautiful now, he's strong, he's... He's a handler. He was a handler. He let this happen to Buck. To the asset, to Bucky.

It's Steve's fault. He even admitted it. He did this. He did this to Bucky-

Stevie. Steve lying before him, running shorts dangling from an ankle and shirt torn where Bucky's grabbed it. Legs parted and blue eyes gazing up at him, full of tears. Letting it all happen because he knows he deserves it!

Is this what you need, Buck?

His face wet and trembling, eyes full of... eyes full of...

Love and worry and ache. For Bucky.

For Buck. Because he... because he doesn't because he can't hate Bucky. Could never. Will never.

Has to. Has to hate him now, has to goddamnit!

“Why don't you hate me?” he shouts at the wall and sobs. “Why don't you hate me, goddamnit!”

He can hear Steve talking on the phone in the other room and his voice breaks as he talks, hearing Bucky's screams, but he keeps talking. Sam. It's Sam, it has to be.

Sam will know. He will know even if Steve doesn't tell him and it will be for the best.

Sam will surely tell him now, tell him it's too late, it's over. There's no coming back after this. Bucky can't stay here. He just can't.

The Widow will come and kill him and he is relieved. He lets out a sob of relief, hand brushing up over his face. She will know what has to be done and she will do it.

Chapter Text

They keep him in an actual fucking cage in a corner of the lab. Cage is a nice word for it. It's more like a metal box. It has a small, barred window. He can't even stand up in the box. So he's just curled up, knees to his chest, huddling for warmth.

They were apparently worried he would do himself harm so his one remaining arm is in a straight jacket. He hates to admit it, but at least it's warm in the straight jacket, being it's the only thing he's wearing. It also covers his ugly, scarred and bandaged stump.

It doesn't last because Bucky is somehow strong enough to snap the restraints on it and the next time they drag him out of the box by his ankles (they've learned he likes to try and kick them when they open the box's door), he's whipping the goon dragging him out in the face with the strap on the sleeve.

They get their revenge by wrapping the strap around his neck to choke him with it. His bare feet slide along the floor as he tries to stand, but the other guard scoffs and kicks his legs out from under him.

“Doctor says we have fun with you!” the guard who kicked out his legs is shorter than the other – dark haired with sharp blue eyes, a deeper color than Bucky's own. Bucky can see, as the bastard grins down at him, that the tall one choking him is missing two teeth on the top row.

Good, he thinks. Maybe he can knock out some more teeth.

The shorter guard aims a kick at his midsection, causing the already choking prisoner to cough.

Bucky's vision is going blurry before the goon finally releases him. He gasps and coughs against the floor, cringing away from the goon who kicks him in the shoulder.

“Up!” The taller one shouts as he grabs Bucky's hair and hauls him off the floor. The other quickly strips the straight jacket off of him, tossing it aside, and Bucky is fully naked again. It doesn't help that the lab is so cold it feels like his balls are literally freezing. Though he thinks death by frozen balls wouldn't be so bad compared to being a science experiment for however long the rest of his miserable life is. Certainly not as bad as being strapped to a table and shocked with enough electricity to light up half of fucking Brooklyn.

(He tries not to think about Brooklyn and if the war's over and where Steve is-)

The guard with the dark hair and creepily cheerful blue eyes moves his remaining arm behind him. The taller guard, still holding on to his hair, also grabs his arm to keep it twisted high up behind him, and shoves him along out of the lab and down a hallway. Bucky tries to pay attention to where he's going.

Two other guards pass and one wolf whistles at Bucky who spits at them. This earns him being slammed into the wall by the guard holding him before he's shoved along the hall and into another room.

The guard kicks him onto the floor. There's already a crowd of squids in there and they laugh and jeer as he's thrown into the room. Some step forward to join in on kicking at him. Others use batons to beat him down until he's curling up and using his one arm to shield his head.

One shouts something in their filthy pig language and they fall silent. Bucky pictures Steve slipping into this room with his shield – the chaos that would ensue as these clowns would try to escape him. Then he's reminded of how pathetic it is, fantasizing about Steve rescuing him. He can't even get himself out of this dilemna.

Once again, the thought occurs to him to play along, play dead maybe, act like he's broken and then get the jump on them when they've got their guard down. But that's just a fantasy, just like it was at Azzano where the men of the 107^th and the other prisoners whispered to eachother of the possibilities of escape.

The room is incredibly cold and he already wishes for the closer quarters of his box – at least it warms up a bit when he's been in there a while. He instantly feels disgusted with himself for the thought.

Someone lightly kicks the back of his head as the crowd stills around him and there are giggles when he flinches. The one who called for them to be quiet is now speaking, still in German, and he can barely catch any of the words. There's another ripple of laughter and Bucky peeks out from under his messy hair which has lengthened during his god-knows-how-many-months in this hellhole.

The guy speaking pulls something out from behind his back and the laughter returns, but louder this time. There's wolf whistles and cheering and then there's chanting.

He doesn't know what they're chanting, but it doesn't sound good.

The thing the guy pulled out from behind his back does not look good at all. It's something made of wood that Bucky's never seen before and he stares at it from under his hair, still curled up on his side, bewildered. It almost looks like a hanger, for a suit coat. Whatever it is, it definitely is not as innocuous as a hanger, considering the noise these animals are making.

The man holding the hanger steps forward and Bucky cringes. He's still rattling off shit in German. Filthy fucking Nazi language, he'll be glad if he never has to hear that shit again!

But now several others are stepping forward too and he scrambles up so that he'll be standing, so that he can at least fight whatever this is – and he's got some pretty horiffic ideas considering him being naked and that the 'doctor' gave them permission to have 'fun' with him. Bucky doesn't want to know what constitutes fun for these bastards. He's about to have some fun of his own!

They don't expect him to move so fast and when he's standing, they let out noises of surprise and reach for him. He kicks the first man away, shoving his foot into the guy's chest, but the man grabs a hold of his ankle. Bucky twists, still kicking his leg to free himself, swinging his fist across to hit another in the face. His fist is grabbed by someone else and hauled behind his back again and the squid holding his ankle twists it sharply, making him cry out, before shoving it away.

The one he was about to punch grabs his stump arm harshly, twisting, and also makes him yell. Another behind him grabs his hair and they wrestle him to the floor. The one holding the hanger is still calling out instructions and several others are laughing and watching, urging their companions on.

Bucky tries to fight, but his right ankle is at the very least, twisted and quickly growing sore, so he ends up on his knees easily.

Then they shove his head down. He struggles, trying to free his arm as they shove his head against the floor, cracking his temple against it. He winces, dazed for a second.

There's more laughter and now someone is straddling his back, facing his ass. He kicks out, not caring if he hurts himself, but they grab his ankles, holding them so that his knees are still under him. His legs are parted, causing pain to stab through his unused muscles in the awkward position.

“Get off of me!” He shouts, bucking. “Let go-” he cuts off with a startled gasp as a pair of cold hands grips his balls harshly. He stills, though his body is tense and he still tries to push himself up off the cold floor.

“Shh shh,” one of the guards smirking down at him whispers. He pats Bucky's cheek and says something and they laugh.

One begins to croon “Rockabye baby” and the others cackle. They don't know all the words so they're just humming it after the first line.

He tries not to think about the fact that the giggle of one of them reminds him of Steve before the war.

Then he closes his eyes and pictures that skinny kid, pictures their apartment; he thinks why the fuck not? If his body can't escape this shit, maybe his mind can.

The hands on his sack gentle, fingers rolling it and shaking it playfully. There's more muttering and laughter. The hand then stretches his sack away from his body and suddenly he has a horrible idea.

“No!” he shouts, jerking again in their grip. Unfortunately this causes his sack to be stretched beyond what it should be and he yelps before he can stop himself, stilling again at the pain. Someone strikes him over the head and he curses them, his lips almost against the floor, shaking.

He continues to mutter curses, practically foaming at the mouth, as he feels smooth wood settle around his sack and then close down over the skin that connects it to his body. His teeth clench at the sensation and he shudders.

The wooden device is held still and he realizes, glancing underneath him, that they're twisting fucking screws into it. He tries to hold back the hysterical sob or laugh, whatever it is, that threatens to come out.

They're sick fucks. They're sick fucking bastards.

They're going to cut it off, he thinks. They're going to make a eunuch out of him, just like in the fucking Bible and won't he bleed everywhere? Won't he be in so much pain-

He presses his lips into a firm line mainly to keep them from trembling. He won't give these fucking pricks the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Even if it hurts.

But then they're moving away from him and there's more laughter. He even sees them hi-fiving eachother. As soon as his arm is released, he's holding it underneath him, to prop his torso up, though he stays close to the floor, feeling like a wild animal.

He lifts his head, confused and still tense, waiting for the other hammer to drop. He just knows that any second one of them will whip out a knife and... He shudders at the thought. Will they take turns carving him up? Or will they do it fast and sudden? He practically feels the blood draining from his face. He won't make it easy for them-

Then there's a boot in his side shoving his torso down again. Another boot kicks lightly at his cock and he flinches away from it. They laugh and he curses at them.

He glares up at his captors and sees that two are making 'tiny' gestures with their fingers; one with his finger and thumb and the other with both of his pointer fingers held a small distance apart. He sneers at them, but the blood rushes back into his face again.

Bucky's always been a little sensitive about it. He has a small cock, fine. It's not tiny either, it's just... smaller than most other guys seem to be. Girls always seemed to think it was enough though, even if some of the more experienced were a little tickled by the sight of it at first. Steve would smile as he stroked it and tell Bucky that it was what he could do with it that mattered.

“Fuck you,” he spits at the boots of one. He doesn't care, he thinks. It doesn't matter what a bunch of fucking squids think. “Your ma likes my cock.”

One of the men behind him gasps. He hears speaking behind him and thinks they must be translating it. He sneers, pleased. He may be on his hands and knees and maybe they put some fucking medieval torture shit on his balls, but he's still Sargeant Barnes and he's still going to give these bastards-

“You fuck Captain America,” the squid in front of him replies. “He's not happy. Enttäuscht!”

They all burst into laughter, slapping their knees and shit. Bucky's face flushes. He spits on the man again, this time trying to spit on his fucking uniform. The squid shouts in protest and kicks him in the face, knocking him onto his side. His balls are jostled by the movement and he yells when the side of the wooden torture device hits the floor.

Now their fun really begins. One man grabs his ankles and begins to drag him along the tile floor. He struggles and tries to grab at the tile as the end of the wooden stock clacks against the tile, further jarring his already strained balls. His eyes tear up involuntarily as he yells in pain.

Someone behind him is kicking at his sack. Then he's shoved over by boots onto his stomach again.

One guard pins his wrist with a boot and then kneels to hold it firmly against the floor. His legs are pulled apart again, this time stretched out wider. One of the squids is behind him, between his legs, grabbing his hips and hauling them up. His knees are shoved underneath him, scraping against the hard tile.

He tries to fight them, his heart pounding, but a baton strikes him over the back and then over the upper back when he still struggles. A few more strikes over his back and shoulders and it stops when he finally lowers his head, trying to curl up and protect it.

Another baton is pressed against his sack, pressing hard into it, mashing it against the wood. He lets out a cut off howl and they laugh. After that, he clenches his teeth to keep the sounds in.

They continue prodding and mashing. His balls must be purple by now the way they're throbbing. They end up rolling the baton over them horizontally like a fucking rolling pin and his balls are the dough.

His eyes water further as the skin of his sack is pinched between the wood stock and the rolling baton and he barely keeps his responding sound of pain behind his teeth.

The squid holding his head by the hair tugs his face back. The squids in front of Bucky croon sounds of pity and there's laughter again. A hand gently pats his ass while another wipes at the tears trickling by his eyes. He opens his eyes to glare at them and snarl more curse words and they laugh at his audacity.

“Hund!” One shouts and the others giggle. The snarling and barking sounds of a dog follow.

“Böser hund!” Another responds.

His sack is tapped roughly with the baton again and his thighs jerk in response. They shift around him again, like sharks smelling blood, muttering and laughing among themselves.

The one behind him parts his ass cheeks and Bucky is startled into fighting again. No way. No way in fucking hell is he just gonna sit here and let them-

A baton cracks down over his sack and he yells, his voice breaking in the middle of it, his eyes momentarily flown wide in pain. Then he grits his teeth and breathes heavily.

It sounds like one of the others is admonishing the one who just cracked him. Bucky doesn't find any comfort in it especially since he hears the good doctor's name is mentioned several times along with Zola's name. Rage twists in his chest as the sound of Zola's name, especially in his position of helplessness. He hopes they caught up with that piece of shit on the train. He tries to ignore the pang he feels at the thought of Steve and the Commandos.

Thank fuck they can't see him like this.

He's too sore to even move much now, let alone fight, and even if he didn't suddenly feel exhausted as well, he's heavily outnumbered.

Shivers of helplesness begin to run down his spine, his teeth still clenched to keep any sound in. He nearly jolts again when he feels the hands settle on his cheeks again, only to part them once more when he stills. His lips quiver. He won't. He won't let them see him fucking cry. He won't beg for mercy either.

He tries to focus on his name, rank, and number as he feels someone spit on his ass.

James Buchanan Barnes, Sargeant, thirty two fifty-

He makes a stifled noise of protest, jerking when a finger rubs against his hole. He tries not to picture dirty fingernails. Takes in fast breaths through his nose as he stares at the tile.

“Shh,” the person gripping his hair releases it to soothe fingers through it and that's what does it.

Bucky tries to hold in the hiccuping noises that threaten to tear out of his throat. The fingers sliding through his hair, stroking his scalp feel so good. He hasn't been touched gently-

And then a hand reaches under him and grabs his cock. His eyes fly open again and he jerks his knees up, trying to move away. But his legs are tugged back, including his sore ankle and he lets out a gasp of pain.

He shudders and shakes his head as the squid grabbing his cock begins to tug on it – long, slow pulls like he's milking a cow's teat. Bile rises up in his throat and he chokes it down along with the hiccuping sounds. He could puke on them, sure, but he doesn't want the added embarrassment of letting them see how they affect him.

He has all the humiliation he can take and then some he can't right now.

The stroking fingers in his hair continue. Now there's more shushing and crooning noises around him, mingled with soft laughter.

A finger is pressing into him and he gasps a sound of protest, unable to stop himself, and stiffens. He tries to struggle away again, but he's held firmly, and it only aggravates his ankle and his swollen sack. Someone lightly slaps his balls and he lets out a sob.

He closes his eyes tightly, clenches his teeth. He doesn't care if his head bursts, he's not letting them see him fucking cry.

Don't you dare. Don't you dare fucking cry.

“Shh,” another hand is rubbing his neck now, massaging it, and along with the fingers gliding over his scalp and the hand stroking his cock, and the other hand now rubbing his back, he just can't...

A whimper escapes from him and then another sob. He curses them softly, eyes still tightly shut and face lowered to the ground.

The finger is slipping back inside of him again, this time far more insistent and coated with something slick. The liquid is cold and he realizes with a flush of mortification that its vaseline.

They're prepping him. So he'll be nice and wet just like Stevie used to get. Just like girls used to get for Bucky.

He feels like he can't breathe and he sucks in hiccuping breaths between his teeth.

“Shh,” they continue. They murmur amongst eachother. His head is tugged back again though the hand in his hair is oddly gentle. Three squids are peering at his face, one of them talking to the other while rubbing Bucky's chin with this thumb, pointer finger curled underneath it. Another, to his left, with the hand on his neck, strokes his cheek with the knuckles of a crooked finger.

“Schön,” the one stroking his cheek whispers to him. Bucky's face colors because he knows that word. He tried to use it on some ladies one time in a little village in Austria and they just laughed at him.

They're treating him like a girl now, petting him, petting his hair and his face. Someone is even tugging at one of his nipples and his body is responding. He feels sick, shivering with all the hands on him.

Another finger is breaching him and he tenses, letting out another hiccuping sob. The hand stroking him slides over the head of his cock, wetting with precum and then stroking more.

He hears impatient German behind him as if the others are urging the squid with his fingers in Bucky to move faster. It stings and he has to stop a cry when a third finger is added. He rocks slightly at one point, unable to help it. His body is so tense and his knees ache and his balls are practically numb but throb every time he's jostled and all of these Nazis are going to fuck him. How many are even in this room?

He sobs finally at the thought of them fucking him one by one, shaking his head and trying to thrash. He tries to pull his arm away. It's gripped more firmly again and pinned under knees this time, his hair grabbed harshly and head yanked down. He snarls and curses them once more.

He panics and kicks out with his back legs, catching them off guard. The fingers jab into his body and he yells in pain.

The baton returns, striking his back. The hand on his cock has already slipped away and now he's being kicked, shouted at. Then their hands return, holding him down. He can feel someone sitting on his legs and he yelps as weight is put on his ankle, trying to pull it away.

They make warning noises at him and his ass is slapped. His balls are grabbed and squeezed and he yells at the sudden sharp rush of sensation. His cock throbs at it which gains their attention and they laugh.

Someone is pulling his head back and the squid in question is saying something to him in a mocking tone. He spits on them. They spit back – not just the one holding his hair but the one directly in front of him who was rubbing his chin earlier. He closes his eyes and lowers his head, trying to escape them, but they pull his head up, chuckling. They apply light slaps to his cheek.

The fingers are back again. This time it feel like two people are holding his ass cheeks open harshly while the other fingers him. There are three fingers now moving very fast and he gasps, his eyes shut tight, his face aflame with mortification. The squid finger fucking him also rolls his balls against the wood stock and Bucky lets out a sob.

All it takes is another squid giving a few tugs to his cock and he's coming. His jaw drops in surprise and he gasps. There are noises of surprise and of digust and the one stroking his cock pulls his hand away even as Bucky's still coming. The hand on his sack moves to reach around and tug at his cock rapidly and his orgasm intensifies.

His balls are throbbing and he feels like he's going to black out. His whole body shivers, his face and chest afire as he hears them laughing and talking. One of them even wolf whistles. The two in front of him mock him, petting his face and making soothing sounds.

“Gut,” one of them says. “Sehr gut.”

He's trying to recover from the orgasm and process that he just came in some medieval torture device in front of a bunch of Nazis when he feels something thick and fleshy press against his hole.

“No,” he gasps. “No.”

He tries to struggle again but he's still weak and loose. They laugh and hold him down, petting him and slapping his ass. His shoulders sag against the floor, Bucky leaning into his right shoulder to keep his left up.

The head presses into his ass and he lets out another sob. This isn't happening. It's not. This is a fucking nightmare.

He lets out a stifled groan of pain when the head breeches him. There's more petting and now his head is being stroked again. Someone is even gently rubbing his left shoulder.

They're crooning at him, telling him what a good boy he is, letting him know their approval. They think he's some queer hungry for Nazi cock. Anger twists in him again and he wants to fight but he's tired of baton and his balls paying the price. And there's currently a cock spearing him in half.

It slides all the way home and he groans at the ache of it stretching him deep inside.

Before long, the squid behind him is having a hell of a time, gripping Bucky's hips and thrusting into him. The squid gripping his left ankle is tickling his foot and he jerks so they laugh. He can't really focus on that since he's too busy dealing with the cock stretching him open over and over again. His belly aches deeply and he wants it to be over. Not to mention how the pants of the squid behind him are brushing against his sack teasingly with each thrust.

There are hands on his nipples again, tugging and working them like a girl's tits. Bucky forgot how sensitive his nipples are. Steve always liked that.

Likes that. Steve's alive out there somewhere. And what if he could see Bucky now, wearing some torture device on his balls and getting off on Nazis fucking him?

Small grunts and groans are pushed from behind his clenched teeth as the cock inside him begins to brush harshly against a very sensitive spot that sends little bolts of lightning up Bucky's spine and through his groin. His cock is already hard again.

One of the squids peers under him and notices and they laugh again.

“Winzig,” one of the guys in front of him says, chuckling and makes the 'tiny' sign again. They're all having a good chuckle. The squid who looked under him grips his cock between two fingers and thumb and strokes him, as if his cock is so small it only takes a few fingers.

Bucky snarls and jerks, trying to squirm away, but that only causes the cock inside him to brush againg that spot and he gasps. They laugh at his flushing face and the guard stroking him laughs and begins to tug faster, still only using three fingers. Bucky chokes on his mortification until the whole hand wraps around his cock tightly and begin to pump in earnest.

He's getting off on this. He's getting off on Nazis putting him in a torture device and humiliating him and laughing at him.

He gasps as the squid behind him moves faster, the other man's hips bouncing against Bucky's ass and consequently pressing the squid's groin against his tender sack. Between the cock invading his body and brushing against that spot inside of him, the harsh slap of flesh against his tormented balls, and the hand furiously working him, Bucky struggles against the immensity of another orgasm building.

No, he can't come again. He can't come like this, on some kraut's fucking cock while his balls are tied up, no crushed, and-

A cry erupts from his throat as he comes, trembling. He rocks back involuntarily into the pleasure, unable to fight it.

Dizzy, he sinks down again, sagging in the grip of the others. They shuffle around, cheering and whistling. His hair is ruffled and some of them pat his back or slap his ass.

The squid behind him is getting up and tucking himself away. Bucky hears his zipper close. Another quickly takes his place. Someone releases Bucky's left ankle and someone else takes up their place, grumbling.

There's chatter all around him and he's dizzy with it.

His head is held back and someone presses something to his lips. He forces his eyes open, trying to jerk his head back and sees that it's a cup of water. Bucky allows the squid to hold it to his lips and tilt it back. He splutters and coughs some of it but manages to drink.

Then another cock is spearing him. He's sore but loose now. A groan of protest escapes his lips and they seem to think he's encouraging them because they move faster.

He groans again and tries to struggle away but he's shushed and pressed back into place. His sack has gone numb and he tears up, wondering with horror if it's going to go gangrene.

“Take it off,” he's saying before he can stop himself. “Take it off! Get it off me!”

“Shh,” the one who fed him the water strokes the bristle of his cheek.

He fights the need to beg, but when the pair of legs behind him jar up against his sack, smashing it against the wooden stock, he yelps.

“Stop! Get it off! Please get it off!”

A hand slaps him across the face and he tries to struggle. Tears stream down his face because he just wants that damn thing off of him. There's more shushing as he's petted again and held still.

The cock inside him persists, thrusts growing faster, harder. He tenses, waiting for his balls to be smashed again. A whine escapes his lips and he tries not to sob.

He hates them. He hates himself for being reduced to this. He breathes in harshly through his teeth and tries to rally himself.

Come on, where is your fucking dignity. If you can't fight you can at least not fucking cry.

He gasps as the body behind him presses in closer and rubs against his sack, not smashing it this time but rolling it. The cock inside of him is likewise rubbing his insides in circles and his thighs quiver.

This isn't right, this is so wrong, this is so wrong, I am so sick-

The fingers are back to his nipples now and another hand is tugging at his cock. Someone slaps his ass, slaps at his thighs. The hand tightens in his hair and then there's someone whispering German into his ear – probably ugly, filthy promises he can't understand.

He sobs, just wanting it to all be over and only two of them have fucked him so far.

The squid behind him comes with a grunt and Bucky shivers, feeling himself getting aroused again. It isn't right – he's never been able to recover this quickly before. It usually took more than several minutes, even with Steve.

He feels the squid behind him moving away with a comically satisfied sigh. The others chuckle behind him and now the squid in front of him who fed him the water stands and hops around the others apparently to take his turn. But first, Bucky hears more laughter again after the kraut says something.

Bucky sags he feels his cheeks being parted again. It's sticky between his cheeks now and some of it is trickling down his thigh. He keeps his eyes on the tile, wishing to just pass out already. Maybe when he wakes up they'll all be done.

That's when he feels a hand reaching for his cock again. His cock is shaken and tugged on playfully and Bucky groans at the sensation. It's too sensitive.

Then there are two hands and one of the hands is looping something around it. It feels almost like silk.

Like a ribbon.

He looks underneath him and sees a slender ribbon being tied into a bow. It's a white ribbon, standing out against his reddened cock which is swelling again. A blush covers his face as he hears them pointing and laughing. The bow seems to dwarf his cock even further.

“Winzig!” They giggle. The squid who tied the bow on his cock slaps it back and forth lightly, snickering.

He glares down at the tile, jaw working. He can feel them pointing at his face and laughing. His hair is tugged so that his head is pulled back again and he glares up at them and sneers.

“Fucking sick, perverted bastards!” he snaps and his head is shoved back down as they laugh.

The one behind him moves slowly, pressing his head in first and giving Bucky a few moments to recover. The squid lets out a sigh, muttering some oath and the others laugh. A hand is gently rubbing circles over his tailbone.

Then the guard is rolling his hips against Bucky's. He seems to notice the way his balls press against Bucky's captive ones and then he's rolling his hips oh so slowly and brushing against them at each thrust. Bucky's lip trembles and he feels a rush of hate for the guard. Isn't it enough they degrade him like this but they have to try and tease him too?

Someone is stroking his cock again and a whine escapes his lips because he's sensitive after coming twice so quickly. It hurts to be stroked again and he can't resist the need to softly plead for them to stop.

There's more filthy uttering in his ear and he shudders. He's sticky with sweat, his hair sticking to his face. His knees and hips are beyond sore, his back aches, his balls are going numb except when the squid inside him brushes up against them. He gasps and jerks as he feels a hand wrap around his sack, rolling it between fingers.

The cock slips out of him and there's a murmuring. It sounds like disagreement. Hands grip the wooden stock and Bucky freezes for a minute, terrified that they'll yank on it. He's about to have to fight his urge to beg again when he feels it shaking slightly and realizes that they're unscrewing it.

He lets out a sigh of relief as he feels it coming loose and then being removed completely. Air brushes against his poor, stretched skin where it was clutched by the stock and he shivers. He feels his blood pulsing back into his body from his sack and he groans.

Bucky is rolled onto his back, blinking up at the light. He's able to stretch his legs for a moment before they're held up and he's almost folded in half. Now his perpetrators can look down at him and watch him. He can see their grinning, taunting faces, watch while they make kissing noises.

There's at least five in his view currently and there are more out of his line of sight. His arm is held high above his head, wrist clutched in a pair of strong hands. His knees are bent, thighs wide apart, exposing his privates. His ass is pointed toward the wall and now he can see the squid who gave him the water returning to kneel between his legs. He smiles at Bucky as he slowly feeds his cock in again.

Bucky gasps, expecting the angle to be more painful. Instead, it proves to be less harsh. He doesn't know if he should be glad for that though. He's pretty sure he shouldn't be glad for anything these motherfuckers do to him.

Now the squid is tugging Bucky's ass up, almost onto his lap. The angle pushes his cock up against Bucky's prostate and makes him yelp. The others laugh and hands are everywhere, patting his cheek, fingers rubbing and pressing against his lips, tugging at his nipples, stroking his stomach, pulling on his cock.

“Winzig!” One of them says, making the itsy bitsy sign with his finger and thumb apart and the others giggle. The one stroking his cock wiggles it and they laugh, poking at the head and bouncing it.

Bucky just glares at them until they pat his cheek and mock him, making shushing noises and kissing sounds.

Right. He came twice for them.

His face flushes and he closes his eyes, trying to turn his face away. One of them makes a mock sympathetic sound and pets his hair. He tries to jerk his head away, feeling his cheeks burn. His eyes are watering from the pounding his ass is taking and the way his cock is being squeezed and stroked.

The squid fucking him grabs his balls and he jolts, stifled sound of protest leaking between his teeth. They laugh and the squid squeezes them, rolling them. The blood is flowing back from them into his body and they're already so sensitive from the earlier torment - it's too much. It's all too much.

He sobs as he feels himself growing close to the edge again, hating himself, hating his body for enjoying this. But it's like a wave, carrying him along and he wants so badly to be taken away by it again.

He's been in that cold box for god knows how long and when he's not in the box he's on a metal table being shocked and injected with shit and asked stupid fucking questions like what is his name. His body is so sore but the earlier euphoria has drowned some of that out and his body is so warm with all these hands on him, with the soothing rocking motions and the way their cocks stroke inside of him.

He's coming again. He's coming again and he mentally curses himself.

Traitor. Fucking Nazi whore.

He tries to resist the pleasure, toes curling, legs trying to twitch out of their grip. His hips buck, trying to throw the guard off of him, but it only exacerbates the pleasure and now it looks like he's really enjoying it. He bites his lip, trying to ignore them egging their friend on, egging Bucky on. The squid pounds him faster, gripping his hip tightly with one hand while jerking his cock with the other. 
Bucky comes, biting back his wail. His back arches and he shudders, hips rocking erratically. The hand on his cock releases it after a moment and strokes his ribs and belly. The squid murmurs soothingly at him. 
Bucky keeps his eyes closed, sickened by himself. 
How many times has he come for these rapists? Are they even rapists if he's getting off on it? 
His face burns hot and bright as they laugh and aim more kissing noises and taunts at him.
He hates how cold and empty it is inside of him when the young guard slips out with an exaggerated groan and the others laugh and clap him on the back. It hurts how much the kid looks like a younger version of Steve, not quite as skinny as he used to be- 
He turns his head away to glare at a Nazi's boots. He doesn't want to think about Steve right now. He doesn't deserve to, he thinks, as his eyes fill with tears. Bucky clenches his teeth trying to hold them back. 

“Shh,” the squid who just fucked him is kneeling above his head, looking down on him and stroking his cheeks. When his thumbs brush against the sides of Bucky's eyes, drying his tears, he jerks his head away. The others chuckle and say something to their friend, probably telling him to give up already.

He glances down at the ribbon still on his cock, shuddering as he sees another man lining up. The man in question makes a face at Bucky's ass, grumbling, and the other's laugh. He feels something brushing against his tender ass and he winces – it feels like sandpaper. The man is brushing the cum off. He shouts at another man.

“Geben sie mir ihre kantine!”

A canteen is brought and they pour it between Bucky's legs. The coldness of the water on his tender balls makes him yelp and he thrashes.

“Ah! Fuck!”

Laughter follows and he's being held firmly in place, the Steve looking squid smiling down at him and patting his cheek. He looks away, disturbed at how much the kid looks like Steve. Just taller than Steve used to be and... No. He's a fucking Nazi – he does not look like Steve!

“Get off of me,” Bucky hisses, getting fed up with this shit. He struggles, managing to yank his damaged right ankle loose and kicks the bastard about to push his cock into him in the chest. The man falls back with a yell.

Elated, Bucky snarls and yanks his arm free, punching another man to his right with it. The skinny kid at his head leaps back as he scrambles up.

He gets to his feet and groans, nearly falling again, as gravity tugs at his balls. His ass is already sore; he doesn't even want to imagine what it will be like when-

They're lunging at him when someone steps in the door and shouts. They all freeze, some of them with their hands on Bucky.

The one Bucky punched punches him back in the head quickly before freezing again. Bucky spits at him, then looks to the man in the doorway.

He seems to be a superior officer the way the others step back when he moves into the tiled room. He's wearing a black uniform, but nicer than the ones the others are wearing, with some kind of special armband on. He's balding with grey dappling his hair, blue eyes, and a hooked nose. He glowers at the sight of Bucky, then turns to glare at his subordinates. They have the grace to look like kids with their hands caught in the cookie jar.

He demands something in German. Probably wondering what the hell is going on. Bucky feels a twinge of relief, thinking that maybe this wasn't authorized fun time and now he can go back to the stupid box. The thought that he's relieved to return to his cage makes him feel slightly sickened with himself, but he is sore and shaky.

The head squid spots the ball stocks on the floor and frowns. He kicks at it. One of the subordinates picks it up and grins at his officer, explaining and gesturing. The officer actually look amused and chuckles, shaking his head. The guard holding it gestures to the blond who looks like Steve and the officer shakes his head again, then scoffs.

The officer says something, louder so that the others can hear, then the others let out a simultaneous groan. Bucky nearly smiles with relief. It sounds like they aren't happy about whatever he just said.

Now he's being escorted out of the room again.

Oh thank whatever God is in the sky!

Bucky allows them to herd him out of the room and back down the hall. He can go back into the box and get some damn rest. Well at least they didn't make him bleed. He doesn't see any blood trickling down between his legs.

He thinks they're going back to the lab but instead they pass it and take a right down another hallway.

'Great,' he thinks. 'Now what?'

The officer is walking in front, the other two beside Bucky escorting him, one has the captive's arm in his hands, helping him walk. He notices the officer in front of him smiling a little and glancing down at his cock, the ribbon still adorning it.

Bucky has the urge to snatch the ribbon off and throw it away, but his arm is being held firmly and any sudden moves might end up with him getting hit. His head's throbbing a bit from that punch.

They go right into another room and he finds himself in an office.

'Oh no. Oh god no.'

He's prompted to get on his knees and that's when he realizes that one of them has the wooden stocks.

He feels something sink inside of him and shatter against his stomach. Probably his soul.

His lips start to form a plea, but he stops himself, licking them instead and glaring at the filthy squid who stands behind his desk and smirks, fingers sliding over the wooden torture object. He snaps his fingers at one of the guards, muttering and gesturing and the two guards laugh before they move to push Bucky onto his one hand. The one behind him prompts him to spread his knees and he loses it again.

“No!” He shouts, spinning to his left and kicking out with his legs, knocking the one behind him over. Then he stumbles up and back into the wall, snagging some heavy object off a shelf. He doesn't even know what the hell it is – a bookend maybe. It has a nice, square base with sharp corners and he wields it with warning at the guard.

The officer looks surprised, then laughs. He waves the stocks at the guards, reprimanding them and gesturing toward Bucky.

The one on the floor sounds like he's cursing and the standing guard doesn't look too happy about approaching Bucky now that he has something heavy with pointy corners. Bucky sneers at him.

“That's right, bitch,” he says. “Come on.”

The officer is chuckling and shaking his head like the whole thing is hilarious. He looks like his eyes are tearing up. He gestures at the guards again and toward Bucky.

“Sich beeilen!”

The one Bucky didn't kick rolls his eyes and lunges toward him while the other moves to grab his arm. Bucky raises the object, cursing. His wrist is grabbed and squeezed by the guard Bucky knocked down while the other grabs at his hair and hauls him away from the wall. Bucky yanks his wrist free and tries to hit the one grabbing his arm with it, but the squid stomps at his right ankle and he yelps, nearly dropping the object. The squid grabs it and steps back, dropping it onto the desk, then moves forward to help his companion grapple Bucky and haul him back onto his knees.

Bucky is still swearing at them and the pain in his ankle when the one grabbing him by the hair gets fed up and knees him in the stomach. He groans and stumbles and they push him the rest of the way onto hi knees.

Once again he has a Nazi straddling him while the other takes the wooden stock and – having had enough of their captive's nonsense, uses his legs to pin Bucky's – begins to fit the stocks around his balls again.

He jerks, trying to fight, while the officer steps around the desk and kicks in the ribs, commanding him, probably to stay still.

Bucky spits at him, glaring. The officer snorts, amused. He's tall and wiry and has a mean little glint in his eye that Bucky does not fucking like.

Of course there's nothing to like about this situation and he tries to calm his roiling stomach and the increased throbbing in his head and ankle as his balls are secured once more.

He blinks against the moisture in his eyes and curse when the Nazi on top of him shoves his head down roughly, then gets up.

Bucky glances up discreetly at the heavy object he'd grabbed, now resting on the table. It looks like some kind of huge brass acorn on a stand. A bookend. Damn pity he couldn't use those corners. Damn pity he doesn't have two fucking arms or he might already be out of here, with three bloody squids behind him. Even if they caught him, well maybe then at least they'd be more wary of him if they didn't kill him outright.

Instead he's here on his knees, in this device again, with some pervert chuckling down at him.

He says something and the guards grab Bucky, hauling him up on his feet again. He winces as the device pinches slightly at him. They reposition him so that he's lying over the desk and his one wrist is tied behind him and to his waist.

His legs are still free, but he has to set his feet wide so that he's not pinching himself. His face flushes again at how exposed he is and he closes his eyes in defeat, thumping his head down against the desk. One of the guards ruffles his hair and laughs, then slaps his ass as he hears them walking away. The door to the office closes and he's alone with the officer.

Now if only the bastard will monologue about some evil plans of his and maybe Bucky can slip his arm free. Or...

Or he could play along and wait until the guy's distracted...

He looks up as the man comes around the desk and sits down with a smirk in the chair in front of him. Bucky can't help the glare that comes over his face. But his glare fades slightly when he sees the cane the Nazi slides up off the floor. The squid raises his eyebrows wiggling the top of the cane in Bucky's face. There's an eagle on the top, a brass eagle. Of course there's a fucking eagle on it.

The cane is smooth, polished black wood, and he feels his eyes tearing up again. He fixes his jaw, his plans to play nice and distract the Nazi suddenly not so unappealing.

He looks up at the officer, noting the disgusting little smile on his face.

“Please don't,” he hates himself for the words as soon as they come out of his lips. “Please don't do this.”

The officer sighs and slides his fingers up and down the cane, smiling.

“Please don-” Bucky freezes as the eagle on the cane is suddenly pushed against his lips. He eyes it, crosseyed and puzzled, then looks up at the Nazi who smiles at him. The older man parts his own lips and licks at them, then glances to the brass eagle. He glances back up to Bucky and bounces his eyebrows once.

Great. Just fucking great.

Bucky isn't sure which is really the fire and which is really the kettle at this point; two dozen horny squids or one really sick bastard with a cane? He decides to try and make the best of the situation if there even is a best to make of it. He parts his lips and licks at the head of the cane.

The bastard stares, his lips parting again and lets out a quiet sigh. Holy fuck, he's getting off on this already.

Bucky licks it again, slower this time, flattening his tongue against it. He sucks at it after that, then swirls his tongue over it. Maybe creepy head Nazi won't be so bad if Bucky keeps him distracted.

He lowers his eyelids a little the way he knows used to drive Steve crazy as he teases the eagle with the tip of his tongue.

“Mm,” the officer's eyelids are a little heavy too and dark with lust. Bucky represses a shudder and keeps worshipping the eagle with his tongue. Then the officer decides to press it into his mouth and Bucky's eyes widen as he has a mouth full of brass.

He tries to gag it out, but the officer isn't having any of it, tutting at him and grasping his chin. Bucky's brows furrow, but he continues sucking, trying to swallow instead of coughing. Another pleased hum follows and his chin is released, his cheek patted.

The officer leans back, using his free hand to unbuckle his belt.

'Oh god, no, why,' Bucky almost wants to cry. His balls are going numb again and this bastard wants to fuck him in the mouth.

His face flushes as he realizes he's getting hard against the cold wood of the desk. Oh god, it's all so wrong. He tries not to think about what Steve would think if he could see Bucky right now-

Oh god and his face and neck are burning hot now, hips shifting as his cock swells underneath him.

A whine escapes him as he tries to readjust his legs so that he's giving the wood stocks plenty of room. Most of his weight is on the desk now, of course.

The Nazi is stroking himself as he begins to slip the cane in and out of Bucky's lips. It's hypnotic, almost soothing, and he lets himself get lost in the sensation of focusing on it, his eyes closing. There's a grumble and a slap to his cheek and he blinks, eyes opening again.

“Eyes open,” the officer tells him. Bucky wants to spit on him but he fights the urge. Apparently his glare motivates the Nazi, because he rises to stand and steps forward, cock pointing directly at Bucky's lips.

Ugh, god.

The eagle is soon slipped from his wet lips and Bucky licks them as he finds the head of a cock pressed his lips. His hair is smoothed back, then grasped, and his head is tilted back, the angle making him wince. His shoulders are still stiff and sore from the attentions paid to them earlier by the baton.

The eagle is tapped against his cheek.

“Biting nicht,” the man tells him. “I break your teeth.” Then the cane is raised over him, the foot of it poking his sack and he gasps tensing. “And this.”

Bucky swallows. The guy doesn't have to warn him twice. The last thing he wants is broken balls on top of everything else.

“Understand?” His hair is tugged and he glances back up and nods.

“Yes.” He wishes his voice wasn't so damn husky. His cock shrank a little at the prodding with the cane, but he finds it swelling again as the cock is pressed into his mouth. He groans a little as his mouth is filled. He can't help it – he's always been a fan of it, at least, with Steve anyway.

He misses Steve suddenly so sharply, even his big super soldier dick. Bucky's eyes tear up and he whines.

His hair is petted and the officer soothes him but it just makes it worse. He sobs, trying to focus as he sucks the cock in front of him.

'Come on Barnes, pull yourself together. Don't be so damn embarrassing. You can cry in your box later. God that's even more pathetic.'

He sniffles. He's going to get through this. He's going to survive however he can. He's gonna get the fuck out of here and he's gonna get back to Steve one way or another.

He begins to suck in earnest, bobbing his head. The Nazi groans and presses his hand down on the top of Bucky's head, stilling it and chuckling.

“Slow.”

'Oh you son of a bitch. Fine!'

He exhales through his nose, exasperated, then continues to suck, slower now. The officer rolls his hips forward, then back, humming with pleasure.

“Yes, gut.”

Bucky rolls his eyes as he keeps sucking. He uses his tongue to tease the head, flicking over the hole, and the man groans, stroking his hair. The other hand is busy using the cane to lightly smack at his ass. It's distracting and Bucky finds it more annoying than anything else. Still, he takes the rest of the cock in as the man groans and pushes forward.

Suddenly he's sliding out and Bucky takes the opportunity to breathe properly.

The worrying thing is that the man is moving around the desk, cane still in hand.

“W-wait,” he squirms, eyes widening. “Where you goin-”

“Shh,” the officer chuckles and pats his backside as he moves to stand to the side of Bucky's hips. He grabs Bucky's hips and hauls him back, so that his cock slides down over the edge. The man chuckles and grabs at it, squeezing and humming in approval when he finds it somewhat stiff. Bucky's face heats again and he wishes he could just melt into the floor.

Then the cane strikes down on his ass and he yelps.

“Wha... hey!” He thought he was being good! Why is he being caned?

He turns his head to glare at the Nazi over his shoulder. The man chuckles and smiles at him, rubbing his ass soothingly. Son of a bitch. Bucky is not enjoying this!

Then the man's hand grips his cock again, firmly, finger twiddling with the bow. He says something and Bucky catches the word 'winzig' again.

'Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me-'

The cane comes down again as he keeps Bucky's cock in his hand. A grunt is pushed from Bucky's lips and then he groans.

No, no, no, he is not going to to enjoy- oh God.

The officer is stroking him as he continues to give Bucky's ass slaps with the cane. Then he lightly slaps it on Bucky's sack and colors burst behind his eyes.

“Ah!”

The cane slaps on his balls again and he whines, face heating, as he realizes it makes his cock throb. Another slap follows and his cock throbs again. Bucky closes his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. This is not happening. This is a nightmare.

The officer purrs at him and strokes him faster, murmuring what sounds like encouragement. Bucky doesn't even want to think about how many Nazis apparently enjoy torturing balls. He lets out a sob as the pleasure between his legs swells sweetly. The stroking is countered by slaps of the cane and he feels tears trickling down the sides of his face.

“Nn,” he shakes his head. “No...”

“Mm, ja.” The officer laughs softly and continues to stroke him, faster now. Bucky groans, squirming and receives a sharper slap to his ass. He stills and curses between his teeth.

The officer sighs and moves to stand between his legs.

'Oh god, no please, no...'

“Not again, please,” he begs, not caring about his stupid dignity anymore. What dignity? He's covered in cum and sweat and he's had a Nazi's cock in his mouth. He's come for them several times and he's feeling like he might even come again. He just really doesn't want anyone else inside of him today. He doesn't even remember how many were already in him and that realization makes him sob.

“Shh,” the officer strokes his back, murmuring nonsense. Then his fingers are pressing into Bucky's ass. He whimpers and stiffens at the intrusion. He had men in him earlier and he's still wet from their come, but now he's gotten a little tight again.

He gasps as the fingers brush against that spot again and he nearly sees stars. A groan is pushed from his throat as the man's fingers explore him.

“Oh God,” he sobs. “Please no.”

“Shh!” He can hear the man panting as the fingers slide out of him. Then the tip of his cock is being pressed into Bucky who groans in protest.

“No!” A sob follows it and his head hangs.

The man fills him slowly. Bucky just wants him to hurry up and get it over with even if it hurts. He suddenly can't tolerate the thought of someone inside him and squirms. The hand on his back presses down, stilling him. Then the cane is being laid over his lower back and the squid is pressing it down, pinning Bucky in place.

He whines, his own swollen cock hanging heavy between his legs. Not to mention the stocks that the bastard is just ignoring and the way each jostling of them causes a throb through his tender flesh.

Bucky can't take it. It's too much. He doesn't want to come again but it's a sensory overload. He whines between his teeth as the officer begins to rock in and out of him, slow as honey. It stings and he grimaces.

“Stop,” he begs. “Please...”

“Nn-nn,” the officer chuckles and reaches under Bucky to grasp his swollen cock, squeezing. He strokes a few times and Bucky clenches his teeth. He squirms and the man presses down with the cane making his captive wince.

He returns to rocking in and out slowly. Bucky sags against the desk, his cheek resting on it's smooth surface. There's a paper near his nose and he wonders what's written on it. It's probably in German anyway. Maybe... maybe he can catch a gli-

He gasps and tenses as the man's cock brushes against that spot inside of him. Biting his lower lip, Bucky wills himself not to be excited despite the way the man inside of him is beginning to rock faster and now he's squeezing Bucky, milking him, his thumb brushing under the head, smearing precum.

Now he's pounding harder, brushing ruthlessly against that spot inside of Bucky and he lets out a sob. His balls are starting to slap against Bucky's trapped ones, stabs of sensation throbbing up Bucky's sack, into his cock. He squirms again and it just seems to excite the squid into pounding even harder.

The squid turns his hand a certain way and just like that, Bucky's coming again. His hips roll back and he can't stop, can't help it. He hates himself for it but it just feels too good.

His mouth falls open and he groans, face and neck burning again. He hears a gasp and a stammer and the officer is following him, rutting wildly before stilling.

Bucky's face feels bloodless as he sags and he blinks heavily, then licks his lips. He shivers a little, cold now that he's noticing the damp sweat on his body.

The officer stumbles away, slipping out of him and cursing. His ass is patted again and Bucky curses himself mentally for once again getting off. He's got to be the champion slut of squid land by now. It would be funny if it wasn't so fucking depressing.

He thinks of Steve longingly and groans.

“Shh,” the officer is tucking himself away and sounding pretty cheerful as he begins to hum. He sets the cane down somewhere before stroking Bucky's balls. Bucky jerks – he's way too sensitive for that.

The officer chuckles, then stops, standing back. He moves around the desk as if enjoying the sight from different angles and Bucky almost wants to ask if he's planning on taking a damn picture. He doesn't want to give the squid any more awful ideas though.

His cheek is patted fondly and then the guards are being called in. Bucky freezes, afraid he'll be hauled back down the hall to be raped by more of them, but they unscrew the stock.

He sighs in relief as the blood circulates properly again and then he's being hauled upright. He groans and sags in their arms. The officer chuckles and says something cheerfully to the others and they laugh. One of the guards points to the cum on the side of the desk. Bucky's cum. His face heats again.

He's bent over, his face pressed close to the cum. He turns his head away, cursing at them. They laugh and press his cheek against it, push the side of his head so his face will turn toward it.

“Eat!” The officer orders, tapping Bucky's ass with the cane again. The guards are giggling as he, with disgust, begins to lick it up.

Finally, he's pulled away from the desk. He wants to vomit on one of them. Might be nice, covering their boots with what they just made him lick up.

He's not put in the cage. Instead, he's directed to kneel on a thick blanket in a corner of the office.

That's when they set a bowl of water on the floor.

He nearly snarls and has to resist the urge to knock it toward them. His arm is still tied behind him and to his waist anyway. Fucking bastards treating him like a damn dog!

But then the officer is smiling down at him and sitting at his desk. And he's wiggling the wooden stock at Bucky before putting it in a drawer of the desk.

Bucky's heart sinks as he thinks of the cage. Looks like he's here to stay for now.

He glowers at the floor, ignoring the chuckles. When the guards leave it's just him and the officer again.

Exhaustion seeps over him though he wishes he could get clean. He can feel cum beginning to trickle out of him and shudders. He can't remove the ribbon on his cock either, so he glares down at it.

The blanket's nice and warm at least. Looks like the inside is lined with some kind of fluffy sheepskin. He reluctantly lies on his right side and curls up. He can't really lie on his injured left stump and he doesn't want to lie on his back, so he risks putting his back to the officer.

He hears the man lighting up a cigarette and the sound of papers shuffling and begins to drift off.

Chapter Text

"How are you feeling this morning, Buck?" Steve smiles at him. Steve's smiles aren't like his old handlers' smiles which were usually broad and showed teeth. The asset learned that those smiles usually meant pain was going to follow.

Steve's smiles are always a little sad and just the curving of the corners of his lips. The asset didn't know what the emotion was at first, until he examined Steve's eyes and then he realized that Steve smiles even when he is sad. It's strange, but the asset can't really judge people's displays of emotion. He is still learning how to display emotion.

"I'm feeling" Functional. Operational. "Good." He is still learning to keep eye contact as well; he keeps glancing down at the floor. Looking at Steve's eyes thrills him because his gaze is different from anything the asset remembers experiencing.

Steve doesn't look at him like the asset is disgusting or like he wants to hurt the asset.

"Want some eggs? Bacon?" Steve gestures toward the oven. "I've already eaten but I can make you something."

"Yes, please." He mumbles. Steve doesn't make him repeat his words. He understands that it's still hard for him to ask for things. His heart races. He shouldn't have made Steve do something extra for him. He should just eat cereal or whatever Steve gives him. Then again, if a handler wishes to cook something for him to eat, he cannot refuse.

"Good boy," he hears Pierce say and he remembers licking the leftover scrambled eggs and bacon from the dog bowl. He feels his hair being petted. But Pierce is not here.

Sometimes he wishes Steve would pet his hair. Steve did so once, when he was throwing up. The blonde held the asset's hair back loosely in one hand, gently brushing some of it out of his face with the other. He wonders if he gets on all fours if Steve will pet his hair.

No. That would probably upset Steve.

"Do you like dogs?" he asks as he sits down at the little bar of the kitchen, on a stool. He usually eats his breakfast here.

"I love dogs." Steve, facing the oven where he's pouring a little oil into a pan, turns to smile at him and this one is less sad. There is teeth. His heart races and he looks down. "Oh... Do you want a dog, Buck?"

Does he want a dog? His eyes widen and he shakes his head. He doesn't want Steve to do that. It will hurt him. The asset is used to it but he doesn't want Steve to be in pain.

"N..." he is allowed to say it. Steve said he could. "No."

The room sways and his head aches. His stomach twists. He has nothing to vomit so he merely take a deep breath and tries to settle it.

"Buck? What's wrong?" Steve turns off the oven and moves closer. He's standing on the other side of the bar and puts a hand on the asset's flesh hand.

"Mn... Nothing," he shakes his head.

"It's okay. Would you like to... play with a dog? Maybe we could borrow Clint's..."

Bucky is shaking his head again. If he doesn't say it, he might not throw up. He takes another deep breath and the headache lightens, but it's still present.

"I'm sorry," Steve says, gently stroking the asset's hand with his. "Do you need some water?"

Bucky nods and Steve retrieves a glass of water which he slowly sips.

He feels Pierce's shoe pressing on the back of his leg and shudders, nearly dropping the glass.

"That's right. Drink your water. Good boy."

He sets the glass down heavily and rubs the front of one shin against the back of his other leg, trying to dispel the memory. He lets out a sob; a very delayed reaction. He never sobbed when he was Pierce's dog. It hurt but he was used to it. It became part of his programming. Why does it upset him so much now?

Steve's hand is on his shoulder.

"Buck?"

"M'fine," he breathes finally, focusing on his deep breathing. His hands feel clammy. Steve's hand is warm on his right shoulder, gently rubbing circles along the back of it.

"Do you... want me to be the dog?" he looks up at Steve. His eyes are wet and his lips are beginning to tremble. They shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be reacting like this.

"What?" Steve stares at him. Something seems to click in his gaze and then he slowly shakes his head. As if waking up from a dream, he blinks. "Um... no, Bucky," he lets out a weak laugh. "I-I meant a real dog. I was asking if you wanted a real dog. You know... like a pet? Like Lucky?"

Bucky has heard of Clint's infamous Pizza Dog. He doesn't know why it consumes so much pizza or if it's because certain breeds of dog eat pizza.

"I don't want a pizza dog," he says. Steve stares at him, then smiles.

"Well, no. We wouldn't feed it pizza. I don't think you're really supposed to feed a dog pizza." He pats Bucky's shoulder gently. "Do you still want eggs and bacon."

Bucky considers it. He is hungry. Then he shakes his head. But Steve's already put oil in the pan...

"Sorry."

"That's okay." Steve shakes his head. "What would you like to eat?"

The asset considers.

"Donuts?"

Steve grins. "You want donuts?"

He nods. "Please?"

"Buck, you can all the donuts you want. Within reasonable li- actually, screw that, you can have all the donuts you want."

Steve calls Clint and asks if he'd like to come over and bring Lucky for a visit. It turns out that Clint is free after lunch, so he agrees to bring Lucky over in the afternoon.

The asset, codename "Bucky," follows Steve to the nearest donut place. They walk home with a box of donuts, both of them already eating out of it. The asset is trying something called an "eclair." It tastes good and he has memories of sitting at a cafe outside somewhere. Possibly Minsk. Someone was with him, he thinks a woman with red hair. It may have been Romanova. Eclairs in Minsk are a little different though, he thinks.

"Bucky," Steve is laughing and pointing at his chin. The asset looks up at him, puzzled. "You have... you have cream on your chin." Steve is smiling widely and chuckling, his eyes creasing at the corners. The asset is pleased that he made Steve happy. He rubs at his chin with his glove disguised metal hand and sees cream on the glove. Steve tugs some napkins from the box and halts Bucky, wiping at his chin and glove. The asset feels a pleasant flutter at the contact. Steve is grooming him. This is positive social behavior that implies care.

He remembers that Rumlow did this once. He wiped the asset's chin after Rollins gave him something to eat.

"Gonna have to get you a fuckin' bib," Rumlow said. "Look at 'im."

They were somewhere... in Europe? In... Bulgaria? In a city.

He opens his eyes as Steve finishes wiping his chin and they look at eachother for a moment. Steve shouldn't have to wipe his face. He is not an infant. He does not need a fuckin' bib.

His face flushes, another rare sensation. He wonders if Steve is happy that he's displaying an emotion.

Steve clears his throat and dabs at the cream on Bucky's gloved hand. He cannot take the napkin and do it himself because he still has half an eclair in his flesh hand. He will try to eat it neater.

"There you go," Steve tosses the crumpled napkin into a trashcan they pass. "Come on, Buck."

He follows obediently, hurrying to keep up with Steve. He takes smaller bites of the eclair.

"Good boy, come on," Pierce snaps his fingers and whistles. The asset suddenly doesn't really want any more of the eclair. But he makes himself eat it because Steve got donuts because he asked for them. When they get home, he drinks some water. It calms him a little and he feels less sick.

Lucky comes in the afternoon. The asset stares at the pizza dog. The pizza dog stares at the asset.

The asset crouches and snaps his fingers. He whistles at the pizza dog. The pizza dog steps forward and sniffs at him, wagging it's tail. Then it licks his face. Bucky closes his eyes and wonders if this is how it felt for Pierce when he licked Pierce's face.

Steve and Clint are talking softly as the asset gently pushes the dog's face away. It is not the dog's fault that it reminds him of Pierce.

He stands up.

"I don't want a dog," he tells Steve. Then he looks at Clint. "Sorry."

"Oh. Okay," Steve shrugs. "Well..."

"I guess thanks for coming then?" Clint muses. He's sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand.

Steve shakes his head and sits down too. "It's fine. Why don't you sit down, Buck?" he gestures to the arm chair. The asset obeys. It may not be an order but sometimes orders are not phrased like orders.

The asset declined a beer because he shouldn't drink alcohol. Though sometimes Rumlow and Rollins gave him alcohol. Once, they had him drink out of a bucket of alcohol on the floor to see if he would get drunk but he did not even after lapping up nearly all of the whiskey in the bucket.

He thinks it would entertain Steve and Clint if he drank from a bucket the way Lucky might. But Lucky might drink from it too and it would harm his dog liver.

"Can't get a real dog to do this shit," Rumlow says fondly, ruffling the asset's hair as he laps from the bucket.

"Can't get a real dog to break his own fuckin' leg either," Rollins shudders. "God, Pierce is fucked."

"Hey. We don't say anything about this, okay? Asset didn't break his leg."

"Yeah what if he's not healed by then?"

"Then we make up some bullshit story about how he fell when he engaged the target."

"That is a bullshit story-"

The asset looks up at his new codename being called. Bucky. He is Bucky Barnes. He is no longer the asset.

"Yes?" He does not say 'sir' because Steve doesn't like that.

"So why don't you like dogs?" Clint is the one who had a question.

"It's really not important," Steve shakes his head.

"Ah, I'm just curious. You more of a cat person? Tasha loves cats but she'll never admit it. She held Lucy once."

"Lucy?"

"Laura's cat. She loves that fuckin' barn cat. But she'll never admit it. They used to stare at eachother when Tasha first came to the farm." He snorts and grins up at Steve. "They used to eye eachother, you know, like they were sizing eachother up."

Steve chuckles. Bucky's lips curve into a smile. He can see it. Natasha Romanoff and a cat eyeing eachother across a room. He likes that image. Maybe Steve could draw something like it.

"You should draw that," he tells Steve. His heart races because he can't tell handlers what they should do unless it is in a combat situation and it is of vital importance to the mission or to the handler's safety.

But Steve likes to draw and he likes it when Bucky tells him things.

"Yeah," Steve grins.

"Oh god, no," Clint laughs. "If she sees that, she'll know I told you guys."

"I guess that will seal your fate, huh?" Steve smiles.

Bucky frowns. He doesn't think Romanova will kill Clint for telling such a harmless secret. But then she is a Black Widow. A renegade one too. It is hard to say what she will kill for these days. The asset thinks he may not know her as well as he once did.

"Oh god," Clint shakes his head, taking a sip of the beer.

Bucky realizes that Clint forgot about his question. He thinks he should answer it but Steve and Clint are already talking about something.

"Borderline serial killer shit," Rumlow says, examining the stint they made for the asset's leg.

"Borderline? That shit isn't fucking borderline anything. He's a straight fucking psychopath." Rollins says.

The asset loves the petting of his hair. He sighs. Rumlow even gave him a pain reliever which is wasteful on a weapon, but he did well on the mission. Along with the alcohol it gives him a pleasant feeling, like he's in a warm bubble. He should not have broken his leg. Rumlow did not ask him to, but they wanted him to be a dog, so he thought...

He blinks as he comes back to himself. He was closing his eyes and thinking of Rumlow's hand on his hair.

"Bucky?"

"Yes?" his face flushes. Did he say anything? Sometimes he mumbles things.

Steve and Clint are watching him quietly.

"You tired, Buck? You look tired."

"I can head out," Clint says.

"No..." Steve frowns. "You're fine."

The dog has it's head on Steve's knee. It's eyeing him dolefully and his lips twitch as he reaches out and gently pats it on the head. It's tail wags.

Steve should have a dog, Bucky thinks. It doesn't have to be him, of course. Steve wants a real dog. He is not a fucking psychopath as Rollins said the Secretary was.

"I'm fine," Bucky mumbles. He looks at Steve. "You should get a dog."

"Ha! I knew it!" Clint cheers. "Fuckin... assassins don't like to admit they like cuddly stuff. But they do." He points at Bucky, nodding. "You're just like Tasha."

He is not at all like Romanova but the corners of his lips curl in a smile before he looks down. It is fine if Clint thinks that Bucky likes dogs.

"I get the dog thing," Rumlow says. "But why break his fuckin leg?"

Rollins looks sick. "Can we please not talk about this?"

"I just don't get it!" Rumlow is shaking but it's with laughter. "I mean... what the fuck, you know?"

The asset sighs, his temple against Rumlow's knee. He's sitting on the floor with his legs out in front of him. The stint is white and plastic. He wiggles his toes, then shifts his ankle. Rollins's legs stiffen next to his body.

"Stop!" Rollins snaps at him. "He's moving it again."

"Hey!" Rumlow snaps his fingers. "You stop that shit, Winter. Leave your leg alone. It's gotta heal."

He sags a little and whines. Even if he's not in a dog position and his legs are wrong, he should still behave as a dog.

"Cut that out," Rumlow grumbles. "Jesus, I'm never saying the d word around him again."

"The d word," Rollins huffs and shakes his head. "Tell me about it. The less I know about the way Pierce thinks..."

"I just don't get it," Rumlow giggles as he takes another sip of his beer.

"Bucky?"

He looks up.

"I'm fine," he blurts too quickly.

Steve is staring at him. The asset's face flushes. Did he whine out loud? Clint is eyeing him too but the agent looks away after a moment, as if being polite. The asset looks away too, down at the floor.

The dog has turned its attention back to him. It approaches him when he looks at it and puts its paws up on his knees. He eyes the dog's legs with interest.

It stands on its toes, which Pierce made him do. Then there's the dog's ankle.

"Dogs don't have ankles, jackass.” 

"Yeah they do! Look" Rumlow has his beer between his thighs to keep it stable while he takes his own wrist between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand. He bends his fingers and simulates a dog paw, rather well, the asset thinks. 
"They've got a little doggy ankle." 
Rollins snorts and nearly spits out his beer. "Fuck, Brock." 
"What? It's true! Ain't that right, Win?" 
The asset nods, looking up at his handler with something akin to amusement. Brock is smiling at him and it's a rare kind of smile, the sort of smile he gives to Rollins. 
"Yeah, see? Even Win agrees." 
"Pff. Of course he's gonna agree with you." 
"Anyway, they got the doggy ankle," Rumlow frowns, his eyes far off. He's considering dog legs, the asset thinks. "And then..." 
"They stand flat on their feet," Rollins says. "Like the balls of their feet." 
"Nah, they stand on their toes." 
"Jesus. It's not like our feet, Brock." 
"I know!" 
"Here, I'll show you." Rollins is shifting and reaching into his pocket, taking out his phone. 

The asset gently touches the pizza dog's ankle. The pizza dog's ankle is turned comically inward. Duck feet is what Rumlow would call them. 
"Then he has a sort of "backwards knee." That's what Rollins said when he pointed at his phone. 
"See?" 
"Nah, that's not a knee. That's the knee!" Rumlow points to another part of the picture Rollins has pulled up on his phone. The asset has now turned his face to the right, curious to watch their interaction behind him. 
"I can't believe my life right now," Rollins shakes his head as he looks up from his phone to see the asset looking at him. The asset stares, then immediately looks down and turns around to face forward. He isn't supposed to look handlers in the eyes and he knows that Rollins finds him 'fucking creepy.' 
Rumlow ruffles the asset's hair and he cringes slightly. He was expecting Rollins to punish him but Rollins is quiet instead. 
"Yeah. Welcome to fuckin' Hydra, right?" 
"I know," Rollins huffs. "Hail Hydra." 

"Doggy legs," the asset says, looking up at Steve who is eyeing him with concern. He realizes Steve probably called his name again. Lucky has been licking at the asset's hand on his leg and is now nipping at it playfully. The dog woofs softly at him and the asset gently ruffles the fur on it's head, like Rumlow would his. 
Clint lets out a soft huff, his lips curling into a smile. 
"Yeah, dog legs are weird, right?" 
"Buck? Are you-" 
"I'm fine," he says again, looking up at Steve. He knows his eyes are still a little distant. Sometimes, according to Steve, he stares off and mutters things. Steve and Sam talked about it with him once. The asset told them it's because he's remembering things. 
He gently pushes Lucky off and the dog sits before him, staring at him. The asset lifts his own leg, putting the back of his ankle on the edge of the chair and lifts the leg of the sweatpants he's wearing. He slides his finger up the back of his leg, not finding any scars. But he taps one spot thoughtfully. Right there, he thinks. That's where the bone would emerge. 
The other two men are watching him silently. Clint is frowning, puzzled. 
Steve is staring and the asset realizes as he looks up that he doesn't like the growing trepidation in Steve's eyes. 
"Pizza?" he asks, looking between the two men. 

Clint laughs and he begins to talk about what pizza to order for dinner. Steve's laugh sounds relieved. He asks if Clint can stay and they talk about watching a movie. They're going through Steve's DVD collection, selecting a movie, while Bucky pokes Lucky with one hand while wiggling his fingers at the dog with the other. The dog lunges after one set of fingers playfully, then jerks his head toward the other. The asset is smiling. 

Pierce never played with him like this. He would wiggle a ball at the dog asset, then throw the ball and the asset would pant and chase after it. His legs would ache badly, but since they had healed - though incorrectly - they did not bleed everywhere as the asset raced over the Secretary's highly fenced back yard. 
"Good boy!" he can remember Pierce calling after him with a laugh. 
The asset's smile fades. He lowers his hands and Lucky puts a paw on his knee, panting. He wants to play more. 
The asset no longer feels like playing. 

He thinks about Pierce's laugh. He thinks about how when he turned around after grabbing the ball in his mouth to head back to the Secretary, the man was checking his phone and taking a call. He held up a finger to the asset and that meant to stay, so the asset did. 
He thinks about the Secretary arguing on the phone, getting increasingly agitated. Then the Secretary hung up with a huff and turned back to the house to head inside. His eyes glanced over the asset before he was about to head in and then he cursed. 
"Come on," the Secretary snaps and the asset hobbles over to him, running like a dog would and ignoring the pain in his legs. He thinks he has been good. He's running just like a dog, not letting his pain slow him at all, and then he sits at the Secretary's feet, looking up at him and waiting the way a dog would, to be told to go inside. 
The Secretary kicks him, hard, in the gut. 
"Goddamn, fucking idiot!" 
The next kick connects with his ribs. He doesn't drop the ball. He can't. 
"You stupid, piece of shit!" 

"Bucky?" 
He looks up and realizes that his face is wet and he's sniffling. His frame shudders with dull sobs. 
"Buck..." Steve turns. 
The asset's hands have been lightly petting at the pizza dog who leans in to lick at his wet face, whining for attention. The asset has been staring off again. 
"I'm sorry," he whispers. He'll be punished for crying. Unless they want him to cry. 
Steve doesn't like it when he cries though. 
"I'm sorry." 
He's so ashamed. He's crying in front of a guest. In front of Clint who is an agent of SHIELD or was. 
Clint is pretending not to notice, looking at a DVD case in his hand. 
Steve walks over and kneels beside him. 
"Hey. Hey, what's wrong?" He puts a hand on Bucky's shoulder. It's warm, pleasant weight. He sniffs and wipes the back of his face with his gloved metal hand, gently pushing Lucky back with the other. The dog wiggles out from under his hand and turns to Clint when the man whistles for it to come over to him. Bucky watches it pad over to him and brush it's head against Clint's leg. The man leans down and pets it. 
He doesn't kick his dog. He doesn't call it a piece of shit. 
Or stupid. The asset is not stupid. He is very smart. He has to be, to be able to complete missions with such... such ridiculous fucking specifications and time limits! No normal human being could do the things the asset does! 
No fucking dog could do those things! 
He glares at the dog and tries to stifle his sobs. Steve is gently squeezing his shoulder. 
"Hey. Buck, look at me." 
He finally looks at Steve, sniffling. 
"I'm sorry," he says. 
"No," Steve shakes his head. "It's okay, Buck. Want some water?" 
He nods and let's Steve guide him up from the floor, then follows him into the kitchen. He leans back against the bar as Steve fixes him a glass of water. He takes the glass and drinks. 
"You still want to watch movies with Clint?" Steve asks very softly so that Clint won't hear. 
Bucky nods. He doesn't want to go to his room and take a nap because if he does he'll remember more dog things and he doesn't want to. Besides, it's not Lucky's fault. The asset shouldn't have been looking at his legs and thinking about dog legs. He shouldn't think about Hydra. 
He excuses himself to the bathroom, saying he needs to go. He actually does, he isn't lying. But he also washes his face afterward and dries it on a towel. He looks in the mirror and feels another twinge of fury. 
He is not a fucking dog. 
Pierce is dead anyway. That thought gives him a sense of satisfaction. Maybe there's even a hell for Pierce to burn in. 
One where he has to be a dog. 
The asset's lips stretch at the corners. 
Then again, he deserves to go to hell too, probably. His smile fades and he shudders. 
Well it can't be worse than Hydra. 
He shrugs and heads to the living room. 
They sit on the couch, drink beers, eat pizza and watch a movie. Lucky fills the room with his dog fur smell and the asset finds it oddly pleasant. He never smelled like that when he was Pierce's dog. 
As he pets Lucky, he thinks that maybe he'd like a real dog. He looks at Lucky, sitting in Steve's lap, the dog's head on Bucky's lap. He looks up at Steve. Steve should definitely have a dog. Even if it occasionally reminds him...
"You okay, Buck?" Steve asks softly. Clint is laughing at something in the movie. Bucky's lips curve at the corners and he nods, turning his attention back to the film and the dog in his lap.