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barb-aricyawp · 5 years

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Hi! Can I request number 10 for Bucky please. And if you want, can it involve Brock Rumlow (only if you're feeling that of course)

Hell yeah we can exploit Bucky’s phobias!

(for torture tuesday)

trigger warnings: insects; bees; hornets; wasps; brief mention of: spiders, snakes, and heights

Nothing much gets through to the Winter Soldier. The guy just isn’t afraid of anything. Which Brock Rumlow finds nothing short of disappointing.

Just last week, Rumlow sealed the guy in a tank full of spiders—hundreds and hundreds of motherfucking spiders—and the Soldier did nothing. Just stood there, blinking at Rumlow. Waiting.

The fuck is that about?

Rumlow has tried snakes—a pit of vipers squirming over each other and the Soldier—he’s tried rats, drowning, confined spaces…hell, Rumlow even convinced a private to dress as a clown and…nothing.

Nada. Zilch. The Winter Soldier is, quite frankly, afraid of nothing.

Rumlow’s even tried heights which, given the Soldier’s boo hoo history, should have been a gimme. But dangling him over the edge of a skyscraper face first, was just plain boring. All the Soldier did was stare down into the abyss below. As if the fall was inevitable.

So, Rumlow was more or less certain that the Winter Soldier has the fear totally tortured out of him. As far as Rumlow was concerned, the guy was the emotional equivalent of brain dead. He figured that his limbic system was basically powered by a potato.

Until one day, after a successful Winter Soldier mission, a miracle happened. That miracle was a bumblebee floating into the debriefing room.

Looking back on it, Rumlow should have thought of it first.

While three STRIKE agents argued over whether to slaughter or liberate the bee, Rumlow watched the Winter Soldier.

It was nearly imperceptible, the way the Winter Soldier sat ramrod straight. The clench of his fists. The way he kept his eyes trained on the bumblebee, even after the agents trapped it in a jar.

Nearly imperceptible, but Rumlow saw all of it. Including the fear in the whites of the Winter Soldier’s eyes. Gotcha.

—-

Rumlow is giddy as he straps the Winter Soldier to the chair. He can’t help but chatter to him while he tightens the straps around his wrists and calves.

“Is it anything black and yellow, or does it have to have a stinger?” Rumlow asks, buckling his metal arm in three different places. “You know what, don’t answer that.”

There is a line of opaque jars on the table behind them. Four of them. Rumlow takes up one of these jars now and unscrews it.

“Don’t tell me. I want it to be a surprise.”

He rests the lip of the jar against the Winter Soldier’s bare arm. Three honeybees crawl out and the Soldier instantly flinches back. Sheer terror unleashes over his face. The same straight spine. The same clenched fists.Rumlow can’t help but laugh at the Soldier’s terror. This guy can get shot in the kneecap and not bat an eye, but now he’s hyperventilating over a fuzzy buzzy honeybee? What’s more, Rumlow looked honeybees up the night before, and they rarely sting.

The Soldier doesn’t seem to know this. Not based on the way his eyes stay locked on their slow crawl up his skin. Not based on the way his breath quickens, and fingers quiver. Even the metal hand is shaking.

Delighted, Rumlow unscrews the second jar. Bumblebees, five or six of them, float out. They are enormous, the size of quarters, and they don’t escape the Soldier’s attention.

Two of the honeybees fly up to join them. The third rests in the hollow of the Soldier’s elbow, where the skin is thin and delicate. His eyes flick up to the bumblebees, then they go straight back to the honeybee. Paralyzed with fear. Rumlow can make out a faint tremor of the tendons in the Soldier’s arm

The bumblebees hover closer, curious, and the Soldier grits his jaw. And though bumblebees aren’t often aggressive, their loud buzzing must wreak havoc on the Soldier’s fear.

He’s twitching in his chair, trying to stabilize his breathing and failing. Rumlow couldn’t be more pleased.

Next up is the vespers, the ones that Rumlow is most excited for. The third jar is jam-packed with wasps. Mean little fucks that can sting repeatedly just for the joy of stinging.

Rumlow gives them a shake before resting the open jar between the Winter Soldier’s legs.

A mass of yellow and black insects swarm from the jar and crawl up the Soldier’s thighs. Even Rumlow can admit that the contrast of yellow creeping over the dark tactical pants is scary. Especially when they start sinking in their stingers.

“Why bees, I wonder,” Rumlow says as he plucks up the fourth and final jar. He shakes it, feels the hard bodies of the hornets inside knocking against the glass. This jar is the largest, a whole nest’s worth of angry hornets. “Why is it bees you’re afraid of?”

The Soldier’s eyes are on the jar. He manages a shaky breath. There’s a wasp clinging to his neck, its stinger still stuck in his throat. It bats its translucent wings, trying to escape.

“Commander,” the Soldier says, as if to answer the question. His voice wavers. The wasp dislodges itself from his neck and crawls towards his ear. The Soldier opens his mouth again to answer. “Commander…”

But then he hesitates.

With a mixture of vague disappointment and outright glee, Rumlow realizes that the Winter Soldier doesn’t know why he’s afraid of bees. Why the wasps swarming his limbs frighten him more than their stingers.

Rumlow smashes the hornet jar on the floor and leaves the cell. When the door closes behind him, he can hear the asset scream. The sound is raw and terrified. It’s more satisfying than Rumlow anticipated.

—-

Steve comes into Bucky’s room with breakfast on a tray. The moment he enters, he sees that Bucky is standing stock still next to the wall, barely breathing. Something at the window has his attention.

No, not his attention, he’s afraid of what’s at the window. His chest beats up and down. His hands are clenched into fists.

Bucky’s eyes dart from the window to Steve. He thrusts up his arms, both palms open in warning to Steve. “Stop,” he hisses. “Don’t come in.”

Steve frowns. Bucky hasn’t had a relapse in memory in a few months. “Buck, what’s wro—“

Then he sees it: a wasp. Its thin waist and spindly legs send an instinctual shudder down Steve’s spine. Pre-serum, Steve was deathly allergic to bees. Especially wasps. One sting would make him swell up like a balloon and send him straight to the hospital.

He’s not any more.

“It’s alright,” Steve soothes and approaches the window.

Bucky’s entire body seizes up as if to prepare for a fight. But he needn’t bother. Steve simply opens the window. The wasp unfurls its wings and floats away. Steve remains unstung.

“It’s alright, Buck,” Steve repeats. He approaches Bucky now, as lightly and tentatively as he approached the window. “I’m alright.”

Bucky’s eyes are still on the window. A faint sheen of sweat slicks his face and chest. He rubs a hand against the side of his neck and nods. “Alright,” he says, but his voice wavers.

#torture tuesday #hydra trash party #whump bucky barnes #brock rumlow #whew I'm actually very frightened of bees so this one got me shivering #thanks for a great prompt filthy-crown #I was psyched for this one #filthy-crown

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