'Blood must have blood'

CHAPTER 28 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 7894

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

Chapter 28

-

You were stood in the pill-line, waiting to get the batch of painkillers you desperately needed for several different reasons, but would have to trade away for your safety. With a tensed-up body, aching wrist and now again burning core from having to sit on such a hard surface at the cafeteria, your nerves were begging for a relief, however fleeting.

But that meant having to risk your own safety by not giving Pennsatucky what she wanted, something she had all but ordered you to do. And you were good at following orders and doing what you were told. And this was no exception.

“Next,” nurse Banner said from where he was stood behind the glass.

You walked up to the front, trying to tone back the stiffness of your body, and cover up your paleness with a smile, however tight it may be.

“Hi,” you said, trying to sound chipper, and not at all like you were falling apart.

“Ah, Harper,” he said joyfully, and grabbed your cup of meds. “How are we feeling tonight?”

He held out the small paper cup for you to take, and you willed your hand not to shake as you reached for it, the reason unclear. It was hard to distinguish what was causing you such worry and pain, you had many possible reasons to chose from. But now was not the time to get hung up on those matters. Now, you had to do what was asked, and put up a front.

“I’m alright, thank you, sir.”

You put the cup to your mouth as Bruce turned to scratch something off his list. He didn’t notice you lifting your tongue up before leaning your head back and tilting the cup for the pills to fall into the cavity. Giving a quick quirk of your mouth to him, you took the small cup of water and poured it into your mouth, swallowing it on its own. You showed him your seemingly empty mouth, and shut it with a smile.

“Thank you,” he said, and tossed the cups into the trash. “See you in the morning, Harper.”

It was a good thing you rarely spoke more than what was needed, even before. Because when you only gave the kind nurse a smile and nothing more, he didn’t think anything of it, and just smiled back, sending you on your way.

Rounding a corner, you spit the pills out into your hand, drying them off on your shirt before quickly hiding them in a pocket. You looked around, making sure that no one saw, and started heading towards the area you dreaded the most; the laundry.

You hadn’t been down there since it happened. The bag full of laundry was still hanging from a hook in your cube, waiting to be washed and traded for new. But you just hadn’t been able to face it before. You still weren’t ready. If you had the choice, you would never see the inside of that room ever again. But you had to go. You had to find Pennsatucky and give her what she had asked for, hoping it would be enough to get her off your back, as well as her followers/squad.

Slowly but surely, despite your insistent prayers to the higher powers, you found yourself staring at the doors to the laundry room. You could see shapes moving in the room, shadows hidden behind the wall of washers which had so effectively hidden what happened to you.

It was just another barrier. You knew it had been more than the doors to the laundry, or the wall of machines that had kept the secret. It was all the locked gates, all the doors and winding corridors, in the middle of the night, that had. The officers had planned it that way. So, it wasn’t just the machines. That’s what you told yourself.

Trying to focus on that as to not crumble when being there, in that room, just made for a change of scenery in your head. The worry didn’t leave. The building panic didn’t leave. It was now just focused on the big picture, instead of the small, isolated room. And that wasn’t better. It didn’t make it any easier to forget. It didn’t make it any easier to handle.

You stood there, frozen on the spot, staring at the doors. If it were up to you, you would turn around and make a run for it. Or, walk as fast as you could at least. Running wasn’t really an option in the near future. But one of the inmates, a brown-haired girl with equally greasy hair as the rest of the bunch, peeked around the machines and spotted you. If you turned around now, you would be in even more trouble than before, and that was something you really didn’t need.

You swallowed through the dryness of your throat and mouth, hoping to force down the worry with it, but failed miserably. You hoped to at least not fail in the next endeavour, and pushed the door open.

Inside was Pennsatucky, Grease Hair, and... other Grease Hair. Let’s call her Grease Hair the second. Pennsatucky sat perched on a table, dangling her legs of the edge and a grin on her smile, while the other two paced around. They seemed restless, excited.

But you were a mess inside. The panic was boiling just from being in that room, from seeing Doggett sitting so leisurely on the table where you had been so violently bent over and held down while the officers had their way with you, the wood soaked with your tears. It was such a comic contrast. And the irony of this exchange taking place here, again, was not lost on you.

“You got what I asked for?” Doggett asked, bringing you somewhat out of the fog.

You looked up at her, your fearful and worried expression hopefully apt in this situation, and felt for the pills in your pocket.

“Ye-yes,” you stuttered in a low voice.

Pennsatucky hopped off the table with glee and walked up to you. Her grin was growing even wider, and it reached its peak when you held out your open palm, two pills resting there. She giggled and took them from you.

“Thank you,” she said, raising the ‘you’ up to a high pitch.

She turned around, and the others saw the content of her hand.

“Just two?” Grease Hair said, looking at you accusingly.

“Th-that’s all they give me,” you said, taking a small step back, wanting to keep the distance.

Her annoyance was bringing that evening back, full steam ahead. It was so reminiscent. Every emotion coming from them, everything from within you was coming closer and closer to the surface, replaying that horrible night. You had to hold on, just for a little longer.

“But they give you more, right?” Pennsatucky said, looking up from admiring the pills in her hand.

Your eyes were filling up with salty water, you throat was clogging up.

“I... I-I get some in the mornings.”

Your voice was slowly betraying you, hiding away inside your chest. Your shoulders were reaching higher and higher, almost hiding you between them. There was no part of you that wanted to be there, all of you remembered what had happened last time. Everything was screaming inside of you for you to get out of there, get somewhere safe.

“Good,” Doggett said, startling you where you stood trying not to cave in on yourself. “Then you can bring me those too.”

“Please...” you didn’t know what compelled you to even try, but you did. “I n-need them. Just... one. Please? I-I’m in a lot of p-pain...”

Doggett moved with quick steps, coming face to face with you as she invaded your personal space, her energy strong despite her stature.

“I’ll make sure you’ll be in even more pain of you don’t shut that cocksuckin’ mouth of yours, and hand over those pills!”

You gasped and trembled, but stayed put. It wasn’t so much out of will, but more that you just couldn’t bring yourself to move. Looking away from Pennsatucky, you could see the other girls also keeping their distance, seemingly not all that comfortable with the anger, but relieved it was not aimed at them.

“If you don’t give me those pills, I will cut you open like a Christmas ham,” she said, voice calmer but no less serious. “Think your kind, generous, hunks of officers can save you from that? Hmm?”

She was mocking you. She even turned her body enough to invite the other two into the conversation, but they only smiled and let her keep on. And she didn’t even notice how you flinched with each praising word used to describe the men who assaulted you.

“’Cause I don’t,” she said, like you were simply discussing if the weather was going to be nice. “Because... I have my ways. And my ways are no less than creative, no less than inventive. And no matter how many times you fuck officer Barnes, or officer Rogers, or whoever else it may be... No matter how much cum you guzzle down... they won’t always be there.”

Doggett raised her brows at you, her face contorted into feigned concern. It almost looked like she was looking out for you with what she was saying. But the truth was the clear opposite.

“So... I say... You hand over those pills, and do so with joy—” she said with a grin. “—and we won’t have a problem. How’s that sound?”

There was nothing you wanted more than to sink through the floor, through the grounds of the earth and just be eaten whole by its core. Then it would be no more pain, no more fear, no more threats. Then there would be nothing. You would be nothing.

“Okay...”

Again, you had to let yourself take a mental, emotional and phycological beating to avoid a physical one. And the logic of that was becoming more and more unclear. Physical pain was fleeting, it was momentary. This, what you were feeling now... was not. Yet you had again made the conscious choice to add to it.

“Alrighty then,” Doggett said with glee. “We’ll see ya tomorrow then.”

She walked past you, close enough to bump into your shoulder. The pain resonated down to your wrist, and you couldn’t help but groan. The others, Grease Hair one and two, both gave you a lop-sided smile when they heard it, before following Pennsatucky out the door. Leaving you alone. No one cared about your pain.

Breathing was becoming harder by the second. Your heart was trying to break through the bones of your chest, ripping through your flesh. Everything tensed up, everything shook and trembled, enough to send you reeling to the floor. With gasping breaths, you scooted back and back and back until you hit the wall behind you. You forced your knees up towards your chest as high as you could, wrapping your arms around them and squeezed as much as you could with one good arm. It didn’t help. It didn’t stop it. It was still happening.

The room was closing in. The walls were coming closer, the table was getting higher where it stood beside you, dwarfing you where you sat huddled in the corner. The wall of washing machines was building higher, wider, blocking everything. Blocking you. Caging you in.

Flashes of memories appeared, so vivid you could see it all before you. How Steve threw you against those very machines. How he had held you when Bucky pressed the taser into your abdomen and sent shocks of searing pain through you. How Bucky send you careening into the wall where they mocked you, threatened you, teased you. And for a moment, just a short moment, you even saw how you fought back. When you found some fire inside that made you kick your leg out, making contact with Bucky’s leg. How you didn’t give up. How you fought.

But the images of you being thrown over a table... Forced down by an easy grip on your neck... And how your trousers and underwear where torn away to expose your private parts, revealed the opposite. When you gave up. When you stopped fighting. When you shattered.

Tears were streaming down your face as you rocked back and forth like a crazy person. Every time you exhaled you let out a dark groan, a cry for any sort of help to make it all stop. But it didn’t come. It never came.

It wasn’t new. It wasn’t new to you, to have any of those things happen. It wasn’t something you hadn’t heard before, or felt before. It just kept coming. It just kept happening. No matter what you did, no matter how hard you fought against it, it just kept happening. It never stopped. It was never going to stop...

And now people knew. People had seen what had happened to you, what you let happen to you. They had seen your shame, seen you faulter. They had seen how worthless you were, how shameful and stupid. Every mark on your body might be on display somewhere, more than what you were constantly carrying around with you and trying to keep hidden from the light.

You had always tried to hide the stories written so boldly on your skin. Each one told its own tale, carried its own hatred and pain. They were the pieces. Your life was the puzzle. And in your mind, you carried the finished picture. There was nothing you wanted more than to have a different puzzle to put together. A different picture to look at. Something that didn’t tell of hurt, and blood, and pain.

But what you had so tirelessly kept hidden from view, kept safe from everybody else, kept to yourself to keep you from falling apart, had now been broadcasted to the world. There was light shone on it, it was under a magnifying glass, put under scrutiny. It was real. It was everywhere.

The flashing images didn’t stop either. It was a whole marathon of punches, kicks, cuts, blood and rape being replayed inside your mind. And every possible time it could happen again, just for good measure, was played there too. Anyone could hurt you like that again. Any man who ever got close to you could rape you. Again. There was no escaping from it. There was no stopping it from happening again. No matter what you did... you got hurt.

Your ears were so taken by the sounds coming from your mouth that they failed to register the opening of the doors, or the footsteps of the approaching officer. Nothing warned you of his presence, before his voice startled you out of your panic.

“Are you hurt?”

You gasped. Your eyes flew to the dark and handsome officer standing a few feet away, his kind eyes now lined with worry as you looked up at him. Unconsciously you pressed back even more against the wall, your mind working through every possible outcome of this encounter, and none ended well for you.

“I...I...”

You couldn’t speak. Your voice had escaped and left only the tension of your vocal cords, now choking any sound you tried to make. Nothing clear could come out, only hiccupping shudders and groans.

Officer Wilson took another step closer, but he seemed aware of how easily you spooked, and kept his distance.

“Inmate, are you hurt?” he tried again, louder than before.

This time he got a shake of your head as a response. You took a deep breath in, and slowly let it out. You repeated the same procedure again and again, and eventually the tears stopped falling, and your chest stopped bobbing like a cork in the water and actually drew breath deep enough to be calming.

“N-no, I...” you breathed deeply. “I am f-fine, s-sir. I’m fine.”

The easiest lie you could tell. Such easy words to say. Yet they held so much meaning.

The officer nodded once, still keeping on his side of the room.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, that’s good.”

You wanted so bad to close your eyes and just breathe, just let the panic settle and disappear to the back of your mind where it always slept soundly, but you couldn’t tear your eyes off of the man standing in front of you. Was he going to hurt you? He seemed to have other intentions, but there was no trusting that. You couldn’t trust anyone, let alone your own mind.

“Could you please stand up for me?” Sam asked softly, but was ready should you try anything.

This wasn’t his first time handling an upset or crazed inmate, and he knew the dangers that could come with it. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Standing felt like a hike up Mount Everest but eventually you got there. Afterall, you had to do what the man told you to do. Your legs were weak and stiff, and threatened multiple times to quit on you. But you stayed standing. With tear streaked cheeks and red eyes you stayed standing, watching the officer as he watched you.

“Okay,” he said, his voice still soft and gentle. “Do you have anything on you?”

“N-no, sir,” you said with a shaky but still stable voice.

The panic was simmering down. Soon there was only the aftermath left, the traces scorched everywhere; your mind, your emotions, your body. You were shot to hell, and wanted nothing more than to sleep, and not feel anymore. But you still had to face the obstacle standing in front of you. And like clockwork, the build of another kind of panic was back.

Sam nodded slowly and visibly relaxed when you held your hands somewhat away from your body to show that you were no threat to him. What he couldn’t see, was the turmoil going on inside your head, still calculating the threat of him.

“Okay,” he said, which was apparently his favourite word. “I just need to check to make sure that you don’t have anything on you. Turn around, and face the wall.”

He was going to hurt you. It was going to happen again, in this very room. You were so sure of it, sure that the officer was doing to hurt you, was going to do harm to your body, in one way or the other. But you didn’t have it in you to even try to fight it. The light was gone. The fire was out. So, you did as he said. You turned around, facing the wall, and prepared yourself for what was to come.

“Hands on the wall,” Sam said, his voice tighter than before.

You did as he instructed, and your shaky hands found the coarseness of the wall. He walked up to you, you could feel his presence as he approached, then feeling him put a hand between your shoulders to keep you put. Your body froze as your mind went blank, simply waiting for it to be over. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you would let him. Because that was the best thing to do. It was the easiest.

But the officer’s hands simply patted gently around your body, checking your pockets, feeling for any hidden objects anywhere on your person, and when he found none, he simply let you go.

“Alright,” he said, and backed away from you. “I just had to make sure you weren’t gonna hurt yourself, or anyone else for that matter.”

You didn’t move. You stayed there, hand against the wall with your eyes closed, still prepared for what was to come. It wasn’t over. But he didn’t do anything else. He didn’t touch you anywhere else, or even as much as shoved you against the wall. He had let you go.

“You’re not in trouble, Harper,” Sam said to the back of your head, waiting for any kind of response.

Not in trouble. There was no way for you to be sure of that, but what you did know was that the officer wasn’t touching you anymore. He wasn’t hurting you. Now. He might hurt you later, but not now. Perhaps it was too risky at the moment. Perhaps he preferred to do it during the night, when there were less people around that could see. That could stop him. That could help you. But he wasn’t doing it now. Now, you were safe.

You let your hands fall from the wall, and you slowly turned around. You kept your eyes down, scolding yourself for having faced him before. You should know better than to do that. Should know better than to look a man in the eyes, challenging him like that. You should know better.

Sam didn’t leave just yet. He was still worried about you. You didn’t look fine, no matter how many times you said it, there was no evidence of that fact. It looked like you were barely breathing, which you weren’t, and the parts of your face that he could see all looked tired beyond belief.

“What happened?” he asked, watching you flinch at the sound of his voice.

“Nothing, sir,” you whispered.

What could you possibly say? ‘My stepbrother raped me for years and years, then I went to prison for murdering him when I actually was only trying to stop him, then two of your fellow officers raped me, but everyone thinks it’s consensual and that I’m sleeping with them for favours, which means that the other inmates are threatening me, and now the whole world knows about what happened with my stepbrother, has seen what happened, and it’s all my fault.’.

Everyone knows. And no one knows. That’s what happened.

Sam stood there. Not saying anything, he just looked at you, taking it all in. You were scared. Terrified even. Defeated. He had seen it before with other inmates. Nothing as serious as this, but he had seen it. That look on your face, the one that you tried so hard to hide from everyone, but sometimes you just couldn’t.

He sighed lowly, but didn’t let you know what he was thinking or feeling. But he wanted you to know that you didn’t need to be afraid of him.

“Okay, Harper. I just thought I’d ask since I saw Doggett with her crew leaving here, looking cheerful and that’s never good for others, I’ve learned. But if you say it’s nothing, then it’s nothing. But if there is something... anything... I’ll listen.”

The officer seemed to have a kind heart. Something you’d hate to taint with your life or presence, something that seemed inevitable given your history. And if he was to know what you were really feeling, what you were really thinking about... He wouldn’t believe you anyway. No one ever believed you.

“Yes, sir.”

Sam didn’t fail to hear the automatic of the response. He didn’t fail to hear the hollowness of your voice when you said it. But he was going to stay true to his word, and not push if that wasn’t what you wanted.

“Alright, then,” he said, and held out an arm towards the door. “After you.”

Sam had parted ways with you outside of the laundry room. You had seemed to need the space, and he was done for the day. He had been on his way back to the staffroom to get his things when he spotted Doggett and the others leaving in a very cheery mood, and had decided to take a look. He was glad he had done so. Even though he didn’t find anything sharp on you, he wasn’t all that convinced that you weren’t going to hurt yourself. In some way.

When he got to the staffroom there was no one there. So, he got his things and headed for the door. He didn’t need to report any of it to his fellow officers, the matter was taken care of. But when he spotted Steve standing by the intake as he passed, he couldn’t help but step inside.

Steve was finishing up some paperwork for a transfer, and only looked up when he spotted Wilson walking up to him, already wearing his jacket.

“Leaving?” Steve asked, looking back down at the papers on the desk.

“Yeah,” Sam said with a short nod. “I just thought you might wanna know that I saw Harper.”

That got Steve’s attention, and he put down the pen and turned to Sam, leaning against the counter.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I found her in the laundry room. She was pretty upset. It looked like she was having a panic attack.”

The laundry room. Of course. Steve wasn’t surprised to hear the words ‘laundry room’ and ‘panic attack’ together, not after what had happened there. He looked down on the floor, flooded with shame and remorse just from hearing it.

“Really?” he said, trying to keep the somber tone from being too apparent. “Where is she now?”

“We parted ways in the corridor,” Sam explained. “I didn’t see where she went, but she’s not there anymore.”

He waited for Steve to say something, but he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at the floor. The grip on his hip was getting tighter, enough so to whiten his knuckles. Sam didn’t comment on it.

“Doggett was leaving with Leanne Taylor and Angie Rice,” he went on, earning Steve’s attention again. “I saw them come out of the laundry room so I went to check. That’s when I found Harper sitting in the corner. I don’t know what happened, and Harper wouldn’t say, but I thought you’d wanna know.”

Steve gave him a warm smile and a slight nod.

“Thank you, Sam. I appreciate it.”

Sam did the same, and turned on his heel and walked out the door.

“Have a good night,” he said, and disappeared around the corner, before reappearing in a window in the wall where Steve nodded goodbye to him.

Steve placed his palms against the smooth surface of the counter, and leaned heavily on them, his head bowed down. He drew a deep breath, letting it out in a huff strong enough to rustle some of the papers before him.

He hated hearing that you weren’t okay, that you were hurting. There was no way of knowing if Doggett and her friends might have done something to set it off, but Steve had a feeling it was more the surroundings than the company that had done it. He himself had subconsciously kept his distance from that very room, not wanting to be reminded of what had taken place there. What he and Bucky had done.

The fact that you had been there worried him. And the fact that you’d had a panic attack or the likes, was even more worrisome. They had both been so stupid as to think that an apology, an empty promise to not hurt you again, would do anything to reassure you. Because it was just that; empty. You had no trust left for them, and they couldn’t blame you for that.

Steve finished up the paperwork in a jiff, passing it on to where it needed to go, and headed off to find you. He just needed to make sure, he just needed to see for himself that you were as fine as could be expected in a situation like this. He passed through the hallways, twisting and turning and keeping an eye out for you. And he wasn’t the only one.

Bucky appeared from an adjacent hallway, spotting Steve.

“Hey,” he said, earning an acknowledging nod. “I thought you were at the intake.”

“I was,” Steve said, coming to a stop and took a moment to relax. “I just heard from Wilson that Harper wasn’t feeling too good, so...”

Bucky searched Steve’s face, finding traces of worry before Steve forced them away and replaced them with an annoying, almost apologetic look. Bucky smirked.

“And you thought you’d just go see for yourself, huh? Make sure she’s alright, and all that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said, and couldn’t help but give a hint of a smile.

“Knight in shining armour,” Bucky said smoothly. “I like it. Suits you, Rogers.”

A small blush started making its way up Steve’s neck, and he shook his head at his friend. Not that it helped much to keep the blush away, but still.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, okay, Barnes?”

“Oh, how could I not? With a dreamy saviour like you standing right next to me?”

Bucky even winked at him, really pulling Steve’s leg and running with it. And the fact that it just made Steve turn even redder was just too good to pass up on.

O.o.O.o.O

Officer Wilson hadn’t followed you like you thought he might. He had turned around his own corner and left you to your own device, something you were more than grateful for. You really didn’t need the pressure of another man’s presence right now, you had enough on your plate as it were.

Releasing some of the panic that always resided inside your mind was usually a relief, but this hadn’t been. Sure, you had been interrupted in the middle of it all, but that didn’t feel like the cause for all the pent-up stress still inside you. You were still so afraid.

The fearing rabbit was back. You literally looked terrified where you walked, head shooting from one side to the other, constantly aware of everyone’s presence around you. Whenever someone took a step, you knew. Whenever someone laughed, it echoed in your ears. Your senses were on hyperalert. So, to miss the impending confrontation stalking towards you was a surprise on its own.

Prison was very segregated, that you had learned. And the only ones who had bothered you before were the people living in the ‘suburbs’. They had been very vocal and somewhat physical in their threats, but nothing like this.

“Ey, blanca,” was all you heard before you were slammed into a wall.

“Ugh!”

Before you stood three Spanish inmates, all of whom you had never had an interaction with before. If it weren’t for the tags hanging from their clothes you still wouldn’t have an idea who they were. But now Diaz, looking made up from head to toe, Flores with hair as unruly as can be, making her look like a lunatic, and Ramos were all new acquaintances, Diaz being the one keeping you pinned to the wall.

“Who you think you are getting off on sending guards after us, huh? Huh?” she barked at you, shaking you where you stood frozen like a ghost.

“I-I don’t k-know what y-you’re t—”

She shoved you again, not letting you finish your defence. The pretty, younger girl to her right, Ramos, got a word in before Diaz did.

“As if we don’t know it’s you who’s fucking the guards?”

“Yeah,” Flores said, before she started ranting in Spanish, gesturing boldly and looked angrier by the second.

Your eyes jumped from one angry woman to the other, trying to make sense of the situation. You had no idea what the heck they were talking about, or what had even happened, but they were convinced it was all your fault. They said you had sent guards after them, which wasn’t true at all, but the truth never seemed to matter, or do any good. They were convinced you were at fault, and if they wanted to make you the scapegoat, then you’d be their scapegoat. It didn’t matter what you said or did.

Diaz’s hands on you tightened as she slammed you back against the wall again, banging your head against it harshly.

“You wanna fuck with us, huh?” she asked through gritted teeth. “You want the entire Latina population against you, huh?”

“I-I...” you tried to speak but no words would come out, fear silencing you as always, and the raging headache did little to help.

This situation was new. You had never seen this, you didn’t know what rules to follow, how the game was played, or what would set them off. Was begging the right choice? Was it better to stay silent and simply wait for them to go away? You had no idea, and their yelling wouldn’t stop.

“What?” Ramos spat, coming closer to your face. “You got nothin’ to say, huh? What? The guards fuck your throat raw so you can’t speak?”

“P-please, I-I...”

Everything always came back to officer Rogers and Barnes. Why couldn’t it all just stop? The memory was so close you could almost touch it, you felt in simmering inside your mind, prying for attention. And any mention of them or what had happened with them, only brought everything closer to the surface. Fight? Flight? Freeze? Or fawn? It was a spinning wheel of choices, of decisions that needed to be made, but it was never up to you. You mind acted in its own accord, your body following suit.

Flores was still dictating a novel in Spanish in your ear, and it didn’t exactly seem like a comedic one. It was most likely just the translated version of whatever Diaz and Ramos were yelling at you.

Any other inmate turned on their heel when they spotted the encounter, disappearing around the nearest corner or walking back the same way they had come from. They must know better than to get involved in prison drama. No one stepped in, or stepped up to your defence. No one helped you.

You were forced against a wall and held there, being screamed at in both English and Spanish, all the while being accused, again, of having inappropriate relations with a guard. Or several. Whatever the rumour told of this time.

You didn’t see it coming, but you felt the sting of your cheek and split of your lip as you were slapped hard enough to send your head careening to the side. There wasn’t any time to even register it happening before Diaz got all up in your face.

“You think it’s funny to send a guard to harass my daughter? What she ever do to you? Huh? What she ever do?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, probably not wanting one, before she slammed a fist into your stomach. How reminiscent. Just like when Bucky had been the one to throw the punch, it landed hard enough to force you to double over. Ramos took advantage of it, and knocked a knee up to your face. The pain resonated from your mouth, and the taste of blood hit as hard as the first sip of water after a long desert walk. This you knew. This was familiar territory. You were almost relieved. Familiarity would do that.

You spat out blood, your coughing sending it in splotches all over the floor as you tried to ease the pain in your abdomen. She’d hit it hard and low, and it was enough to bring the pain back in your entire core, from the outside in. You wouldn’t be surprised if it caused more blood to seep out. It certainly felt like it.

“Agh...”

You tried gasping for breath but you couldn’t find it, and when Diaz grabbed your hair and pulled you back up against the wall, it wasn’t any easier. She stared right at you, her eyes blow dark with rage.

“You ever come near my kid, my daughter... I will end you, blanca.”

Her free hand disappeared under the hem of her shirt, only to come back holding a homemade shiv. It was a simple toothbrush with a melted-in razorblade, the metallic shining beautifully in the light even, mocking you with its beauty when all it would do was cause you pain. You stared at it in wonder, almost in awe, just waiting for the inevitable.

The officers’ friendly little chat was interrupted when they heard commotion coming from around the corner. They could hear Flores ranting in Spanish, which on its own wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but the faint wheezing and coughing coming from another person usually didn’t accompany it.

Steve looked at Bucky, both seemingly reading the other’s mind, and bolted towards the noise. They appeared just as Aleida Diaz brought a blade up to your face, threatening to use it.

“Hey!” Bucky shouted, startling everyone.

You gasped at the sound of the angry officer, as did Ramos. They all turned towards the guards quickly gaining on them, but Diaz didn’t seem too fazed. Ramos took a staggering step back with her hands out to her sides, looking as innocent as can be. Flores got ready for a rumble, placing her feet wide apart and just waited for the officers to give it their best shot, not planning on going down without a fight.

Fear bloomed in your chest at the sight of their angry faces as they came barrelling towards you. It was hard to distinguish memory from reality, what was really happening and what had already happened. You weren’t sure if you were back in that laundry room, held to the wall by the officers, or here in the corridor, actually held back by an inmate. Everything muddled together.

You looked back at Diaz who seemed unbothered by the impending threat of the officers, undoubtedly coming for her. She lowered the blade from your face, and gave you a wicked smile.

“Don’t ever think we ain’t gonna get you,” she said lowly. “You better remember that, blanca.”

Diaz swiftly stabbed the blade into your belly, right before Bucky managed to tackle her to the ground hard enough to cause the blade to fall from her hand and bounce away on the floor. Steve made quick work of bringing Flores down to the floor and cuffing her hands behind her back, as she continued to spit obscenities at him in Spanish, kicking out in the air hoping to catch him.

“Stay down!” Bucky yelled at Diaz, who still wouldn’t shift her focus from you.

“Fuckin perra!”

The commotion had brought the attention of officer Donaldson, who came running up and grabbing Ramos, bringing her to a wall and kept her there. She didn’t put up much of a fight, instead she started pleading her case and innocence in the matter.

You stood there, rooted to the spot and just staring straight ahead. Your hands were shaking, your breathing was nothing besides shallow puffs and huffs as tears started falling down your cheeks.

“You fucking puta!” Diaz yelled from where she lay on the floor with Bucky on top of her, a knee pressing down hard into her back.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Bucky spat at her, as he made swift work of the cuffs.

The clinking of the metal bands sent another course of flashes through your mind, and the pain in your abdomen came back as you remembered the taser being pressed so hard into your belly. You could still feel the pain. It was still there. It hurt.

With teary eyes you looked down, finding your grey shirt being slowly stained with blood, seeping through the fabric and spreading like paint on a wall. A shaky hand came to press against it, only to draw back revealing a coat of warm blood on it.

Steve and Bucky both looked up at you from where they sat on top of the inmates who had hurt you, their eyes jumping from your abdomen to your face. But you were so lost in the fog inside your mind that you couldn’t see them. You couldn’t see anything but the blood on your hand, the blood that was pouring from a wound in your belly, a wound you had yet to see. Another scar to add to the collection, you could hear Nate’s voice calling.

Before either Steve or Bucky could ask you how you were, CO Donaldson reached for his radio, keeping one hand still on Ramos as he held her to the wall.

“Requesting backup in corridor C. A fight between inmates resulting in three arrests and counting. In need of backup immediately.” He let go of his radio and directed his focus on you. “Stay where you are, inmate. Don’t move a muscle.”

His voice drew your attention, but you couldn’t hear the words he was repeating over and over. You could see his hand reached out towards you, as if to keep you pinned from afar, but you couldn’t hear him. You just stared at him, eyes glazed over and swimming in tears, still not breathing right.

“Ease up, she’s hurt,” Steve said to his fellow officer, hoisting Flores up from the floor, who cursed at him under her breath.

Donaldson looked at Steve.

“You saw the fight?”

Steve looked down at Bucky who was still keeping Diaz pinned down and checking her over for any hidden weapons, their eyes meeting briefly.

“No, not all of it,” Steve admitted.

“Then how do you know she didn’t start this?” Donaldson pushed, looking accusingly at both Steve and you.

Steve couldn’t argue with that. He hadn’t seen what had happened, and claiming otherwise wasn’t right. Though he was very sure you were yet again just the victim, he couldn’t fight another battle for you, not like this.

Aleida Diaz groaned as Bucky laid off her, before pulling her up to her feet in a not so gentle move. It startled you, brought you back to the present and the pain, your eyes shooting to hers when you once again came face to face with her.

“Wha’? You fuck anyone in a badge, huh?” she said, voice laced with spite. “You fuck your brother, too?”

What? You stared at her like you’d seen a ghost, and in a way you had. She knew Nate was your stepbrother? How long had she known? Did she know about what happened to him too? Everything was just spiraling into an even worse darkness. There was no stopping it. Her words, her eyes, the searing pain in your abdomen just became too much.

“Shut the fuck up!” Steve barked at Diaz as soon as he heard it.

Bucky gave her a shove to add to the command, leading her away from the commotion in an attempt to calm things down. If he was being honest, he really didn’t want you to get an other earful of whatever shit she had to say about you, or them, or your stepbrother. You’d had more than enough.

Steve looked humbly at you, noting the paleness of your face, along with the blood dripping from your mouth, and the far away stare. You kept a hand pressed to the wound on your belly, but it was like you weren’t really in your body, by the looks of it. Or maybe you were trapped inside your head.

“You okay?” he asked softly, not caring about the glare coming from Donaldson at such gentle language.

His voice drew your attention. For the first time in a really long time, you looked at him. Really looked at him. His blue eyes were filled with concern and sadness and compassion. Lines of worry framed his eyes as his brows furrowed together. There was a tension in his jaw you hadn’t seen before. Like he had a world of words to say but no means to say them.

CO Maxwell and O’Neill came jogging from down the hall, the sound of their footsteps bringing you out of your trance. You blinked like you had been blinded by the light, and started gasping for breath. It felt like you had been under water for hours, slowly drowning and not having enough air to fill your lungs. You gasped and gasped for breath, the tension burning in your chest, but it helped keep you grounded.

That’s when the pain really appeared. You pressed down harder on the wound, knowing it would only hurt more, but experience told you that you had to. This was nothing if not familiar. The sarcastic remark of ‘at least it’s even on both sides now’ came to your mind, Nate’s shallow chuckle accompanying it shortly after.

“What happened?” Maxwell asked, assessing the situation.

She looked between her fellow officers and the inmates gathered, noticing the blood on your shirt. O’Neill stepped up and grabbed Flores from Steve, and started patting her down just in case, as was protocol.

Steve straightened his back, never once looking away from you. He drew a deep breath, also familiar with situations like this.

“Barnes and I came around the corner and found Harper being ganged up on by Diaz, Ramos and Flores,” he started explaining. “It looks like she’s been stabbed with a shiv, she’s bleeding pretty badly.”

Maxwell looked around, nodding to Donaldson as he started leading Ramos away, and checked in with O’Neill, who was still patting down an angry Flores.

“Mother Diaz or daughter?” she asked.

“Mother.”

She nodded, looking back when she heard the sound of O’Neill leading Flores away as well, leaving just her and Steve with you.

“Where’s the shiv?” she asked.

“It fell out of Diaz’s hand when Bucky took her down,” Steve informed, and noticed the weapon discarded on the floor further down the hallway.

Maxwell noticed it too, and made the decision that it could wait until she had checked you over. She looked at you searchingly, before stepping closer, making you take a flinching step back, a gasp joining in. She held her hands up to show that she didn’t have any bad intentions, and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said softly. “I just need to take a look.”

“No!” you almost screamed, taking another step away from the officer, your eyes glued to hers.

You shook your head over and over, whispering ‘no’ like it was a prayer. You felt everyone’s eyes on you, but you didn’t care. They could look at your face all they wanted, as long as she didn’t look at your body. You pressed down harder, causing another gush of blood to spew from the wound. Your other hand flew to the wall to keep you steady, as you kept the distance.

Steve took a short step forward, knowing how startled you must be from that alone, and he was not wrong. Your jaw was quivering and your body trembled as your eyes jumped to his. He lowered his head and slumped his shoulders, trying to appear smaller. It was hard enough with a stature like his, and his build didn’t make it any better.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said calmingly. “We don’t need to look. I’ll take you straight down to see nurse Banner, okay? He’ll patch you up.”

There weren’t really any other options to choice from, and the nurse had been very kind whenever you had seen him. He seemed like the best shot, and hopefully you would be able to hide your body as much as possible during the examination. If you said no right now, chances were that one or more of the officers would look first, and no matter what you would have to see Banner. So, you nodded, and made your choice.

CHAPTER 27 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 8151

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

Chapter 27

-

Sleep had done little to either one of the men in the case of forgiveness versus guilt. If it wasn’t for the aid of over-the-counter sleeping pills, neither one would have gotten any shuteye. Last night’s events, well, this night’s events, were still very present in their minds. They didn’t know which part ranked highest on the list of occupying thoughts, it all kind of muddled together.

Bucky knew he shouldn’t have searched for any of the videos or news regarding you, but he just couldn’t help it. He still had an hour or so before they needed to head to work, and he just couldn’t resist the temptation. Before long, he found himself several clips deep, fighting to hold back the anger. So far, he had seen Nate beat the shit out of you twice, his friends joining in once, and glimpses of a rape in the latest video. You looked quite young in a few, still in your teen years, which meant that the abusive relationship had lasted for several years and not just a short period of time. Not that it would be any better if that was the case, but still.

He had shut off his computer after seeing that last part, and gone outside to have a go at the punching bag they had hanging from a tree out in the garden. He was pounding away, punching the anger out with each hit. Minute after minute of punching left him breathless and sore, but he still wouldn’t cave. He had to get it all out. He had to tire his body and mind out enough so the guilt would stop. But no matter how hard, or how much he hit that sandbag, his shame wasn’t lessened.

Steve came walking out into the yard, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt which seemed to be one size too small, clinging to his body like it was painted on. Bucky had shorts on, having already discarded his shirt inside, knowing it would just get sticky with sweat. The sun was beaming down on him, joining in the efforts of slicking his skin in salty pearls running down his chest and abs, bumping along the muscle and glistening in the light.

Bucky saw Steve approaching, but didn’t stop his defenseless fighting, exhaling loudly with each punch. Steve stopped not to far away from him, hands deep in his pockets as he just watched on.

“Unruly mind?” he asked, which was answered firstly by a loud huff.

“Could say that,” Bucky said breathlessly, but still wouldn’t give in.

Steve nodded at him, not expecting him to drop any time soon.

“You watched some clips too, I take it?” he asked in a somber tone, and Bucky perked an eyebrow at him. Of course, he wasn’t alone in his curiosity.

“A few,” he grunted, and gave a particular harsh punch.

Steve waited a beat, letting Bucky work out his frustration on the bag, lest risk it all being verbally directed at him. But when Bucky still wouldn’t stop, even when his punches started becoming erratic, unprecise and too quick for any accuracy, Steve stepped in between and grabbed the bag.

“Hey, stop, stop,” he said with a hand up, and Bucky backed off.

He still looked heated. He was shaking out his hands, kicking his feet about and breathing like he’d just ran a marathon. And that should not be the case for him after only a few minutes with a punching bag, no matter how hard the hits.

“Calm down,” Steve said in a low voice, trying not to sound too demeaning.

“Calm down?” Bucky mimicked, finding any offence he could. “How the fuck am I supposed to calm down, Steve? Huh?”

Steve didn’t say anything in response. He just waited for Bucky to get ahold of himself again, watching him pace back and forth, trying to reel himself in again. He managed it after a minute or so, and eventually stopped pacing.

“Okay,” he said, both to himself and Steve, as if to give the go-ahead for a lecture, which Steve was a master at.

Steve hadn’t come out to give Bucky a lecture though. He had come out just to be there, to find comfort for himself too, and not be so alone with what he was feeling. They were both going through the same thing, they were in this together so they might as well stick it out together.

Bucky started undoing the wrapping protecting his knuckles, drawing deep breaths to calm his racing heart as he spun the elastic around.

“At least you remembered to wrap your hands,” Steve pointed out, his tone now lighter.

Bucky raised a brow at his friend, before finding an amused scoff in himself.

“Imagine that,” he said, and jokingly threw the damp piece of elastic band right at Steve’s chest.

Steve couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, even letting out a small chuckle. This was their jargon. This was how they worked. It was both domestic and familiar, and therefore, comforting.

Instead of discarding of the damp cloth, he started wrapping the band around his own hand, testing the tightness of it. Bucky threw the other one at him once he was finished unwinding it, and went to stand to the side, hands on his hips as he drew a lungful of air to calm down.

“I tried to find some information on who leaked the footage,” Steve said as he wrapped the other hand. “Couldn’t find anything. Seems to be a mystery.”

Bucky nodded as he listened. He had wondered the same a few times, and still couldn’t understand how it even went missing in the first place. But there was about fuck-all he could do about it so…

“Give it time,” he said, and kicked a stick away. “I’m sure they will come to some sort of conclusion on the matter.”

Steve perked an eyebrow at his friend. Wasn’t like him to be the reasonable one of the two, yet here they were. He tied off the elastic by his wrist, and tested the tightness of his fist.

“You seem hopeful,” he said, and threw the first of many punches on the smooth surface.

“Gotta be, right? What do we have if we ain’t got hope?”

Steve stopped hitting the bag in front of him and looked befuddled at his friend where he stood. Bucky raised a questioning brow.

“What?” he said. “Isn’t that what they say? Carpe diem and all that shit?”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh at that, grabbing his chest even.

“Sure, sure,” he said through his chuckle. “Seize the day, my friend.”

Bucky knew Steve was mocking him, but laughter started brewing in his chest, and he just had to join in.

“Jerk,” he said, before nodding to the bag, which hung calm and still. “Come on! You’re gonna hit it, or what?”

Steve just shook his head with a smile, and started hitting the bag, landing hard punches. Both men liked the routine of it all, the familiarity. This wasn’t contaminated by everything that had happened, everything that they had done. Whether they were in a good mood or a bad mood, the bag was there to be punched. It was like having a live-in therapist.

Bucky waited a beat, letting the slap of Steve’s fist hitting the bag fill the silence for a moment or two, before he spoke.

“So, uh… Think anything’s changed now? I mean, after the apology and… whatnot.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow at him, and jerked his head sideways, but he didn’t stop his hits from still meeting the leather.

“Who knows?” he grunted. “I mean, the trust is pretty much shot, I doubt that’s gonna change. But… maybe she’ll be more comfortable around us? I don’t know.”

Even though he said it, Steve doubted any of it. How were you supposed to be comfortable around the men that hurt you so badly? It probably didn’t matter that they had said they were sorry. Break a plate and apologize, but that won’t put the plate back together. But he wanted to hope that it helped at least.

Bucky nodded slowly, still watching Steve.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, but he didn’t sound as hopeful as before. “I never thought it was gonna end up like this.”

Steve stopped what he was doing, huffing and puffing with a few beads of sweat crowning his forehead.

“What was?”

“Our little… sexcapade,” he said through a snort. “You know, trying out the waters of that dom/sub thing. Never thought we’d both be so blind and not see what the fuck we were actually doing.”

It hurt to know that they had been so stupid and so delusional to the whole thing. They had wanted to try it out for quite some time, to really dominate someone, to take charge and maybe do a little hurting. To have someone be so utterly defenseless and submissive that she would just have to take what they were giving. But this was not that. The pain was supposed to heighten the pleasure. It was supposed to be playful in its seriousness. It was supposed to be a moment of control, the power of pleasure and pain, and the balance of the two.

But anger, hate and eagerness had seized their minds, and morphed what really happened into their fantasy. Placed all the pieces so it resembled domination, and not rape. They had let their want mix with their need for justification for Nate, and twisted and turned everything until all the pieces fit the puzzle. And your participation was simply demanded.

Steve sighed, deeply lost in what he was trying to hide from but couldn’t. How he had enjoyed certain parts, relished in them even, but was utterly disgusted by others. How could he say that out loud? That he simply whished it was consensual, but that the rest was welcomed. Would Bucky feel the same? Or would he think Steve was sick for feeling like that? Only one way to find out.

“Really should be something you discuss with a partner first, shouldn’t it?” he said, and threw a glance at Bucky, who nodded.

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be something you demand like that, something forced onto her. She should want it too, you know?”

Bucky was wearing his heart on his sleeve saying that, hoping that Steve wouldn’t find him repulsive for not completely hating what had taken place. He hoped Steve would feel the same, at least to some extent. They had discussed it a few times before after all, both sharing fantasies and ideas on the matter. Some which even took part in what they had done, like the cuffs, the manhandling, holding you down like that against the table, completely defenseless. But the tears and screams of terror, of fright, weren’t supposed to be there. At least not under those circumstances.

Steve nodded slowly, treading carefully.

“It was kind of a rush, wasn’t it? The power of it. The violence. If you take out all the bad parts. Even though we overdid it…”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to nod nervously.

“Yeah, it was,” he said. “Imagine how it would have been had she enjoyed it too.”

Both stood there, silent. If not for the wind rustling the leaves of the trees, it would be quiet as the grave. The mood was a bit tense, but not entirely. There were elements of apprehension, of doubt and uncertainty mixed in there.

“I just hate that it wasn’t consensual, you know,” Steve said, finally breaking the silence. “That we hurt her like that, that we… I don’t know. Broke her?”

Shame got mixed into everything as well, and it damn well should. Neither really wanted to escape it. They wanted to feel bad for what they had done. It was a relief to know that they weren’t that kind of monsters, that they would make sure that it never happened again. With anyone. That they might enjoy domination, but not rape.

“Me too,” Bucky said with a deep sigh. “But what’s done is done, there’s nothing we can do about it now. We can’t take it back, we can’t undo anything. We can only look out for her, help her in any way she needs, and, who knows… she might be alright in the end. After everything blows through.”

“You really think that?” Steve asked, liking what Bucky had said, but severally doubted it all.

“No,” Bucky said as a-matter-of-factly. “But what do we have if we ain’t got hope, right?”

Repeating the sentence was a way of tricking his mind into believing it. He really wanted you to be okay, he really wanted everything to be okay. As did Steve, who smiled back at him, before he started pounding the bag once again.

After they had both cleaned up and gotten dressed for work, and ate some very delayed breakfast, they headed off to work. It was a nice day out, and the next one should be too, so they opted for their bikes in the fresh air. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, they were quick to take it. The ride to work wasn’t far, one of the upsides of living on prison grounds.

They parked in their places, which just happened to be next to Luscheck’s parking space, and the contrast of their bikes was stark. Luscheck’s bike was a loud red, all plastic and sport-like, whereas theirs were shiny metallic against a sleek and clean black, made for style and power. It really looked like a toy next to theirs, which kind of pissed of Luscheck whenever he saw it. And neither Bucky nor Steve were going to lie and say they didn’t enjoy his jealousy.

They went through security where their fellow colleague patted them both down, then went to the staffroom to put away their lunches in the fridge. They hung off their jackets, and grabbed their belts and radios from the shelf, and headed out to start their day. Or evening as it was already late afternoon.

But they didn’t get too far before they bumped into Joe Caputo who had only just left the confines of his office. He perked up when he saw the two officers.

“Ah, Barnes, Rogers,” he said, and all three stopped in the middle of the tight corridor.

“Mr. Caputo,” Bucky said with a nod of his head, and Steve did the same.

“Glad I caught you,” Joe said and looked around, but the corridor was vacant. “I just got off the phone with Harper’s lawyer. Turns out a game of phone tag has been the issue here,” he said with a chuckle, before turning serious. “Any ways, he needs to speak with her immediately and let her know what’s going down. Could-could you please send her to my office, and I’ll… I don’t know, prepare her maybe?”

Bucky nodded just as Steve opened his mouth.

“Of course. I’ll get her right away.”

“Thank you, Rogers,” Joe said and patted a grateful hand on his arm. “I’ll be… yeah, I’ll be in my office,” he said with a nervous scoff, like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Joe turned on his heel and headed back towards his office, and Steve and Bucky headed to more densely populated areas. Bucky deviated towards the cafeteria, seeing as dinner was approaching, and Steve headed for the dorm, taking a fair guess of your whereabouts. You hadn’t really been anywhere else if you could help it.

He found you in your cube, sitting on top of your bed with your knees up and arms wrapped around them in a comforting embrace. You looked pale, and kind of out of it. Your gaze was dark but vacant, and deep lines had worried between your brows. Just like he had gotten used to seeing you. And he hated what he saw, hated himself for making you this way.

You saw a figure move into your line of vision, and visibly flinched. A gasp ran from your mouth at the realization of who it was, and you subconsciously pressed back harder against the wall. Officer Rogers was stood just outside your cube. His hands were on his belt, looking more menacingly than he meant to. When he saw what your eyes kept darting down to, he immediately let go. But the memory of the taser still caused a shiver to run down your spine.

He cleared his throat, running an anxious hand through his hair.

“Mr. Caputo wants to see you in his office,” he said.

The expression on your face must have been something of a mixture between utter worry and confusion, if Steve’s reaction was anything to go by. He looked awkwardly around for a quick moment, not wanting the encounter to seem like something it wasn’t, but he still wanted to reassure you.

“You’re not in trouble,” he said, with a small smile on his face.

You couldn’t understand why the… vice warden? wanted to see you. You didn’t even know what title he had, or what his job entailed, but you knew he was one of the higher-ups in the prison administration.

It couldn’t be about what happened with CO Rogers and Barnes, not if Steve was calmly coming to get you. Could it be about rumors? Nothing to explicit, cause then again, the guards would be in trouble as well. Unless it was nameless rumors of course, and no officer’s name had been mentioned. Or maybe he wanted to grill you on the events of your broken wrist? The options were endless.

You slowly moved to the end of the bed, awkwardly standing up and trying not to cause yourself too much pain in the process. You stood there for a second or two, just looking at the officer. Your gaze jumped to his once, before quickly darting back down again.

“O-okay, sir,” you said, and started walking.

Steve stepped back to allow you to move in front of him. He walked with you, keeping a respectable distance as to not cause any misconstrued assumptions, but close enough that it was still clear you were following an order.

The officer’s tall and proud stature was a sheer contrast to your own scrunched up shoulders and fragile looking state. His feet moved with determination, whereas yours merely shuffled along the floor to get where you needed to go, following someone else’s order. You hated how small you felt next to him, how clear the threat of his body was. You remembered how it felt when he held you trapped against his body, unrelenting and unmoving, no matter how much you thrashed around. You weren’t a match for him. At all.

When you reached Mr. Caputo’s office, Steve knocked twice on the wood of the ajar door, before stepping in and allowing you to follow suit. He planted himself at the entrance, guarding, as was his job. You took a nervous step inside, making sure to keep away from the officer out of respect. You didn’t want to know what he would do to you should you not give him the respect he deserved. Especially in front of his superior.

Joe had looked up from his desk when he heard the knock, and stood up to greet you both.

“Ah, Harper,” he said and pointed a hand at a chair before his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

An uncertain lump of dread had wedged itself in your throat, and your heart was doing tumbles in your chest. What was this all about? Why had you been called into his office? Surely if there was anything small, you would be in your counselor’s office, Mr. Healy, but you weren’t.

Joe gave Steve a warm smile and a nod for bringing you, which he returned in kind. Caputo cleared his throat as he sat back down, shuffling papers around.

You sat timidly in your chair, hands together between your knees. You wanted to press them together, for multiple reasons, but the shot of pain running up your arm held you back. So, you opted for the still and quiet option, and waited to hear what Mr. Caputo had to say.

“I, uh… I just got off the phone with your lawyer, Howard. He’s been trying to get in touch with you, regarding your case.”

You sat still in the chair, just listening to what Mr. Caputo had to say on the matter. You didn’t know what to make of it. Why would you need to talk to your lawyer?

“Oh…” you said, voice low and hushed. “W-well, I don’t have his number, sir.”

“That’s okay, I thought as much,” Joe said, and fished out a note from the sea of papers crowding his desk. “So, I’ve written it down for you. Now, he said he’ll be waiting by the phone until he hears from you.”

He handed the note to you, and you gratefully took it from him. You noticed his gaze bopping down to your incased wrist as you reached for the note.

“What happened to your arm?” he asked, and pointed down to the cast.

Steve felt like he just got kicked in the stomach again at the mention. Anything regarding you being hurt seemed to do that to him nowadays. Anything that reminded him what a scumbag he was, and what he had done. But he was right to feel that way. It was all true.

You looked down at your wrist, forcing a small smile to appear as you spoke.

“I just fell, sir.”

Caputo nodded, and ran a hand over his moustache like he usually did when he was unsure of what to do or say.

“Oh,” was the best he could do for the moment. “Well, prison is a dangerous place for many reasons, am I right?” he said with an unsure snort.

The familiar sting of tears started burning in your eyes, and your immediately blinked them away. The dangers of prison were far more than you had first anticipated. You had thought you could get by if you just kept to yourself and kept your head down. But instead, you were tortured and threatened by the guards, violently raped, and you had made an enemy of every inmate currently serving time. So, yes. Prison was a dangerous place.

“Yes, sir.”

Steve noticed the solemn tone of your voice, taking a fair guess as to what you were thinking about. It must be truly horrible for you to be spoken to with such words, unbeknownst to the speaker what pain it caused you to hear the simplicity of the statement.

“Okay,” Caputo said and broke the growing tension, and Steve straightened his back.

You still sat there, quietly in the chair with the note safely in your hand. You looked down at it.

“Uhm… When can I call?” you asked.

“What?”

“I… My lawyer’s number… It isn’t on my approved call-list, sir.”

Another gut punch for Steve at the reminder of your innocence, your sweetness. Your meekness. Even in a dire situation like this, being called into Mr. Caputo’s office and all, your politeness and following of rules still wouldn’t budge. Most people would have thrown themselves at the nearest phone at the slightest mention of their case, but not you.

“Oh,” Joe said, with an uncertain chuckle. “That’s okay, we’ll—we’ll make an exception, of course.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Joe just nodded, not knowing what to say. A moment passed before he spoke, seeing as you weren’t leaving like he thought you would. He raised his eyes and looked over at Steve, where he stood patiently waiting by the door.

“Officer Rogers will show you to the phones right away.”

Steve cleared his throat and smiled at Joe, and the side of your head seeing you still hadn’t looked up from the note in your hand.

“Of course,” he said reassuringly, earning a grateful nod from Joe.

“Great,” he said, and looked to where you were still sitting. “That’ll be all.”

Once given the go head, you rose from your seat. It hurt to go from sitting to standing, but you could hide your pain well. Years of practice, and or course the slow lessening of pain, helped greatly.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, and turned on your heel.

Steve was still standing by the door, seemingly waiting for you to exit so he could follow. He gave you a short and tight smile, despite you not looking up to face him. The furthest you got was his chin, and that was pushing it.

Just like before, Steve walked along beside you, following your pace and not hurrying you in any way. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and you were glad it was nothing but the simple warmth of his body. It still made your stomach churn though.

You walked through the corridors along with CO Rogers to get to the phones, which were mounted to the wall outside the cafeteria. You had noticed them before, along with the very long line of inmates waiting to use the phone, but that was during phone hours. You suspected that was the reason for Steve's presence by your side. That, and the unapproved number you would be calling.

Steve stopped a few feet away, and you almost stopped with him. But he nodded you along towards the phones with a smile, so you did as he silently asked, with an appreciative nod to him.

Just as you grabbed the handle of one of the phones, your newfound friend Pennsatucky walked by. She was heading for the cafeteria, which had only just opened for dinner. But the sight of you holding a phone, made her stop in her tracks.

“These aren’t phone hours,” she pointed out cockily, with a matter-of-factly raise of her eyebrows.

You slowly started putting the phone back as your eyes jumped from her to officer Rogers, not sure what you were looking for. But Steve turned his body towards Doggett, his crossed arms tensing slightly as he did.

“She’s exempt,” Steve said in a stern voice, and Doggett just raised her hands in defeat and started backing away.

“If you say so, officer.”

You didn’t miss the telling look she gave you before she turned on her heel and all but skipped into the cafeteria, and you did not like the feel of it. The firmness of Steve’s voice left no room for argument, and you hated that it once again was in your defense. Fuel to the fire. Again.

You swallowed hard, and gave Steve an asking look. He just nodded, both at you and the phone, telling you it was okay to go ahead. So, you grabbed the phone again, and dialed the number scribbled down on the note. You anxiously listened to the steady beeping, and then a recording played; an inmate from Litchfield federal prison is attempting to contact you. To accept this call, please press ‘one’. There was a click heard from the other line, and then the familiar voice of your lawyer Howard.

“Hello?” he asked, his voice hurried and tense.

“Hi, it’s Jess Harper. I-I was told you wanted to talk to me.”

“Oh, Jess,” he said, now sounding relieved. “So glad I finally got ahold of you. Yes, yes, I have some information regarding… well, you.”

You listened carefully, your heart now starting to increase its steady beat. His voice was sharper, more unsure than you had ever heard him, and it was not a comforting thought. He went on.

“I hate to be blunt, but I know you said that some evidence existed of what Nate had done to you, that he sometimes… filmed what he did? Well, that evidence has been found.”

You turned your body to hide from the scrutiny of anyone’s gaze, your shocked expression probably being quite the showstopper. Not too much though, you didn’t want to give the officer the cold shoulder and risk being reprimanded.

“What…?”

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified of what he would say next, and in your mind a million different questions needed answering.

Steve stood silently by, looking from your turned form and to the people around who all gave your turned away face the side-eye, acting like a blockade between you and them. And by the sound of your voice, fearful and uncertain, you must have just gotten the news. He swallowed his own worry, and waited.

“Yes, it… Some of the footage has been anonymously leaked to the media.”

Oh, no. The media? Meaning people have seen it… Who had seen it, who knew about this? Mr. Caputo obviously did, seeing he was the one who had contacted Howard in the first place. But did Steve and Bucky know?

Still facing the wall and not the people, you turned your eyes to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of Steve’s expression in your peripheral. You couldn’t see much. He was still standing there, about eight feet away, arms over his chest and head bent down. Did he know what Howard was telling you? Had he seen any of the footage?

“W-what…?”

It was a miracle Howard caught what you said, your voice was barely even a whisper. And the tremble didn’t make it any easier.

“It leaked a few days ago. Or, yesterday morning, I’m not sure. But I haven’t managed to get in touch with anyone at Litchfield until now to tell you.”

Photos or videos, or maybe both, had been leaked to the media. Someone had found it, and leaked it. How it even managed to disappear in the first place was still a mystery, and this didn’t make any more sense of it.

“W-wha… What does that mean?”

You waited for what felt like a lifetime. You could hear Howard sighing on the other end, probably trying to find his words. You rapidly tried to blink away the ocean forming in your eyes, but it was no use, they stayed put, blurring your vision.

“They’re reopening your case,” Howard said finally.

The tears fell silently, covering not only your cheek, but the handle of the phone as well. You released a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding as you waited for him to answer, and the shake of it was enough to send a tremble through your entire body. You caught yourself against the phone box, the pain in your wrist be damned, and closed your eyes to shut out the world.

They were going to reopen your case. It was going to be reviewed again. Once again, you would have to go through the speculations, the questions and the disbelief of the truth. You would have to bare them coming down on you with assumptions and theories, anything to clear Nate’s name, and tarnish yours, questioning every minute of that night. And you weren’t sure you could take that again. You weren’t sure you had it in you, or even wanted to.

Steve saw how you almost crumpled, how you barely managed to bring your wounded hand up to keep yourself upright. Your head was leaned down, your forehead coming to rest against the top of the phone box. He had to hold himself back from going up and hugging you, comforting you. He wanted to help you so bad, to be there for you, seeing no one else was. And that was all his doing.

“Jess?” Howard asked worriedly. “Jess, you still there?”

Fighting to find your voice again, you swallowed down the tears, swallowed down the scream that desperately wanted to escape, and answered him.

“Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

Your heard him sigh heavily, most likely finding it all troublesome to talk about. You could agree, it wasn’t the most joyous topic to talk about. But you forced yourself to open your eyes again, facing the part of the world that was your home; prison. Even if that was just a wall.

“Okay,” he said. “What’s gonna happen is we’re gonna get a court date set, and bring it up to trial again. But everyone needs a bit of time to look everything over, to review the newfound evidence and go through all the paperwork from the trial before. I will need to speak with the judge and the counsel for the defense, and until then, you will have to stay in prison.”

It was all mumbling to you, all nonsense you couldn’t comprehend. It all went in one ear, and out the other. He could might as well have been reciting Latin verses to you. Your mind was filled with static, with buzzing mosquitoes all taking on the shape of your memories. Each one carried its own pain, its own fear, its own bloodshed. Like small, flying pieces of glass that made up the image of who you once were.

Howard took your silence as a sign of worry, and he wasn’t completely wrong.

“Now, I promise you, I am doing everything in my power to move this along and get you out of there as soon as possible,” he said, and seemed to break through the barrier of your mind.

“Okay…” you said, even nodding as if to convince yourself.

It was painful to think about. So many things had changed since your first trial, since you fought for yourself. So many things had been made clear since then, things you didn’t know about before, or simply didn’t want to believe.

But now you did. Now you knew. You knew that the fear wasn’t locked to Nate. It was all men. You knew that it wasn’t just Nate who wanted to hurt you. It wasn’t just Nate who liked to torture you, liked your pain. It was everyone. You were like a beacon for pain, for hurt. Something so deeply rooted in you, that you just couldn’t help but rub everyone the wrong way by merely existing. It was you. It was your fault. And no matter what any tapes showed, no matter what any pictures showed, or even the scars littering your body, nothing could change the source of it all. You.

“Okay,” Howard said. “I’ve spoken to a Mr. Caputo at Litchfield, and I will continue to be in contact with him regarding your case, and what will happen. I would speak directly to you, but seeing as I can’t reach you directly when I might need to, I will sort everything out with him. Except for any details of your case or trial, of course, you have my word. That is all confidential. Is that alright with you? Cause if not, we will find another way, Jess. Perhaps you could call me on certain hours?”

Seeing as you had barely digested anything Howard had said to you, that might be the worst idea ever. Mr. Caputo seemed able enough, and seeing he already had been in contact with your lawyer, he could continue that contact.

“No,” you said, trying to raise your voice enough to a normal speaking tone. “That will be fine, sir, thank you.”

Steve looked up when hearing the ‘sir’. You hadn’t said much, and he couldn’t make anything out, or put anything together enough to know what was being said on the other end, but he had a pretty good understanding of it all. And your lawyer was working for you, meaning he should do what you said, not the other way around. But he of all people could understand your politeness, and perhaps the occasion called for that sort of gratitude. But mostly, he just figured you were too deeply set in your ways to know anything else.

“Alright,” Howard said. “I’ll let Mr. Caputo know should I need to speak with you, and you can call me. And please don’t hesitate to do so, Jess. We will figure this out. We will get you out.”

You nodded, before realizing that wasn’t enough when on the phone, and you had to draw a straining breath through your tight chest to speak.

“Okay. Thank you, sir. For everything.”

“Of course, Jess. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

“Bye…”

As if moving in slow motion, you hung up the phone again, your hand heavier than it needed to be. Slowly, you took another breath, and held it for a few seconds before letting it go again, hoping it would take some of the tension with it. It didn’t.

Instead of giving answers, Howard had given you more questions. Questions you weren’t quite ready to hear. He probably thought he was baring good news, who wouldn’t when they said that someone’s case was being reopened, that they might get to leave prison? And most would be glad to hear it.

Steve waited to see if you would move from where you stood frozen, but you didn’t. You still kept your head down. He wondered if you were perhaps crying. After all, you must have heard some pretty gruesome news.

He dared a step closer, making sure to make noise as he did. You raised your head, wiping off what must be tears, but you didn’t recoil from him like he thought you might.

“You alright?” he asked kindly, keeping his voice somewhat down for privacy.

You swallowed down the rest of the tears, and wiped the ones already fallen, and turned towards him.

“Yes, sir,” you said, voice carrying a bit of a tremble.

Steve nodded, wanting even more now to just hold you, to tell you it was all going to be okay. But by doing so, he was probably sending the opposite message. But seeing the streaks of tears, the redness of your cheeks, made him wish even more that everything was different.

“Okay,” he said, and smiled warmly down at you, even though you never looked higher than his chest.

You went to take a step, hoping to get back to the confines of your bunk, the privacy and comfort of your bed, but Steve stopped you. Not by force, but he turned his body enough to let you know that you weren’t allowed to leave yet. Had you messed up? Again? Your entire spine went rigid, like the cartilage had turned to stone.

“You should probably get something to eat,” he said, and turned his torso towards the doors to the cafeteria. “You’ve been through a lot today.”

He knows. Oh, god, he knows. He knows about the photos, about the videos, about whatever may be out there, circling around on media platforms. Has he seen any of it? Has he seen what Nate did to you? What did that mean in terms of what they had done to you? They had said that it was all for killing Nate, and you were responsible for that, but would this change anything? Would they see you any differently? You could never be completely sure that Steve and Bucky didn’t know anything about what Nate had done to you, you just thought it was more plausible that they didn’t. But maybe they did… Maybe this wasn’t news to them.

Had they perhaps already seen some of this footage that had been leaked? Should you hope for that? Was it better if they didn’t know about any of it, or only just learned?

You felt bile rise in your esophagus. Your breathing quickened to the point where you thought you were going to black out if you didn’t get it under control. But with several deep breaths, it slowly calmed down. Though your heart was still racing in your chest. You didn’t know what to think, how to make sense of any of it. What should you hope for?

Steve bowed his head down with a sigh. He worried that he might have given away to much, or perhaps too little. There was no telling what the information might do to you, and he didn’t know what your lawyer has just told you. Could just be more things piling on top of each other for all he knew, and you were slowly being buried underneath it all.

He was almost startled when he heard your voice, meek and low as it was.

“Yes, sir.”

He raised his head again, though he didn’t need to much, seeing how small you were in comparison, and you still wouldn’t meet his eyes. But he started stepping back, allowing you more space to pass him and walk into the cafeteria. Slowly you walked by, keeping your chin tucked in out of respect.

It felt like it was written all over you. Like everything that had been done to you, by Nate, by the guards, had been branded like a scarlet letter on your skin. Like everyone could see it, and shame you for it.

You moved like in a haze, like the fog had seeped out from your mind and covered the whole room in its misty gloom. Everything was just going through the motions; standing in line, taking a tray, finding a seat. It was all done without you, yet there you sat. In the middle of the busy room where everyone moved at lightning speed, and you were frozen in time.

The sea of questions and fears was growing like the tide. It didn’t stop. You couldn’t answer anything, you couldn’t even make up a scenario of what you should hope for. And it all just kept coming, kept growing. It felt like you were standing at the edge of an abyss with no one to pull you back. There was no one there.

You hadn’t gone unnoticed by Bucky. He saw the state you were getting into, going further and further into yourself, retreating back into the comforts of your mind. Or maybe it wasn’t comforting at all. It certainly didn’t look it.

Steve came walking in, taking his place next to his friend where he stood by the water beakers, overlooking things. He sighed deeply, letting go of his worries all in one breath.

“How’d it go?” Bucky asked, concerned by the tension.

“She didn’t say much,” Steve said, looking over at you sitting at the table, picking at your food. “I don’t know what the lawyer said, but she sounded shocked. She cried a bit, so I suppose he told her something about the tapes. Poor thing,” he added, feeling the hurt brewing in himself.

Bucky looked at you, taking in the mental picture of what might have been said.

“Let’s hope they get it all under control soon,” he said. “Get this shit over with and get her out.”

Steve turned to face Bucky.

“You don’t think she did it? Or, meant to do it?”

“No, I don’t. I think it’s like she’s tried to say; self-defense gone wrong.”

Neither said anything more, letting the thought grow in their minds instead. There were so many possible outcomes. It was one big shit-show of a mess, and you were simply caught in it, caught in the bureaucracy.

Both men thought that it was probably as you had tried to say; self-defense. That it wasn’t deliberate at all, but something that happened by mistake. By accident. Every time they had said to you what a liar you were, a murderer, that you deserved to rot behind bars and simply take what they were dishing out, all played back in their minds. How wrong they had been. How blind and foolish. It was a hailstorm of self-loathing and misery. For all.

The officers weren’t alone in watching you. You had truly friendly eyes on you as well, and not the threatening kind like Pennsatucky. Nicky spotted your hunched over figure, sitting there almost like a statue if it wasn’t for the slow picking in the food. Her feet slowly led her closer, but she stopped herself. She noticed the guards, Barnes and Rogers, and they noticed her.

She clenched her jaw, fighting not to roll her eyes as she sighed at the frustrating situation. But she remembered officer Barnes’ words, and she had to look out for herself and her family. So, she aimed for another table.

But when she passed the officers, having no choice but to, Bucky took a step forward, blocking her.

“You should probably eat with Harper,” he said lowly. “She might need it.”

Nicky gave a slightly nervous scoff, not really believing the trickery.

“And risk hellfire raining down on me? As tempting as that sounds, officer, I-I’m gonna pass.”

She took a step to pass him, but he parried her, grabbing her arm. She prepared herself for more threats, maybe just simple ones of getting a shot or extra work, but the struggle he had to find the words, let her know something else was coming.

“You’re not gonna get in trouble for it,” he said, voice clearly strained, as if he was trying to control himself. “Not now or… ever. Just go sit with her.”

She raised a brow, but wasn’t about to question. He met her calculating gaze, trying to figure him out, and he just waited. Eventually he let go of her arm, remembering himself, and took a step back. And she didn’t linger.

She turned back around, not surprised to find you staring off into the abyss of the meatloaf, or what was supposed to resemble meatloaf. Placing her tray loudly on the table right opposite you, she managed to get a raise of your gaze.

“Hey there, kid,” she said, but you could only stare at her.

What was she doing? She was going to get in trouble for this! The officers were in the cafeteria, they wouldn’t miss this.

But she ignored your horrified expression, and your lack of acknowledgement at her company.

“What happened?” she asked and nodded to your cast.

She didn’t know. Of course, she didn’t. No one really knew what had happened, and no one had cared before. You had no one.

“I.. I had an accident.”

She just nodded, ignoring her own growing concern for your hollow voice and vacant expression, and she really didn’t believe the tale of the ‘accident’. But she wouldn’t push.

“Okay,” she said, not wanting to pressure you more, but rambling was her specialty. “You’re not eating?”

Your gaze slowly traveled back down to your food.

“Not hungry.”

“Okay, sure, fine, I-I get it. It’s not the best. Here, take my yoghurt. That’s always good.”

She all but threw the cup of strawberry yoghurt at your tray, then adding a spoon from her tray.

She seemed erratic to you. Like she was trying too hard to make up for a mistake that wasn’t even hers. Like she was nervous. And maybe she was. She was defying a direct order from officer Barnes and Rogers, that would rightfully make anyone nervous. What would they do to her for simply sitting with you? Would they do to her what they had done to you? Or did you have to murder one of their friends before they took it that far?

It felt good to have Nicky there, to have someone talk to you. She was friendly and easygoing, albeit a bit strange, but who wouldn’t be after doing drugs for several years. It added to her whimsical persona.

You didn’t know what compelled you to share with her, but for whatever reason, you were glad to get it out in the open.

“My case is being reopened.”

There. There it was. You had kept your voice down, knowing these type of things were not spoken of in prison. Not unless you wanted to get all the attention, and that meant more than the good kind. And you already had plenty of that, you really didn’t need any more.

“What?” Nicky asked in disbelief, leaning in closer.

“I probably shouldn’t say that, I shouldn’t say that,” you mumbled, but Nicky placed a calming hand atop of yours.

“Hey, that’s amazing, kiddo!” She was smiling from ear to ear. “You’re gonna go to trial again?”

You nodded, remembering Howard saying something like that.

“Yes,” you said.

“What’s the reason?”

Nicky started eating her food, ecstatic by your luck, and truly happy for you. So much so, that she missed the fearful furrow of your brows, the glossy shine of your eyes, and where they were looking. The officers were both looking over at you, and you weren’t quick enough to avert your eyes, before finding theirs.

They must know. They must have seen the footage, heard the story in the media. They must have seen something, something they hadn’t seen before. They looked shamed, remorseful even. There was no anger in their eyes, no hatred. They looked almost sad when they met your eyes, as did their shy smiles trying to comfort you. They hadn’t known. But now they did.

“Newfound evidence.”

CHAPTER 26 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 6941

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

Chapter 26

-

Bucky and Steve were both standing by their lockers, getting ready to head home and get some much-needed rest after the emotional day and night. They had yet to get any real downtime to process everything, and they weren’t really sure they could even begin to do so.

It was a whirlwind of doubts, fears, dread and every other emotion that could possibly haunt them, and saying how sorry they were hadn’t really lessened anything. Not really. Sure, it had put a lid on spilling the beans on what had hit the news, but for their own sake, it was like putting a rug on a mountain of dirt and hoping not to see it. They really just wanted to leave this place and get a badly needed break.

Kowalski shut the refrigerator door after getting his leftovers, and grabbed his jacket from the hook from which it hung.

“See ya, fellas,” he said, and headed out the door.

“See ya,” both Bucky and Steve echoed without turning around.

They weren’t alone for long. Officer Wilson stepped in, just starting his shift, and walked up to the other set of lockers to put his own stuff away. He didn’t give the other men more than a soft ‘hey’, which they both returned.

Bucky stopped fiddling with his gym bag for a second, and looked over at Sam’s turned back. Another shot of guilt hit him, this time not regarding you, but at the memory of their little conflict a week ago, before everything. Sam had defended you when they had only defended their own actions, and how they had riled up the other inmates. Sam had suffered quite the tongue lashing as a result.

Bucky cleared his throat, getting both Sam’s and Steve’s attention, who watched with curiosity from beside him.

“Hey, Wilson,” Bucky started, and Sam turned his head slightly.

“Yeah?”

Bucky threw the empty container he held into his bag, and took a few steps closer to Sam, who immediately squared his feet at the approaching man. He didn’t think Bucky would try to throw down in the staffroom, but he wanted to be ready should an altercation arise.

“I, uh… I wanted to apologize for last week,” Bucky said, and Sam raised his brows at him, clearly not expecting that.

“Okay,” he said calmly, and crossed his arms over his chest as he waited to hear what he had to say.

He looked past Bucky to Steve who was still standing by his locker, watching the whole thing play out, but didn’t look like he was about to intervene in any way, so whatever happened, it was between Bucky and him.

“Yeah,” Bucky continued. “I shouldn’t have gotten all up in your face like that. You had every right to voice your concerns about what happened in the cafeteria. With Harper, and everyone.”

Sam leaned his head back a little, standing up straighter. Bucky was an honest man, he’d give him that. He wasn’t too cowardly to admit his mistakes, at least not when shown how wrong he had been.

“I take it you guys heard the news then?” he asked both the other men, all knowing what he was referring to.

“Yeah, we did,” Steve said, still keeping his distance and let the other guys clear their history. “Caputo’s working on getting ahold of her lawyers. See what’s gonna happen with her.”

Sam nodded at Steve, who was looking dejected where he stood, a small frown on his face. Bucky cleared his throat again to gain back Sam’s attention.

“Yeah, but even so, I, uh… I didn’t mean to lose my cool like that, man. Wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.”

Bucky held out his hand, waiting for Wilson to take it and accept his apology. It took a second, but eventually Sam’s hand found his.

“Don’t sweat it, man,” Sam said, but there was still some apprehension in his tone.

They both released their grip, and gave each other a tight smile, before turning back to their lockers. When Bucky looked back to Steve, he got a rewarding raise of an eyebrow shot at him, and a triumphant little smirk.

“Shut up,” Bucky muttered under his breath to Steve, and slapped his arm playfully.

“I guess you didn’t know about Millers, huh?” Sam asked out of the blue, and shut his locker with a clash.

Bucky and Steve shared a look. There wasn’t any sarcasm to Sam’s voice, something they both appreciated. He didn’t seem to be mocking them for their friendship with Millers, but was simply talking about the serious matter at hand, sharing concerns and whatnot.

“No, we didn’t,” Bucky said, a tinge of bleakness in his voice.

Sam nodded thoughtfully, folding his arms again as he did.

“Wouldn’t have him pegged as such a psycho,” he said. “I only saw a few clips of some videos, what they were able to show on the news, but, uh… It was pretty fucking horrible what he did to her.”

Steve and Bucky alike felt like they just got punched in the stomach. Another reminder of what Millers had done to you. Another reminder of what they had seen in the clips they were showed. Another reminder of what scumbags they both were for doing the same.

Steve cleared his throat to get rid of the lump that had started to lodge itself there.

“Well,” he said. “We didn’t see much of it, but it was enough to get an idea. She must have been through hell and back.”

He hated thinking about what Nate must have done to you, the disgusting word he’d carved into you popped back in his mind. How could someone do something like that? Something so utterly evil? He supposed he shouldn't be the one to throw any stones though.

Sam jerked his head and looked to the ground, seemingly lost in thought.

“She’s been through hell alright,” he said. “And this place ain’t no vacation either. Let’s hope Caputo gets in touch with her lawyers sooner rather than later, so they can sort this mess out. I’d hate to see her broken by all this.”

Sam started walking towards the door, he was due to make the morning announcements any minute now.

Bucky and Steve shared a look which seemed to convey all their thoughts and feelings all at once. It was all just one big slap in the face. They knew Sam couldn’t possibly know about what they had done, no one did, but it still stung to hear the worry of their fellow officer.

Sam was almost out the door when Steve turned around.

“Hey, Sam,” he said and took a step forward when Sam turned in the door. “Keep an eye out for her, would you? The other inmates are still on her case, you know?”

If anyone wouldn’t mind keeping an eye out for you in their absence, it was Wilson. He had cared long before either him or Bucky did, or anyone else for that matter. He had believed you to be innocent from the start.

Sam gave him a tight but reassuring smile.

“Will do,” he said, and turned to start his day, leaving Steve and Bucky to get their things together and head home.

Once they reached the seclusion of their house, all the pretend assertion and duties wore off, and they could finally breathe. They hadn’t realized just how tensed up they had been, or how rowdy their inner turmoil was getting. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other the entire car ride home, both trying to sort through their own emotions before sharing them aloud. It was easier said than done.

Bucky sat down by the table, leaning forward on his knees as he rolled the sleeves of his uniform shirt up his forearms. Steve went to lean against the kitchen counter, holding his elbows in the cushion of his palms, and staring down at his boots as if they would hold some kind of answer. Bucky sighed loudly through his nose, and stared straight ahead with his hands now linked together before his mouth. They stayed like that for a few moments, neither saying anything or making any noise, until eventually Bucky broke the silence with a guilty sentence.

“She changed her shirt.”

Steve looked up from his spot to look over at Bucky, whose brows had started knitting together.

“What?” he asked, and Bucky drew a deep breath before answering.

“That night, when we…” he stopped himself, and cleared his throat to avoid speaking the word again. “She changed her shirt. I ripped the collar of it, and she changed it before she came back to the dorm. I didn’t even think about it, so I didn’t tell her to do that. But she did. She changed her shirt.”

Steve could see the wheels working inside Bucky’s head, how he was digging himself deeper and deeper in the guilt the more he thought about it.

“Bucky…”

“I thought it was strange at first,” Bucky interrupted, not wanting to hear Steve’s apologetic words to try and make anything better. “You know, how she caught that and changed. But I didn’t wanna think about it. I didn’t wanna think that she knew to do that because it wasn’t the first time she’d had to hide something like that.”

Steve sighed. He understood exactly how Bucky was feeling. They had both tried to justify everything for the sake of redemption and revenge, and any signs proving the opposite of their agenda they had turned a blind eye to. And now they had lost that comfort.

“We couldn’t have known, Buck.”

Bucky gave a saddened scoff at the notion.

“We couldn’t have known any of it, Steve. Either one way or the other. We didn’t know he hurt her, just as much as we didn’t know if she meant to kill him. But we chose to believe that she did, and acted based on that. We should have known better.”

Bucky ran his hands over his face and through his hair, pressing hard just to ground himself and not let anger and shame take over. And Steve had to stop trying to protect him from reality, stop trying to make the situation something it wasn’t.

“Yeah, we should have,” Steve agreed. “But we can’t take it back, no matter how much we wish we could. And wallowing in it is not gonna help her.”

“How the fuck are we supposed to help her, Steve? What, take her back to see Banner and see if she needs any more medical attention after what we did? Force her to go through another check-up? She was bleeding, Steve. We tore her up, we beat her and we tasered her and we…” Bucky’s voice started to break, turning weak and shallow. “We raped her, Stevie.”

Steve felt the sting of budding tears in his eyes as Bucky went on. It was tough to hear not only the truth being spoken so bluntly, but the tone of Bucky’s voice showed just how broken he was too, how much he was hurting inside after what he had done. What they had both done.

“I can’t believe we didn’t see it all sooner,” Steve said, jumping on the bandwagon of self-pity and shame. “She was so scared, even from the get-go. She hasn’t called me anything besides officer or sir, and when she tried to, I…” Steve cut himself short at the memory of your hurt wails and whimpers when he threatened you for using his name, making you say you were sorry.

They let the silence speak for a moment. It was so loud they wanted to break it, but couldn’t find the words to do so. Instead they were forced to relive the terrible incident in their heads, seeing everything play out with fresh eyes. Eyes that knew the truth and shamed them for what they had done.

“I never thought I could ever rape a woman,” Steve said, almost to himself.

Bucky looked up, finding Steve looking off into the distance, lost in thought.

“Me neither,” Bucky said honestly. “Never thought I could bring myself to hurt someone like that. No one deserves to get raped.”

“No,” Steve said and finally looked at Bucky. “We hurt her. We broke someone who was already broken. And we justified it.”

Silence lingered for a moment, before a scoff which held no amusement was heard form Steve.

“We’re far from the men we once were, aren’t we?”

The term ‘from hero to zero’ had never felt more fitting. They had literally gone from heroes saving lives and protecting people from harm, to the scum of the earth. Their entire view of the world had changed in its very core, and them with it.

Not only had they hurt you beyond redemption, ground you down until there wasn’t much left, which in its own was enough. But they had defended and protected the memory of a rapist, a sadist and a monster. They had acted in his honor, defended his name. To you, of all people. And never once had they listened to you, seen you for who you were. Had they not been so busy spurring each other on, course correcting each other whenever they started to doubt, this never would have happened. They wouldn’t be sitting here, in silence, elbow deep in rightful guilt and shame, living with the memory of their deeds. And you wouldn’t be hurt. You wouldn’t be so terrified. You wouldn’t be broken.

O.o.O.o.O

The night had passed with panic and fear. The remainder of the sedative had done nothing to quell your nerves or thoughts, only tiring out your body enough for exhaustion to hit somewhere in the middle of things. You had slept only when your body couldn’t take the trembles, or the racing of your heart anymore, and decided to shut down. It wasn’t a restful sleep by any means.

The officers had passed through a few times during the night, but they always passed, never lingered. Despite the routine of it, you never found yourself not tensing up in their presence, still expecting the worst. You pretended to be asleep whenever they walked through, feeling it was the safest bet. It seemed to work well enough and they left you alone, thankfully. The strain and tautness only aided in the race for sleep, tiring you out even faster, until you eventually slept for real.

You were awakened by the voice of CO Wilson coming through the speakers, startling you back to reality as he went over the daily schedule. People groaned around you, and yawns were heard throughout. The pain had come back to your wrist and lower parts when the morphine had left your system in the night, and you stirred uncomfortably in your bed. Grease Hair, who just happened to pass by your cube when you did, snorted scornfully at you.

“Rough night with your boyfriends?” she asked mockingly, and walked on before you could say a word to her.

Dread grew in your chest. Everyone was already set on you having relations with the guards, and their actions the other day didn’t exactly make anyone less sure of that. Tricia wasn’t the only one to think those things, even if she was the one to say them out loud. The prison held over two hundred inmates, and not one of those inmates took snitching or fornicating with an officer lightly. Hopefully there were at least some who thought it was all made up, just rumors passed on by jealousy for whatever shallow reason, but there was no telling. You couldn’t trust anyone to be on your side.

You hated that people thought you were sleeping with officer Rogers and Barnes, or whoever more they might have you pegged with. You were being teased and harassed, and for what? For being raped, for being tricked into taking a treat that wasn’t fairly given. The inmates wanted to hurt you, for already being hurt by the officers. But in their eyes, it was all fluff, all consensual, all a deliberate move to get things, and make your time at Litchfield easier to live through with the touch of a man or two. But their touch only hurt. In all ways.

You reluctantly got out of bed, figuring you were already awake and sleep was doubtful to find you again. Especially with the pain being back and calling out for attention. It hurt all over, and your muscles were all tensed up from being on the lookout, from being afraid. Afraid of what the officers might do to you, and for you. What the end goal was, you didn’t know. What kind of game they were playing, you didn’t know. And the rules of the game were all scrambled. First they hurt you, threaten you, rape you… Then apologize, say they won’t hurt you again, but also that you should you forget all about it. First you get in trouble for the officer making you late, the next time it’s no problem. Why? What did they expect of you?

It used to be so simple with Nate. If you messed up, you got punished. The guards did that too. If you were aided in anyway, you should show gratitude, but the officers didn’t want that. Both men had shot down your proposition to thank them. So, all falls in line at one point, but not the other, and you had no way of knowing which points.

Was that what they wanted? To watch you struggle to figure it all out? To have you learn by trial and error, as long as they got to punish you and make you fall back in line again? Did they not want something that was freely given? Maybe they didn’t like how subservient you were with so little effort. They probably wanted to be the ones to grind you down to the bone, but it took so little for you to get there. Perhaps that disappointed them…

You feared mostly that it was just the calm before yet another storm. That it was just a ruse, a show put on in order to get your guard down again so they could break through your wall, and you to never be able to build it back up.

The story had too many endings, you didn’t know which one to aim for.

You had dared a trip to the bathroom, shuffling along the corridors and looking as scared as a hunted rabbit on an open field. It had earned you only a few shoves and shoulder-checks. You had anticipated more, expected worse but it was mostly left at that. A few mumbled ‘snitch’ or ‘slut’, but no one got up in your face or threatened you. You hurried through the process, getting out of there before the bruises already painted on your body would bloom again, or your wrist would be the victim of another scolding. It had survived so far.

Dropping off your things in your bunk, locking them all safely in your locker, you went to change your clothes. This time you had more to cover than what would inhabit your body forever. But with a lot of pulling and twisting, you managed to get clean clothes on, and everything tucked away safely from wandering eyes. You spared yourself the eyeful you were bound to get if you looked. You already felt the ache of it all, you didn’t need to see it too.

You bulked up your hoodie to cover the back of your neck, in case the bruises left there would show, and started for the cafeteria. Walking took its toll and its time, and you hoped that most inmates had already gotten their trays, and maybe even started leaving. The less people, the better.

Eating breakfast was not an easy task. You were given food, something you thanked them very much for, but finding a seat proved to be a challenge. Not as many people had left as you had hoped. You had to locate a seat far away from anyone already at the table, and even when you did, the others got up and walked away. They made sure to walk into you as they passed, spilling some water or food on your sleeve for good measure. It could be worse though. It could always be worse.

Officer Wilson paced the cafeteria during breakfast, keeping an extra eye out for you, and made sure nothing escalated. He saw the shoves and pushes, but it was too small an infraction for him to do anything about. He kept close, knowing none of the inmates would dare to do anything with him nearby. It seemed to work well enough, seeing nothing more was ‘spilled’ on you or anyone ‘accidentally’ walked into you. And you seemed to be none the wiser of his supervision.

After breakfast was done, no more incidents going down for which you were thankful, you obediently went to stand in the pill-line to get your meds. Your body was shaking, the pain was taking its toll on both mind and body alike, and you looked forward to some rest for at least one part. You were shoved forward by the inmate behind you anytime the one ahead even began to take a step. More than once you stumbled into her, excusing yourself, only to be met by a vile glance from both sides. And to make matters worse, the one behind you always managed to hit precisely where you had some deep bruises. The meds couldn’t come quick enough.

“Next,” was shouted from behind the glass window, and you stepped up.

“Uhm… Je—” you started, and the nurse looked up to you when you appeared.

“Ah, Harper,” Bruce said with a bright smile, and immediately nodded to your arm. “How’s the wrist?”

He turned to his side to pick up the little cup containing your pills, crossing something off a list.

“Oh, uhm… It’s alright, sir. Thank you.”

You forced a smile on your face when he looked back at you, feigning whatever health signs he wished to see. He was almost beaming at the sight of you.

“Well, you certainly look better,” he said, and held out the cup for you to take. “Your color’s come back too. You shouldn’t have too much problem with any overwhelming pain, not with a steady supply of painkillers, but I hope you’ll tell me if you do.”

You could tell he was speaking from a kind place, and was honestly worried about you not asking for any help should you need it. Afterall, you had been walking around with a broken wrist for several days, and even when given help, you still proceeded to not complain.

You took the cup with a tight smile, keeping the façade you knew so well.

“Will do. Thank you, sir.”

Bruce smiled back at you warmly, not hearing the tightness of your voice.

“You’re welcome. Take them here, so I know you’ve taken them.”

He really didn’t think you would ease your own pain even when given the chance. But you did as he asked, and swallowed the pills down with a small drink of water and showed him your empty mouth. That earned you a relieved smile.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you in the afternoon.”

You nodded at him politely, and left before any of the inmates could push you away.

You kept in your cube for most of the day, snatching up a book from the library on your way back to have something to occupy your mind, or maybe just hide behind. You were supposed to be working, but you felt you had enough physical reason not to attend for at least a couple of days, not to mention the mental and emotional ones. The book didn’t do anything for your mind. The words were all scrambled, and you had spent at least half an hour trying to read the same sentence. But you kept going. Trying to read was better than to let your mind start racing with questions you didn’t know the answer to. Answers you feared. Answers only the officers could give, but wouldn’t. So, you kept reading that one sentence, over and over and over again, trying to make out any words in it, just to make time go by.

Lunch passed in the same manner as breakfast. There was shoving, pushing, bad names mumbled to you whenever they got the chance without an officer hearing it, and someone even tripped you up. Thankfully everything stayed on your tray, but the stumble sent a shot of pain through your core, enough to almost make your knees buckle.

“Hey! Watch it!” someone yelled when you almost fell on her.

“I-I’m sorry,” you squealed, and backed away before she could push you away, holding back the whimper that wanted to escape.

CO Wilson spotted you tripping from where he stood by the doors, and started zigzagging through the tables to slowly work his way up to you. He didn’t try to speak to you, knowing the rumors going around of your relations with the guards, he didn’t want to add any fuel to the already lit fire. He just stayed close enough that should anyone try anything, they wouldn’t get away with it.

He couldn’t help the growing sadness for your situation. Not only had you gone through what you had with Nate Millers, you were wrongly convicted for murder, he was sure of it, and you had every single inmate in the prison gunning for you. You just couldn’t catch a break it would seem. So, he would do what he could to keep things from getting any worse for you.

Eventually you found an empty seat at the golden girls’ table, and they didn’t seem to mind. They didn’t say anything to you, but that was most likely due to the fact that you looked like you’d invert on yourself should anyone even try to. You rushed through the meal to have it over and done with so you could go back to your cube. So far, no one had bothered you there. Everyone had their job assignments they needed to work on, which meant some downtime from harassment, and you were not about to let it pass.

Once back in your cube, where you sat perched on top of your pillow for some soft cushion and hiding behind a book, time seemed to pass more quickly, and you did not like it. It seemed to be doing it on purpose too. The more you worried, the faster the minutes ticked by mockingly loud. You weren’t sure if officer Rogers and Barnes worked the nightshift tonight as well, or if they had the day off, but you doubted your luck. They seemed to be living in this place.

What would happen once they got here? Would it be another show of the polite and helpful officers, or would they go back to their torturous way and hurt you again? At least when they did that you knew what to expect. You didn’t know what to do around them when they weren’t intimidating you, or hurting you, or ordering you around. It was much simpler when they did. At least it was a portrayal of the truth, and not some made up front which only upped the rage of the other inmates. At least when the officers weren’t kind to you, no one accused you of having a relationship with them. No one else was trying to get you.

Inmates started to flood back into the dorm. Their day was over, or at least closing in on being over, so they spent the last hour or so before dinner either in the rec room or in the dorm. With you. Most of them gave you dirty looks when passing your cube, some giving the finger just to add to the ambiance.

One inmate, the first of many you guessed, walked up to the doorway of your cube. She was a scrawny looking thing, about 5’2 and maybe 100lbs, if you were being kind. Her long hair was dark and unkempt, hanging in greasy lines around her face, the rest hidden underneath her hoodie. Just overall, the posterchild for hillbillies.

“Sup?” she said, and once she started talking, you noticed she had the same snaggly, dirty teeth as Grease Hair did. Another meth-head then.

You looked up and over at her, your grip tightening on the cover of your book, should you need it for anything other than reading. But she just stood there, clapping her hands together from time to time, letting them hang in between. She looked restless.

“Hi?” you said, the uncertainty clear as day.

She nodded her head back in acknowledgement.

“So, uh… I heard you’re the little mouse livin’ in the COs’ pocket,” she slurred, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

“I… I don’t know what that means,” you said slowly, trying to figure out what the hell this person was talking about.

She gave some sort of half-snort, taking another step inside. You pressed back against the wall. Was this a threat?

“Oh, no?” she said. “Cause, see, I heard that you’ve been bangin’ a few of the guards, and gettin’ treats for it too.”

Great, another one of those. Was this just the start of a new Tricia-incident? She looked rule-y enough. And by the look of the growing crowd, she was a leader in some other crew. Even Grease Hair was standing in the crowd.

“Well, you heard wrong,” you said, with more fire than you meant to, toning it back a bit before speaking again. “And w-who are you?”

“Doggett,” she said. “My friends call me Penn, short for Pennsatucky. But you ain’t my friend, so it’s Doggett to you.”

She didn’t seem very threatening when she spoke, her tone was too bright and light. But she did seem quite weird so you wouldn’t put it past her to do something.

“Uhm…” you started, trying to find any words that would make sense in the situation. “Okay, Doggett. I don’t know exactly what you’ve heard, uhm, about… me, but none of it’s true. I-I’m not… doing anything with the guards, I promise.”

You hoped it was enough to convince her, but it was basically your word against everyone else’s, and yours held little credibility.

She scoffed at your explanation.

“Nah, nah, see, I know you’re lyin’, okay?” she said and, strangely enough, smiled. “Cause my friends saw you gettin’ all handsy with the blond Greek god of a CO, and… he gave you chocolate. Now, I don’ know about you, but in my eyes, that looks an awful lot like someone’s suckin’ dick for treats.”

Everything always came back to favors and treats with these inmates, which you gathered was what got everyone in such a frenzy. An inmate getting favors done for her was dangerous for the others, who might find themselves getting unfairly harsh treatments or the likes, should they cross said inmate. Like Tricia. It was basically like having a guard on a leash in their eyes. So, of course, they opted for the chance of catching that said inmate - you - when there weren’t any officers around to intervene. An eye for an eye so to speak. And it didn’t seem to matter how much you tried to convince anyone of your innocence in the matter.

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension rising in the room. The other inmates, you figured it was the friends she had mentioned, started closing in outside your cube.

“Look, uh, Doggett,” you said with a somewhat shaky voice. “I really don’t know what to say, except for that it’s not true. I’m—I’m not getting any favors. From anyone. I-I know it might look like I am, to you, but I’m really, really not. I don’t want any trouble, or… anything.”

She stepped even closer, still smiling at you. You pushed back even further, turning to cover your body the best you could without outright preparing for a beatdown.

“Oh, cause, see,” she said and scoffed, still smiling away like the Joker. “That’s not what I’ve heard, sweet cheeks. And, uh… I’m leanin’ more towards listenin’ to what my friends have to say… than you. Okay? And I don’t know about you, but it sure doesn’t seem fair to me that you should get all the nice little trinkets and treats for yourself, when, let’s say, Tricia, is in the SHU because of you. So… I think… it’s only fair that you share.”

What? That didn’t make any sense whatsoever. You weren’t even sure this person was a friend of Tricia’s, you’d never seen them together or looking very friendly towards each other. This Pennsatucky Doggett person was crazy.

“B-but I don’t… have anything to share,” you said, looking both to her and the other inmates still standing outside your cube. “Honest, I don’t.”

“Oh, no?” she said and looked back to her crew for a moment, before turning back to you. “So, you just cozied on up with the COs, and didn’t get nothin’ for it, is that it? Cause… That don’t sound very likely to me. Unless the cozying is what you got for somethin’ else.”

“What?”

She took a step closer, almost leaning over you. Her smile had morphed into something harder, and how a tiny little thing like her could look intimidating was beyond you, but she managed.

“You sellin’ us out? Hmm?”

“What? No—”

“Then what? You’re acting all sweet like a piece of candy with the COs,” she went on, even when you tried to defend yourself. “Ain’t nobody sweet in here except for a reason. I guess suckin’ dick is a little easier than honest hard work, huh?”

There was a resounding echo of ‘yeah’ coming from the other inmates watching, itching to get you all riled up it would seem. It only managed to get you more freaked out.

“I’m—I’m not doing anything with the guards,” you said in your very weak defense, voice trembling when you tried to sound assertive. “I’m not getting anything f-from any guard, okay? W-what happened with Tricia was not my fault, I-I didn’t ask the officers to do that, alright? I swear.”

“Oh, so, now we should all just believe you, right?” Doggett pushed, scoffing and smiling away. “We should just believe that it’s all one big coincidence, hmm? Tricia got dragged away to SHU by a CO, and he didn’t look all that friendly towards her, no, ma’am.”

There seemed to be nothing you could even begin to try and clear your case with. No one listened when you spoke, no one wanted to hear what you had to say. To hear the truth.

Everyone around you looked pissed. There were scowls and mean lip biting going around with each and every one of Doggett’s friends. They weren’t interested in hearing any explanation. They wanted to hurt you. If it wasn’t the officers, it was the inmates. When it wasn’t the inmates, it was the officers. No matter what, you got hurt.

“Look, please,” you started, and moved so you didn’t look as frightened as you were. “I know officer Barnes went hard on Tricia, I do! But remember when they trashed my bunk? When-when I got tackled to the ground and thrown in SHU, too?”

You really didn’t want to reminisce on that. The way Steve had thrown you on the ground, the cut of the cuffs around your wrists. Or how he pushed you down the stairs… But it seemed to get everyone’s attention. Their scowls started going away, but the irritation stayed. They looked between each other and you, so you kept on trying to reason with them, trying to keep the panic of the memories from rising.

“The COs were just as h-hard on me, as-as they were with her, right? They-they didn’t go easy on me either, right?”

Flashes of pain appeared like lightning in your mind at the mention. Their hands, their unforgiving grip on your arms, your neck, your hips. How they had grabbed at you, merciless in their eagerness to feel your skin. Your walls clenched at nothing, tried to evade nothing, as the memory of them forcing their way into you crashed like thunder. Flares of fire erupted through your core, watering your eyes at the suddenness and power of it. It felt like an upcoming panic attack…

Despite you now looking like you had just seen a ghost or demon of your past, the inmates around still scoffed or mumbled lowly, not really caring if it interrupted you or not. But Doggett seized your silence.

“Maybe you just like it rough?” she mocked, and her horrible words brought you back to the present.

“Yeah,” the others around chimed in, liking that take on the situation better.

“Maybe you wanted ‘em to do that to you?”

You could hear her, understood what she said, but her words were just bringing it all closer again. You could feel the trace of their fingers, leaving long gashes of crimson in their wake as they travel along your skin, like they were cutting you open.

“N-no…” you whispered, but whether it was to the person in front of you, or the horror inside was unclear.

But Doggett took it as an answer.

“Okay, then maybe… It’s all one big act, to make it seem like you ain’t gettin’ anythin’ from ‘em, when in reality… you are. You’re gettin’ all the nice treats, and touches and all. Maybe even something to numb all that pain they put you through. Huh?”

Touches, treats, pain. You could almost not hear anything else. You tried to bury everything, tried to push it all down and not have it flash in your mind anymore. But everyone was talking about the officers, about you and what they had done to you, there was no escaping it. They were mocking you, threatening you, and making up lies of what had really taken place. They didn’t know you didn’t want it, they didn’t know that you fought back, that you begged them not to do it. They didn’t know. And they didn’t want to know.

You had retreated back into yourself, letting her talk at you however she pleased. You’d had some fire at first, you had! It had been there! But there was no use. Fighting back, no matter what opponent, only made everything worse. It only made everyone mad at you, yelling at you and threatening to hurt you even more. There was no escape. Not from any of it.

Pennsatucky just stood there, looking down at you and smiling. She just needed to break through that shell, and you would share the goodness you were bound to have. Pornstache’s little side business was well-known among the inmates, and he couldn’t be the only one giving out pills and whatnot for a few minutes of pleasure.

“What they givin’ you, hmm?” she pushed, speaking lower than before. “Some zing? Crank? Smack? Maybe some blow for blow, huh?”

She laughed at her own joke, looking back to make sure her followers did as well.

The mentioning of drugs was new. New enough to hold back everything else that had piled on as she spoke about what the officers used you for, at least for a moment’s time. They were all convinced that you had drugs on you now, that the officers were bringing it in for you. If that was the case, why didn’t they just ask for it themselves, instead of pestering you? Maybe Steve and Bucky weren’t the only ones enjoying your misfortune and pain? It seemed to be a reoccurring theme in your life after all. There must be something about you that was kindness and care repellant, because you never seemed to get any of it. Something so utterly annoying that everyone just wanted to crush you. Your mere presence was a hardship for everyone else. So, maybe you could offer them something in return for their hard endeavors?

“I got some morphine…”

The others started shuffling at the mention of the drug, itching to get their hands on it, Doggett even shuffling from one foot to the other when she heard it. No one seemed to hear or care for the hollowness of your voice. The empty tone that carried it.

“I get it in the pill line though, so… I don’t have any on me.”

You hoped it would be enough, that it would be payment enough for the struggle of them being near you. They probably didn’t want anything to do with you. Why would they? You weren’t worth anything. Worthless. Shameful. Your fault.

Doggett just grinned, not caring one bit for your dejected state.

“But you’re gonna get some tonight, though, right?”

Her smile was back, dirtied teeth showing as she grinned down at you.

“Yeah…”

“Okay, then,” she said, and cleared her throat, too eager to find her words. “You just, uh… cheek ‘em, and bring ‘em to me, alright?”

“Okay…”

“Good, good, good,” she said and nodded for everyone to leave the cube again, and slowly followed behind. “I’ll see ya later then, Harper. And, and, it’s Pennsatucky for you now.”

She said it all through a smile, giggling to herself before rounding the corner and disappearing with the rest of the inmates, unknowingly leaving you to your demise.

Great.

You made a friend.

CHAPTER 25 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 8739

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

Chapter 25

-

You were back in your bunk, still drowsy and dizzy from the medication. The doctor hadn’t told you just how under you would actually be from the ‘mild’ sedative... You could only vaguely remember the car ride back to Litchfield, not really sure how you even got into the car in the first place. You remembered resting your head on something warm and solid but still soft, and calm, low voices speaking, but you didn’t remember what they were saying. It didn’t matter though, it probably wasn’t meant for your ears anyways.

How you got to lay on your bed again and sleep it all off, was thanks to the kind officer Fisher who had led you back to the dorm, letting you lean on her as you stumbled along, that much you knew. You could still hear some of her encouraging words. Where Bucky had disappeared to you had no idea, but you weren’t about to argue with it.

Every second spent with one of the men who had raped you was painful to bare. There was no hiding from the truth then, no other thoughts to hide behind when it was all still present in front of you. You felt them on your body, inside your body. They were everywhere in your mind, and everywhere out in the world. There was no escaping them.

If only they would leave you alone, leave you to your own devices. But that would never happen, that much you were sure of. Either they wanted to bear witness to your pain, see their work, or simply do more of it. The fact that they hadn’t hurt you since was not as reassuring as you wished it would be. It was a constant worry of doing something wrong, of guessing when the next moment would be, or what they might do. Was your wrist just the first of many breaks?

Your wrist was slightly throbbing come to think of it, still moulding to the cast. But the lingering buzz of morphine coursing through your system was dulling it nicely, and everything else for that matter. And the fuzzy feeling in your head wasn’t a bad vacation after everything you had been through. You were glad to have it over and done with, but coming back to the cage of politeness and tiptoeing around the men that harmed you was its own kind of pain.

Not remembering all that happened in the hospital was worrisome. Had you been touched in any way? Had officer Barnes seized the opportunity to get his hands on you without a fight? Although there was no fight left in you anymore. He could do what he wanted, and you would let him. It hurt less to do so. But you hated not knowing.

The rest of the evening went by in a haze. You stayed were you were, going in and out of consciousness, not getting up to do anything if you could help it. But, of course, you couldn’t. So, when officer Rogers and Bennett came in to do a count before lights out, you reluctantly got out of bed. Sitting was still very painful, but walking and standing was almost painless at this point. So, you stood up and shuffled over to stand outside your cube, ready to be counted. There were still some slacking inmates coming in from behind the officers, Gina being one of them, scurrying like it was her only gait.

Steve spotted you from across the room. Bucky had let him know everything that had happened, and he was relieved to hear that everything had gone well. As well as the doctor’s tries to get you to agree to a check-up, which was shut down by both you and Bucky alike. He still felt like shit for being comforted by that fact, when you might be in more need of medical attention but too afraid to ask for it. Too afraid of them. But it allowed them time to think, to be there for you, to protect you from others and make everything right. Or at least try.

“Count time, ladies,” Bennett said, and everyone quieted down.

The officers passed through the dorm, one side each per usual. Steve was brought closer and closer by the second, and you willed yourself not to close your eyes and wish him away. He passed with a click of his counter in hand, not stalling close to you, or staring blatantly. Sure, he looked down at your recoiled form still protecting your now reset wrist, but his eyes didn’t linger like they had before. He wasn’t stalking you like prey like he had before. But that didn’t stop the wolf whistle from Tricia.

Pretty much every inmate started choking on their laughter, trying to hold it back. There were several spurts of amused chuckles coming from all around, eyeing both you and the officer standing not too far from you. You looked shamed and scared where you stood, Steve just looked pissed.

“That’s enough,” he barked at everyone, before zeroing in on Tricia. “You wanna spent a few days down in seg, inmate?”

She visible gulped, cowering under his height and gaze as he glared down at her, taking a step closer.

“No, sir,” she said, head down and eyes turned away.

“Then keep your mouth shut. Or I’ll shut it for you.”

Steve threw a quick glance around the room. Everyone had quieted down, not finding the officer in any way amusing in his threats. Bennett was looking around as well, equally disappointed in everyone as Steve was, but he didn’t add anything.

Steve turned his head to get a look at you, to see how you were doing with it all. You looked sad. Brows worried together and eyes down on your scuffing boot. He hated seeing you like that. After everything you had been through, everything, you didn’t deserve to be name called and ridiculed. But you were in this position because of him. This too, was his doing.

He looked back at Tricia, not too happy about her instigating things and making everything even worse than it had to be.

“You open your mouth one more time, and you’ll be rotting in the SHU.”

Tricia flinched back, eyes jumping up to meet his for just a millisecond, before she nodded at him to acknowledge his words. Steve carried on with the count, the tension in the room now palpable, before he met up with Bennett to check numbers. Both men gave everyone a measured gaze, both fed up with the childish antics, before leaving.

The inmates started turning back to their cubes, heading for the bathroom, or wherever they needed to roam before the privilege was revoked, but not Tricia. She watched you like a hawk, despite you not looking up at any point whilst starting to go back into your cube.

“Nice guard dog you have,” she said, making you freeze in the doorway.

She crossed her thin, spaghetti arms over her equally thin chest, and took a few steps closer to you. You still didn’t move. You kept her in your peripheral, turning to keep your wrist protected should she do anything other than talk.

“Must be nice to be protected by your boyfriend,” she said, and scoffed. “Or at least one of ‘em.”

Snicker was heard behind you, most likely some of Tricia’s friends who found it all very amusing to watch.

“He’s not my boyfriend...”

Your voice was low, and not very strong, but you didn’t have the energy to argue. The drugs were still leaving your system, and you desperately wanted to go to sleep. But you didn’t want to let her keep thinking that about Steve, or anyone else for that matter. You didn’t want them referred to as anything romantical.

Tricia scoffed at you, moving her tongue around in her mouth before speaking.

“Oh, no? That’s the second time he’s threatened me. For you.”

“That’s the second time you’ve insinuated that he has an inappropriate relationship with an inmate.”

Oh, where was this spit coming from? Jess, behave! You’re gonna get your ass kicked by a noodle. Well, at least the morphine will dull the pain.

You heard some ooh’s from somewhere in the dorm, and Tricia did not look all that happy at you clapping back at her. She shuffled from one foot to the other, mouth twitching as if wanting to move up into a snarl at you.

She took a step towards you, grabbed you by the shoulder and shoved you against the side of the doorway, half your body still visible in the dividing corridor. You raised your head but didn’t give her the time of day when she tried to tower over you, which was hard when you’re the same height as someone, and could very well be snapped like a twig, but that didn’t stop her from trying to act intimidating.

“I’m not insinuating shit! We all know they’re fucking you. So, how are they, huh? They any good?”

You just wanted to press yourself into the wall and disappear, not wanting to hear how Tricia was talking about the men who had raped you, asking about their performance. You didn’t want to remember anything about that night, or the pain they’d inflicted on you.

“Where’s your little hiding spot?” she went on. “A utility closet? The bubble? Or... maybe they bend you over a fucking table in the cafeteria when they’re on the nightshift, and fuck you raw? Hmm? Is that it? They fuck you right in the open when no one’s around to see?”

She was all up in your face, and you just wanted to sink through the wall and crumble into a heap of bones. You shut your eyes so hard you could see stars twinkling in the black. You didn’t want to listen to her, didn’t want to hear anymore of her words, hear her talk about Steve and Bucky fucking you like it was in any way consensual. Like it was something dreamy to obtain. Like something out of a whimsical porno.

The truth was much more brutal, much more painful and traumatic. It was nothing fanciful or tender about the way they manhandled you down onto that table, held you down and forced themselves into you against all your struggle. You just wanted them to stop, wanted her to stop.

“Stop...”

But Tricia just laughed at you, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she watched you recoil into yourself, pressing back into the unmoving bricks of the wall.

“Is that what you said to them, huh? You like it rough? Want ‘em to give you the full officer-treatment, hmm? Cuffs and all? Maybe even fuck you with their nightsticks?”

Her voice contorted into a laugh, which was echoed by her friends, who had started to creep closer to join in on the fun, circling like a cackle of hyenas. She turned her head to give everyone a better view, as she continued taunting you.

“Maybe they stick their cocks up your ass and fuck your twat with the stick, huh? Maybe spit roast you? Fuck an end each?”

Laughter was starting to roar in the dormitory, Tricia making quite the show out of it all. Even inmates who weren’t in on it, on either side, were starting to find her teasing amusing. But not you. You were creeping closer and closer to a breakdown with every word being said. It was all starting to play out in your head, everything was becoming so real you could feel the phantom touch of their fingers and more. Goosebumps prickled your skin like an armour of thorns, tears stung behind your eyes, beckoning you to open up and let them fall. So, you did, and everyone laughed even harder.

“See?” Tricia said to the room with a triumphant smile. “I fucking told y’all. This bitch is gettin’ fucked by the guards, and gettin’ treats for it. I hope that fucking chocolate’s worth it,” she said through a laugh, and, finally, stepped back.

Your shoulders were up to your ears by now, tears streaking your face. It hurt all over. Your body remembered their treatment of you, how they had hurt you. Tricia’s few words of truth hit like an arrow right into your soul. They were everywhere. Even when they weren’t here with you, you could still feel them.

And you were right to. Because behind the glass windows of the bubble to B-dorm, officer Barnes looked out, having just stepped in with his cup of coffee and another crosswords magazine to entertain him through the night. He saw Tricia Miller mentally pinning you to the wall, and laughing as she did. He couldn’t see your face, it was turned in towards your bunk, but the parts he could see of your body were all showing signs of discomfort and fear, and that boiled his blood.

He slapped the magazine down on the counter, his coffee spilling over the edge of his cup as it followed, and slammed the door to the dorm open.

“Hey!” he barked, and everyone’s smiles turned into dreading lines of worry at the sight of the angry officer.

Hearing his roaring voice shout out made your breathing seize up. He was going to hurt you. He was coming over and he was going to hurt you again. It was happening all over again, you were sure of it. But his eyes were set on another inmate.

Tricia gave a short, nervous scoff as Bucky’s steps ate up the ground quickly, holding her hands out to show she wasn’t a threat. She took a few staggering - fearful- steps backwards, looking around her for some support.

“Ey, I wasn’t doing nothin’,” she said, but her voice reeked of apprehension.

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky said through gritted teeth, and grabbed her arm with way more force than needed, and she winced. “I have fucking eyes, inmate. Think I didn’t see that?”

She gulped, eyes locked with his and not able to look away, no matter how much she wanted to. He was almost lifting her off her feet with his grip on her.

“We-we were just messin’ around, ya know?” she tried through a nervous snort.

But Bucky wasn’t believing any of it, having seen enough to know that she was lying. His jaw clenched as he scowled down at her.

“Didn’t look like Harper was enjoying it much,” he said, and turned on his heel with her swinging at his side. “You’re going to seg, inmate.”

“What? The fuck, dude? Ow!”

Bucky yanked on her arm at her disrespectful words, not giving one fuck about her discomfort whatsoever. As he passed your cube, he looked to your cowering form still stuck to the wall, not daring to move an inch. You were trembling even, tears still falling down from your eyes, landing on the floor in a growing puddle. Oh, Miller was going to stay in seg for some time for this!

Bucky stalked out of the room with Tricia still complaining loudly at his treatment, but he had every right to step in and do it. The fact that it was you he was helping and not just some random inmate, made him feel extra good about his interference, but he wished he would have caught it sooner. Maybe then he wouldn’t have left you behind in tears.

Everyone still left in the dorm were all quiet and tense after the officer walked away with Tricia dragging behind. Some looked accusingly at you, some seemed more ashamed of their own actions during it all. There were only a few that hadn’t joined in on the laughter, but mostly because they just didn’t care about the trivial matters of prison squabbles.

When it felt safe to do so, you tried once again to get to your bed and have a lie down, hopefully even sleep, but that was doubtful with all these questions running amok. Why had Bucky done that? Maybe he didn’t want someone else messing with you that wasn’t him or Steve. Perhaps they wanted the joy of being the ones to make you squirm exclusively, who knew? Or maybe it was a ruse to add even more fuel to the fire... God only knows what everyone must be thinking after Steve and Bucky both had told Tricia off for messing with you. Sure, her behaviour did call for correcting during both occasions, but they were both directed at you, and that was the conclusion everyone would come to in the end.

First Steve, then Bucky. It did not look good in anyone’s eyes. And in yours, it looked like a setup. They would most likely want you to be grateful for them stepping in and shutting Tricia down, something past experiences told you was not fun for you. Perhaps a sexual favour would be enough? Just a quick blowjob and you’d be done. You hoped that was the case.

You turned your head into the pillow and let go of the tears still dragging behind, weeping like a baby missing its mama. Images were flashing in your head of everything Tricia had said, everything the officers might do to you. You couldn’t survive anymore, you didn’t want to. You just wanted to disappear, to fall asleep and never wake up. But alas, the only thing you got was some relief of the tears shed, but sleep never found you. You just stayed where you were, and let time pass by, no matter how slow.

Everyone started quieting down, and soon they were asleep. Maybe not everyone, but most at least, but not you. Not only was your bladder poking for attention sooner rather than later, and sooner couldn’t come soon enough apparently, but you could endure some added pain to avoid potentially having worse done to you by any of the inmates in Tricia’s crew. But the main reason you stayed put, was that you were just waiting for officer Barnes to come back and call you away from everyone, tell you to show your appreciation. It was a regular occurrence with Nate, so why would Steve or Bucky be any different?

Officer Kowalski had been the one to strut through the dorm once the lights were lowered, checking for attendance and counting heads. You guessed that Bucky was busy taking Tricia down to solitary, but he would be back soon. What would he do? What would he ask of you in return for everything done? Would Steve also expect to be ‘thanked’? Worries circled in your head, overshadowing everything else. Your body tensed up with even the slightest dread of being invaded again, making your bladder press even harder for relief, but you didn’t care. You fought hard to ignore it, but all these ‘what ifs’ were growing like fields of dark sunflowers calling for attention.

Bucky had sent Tricia Miller off with Bennett to take her down to the SHU. His shift was ending soon, so Bucky had told him he could leave for the day when he was done. Bucky was his superior officer, something which came with a few perks. Instead of taking her down himself, he had gone to find Steve and share the latest news with him, as per usual.

“Hey, Stevie,” he said when he found him at the intake, going over some papers.

There was no one around except for an inmate further down the hall who was currently mopping the floor and mumbling to herself. Whatever she was saying they couldn’t hear, so she probably couldn’t hear them either. Bucky rested both his forearms on the counter, looking over it and down to see whatever Steve was doing, which didn’t seem all that exciting.

“I sent Tricia Miller down to the SHU,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. “Thought you should know that, as captain and all.”

Bucky wasn’t actually upset about Steve being assigned captain in Caputo’s absence, he just liked to tease him for whatever reason he could find, and Steve was a good sport about it. He knew Bucky didn’t have his eyes on any higher positions at work, so he took the jabs all in jest, giving his friend a glare and a tight, sarcastic smile.

“Thank you, officer,” Steve said, and kept on fiddling with his papers. “Please write up a report and hand it in at your earliest convenience.”

Bucky sighed, but couldn’t help but give a slight laughing scoff.

“God, you’re a pain in the ass,” he said, and smiled at Steve who just returned it.

“For real though,” Steve said. “What Miller do this time? I already told her off for inappropriate behaviour during count.”

“She was messing with Jess.”

That got Steve’s attention, and he looked up from his papers, even closing the open folder he had before him. He put his hands on the counter and leaned forward.

“Really? What happened?”

Bucky gave him a shrug.

“Don’t know, didn’t see it all. All I saw was Miller and some of her friends laughing, and Jess was pretty much pinned to the wall. She was crying and all, so... couldn’t have been nice, whatever it was.”

Steve nodded slowly as Bucky spoke, taking it in. It seemed to be something to that Miller/Millers name that just wanted to fuck with you apparently, make your life a living hell. It was infuriating.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “She whistled suggestively during count. I think the rumours of some sort of sexual relationship is at the root of it. Which, of course, is our fault. Well... mine.”

Steve looked down, ashamed of the truth of it, in all aspects. But Bucky gave him an apologetic look.

“It’s both our fault,” he said with a sigh. “We’re both to blame for everything and anything that’s happened to her.”

Steve nodded, feeling like he actually wasn’t alone in bearing the burden of it all, even though he still couldn’t get the shame to leave him alone. And the inmates weren’t all that wrong about what the two of them had been doing with you, just the gist of it. He had many things to feel ashamed about lately.

“Yeah, well,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Good thing you took Miller to SHU. Maybe that’ll ease some of the pressure off of Jess.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Bucky agreed, but sounded doubtful. “She doesn’t look too good, Steve.”

Steve heard the seriousness of Bucky’s voice, and met his worried eyes. The remorse and regret were hard to deal with as it were, even more so when seeing that you were hurting, for whatever reason. They felt responsible for you, and wanted to look out for you. Maybe in some way that would make it all better, make you feel better about them and not see them as monsters. At least not completely.

Steve sighed.

“We’ll keep an eye on her, Buck. Make sure she’s safe.”

Bucky nodded, trying to convince himself to listen and not let it all eat him up inside.

“Okay,” he said with a firm nod of his head, trying to clear out all the doubt. “Think Caputo’s reached the lawyer?”

Steve quirked an eyebrow and drew a deep breath.

“I haven’t heard anything. It’s getting late so I think it’s a lost cause for the night. He’ll continue tomorrow, I’m not even sure he’s still here, his shift ended an hour ago.”

Bucky nodded at him. He felt kind of crestfallen that Joe still hadn’t managed to reach your lawyer and get the ball rolling. You deserved a win after everything. But he decided to look on the bright side of things, and take another dig at Steve.

“Well,” he said, and knocked his knuckles on the counter. “At least I don’t have to take orders from your dumb ass anymore.”

He gave Steve a shit-eating grin when he met his sarcastically annoyed face. Steve glared at him for a moment.

“Just get back to the bubble, punk.”

Bucky let out a short-lived guffaw enough to jolt his entire body, before it died down to just a wide grin. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, trying to look serious, though his smile and tone greatly betrayed him.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

Steve couldn’t help the smile that broke out at the sarcastic honorific to mimic their military days. He watched Bucky’s back as he walked off towards the dorms to go about his round.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he shouted after him, and Bucky raised a hand in acknowledgment, but nothing more. “Jerk,” Steve muttered under his breath, and finished the last of the paperwork.

Bucky checked all of dorm A, C and D before heading back to B-dorm. Kowalski was keeping tabs on the other three, much smaller dorms which were all connected, but Bucky wanted to return the favor and give Kowalski the rest, at least for one check. Everything was as calm as it should be, so he headed to his own dominium for the night, eager to see how you were doing.

Sleep still hadn’t found you after the worries were all resurfaced by Tricia’s words. It didn’t take much to dig them up, you never managed to bury then particularly deep. The fact that they had even been buried under something at all to begin with was astonishing. But then again, the treatment and use of you was not new. Nate had gone through quite an artillery of inventive things to do to you, so there wasn’t much left that would be new to you. But the fear was different.

Fearing not one man, but two different men was something else entirely. And these men had all the power in the world over you, not just physically. It didn’t take much to overpower you, and Nate had done a bang-up job of breaking you down both emotionally and mentally as well, so all they had to do was pick up where he left off. But these men were authority figures, people put in charge and most likely were trusted by their peers. And you were a convicted felon, an inmate in a prison on the charges of murder. There was no way anyone would believe one word you had to say about either officers that could tarnish their reputation, and that was an even scarier truth.

You lay on your side, watching Gina sleep soundly in the bed across the cube. She had her back to you as always, blankets up to her ears. There was something hypnotic about watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, while you yourself couldn’t find a calm nerve in your body that would grant you sleep.

The small creak of the heavy door being opened stood out in the sea of soft snores and mumbles. Low, steady footsteps drew near, and you recognized his footing right away. Your heart beat loud against your sternum, the thrumming echoing in your ears. You could see the reflective light of his flashlight on the ground, pendulating from one side to the other until its source was visible behind the dividing wall, and the hand which controlled it came into view.

Bucky stopped in his tracks, slowly peeking his head around the wall to see if you were awake. Your eyes were set on the circle of light on the floor from his flashlight, but you were very much awake. He stepped inside the cube, speaking in a hushed voice.

“You okay?”

He could almost swear he saw a tremble travel through you, but he couldn’t be sure. It could be a trick of the light, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t.

Was this it? you wondered.

“Yes, sir,” you said, also keeping your voice hushed and low enough so no one would hear.

You slowly sat up in your bed, lifting the blanket off your body as you slowly rose up and planted your feet on the floor, still sitting down despite the pain. You were still wearing your clothes, even your hoodie, anything to cover up the still healing bruises.

“Where would you like to go, sir?”

Bucky furrowed his brows, not understanding what you meant. He swayed uncertainly from one foot to the other.

“What?” he asked, almost ducking his head to get closer and make sure you heard him.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. It wasn’t anything new to be asked to ridicule yourself through an explanation, making it seem like you were indeed asking for it.

“So I can thank you properly, sir,” you asked, and bowed your head at the mention.

Bucky couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You were blatantly asking for him to take you somewhere private so you could ‘thank him’ for what he did. You were actually offering to service him just to appease him, probably doing so to not risk having him demand it and hurt you. What the hell had Millers done to you?

“N-no, I…” he started and took another step in to really make sure that no one heard him.

You fought hard not to flinch back when he came closer. After all, you would have to get even closer if you were going to make him happy. You didn’t look up when he all but towered over you. Though his energy was forgiving instead of intimidating, it did nothing to reassure you of any kind intentions.

“I don’t want anything in return for what happened with Tricia Miller. I was just doing my job.”

He looked down at the top of your head. You didn’t look all that convinced where you sat staring at the floor, or more accurately; his boots.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Jess.”

‘I’m not gonna hurt you’. How many times had you heard those words being said to you, only to then have the opposite proven? Those words were nothing more than a smokescreen, a mirror in a funhouse to show a distorted reflection of reality.

Your brows twitched in apprehension, you opened your mouth but didn’t know what to say. Did he want you to beg him to let you suck his dick to show gratitude, anything to make him happy? Or was he simply not in the mood? Or maybe the coast just wasn’t clear enough. All these ‘what ifs’ were getting exhausting to keep track of, or even try to sort through.

Bucky saw your struggle, figuring you didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe it was the first time you had even heard a man say that to you? Though he guessed it was most likely a lack of trust of his words that made you mute. After what he did, after what Steve did… he really couldn’t blame you for not believing him.

Bucky drew a deep breath only to let it out, and crouched down before you. He watched you recoil, slightly shifting where you sat on the bed. Your face scrunched up in pain from the movement, and your eyes started glistening with unshed tears even in the dimly lighted room. God, could he just do something to not scare you? He hoped at least his words would come out right.

“I know you don’t believe me when I say that, but I do mean it. I’m not…” he sighed as he tried to find his words. “I’m not gonna hurt you again, Jess. Neither is Steve. We’re… we’re so, so sorry for what we did, we—”

Bucky stopped himself. He couldn’t say too much or he would spill everything. He had no idea how to ever even start apologizing for what both he and Steve had done, but he had to say something to try and reassure you of your safety. They weren’t going to hurt you again, they weren’t going to rape you again. And he needed you to know that.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stood up and walked out of the dorm.

You watched his back as he left, not understanding what had just happened. It was like you were in some kind of dream state, or an alternate reality. Like up was down, and right was left. Were you even here? Was this real?

Your heart started beating like it was trying to pound a hole in your chest. Your pulse was loud in your ears, thrumming away like it was trying to drown out everything else. Eventually it won. Your head filled with static, buzzing like a billion mosquitos had invaded your mind. Without noticing, you started rocking back and forth whilst cradling your head, the pain in your lower parts forgotten and overruled by fear. Everything started spinning. Even when you shut your eyes, everything was still spinning.

What had happened? You didn’t understand it. You just couldn’t wrap your head around it, no matter how hard you tried. What was this game? What had you missed? Surely there must be something that you’ve missed. Oh, no, what had you missed? There must be something. You couldn’t remember doing anything wrong. You had followed all the rules! Think, Jess, think! If you don’t figure this out soon, you’re gonna end up dead, or even worse… Just figure out the rules!

Bucky was sitting in his chair in the bubble, elbows on his knees and his hands folded underneath his chin. He was lost in thought and emotion. So much so, that he didn’t notice Steve walking in behind him, until he pulled out a chair from under the table and sat himself down with a loud puff of air.

“Oh,” Bucky said and cleared his throat. “Hey.”

Steve looked at him searchingly.

“Everything okay?” he asked, before looking out through the glass at the dark dorm. “Jess okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine,” Bucky said, and raked his fingers through his hair.

He sighed loudly, still lost in the moment that had only just passed. Steve was getting worried.

“Seriously, Bucky. What’s going on?”

Bucky sighed again, and leaned his forearms on his knees.

“I… I talked to Jess,” he said, and waited a beat before continuing. “I asked if she was okay after everything, and she…” he gave a saddened scoff. “She asked where I wanted to go, so she could thank me properly.”

He let that sink in for a moment, seeing the wheels turning in Steve’s head. His face contorted from worry about Bucky, to worry about Jess and the whole situation.

“She what?” Steve asked dumbfounded, frozen in his seat.

“Yeah,” Bucky said as he nodded continuously, and gave a sad, ironic chuckle. “She actually asked to basically suck my dick because I stepped in when they were ganging up on her. She wanted to make sure I knew that she was grateful for it. I mean, how fucked up is that, Steve?”

Steve sighed and pressed the palm of his hand into his eye.

“Jesus…”

You must be so scared in order to do that, to offer yourself and hope it was what Bucky wanted of you. How on earth could they not see it before? Everything you did reeked of subservience, obedience and fear. They really must have spurred each other on just to keep from seeing it, to keep from redirecting their venom.

Steve couldn’t separate his feelings of hate between Nate and himself. They blended on far too many spectrums. Millers had done such a good job to keep everyone in the dark, to keep his true nature hidden. And here he and Bucky were, keeping their own secrets hidden, as you slowly crumbled into nothingness.

“What’d you say?” Steve asked, feeling as pensive as he looked.

“That I wasn’t going to hurt her,” Bucky said. “And neither were you. Then I said I was sorry.”

Whether it was the right time or not was still up for debate, but the truth of his words and their need to be said was still clear. He needed you to know that he was sorry. They both did.

Steve inhaled deeply, his already broad chest puffing out before he released it.

“Yeah…” was all he said, feeling the itch to do the same.

“It just slipped out,” Bucky said, looking down at his hands. “I couldn’t look at her and not say something when she’s that scared of me.”

Steve nodded. He understood completely. It was just a matter of time before one or both of them started letting the apologies flow.

“Well,” Steve said and looked out into the dark room. “Wouldn’t mind doing the same.”

Bucky looked up at that.

“Think that’s wise?” he said. “I mean, I don’t know if someone might’ve heard it. I didn’t say anything about the… rape, but… Never know what conclusions these women come to, you know?”

“Yeah, but I can’t not say anything, Bucky, when you’ve already opened that door. I mean… I’m sure she’s not gonna believe either one of us, but… I have to tell her that I’m sorry. For everything.”

Bucky watched Steve’s face go from eagerness to sadness at the slightest mention of what they had done. He wasn’t going to lie and say that apologizing didn’t ease some of the pain of it all, despite Steve being right about you probably not believing either one of them.

You sat there on the bed just staring out into the dark, trying to makes sense of… well, anything. It was such a strange thing for the officer to do, to say that he was sorry. Nate had never said that to you, not unless it was mandatory and he had to put on a front. But this didn’t feel like that. Bucky had seemed almost like he was cornered, like there wasn’t anything else he could possibly say. Like he actually meant it. What was this game?

Had someone heard him talk to you? Was someone else awake? They would probably take the chance to come up to you and call you out on whatever the situation was if that was the case. No one passed up the chance to step up, or create even more gossip. And after what happened earlier, you were most likely the most wanted, and not in a good way.

Which reminded you of the more pressing issue, no pun intended. Your bladder was loudly calling out for some attention sooner rather than later. Stretching your neck, you spotted the clock on the far side wall; it was closing in on midnight. You’d have to go now, or wait until morning, unless you wanted to risk getting another shot for being out of bed when you weren’t allowed. Should you risk it? Both officers were working the night, which meant they could go in the bathroom if was needed. Maybe that was what they wanted? Should you go and see what happened?

You decided to do so, figuring it might be the right move in whatever new kind of game these men were playing. Grabbing a roll of toilet paper and your toiletries from the top of your locker, you stood up on weak legs. Your knees were almost shaking with apprehension, but you kept on. You walked slowly and quietly around the wall, hoping no one was awake to see. Despite keeping your eyes down on the ground before your feet, you could see both officer Rogers and officer Barnes sitting in the bubble, the dim light shadowing and darkening their shapes. All the hair on the back of your neck rose up, but you had to keep going.

Bucky and Steve both watched you shuffle across the floor, heading for the door. Steve checked the time; you had about ten minutes before the clock struck twelve. You knew it was last call, and had decided to chance it. He recalled the last time you had gone to the bathroom just before midnight, and what he had done. Yet another thing to feel shame about.

“I’ll go now,” Steve said, and stood up from his chair.

Bucky sighed, yet again, feeling like it was a risky move, but he couldn’t argue when he himself had just been dumb enough to talk to you out in the open like that. At least Steve could plan his words a bit better, and maybe not be propositioned right before apologizing, after conditioning you to do it in the first place.

“Be careful,” Bucky said just before Steve was out the door but turned his head. “She’s already a bit freaked out. And make sure not to say anything about... the footage.”

Even just the mention brought back all the horrible images they had witnessed playing back in those videos, and the horrible images of what they themselves had done.

Steve nodded with a reassuring smile on his lips, and disappeared behind the doorframe, heading towards the B-dorm bathroom.

Your bladder thanked you for the relief, and some of the added anxiety was lessened too. You changed the pad you had on, surprised at how little blood had seeped out. Maybe you were healing even faster with morphine in your system?

Throwing the bloodied rag away, you washed your hands and brushed your teeth. It didn’t matter that you would want to do it again should you be forced to suck any dicks tonight, going through the motions and following the routine helped keep the mind ghosts at bay, at least until the officers showed up.

They never did. You even waited a minute longer in case they were going to show, but no one came. You looked at the clock on the wall; two minutes left. You were cutting it close, you had to get back.

You rounded the corner from the bathroom to the corridor, and were met by a patient Steve standing just a few feet away from you, waiting. He was leaning one shoulder on the wall, facing you, and his hands were both in his pockets. He didn’t look mad, or predatory in any way where he stood staring down at the floor before looking up at you, but tell that to the lump in your throat.

Steve turned the corners of his mouth up in a gentle smile, not pushing off the wall, but stayed where he was.

“Hi,” he said softly, his smile still as gentle.

You stood as still as you could, not really knowing what to do besides wait.

“H-hello, sir.”

Steve nodded his head, looking back down at the ground. How he hated to hear that fearful ‘sir’ added after everything you said, hated that he had enforced it with his behaviour.

“Bucky told me what happened earlier,” he said. “With Miller. Tricia,” he corrected when realizing the similar name to your late stepbrother.

Was he waiting for you to say something, or should you just be quiet? You went for the last option, but made sure not to look disinterested in what he was saying.

Steve put his hand back in his pocket after it had flown up, seemingly on its own, when he added the name.

“How he went back to check on you,” he continued. “To see that you were okay. He—He didn’t see what happened with her but he saw that whatever it was, it was making you uncomfortable, so he wanted to make sure.” Steve waited a beat, but you didn’t move a muscle. “If I’d known it was gonna blow up, I would’ve removed her earlier.”

What? Was this another addition to things you should be grateful for? Things you needed to show gratitude for?

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, trying to find the words.

“Y-y...” you swallowed. “You couldn’t h-have known, sir.”

Please let that be the right thing to say.

Steve blew some air out of his nose, almost like a strangled snort.

“Yeah, well, I should’ve known,” he said. “Then Bucky wouldn’t have needed to step in and remove her, and make an even bigger scene out of it all. If I had just done it straight away, you wouldn’t feel the need to thank him for what he did.”

Now you understood where he was getting at. He wanted you to thank him, not just Bucky. But why he wasn’t crude about it and simply just told you to get on your knees you still couldn’t understand. Both officers had seemed very comfortable with giving orders before.

You closed your eyes for just a brief moment, pushing down the shame that was starting to bubble up inside you for what you were about to say.

“Would you like me to show you my gratitude, sir?”

Steve looked up from the spot on the floor which had taken his interest while he waited for you to speak. He pushed off the wall, but immediately regretted it when you took and involuntary step back, before catching yourself and stepping forward again. You were looking straight ahead, eyes lost somewhere in the long corridor. Anything to not look at him.

“No, no, I...” he took a breath, and tried again, keeping his distance. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want anything from you, Jess. No, I came here... to apologize.”

What did they mean by that? What the hell kind of game was this, you couldn’t figure anything out! One step right, then two steps left, and then it all changed again. What were they getting at? Was it just to play with your mind, make you think they were something that they weren’t and fool you into feigned security?

Steve sighed again, and dared to take a small step closer to you. You didn’t flinch back, but he could see the tension grow in your shoulders, and you hugged the items you were holding even closer to you. His eyes fell on the cast, and he had to ask.

“Which one of us did that?”

He lifted a finger to point at the cast, as if to clarify what he was referring to.

Would he be disappointed that it wasn’t him? You swallowed hard.

“O-officer Barnes... sir.”

Your voice was weak and shaky, your jaw trembling with the growing tension. Was he going to break your other wrist now, to make it even between the two?

“Bucky?” Steve asked lowly, and you only nodded in response.

He nodded his head back at you, making sure to keep his movements slow as to not scare you even more. He didn’t want to linger on the information, that was not the reason he was there, and he actually wasn’t relieved by the fact that it wasn’t him. He cleared his throat.

“I’m really sorry that happened,” he said, and saw the quick furrow of your brows for just a second. “I’m sorry any of it happened. It’s not gonna happen again, I promise you that.”

He watched your face as you processed what he was saying. Never once did you look reassured by his words, only pensive and worried. He kept talking anyway.

“I know you probably don’t believe us after what we did, and we don’t expect you to forgive us, and we would never ask you to. But I just want you to know that… I’m sorry.” He drew a deep breath to compose himself. “I never thought I would ever do something like that… But I did what I did, and there’s no changing that. But I am sorry. I’m so sorry, Jess.”

A lonely tear ran down your cheek at the words. Whatever game, whatever angle they were getting at, whatever their intentions were, you had never ever heard anyone say that they were sorry for hurting you. The words felt light and warm when he spoke them. You never knew how much you had wanted to hear those words being said, no matter it they held any truth or not. He had said them. You heard him say it, and the context was clear. You knew what he was saying sorry for.

Steve watched the tear slowly fall down your face, how your mouth opened in a silent gasp of disbelief. You looked stunned. He wasn’t sure if you even cared to hear him say it, or if you could even begin to believe him, but he felt better for having said it. He just hoped it would make a difference.

You closed your mouth, licking your lips to try and taste any words wanting to come out. Questions were running haywire in your mind, and dread grew as you didn’t know the correct response. Was it even real?

“…okay…”

Steve couldn’t fight the tender smile spreading on his lips when the soft-spoken word met his ears. He looked down at you, wanting just to hold you and make the pain go away, but he knew better. He would never truly understand what you felt, or how what he and Bucky had done had affected you. But he could understand that you’d rather not have them embrace you for their own selfish need for reassurance.

“Okay,” he echoed, his own voice stronger and surer.

He let out a breath of relief, feeling some of the weight lift off his shoulders from just speaking the words. It was no way near enough, and he still hated himself down to the bone. But the initial itch to tell all, to let you know that they knew about the footage, that they knew about your past was severally lessened, and for that he was grateful. Because that was protecting you. If you knew about it now, before anything could be done, or the ball had even begun to roll, that might be even more damaging than keeping you in the dark. And if them saying they were sorry could help even one bit, then that was just an added bonus.

“You should probably get some sleep,” he said, and turned his body so he wasn’t blocking you.

You nodded again, and started shuffling forward, half expecting him to stop you. He didn’t, he just followed along beside you, one step behind the entire way.

It wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be behind you, you should walk behind him. He was a man, an officer, your own tormenter… You should show him the respect of not walking ahead of him. But whenever you slowed, so did he, so you just had to keep walking.

The door was straight ahead, just a few feet left. Your eyes darted up to the ticking clock above it, noting that it was now four minutes past midnight. That was a shot.

You slowed your steps to a full stop, and turned your body slightly towards him. He kept his broad shoulders hunched forward, trying to appear smaller and less intimidating, but you knew the truth. He looked down at you as you spoke.

“I-I’m sorry I’m late back, sir.”

Your voice barely carried any volume, almost brittle to the sound. At first he couldn’t understand what you were getting at, but then he looked up to find the clock staring back at him, the time mockingly continuing to tick by.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, no, that’s—You’re not in trouble. You wouldn’t have been late if I didn’t stop to talk to you, so…”

Your eyes darted up to meet the officer’s against your better judgement. You locked eyes with him for a second or two, trying to get a reading on his intentions. He had made you late before, what was different now? Surely it had all been a ruse then? Anything to get you into even more trouble than before. This was all just some sick game they were playing. They were just making a fool out of you. You were nothing more than a toy to them.

You averted your eyes as quickly as they had jumped up, hiding the tears stinging and fighting for release. Of course, it was all fun and games to them. They just wanted to play tricks on you, see what buttons to push to get you to break. And it was a job well done.

Steve sighed, and reached for the door, speaking before opening it.

“Just get some shuteye and forget any of this ever happened.”

If only he could understand that what he meant by those words, was not what you heard.

CHAPTER 24 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 9229

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

Chapter 24

-

Steve had left you by the intake, standing by the reception counter to await whichever officers would take you to the hospital. He had gone to check who would be best suited, and make sure the ground was covered even in their absence. He had talked about getting someone up from Max to cover for them, but you weren’t really invested in his thought process.

Focusing on how the officers would manage to do it all was still a better train of thought than trying to figure out why Steve had acted the way he had. Fragments of those thoughts still managed to penetrate the track and appear here and there, but you fought hard to pay them no mind. You needed to save what little energy you had, and not go around in circles trying to predict the officers’ next move. Whatever happened, happened, simple as that, you know that. Don’t fight them, don’t question them, don’t do anything they hadn’t told you to do. That was the best game plan, and you knew that.

Steve found Bucky standing in corridor A, overseeing things. The hallway was quite calm, there were just a few inmates passing by. Bucky perked up when he saw his friend approaching, and was itching to know what had happened down at medical.

“Hey,” Bucky said when Steve came close, who raised his head in an acknowledging nod. “How’d it go?”

Steve planted himself next to Bucky and held his elbows in his hands, sighing as he did. He looked around, keeping an eye out for any eavesdroppers. This was a prison after all.

“She’s got a broken wrist and she needs to go to the hospital to get it fixed.”

Bucky looked dumbfounded at Steve. Never had he thought it would be something as serious as a break. He knew they must have both left bruises on you, but breaking your wrist had never been part of the plan. They never meant to hurt you that seriously. Though, the sexual trauma was probably the worst of it when he thought about it.

“What?” he said, baffled. “Are you serious?”

Steve nodded and sighed again, fighting the guilt building up inside him. It didn’t seem to stop coming.

“Yeah,” he said. “Banner said she needs to go as soon as possible or she might have permanent damage, seeing she’s been walking around with it for several days already.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and fought back the whirlwind of self-hatred that started rushing through him. He didn’t think it was that bad. But they had broken your wrist, tasered you, teared up your vagina and then left you to your own demise for days, after everything you had been through already, so how could he not hate himself? He had every right to do so.

He took a deep breath and released it in a loud huff.

“Okay,” he said. “When are you taking her?”

“I’m not,” Steve said. “Caputo asked me to cover for him as captain so I need to stay here on site. I thought maybe you and Fisher could take her?”

Bucky knew he had to take the bull by the horns and meet reality head on. He couldn’t hide away and not look at the damage done, especially not when he had an opportunity to be helpful in some way, even if it was simply escorting you to the hospital. If he hid from this, he would never be able to face himself again.

“Sure,” he said through a sigh. “That’s only fair right?”

It was more of a rhetorical question, and Steve didn’t want to project his own emotions onto Bucky, but if he had the opportunity to go, he would. At least if they were there, they could make sure no one else messed with you, they could look out for you. And Fisher was kindness personified, so it was the best bet to make sure you were cared for properly.

“Yeah,” Steve said, looking knowingly at Bucky. “It’s better to have you there to look out for her.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed.

Steve had done his part and kept an eye out for you down in medical, now it was his turn to do the same. Bucky knew Fisher would never treat you badly, especially not after seeing what you had already gone through, but she didn’t know the true damage that lay underneath the cover of your clothes, and might end up doing harm to you. Plus, she wasn’t exactly the posterchild for authority, and someone might try to step on her to get you alone, and render you without protection. At least that wouldn’t happen if Bucky was there.

“Great,” Steve said. “Jess is waiting by the intake. I’ll go get Fisher and send her your way while you guys get to the van.”

“Sounds good,” Bucky said with a nod.

“And, uh...” Steve started, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention before leaning in closer. “Take it easy on her. I think she’s more hurt than we initially thought, so... slow steps, you know?”

Bucky understood immediately, and felt shame pool in his stomach. He’d thought as much before too, but now Steve was confirming that suspicion. They had teared you up, ripped you from the inside, and then had the audacity to feel good and proud about it. At least at first, when they could still pretend and force any other feeling way down deep. But they hadn’t done the right thing, they hadn’t rectified anything and they hadn’t taught you a lesson. They had raped you. They had hurt you, then watched you pick up the pieces and carry on.

Bucky looked over at Steve, clenching his jaw to keep his anger and shame down. He wanted to punch himself out and not have to live with this for a second longer.

“Did he do a check?” he asked in a hushed voice. “Banner?”

Steve shook his head.

“No. She said she fell down the stairs, which he didn’t believe of course, and wanted to check her for other injuries as well, but... she didn’t let show that anything like that was bothering her, so... He thinks it was another inmate that did it, asked if there had been a fight recently.”

Bucky nodded, not knowing whether to be relieved at the fact, or just feel even worse for you not getting the medical help that you clearly needed. If they had managed to do such damage as break a bone, what else were you hiding?

He looked around quickly before meeting Steve’s concerned eyes.

“Think she’s hiding something else like that? Like her wrist?”

Steve shrugged and looked up at the ceiling, noting the clear need for cleaning it.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t even know how or when we broke her wrist, or which one of us did it, but she’s in clear pain. And what’s worse, she hasn’t taken anything for the pain.”

Bucky furrowed his brows when hearing it.

“What? Nothing?”

“No,” Steve said. “Banner asked and she said she wasn’t sure if her commissary had come in yet.”

Steve gave Bucky a glare which told his own thoughts on the matter, which Bucky agreed with. You weren’t worried about whether or not you had money, you weren’t sure if you were allowed to buy anything. Or what it might cost you, besides cash.

“Fuuck,” Bucky groaned lowly, mentally hitting himself over and over.

How much worse could it get? It seemed to be piling on by the minute, and he hated himself for feeling bad, when it was nothing compared to how you must be feeling. He had nothing to complain about when you were walking around with a broken wrist, a torn-up vagina and multiple bruises. And that was just the physical part. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what your mental state was like.

He drew a deep breath and sighed loudly before speaking.

“Well... Go get Fisher and we’ll take her to the hospital right away. Maybe that will fix something at least.”

You were still standing obediently where Steve had told you to stay and wait. Your wrist was throbbing even from its confinement, but the pain was steadily easing up as the morphine kicked in. It was still kept safely close, either your chest or abdomen, just in case someone might bump into it. Or grab it. Or twist it.

You heard the firm and steady footsteps of an approaching officer coming from slightly behind you. You knew who it was, or at least knew it was one of the two. It wasn’t surprising that they didn’t trust you enough to let some of the other guards take you, but wanted to go themselves to make sure you kept your mouth shut. Not that you were going to say anything, no matter which guards took you. But you knew you would be pressured again once you got to the hospital, and having one of the men who assaulted you standing in the room, probably not far from you, would really put that last nail in the coffin of staying silent on the matter.

Bucky saw you standing at the end of the hallway like a statue, not moving a muscle. There wasn’t even an indication of having heard him approach, not even a slight turn of your head. Just the slow rise of your chest, your breathing shallow but unhurried. Your head was kept down, either looking at the lower part of a wall or maybe even the floor, and no changes were made even as he drew near enough to be seen in your peripheral.

Should he say something? ‘Un-officer-like’? Or was it best to let things seem as they were? But that meant that you would still see him as a scary monster, someone who would hurt you again most likely. Someone to be scared of. To fear. And he didn’t want that. He hated knowing that you saw both him as Steve as such. That they had become what a woman would fear. And a woman like you no less, who had been through enough already.

“Hey, uh...” he started when he came close enough.

He didn’t want to put you in a position where you were forced to speak to him, so he kept things simple and straight forward. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“I’ll be escorting you to the hospital along with CO Fisher. Steve is getting her now.”

There was no use in being formal and calling him officer Rogers when you were all way past a first name basis. Bucky even remembered you trying to reason with Steve that night by using his name, something he had chided you for.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, and he felt a pang of pain when hearing how hollow your voice was.

He wanted to beg your forgiveness, to apologize and just start making things better, but he couldn’t. This was not the time, nor the place for that sort of thing. Just like Steve, he had to settle for the relief of just making sure you were safe, and got the help you needed. But you didn’t have to be so polite about it.

“No need to thank me,” he said instead. “Just doing my job.”

Of course he was. He wasn’t doing this out of kindness or care for your state. He was simply doing what was required of him. It was a part of his job to escort inmates whenever they left the grounds, to make sure nothing happened while they were away, even if that meant taking the person he wanted to see hurt to get help. Maybe he had volunteered to go with you even. To make sure you didn’t cry for help and tell it all to the hospital staff and see to it that an investigation was started. You bore the truth after all. All they would need to do was take a look at your body and questions would arise. Or maybe he wanted to be there for the pain. Nurse Banner had mentioned that resetting your wrist would be painful, so maybe officer Barnes just wanted a front row seat.

The officer raised an uncertain hand to your upper arm, picking the uninjured one thankfully, and slowly took a step to start heading for the door. You followed along, matching his steps. Why he was walking slower than normal you couldn’t understand, but you were thanking whichever god for that kindness.

During the walk to the van, which was quite some distance over the grounds, the officer looked down on you more often than not. You weren’t sure what he was looking for, but his eyes jumped from your face, well, more your head since you didn’t look up, down to your arm where it rested in the splint. His hand kept its hold on you, but his grip was light and more reassuring than forceful. Though you still wished to evade it, but you knew it didn’t matter what you wanted. Silent prayers and wishes did nothing more than disappoint.

Bucky kept his pace slow but not too sluggish, not wanting anyone to catch wind of something more being up than ‘just’ a broken limb, which was enough to warrant careful stepping in his book. Your steps were a bit hobbling at times, most likely pain erupting in your lower parts after their unfair and harsh treatment of you, and it made Bucky want to hurl whenever he saw it. He didn’t know it was possible to hate oneself this much, but he sure was doing it.

The van was closing in with each staggering step, and CO Fisher was nowhere to be found yet. That meant that you would be alone with Bucky until she got there. Would he take advantage? Steve hadn’t. Maybe they didn’t want to do anything when there were people around. You looked around you, and only found a few trailing inmates heading in, but other than that, it was vacant. Should you be worried?

You came up to the van, and Bucky reached for the door handle to slide the door open, revealing the backseat which was separated from the front by a grating. He took a step back to allow you to step in. You swallowed the lump that had started to form in your throat, still afraid that the officer would do something to you. You were starting to come out of your haze now that the pain was subsiding, and you didn’t care for it much. Being apathetic wasn’t as mentally tough as this.

You put one foot on the step to get into the van, and you could feel Bucky help you up. His grip tightened as he did so, and you didn’t know whether to stop and stand still or just sit down. Was he trying to stop you, or just help you? But why would he help you though?

“You okay?” he asked, almost with a worry to his voice which was set softer than you had ever heard him speak.

You sat down in the middle of the wide seat, ready to scoot over. Pain blossomed in you lower parts, and you fought to hold back the whimpers. You couldn’t hide the grimaces, but at least you didn’t start moaning and whining.

“Yes, sir,” you said, keeping your tone low but audible enough as to not upset him. “Thank you.”

Always be grateful for any kindness shown, no matter the reason. One of the rules, and an important one at that. He didn’t have to be nice to you, so if he was, you better be grateful and thank him for it. It was best to stay humble and know your place. And that place was beneath his boot to do with as he pleased.

Bucky stayed outside the van, not wanting to crowd you unless he had to. The ride to the hospital would be more than enough of that, so he gave you the distance he could. He varied between looking at you where you sat, unmoving and docile, and checking the doors to see when Fisher would get here. Either she was slacking and not hurrying at all, or he was just uncomfortable. Either way, time was not moving very quick.

He looked down at the ground, before finding his voice when meeting your profile.

“The painkillers kicked in yet?”

Would he be disappointed by the answer?

“Yes, sir.”

Bucky nodded, his mouth turning into a tight smile, his lips almost just a thin line.

“Good,” he said and nodded. “That’s good.”

His voice was friendly, his tone kept light. He seemed genuinely pleased by the fact that your pain was lessening, which seemed strange seeing he was the one who put you in that position in the first place.

He didn’t know what else to say. What could he say? ‘Hey, by the way, I’m really sorry for raping you, I hope you can forgive me.’ Yeah, that’s great, Barnes, real clever. Do that, and end up in lockup along with Steve and have no one looking out for Jess, or make sure that nothing else happened to her. No, it was better to keep quiet for now.

Officer Fisher came darting towards the van, her steps hurried, knowing both you and Bucky were waiting for her.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, and jingled the keys in her hand. “I couldn’t find the right keys to the van.”

She looked a bit embarrassed by the fact, but she had only worked at the prison for a few weeks, and had never been on a ride along before.

“That’s alright,” Bucky said kindly, acting like he wasn’t relieved to see her. “No harm done.”

Fisher smiled and gave you a concerned look where you sat in the backseat, not facing the officers, just looking straight onto the grating. Worry spread across her face, and she hurried over to the driver’s side to get the show on the road.

Bucky took a deep breath to steady himself, and jumped in to sit beside you, blocking the door as he should. He noticed your subtle flinch when he went to sit, and you scooted away to keep some distance, but not too much. You weren’t blatantly pressing yourself to the far side of the van, even though you probably wanted to, but you kept your body turned to protect yourself. He could understand why. Just sitting down must be a constant reminder of what he had done to you, and what he was capable of doing again.

He leaned back in his seat, getting comfortable enough to endure the ride to the hospital. Questions and worries were swimming in his mind, making his heart beat faster and his breathing laboured from time to time. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to succumb to it all and drown in his shame and woe. So, he counted road signs the entire way.

48.

Once at the hospital, Fisher turned the van into the drop-off zone, and pulled the car to a stop.

“Okay,” she said with an upbeat tone. “You guys go ahead and I’ll find you later.”

She had to park the car in the garage first, which meant that officer Barnes was the one to take you in and get you settled. You felt your heart start to beat a little faster, a little harder. He had been kind before, but there was no telling of what he might do if he got the opportunity.

Bucky reached for the handle and slid the door open and stepped out. He assessed the surroundings, finding only a few people entering and exiting through the double doors leading to the reception. He turned to face you.

He noticed a slight quiver to your jaw. He wasn’t sure if it was from fear or just tension, but he didn’t like that it only appeared once he looked at you. He reminded himself to keep his expression relaxed, and not let his inner turmoil read true. There was a more than slight risk that you might misinterpret it.

He cleared his throat to get your attention without ordering it, and stepped back a beat to allow you more room to get out.

You gathered what he was getting at, without speaking the words, but you knew better than to move without being told to. Would he be mad if you didn’t step out right away, or would he be mad if you stepped out without him telling you to? You were used to it being the latter, so you waited. Both officers shared a look, before both looking back to you.

“You’ll be fine,” CO Fisher said kindly, thinking you were fearful of the treatment or the doctor, and not her fellow officer. “They’re gonna fix you right up. We’ll be outta here in no time.”

You looked up at her face through the grating, finding her smiling softly at you, trying to reassure you of her words. But it wasn’t her voice you were waiting to hear. You needed it to be Bucky who told you it was okay to step out, or you might be punished for disrespecting him. Gratefully, he agreed with Fisher.

“Yeah,” he said, also keeping his voice light and not as tense as he felt. “I’m sure they’ve done this plenty of times before, you have nothing to worry about. Now, come on.”

He wasn’t ordering you like he usually did, but maybe he was just keeping things light when CO Fisher was around. Either way, he had told you to get out so you did.

Once again, you felt the burn between your legs flare up, and you couldn’t help but whimper slightly when stepping out onto the concrete. Bucky noticed and you could almost swear you saw his face contort in worry, but you wrote that off pretty quickly. He reached behind you to grab the door handle, and you heard the loud click of the door as it slid back into place. He banged the side of it twice, letting his colleague know it was alright to drive off.

His chest nudged your shoulder as he did so, and you couldn’t help but flinch back to separate yourself from him. He noticed and froze. Oh, no. That’s not good. You swallowed down the lump in your throat and turned slightly to face him better, but, of course, not meeting his eyes.

“Sorry, sir,” you said meekly, and reached both of your hands forward, palms upward.

It was protocol to always keep inmates in handcuffs during visits outside of camp. The splint was thin enough so the cuffs would fit around it, though it would probably be painful. But that didn’t matter. He had every right to do what he pleased.

Bucky looked down at your banged-up wrist, getting an eyeful of the bad bruising and swelling peeking out, feeling his stomach twist at the sight. He looked up. He would have met your eyes if you ever raised them, but instead he met your forehead, seeing your eyelashes graze your cheeks whenever you blinked. You looked so small, standing there all scared and submissive, ready to follow any order he gave. If they only backed up a few hours, he would force the feeling of guilt down and replace it with contentment and pride, but he couldn’t do that anymore. This was now.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, his voice low, and carrying something deeper.

Your gaze shot up for just a split second, finding him looking tenderly down at you with a saddened smile on his lips. Your brows knitted together for just a moment, not knowing what to make of it. You couldn’t help but feel at unease with not knowing what the officer’s intentions were. Was he not playing by the same rules as Nate? Had you missed something? Did you mess up?

“Th-thank you, sir,” you added, feeling it was the safest bet to not be reprimanded.

Bucky quirked the corners of his mouth up for just a second or two, and grabbed a hold of your arm, with your hands still free. His grip wasn’t hard, but it was still firm enough to let you know you wouldn’t get away should you try. You were in public now, and he needed to show his assertion.

He walked you through the doors and up to the reception counter. You couldn’t help but look around, noticing how everyone in the room was staring at you, and whispering amongst themselves. The fact that a man in an officer’s uniform was holding on to you didn’t exactly ease everyone’s fears. You weren’t sure if Bucky’s stature and physic was making them feel safer, or even more fearful of you. Either way, you were the main attraction, and everyone looked on as Bucky talked with the receptionist.

“Officer Barnes accompanying inmate Jessabelle Harper from Litchfield penitentiary to get her arm fixed. A Bruce Banner has called ahead to let you know we were coming.”

The lady behind the counter looked between the officer and you, once she could tear her eyes away from him. Her brown eyes looked like melted puddles of chocolate whenever she faced him, his smile charming and easy. She fumbled with some papers behind the glass keeping her separated from all the clients and patients, eventually finding what she was looking for.

“Of course, officer. Oh, uh...” she mumbled, rustling away. “Ah, here it is. Yes, doctor Strange will be taking care of, uhm... inmate... Harper today,” she said with a nervous titter.

You could tell she was debating whether to call you ‘miss’ or ‘inmate’, but of course chose to go with whatever the very handsome officer had called you, eyeing him like he was a piece of pie.

The receptionist stood up and leaned forward to point in a certain direction, and her cleavage just happened to be even more prominent as she did. Though, Bucky was a perfect gentleman, and didn’t look down once, despite her clear invitation to do so.

“Just go through there and take a right, then it’s the third door on your left. Would you like me to show you?”

Oh, you could tell she really wanted him to say yes to her proposition, but he politely declined.

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” he said, his voice firm again, like it usually was. “I got it. Take a right, then the third door on the left. Thank you.”

Bucky turned you towards the door to which the receptionist had pointed, and started walking. Again, slower than usually, much to your gratitude. He didn’t seem to be too bothered about everyone staring, he just kept on walking strong. But slow.

Bucky knocked on the door once you got there, but there was no answer. The sign read Dr. Stephen Strange, so it was the right room. He turned the doorknob and peeked his head in, but the room was empty. He debated whether to wait out in the waiting area, but that would just put you under scrutiny, and he didn’t want to put you through that. Plus, the receptionist had told him to go to this very room, so he decided to step inside.

“Guess we’ll wait in here,” he said, and closed the door behind you.

He released his grip on you, and went to stand next to the door. He planted his feet wide apart, and crossed his arms over his chest. You didn’t move. You stood rooted to the ground where he had left you just a few feet inside, only looking around the room as much as you could without raising your eyes too much.

It looked pretty much the same as the exam room at the prison, only this one was stacked from floor to ceiling with books and models of different body parts, the walls papered with anatomy posters and charts. It was bigger than the one at the prison. The desk was bigger, the computer screens, yes plural, were bigger. Overall, it was just a larger exam room.

Bucky watched you looking around, peeking up every now and again to look at a poster or chart, only to lower your eyes again. It was torture to see you like this, and he hated himself for feeling like that. He hated that he made it all about his own emotions and not yours, even though your distress was the reason for his shameful feelings. He felt like a helpless bystander who didn’t dare to step in, and that was a far cry from who he was, who he had always - or at least almost always- been. He was the one doing the saving, not the hurting, at least most times. But things had drastically changed, 'cause here you were.

Since you were still standing where he had left you, he gathered that you wouldn’t move unless he told you to.

“You could take a seat if you want?” he said, and nodded to the cot where the doctor would most likely ask you to sit once he arrived.

You flinched when hearing the officer’s voice, and turned your head to see him better in your perirhinal, then looking to the bed. You started shuffling over.

“Thank you, sir.”

Hearing a ‘sir’ after everything you said, didn’t make Bucky feel very good or noble, especially in a moment which he didn’t deserve any thanks to begin with. It didn’t make him feel like he was a trusted authority figure, or someone worthy of honouring in such respectful ways. It made him feel feared. And he really hated that. He had always been someone people could rely on, or come to for help. But you just wanted to run the other way, but didn’t have the courage to do so.

As you went to sit, you winced and your brows knitted for just a second, as pain flared through your core. It still hurt to sit down, especially when you had to lift up to do so. Your vulva was bruised and burning, and complained loudly at anything pressing at it. You swallowed down the whimpers that wanted to fly free and ease some of the strain, not wanting to upset the officer.

Bucky felt his stomach twist again when he noticed. He took a step closer, but kept his distance, not wanting to scare you. He understood that in your eyes he was a monster (in his own eyes that was becoming very clear too) and that you might not want to be near him more than you had to, but he had to offer.

“You okay?” he asked, reaching out a hand as if to comfort you from a far.

He felt the stupidity of the question. You had been raped, beaten and everything in between, and he had the audacity to ask if you were okay... But once again, you gave the answer you thought he wanted to hear.

“Fine, sir. Thank you.”

You weren’t sure if the officers were fishing for something else besides ‘fine’. Maybe they wanted to hear that you were indeed hurting. That you weren’t fine. That sitting down felt like sitting on charcoal because of them forcing their way into your body. But Nate never liked hearing it. Once it was done with, he didn’t want you bitching about it, or bringing it up when it wasn’t asked for. So, you kept on with the façade of it being okay, even though it was becoming evident that it wasn’t.

There was a loud knock at the door, just two knocks, then it was opened to reveal a tall man with a long face. His hair was dark, and he had a slight stubble on his chin and cheeks. He was wearing a white coat so... by default, dr. Strange.

“Oh, good,” he said, and walked in with a folder under his arm. “You’re here,”

He closed the door behind him and turned to face the officer. He held out his hand to Bucky, who took it in a firm grip and shook it.

“I’m doctor Strange. I’ll be taking care of inmate Harper today.”

“Officer Barnes. Good to meet you. My colleague will be with us shortly.”

“Ah, yes, good.”

The men ended their handshake with a cordial smile, then turned their attention on you.

“Is it all right to go ahead with just you here?” the doctor asked the officer, looking over his shoulder to do so as he turned to his desk.

You knew it wasn’t personal. It was probably protocol, like it was for the prison to have two guards go with one inmate. The doctor probably wanted to make sure that he was safe to do his examination and get you sorted, without having to worry about getting in harm’s way.

“Of course,” Bucky said with a smile, then directing it towards you apologetically.

The doctor threw the folder on his desk, where it landed with a loud slap. He grabbed the swivel stool and dragged it over to where you were, sitting himself down in front of you, looking up.

“Hi,” he said with a big smile, slapping his hands on his knees. “Doctor Strange as you may have heard. Strange name, I know, but it is what it is.”

You looked up to meet the doctor’s eyes for a moment.

“Jess Harper,” you said lowly.

The doctor nodded, and pointed towards your hand.

“A Colle’s fracture, was it?”

He took your hand in a gentle grip to look it over, still in the splint.

“Yes, sir,” you said, remembering the kind nurse back at camp calling it that.

“Hmm,” he said, twisting and turning your hand and wrist to look it over.

Bucky felt a tightening in his jaw when he noted your pained expression as the doctor went on with his exam. He didn’t like to see you in pain, nor did he like that the doctor was touching you around the area which must be the most painful. At least at the moment.

There was a knock at the door before it was opened, revealing officer Fisher. She smiled and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

“Hi,” she said, when the doctor looked up.

“Hi,” he said back. “I’m doctor Strange.”

“Susan Fisher,” she said with a wide smile.

She met Bucky’s eyes for a moment, who returned her smile where he stood with his arms crossed over his chest and balled fists hidden, then walked past him to stand on the other side of the room. They could both oversee the exam from each side, there to cover and help the doctor should the inmate try anything. Though, both Bucky and Susan knew you weren’t the type.

“Well,” Strange said and scooted back a step. “It’s pretty straight forward. I have the x-ray that nurse Banner took still at the prison, so I won’t need to take any more. I can set your bones straight as it is.” You could see his discomfort at the mentioning of prison, as if he remembered that you were in fact an inmate. “But... there was a note made by the nurse, that he wasn’t convinced that you weren’t in fact hurting somewhere else, and wanted me to do a complete examination of you.”

And there it was again. You had managed to dodge it before, and could do so again. And yet again, you had one of the officers responsible for your pain in the room with you, and he was most likely as set as you were that there wasn’t going to be any examination taking place.

“That won’t be necessary, sir. I’m fine. I just hurt my wrist.”

You dared a peek up at the man in front of you, trying to portray some sort of assertion. But he just drew his lips into a thin line and nodded once.

“I hear you. But if there is a doubt of your safety, I am required and obligated to see to it that you get the help you need. Will you allow me to do the check?”

“No.”

There was no added ‘sir’ to that statement. You made it clear that you will not let this man take a look at your body, and see the damage done. Not the fresh bruises left by the officers, and definetly not the horrid scars left by Nate. The officers hadn’t seen it, no one had seen the whole thing, only glimpses, and you were set on keeping it that way. And you were more afraid of what the officers might do to you should you show anyone, than any pain or damage inflicted by not having what already infested your body, looked after properly.

Doctor Strange sighed, and turned his head towards Bucky.

“Officer Barnes,” he started. “The inmate might be severally hurt. If she does not allow me to do the check and treat whatever might be ailing her, she could be in severe danger of a number of things. I need to check her. Could you please assist me?”

Your eyes shot up at the officer. He wasn’t going to do that, was he? He knew what you were trying to keep hidden, what you were trying to protect. Surely, he wouldn’t want to risk his own by forcing you do to a medical examination?

Bucky met your worried eyes for the first time in a long time. He had almost forgotten the softness mixed with the fear that always seemed to be swimming in your deep blue. He was surprised when he realized that you were both trying to protect different things hidden beneath your clothes. You were worried about what he might do should anyone know of the damage he had Steve had done. And he was mostly worried about keeping your scars hidden, and not put you through the embarrassment of having them shown. You obviously weren’t comfortable with anyone seeing them, and he would do whatever he could to keep you from feeling even more hurt and betrayed than you already did.

He looked to the doctor, who looked back at him with an almost annoyed expression on his face, agitated by you not cooperating with him.

“I’m sorry, doc. The inmate still has rights. If she doesn’t want the check done, it’s not gonna get done.”

You visibly relaxed when hearing Bucky’s words, and his face was like set in stone when he looked at the doctor. He had your back, not the doctor's. You breathed in deeply and gave the officer a minor nod as a ‘thank you’, and he returned it with a small and short smile.

The doctor sighed again, feeling that he was defeated.

“May I have a moment with you, officer?” he asked and rose to his feet.

Worry pooled in your stomach when Bucky nodded and the two of them stepped out the door. CO Fisher, who had been standing silently and idly by, took the opportunity to speak to you in private.

“I know it can be scary to be at a doctor’s office, but he is only trying to help you.”

Her voice was soft and apologetic. You felt as if she was trying to convince a child of getting a flu-shot, and refusing without getting a popsicle for it. That was not the situation.

“I know, ma’am,” you said, and finally looked up to meet her concerned face. “But I-I don’t want him to check for any more injuries. Cause there a-aren’t any.” And that was that.

Outside the door, dr. Strange spoke lowly to Bucky, not wanting you to hear anything trough the door. Bucky stood his ground and didn’t crumple even when the equally tall doctor tried to change his stance to intimidate him. This was exactly why Fisher didn’t go alone with you.

“If she does not get checked, we could miss something vital. It is imperative that I check her over for any more injuries.”

“If she doesn’t want the examination done, there is nothing I can do.”

Strange rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath.

“Officer, your nurse noted that he did not believe her to be fine and wanted me to do the full examination. I agree with nurse Banner. I don’t think that this happened through a fall down any stairs. This was done to her, by someone else.”

Bucky raised his brows at him, not minding the irritation of the other man’s voice.

“With all due respect, doc, but whether or not she fell down the stairs has nothing to do with it. She is under no obligation to report any misconduct by another inmate, I don’t care who she’s trying to protect. Neither you, nor me, can force her to have the check done. But her wrist is broken and hurting, so maybe you could just go ahead and fix that? Unless you’d rather stand out here arguing with me whether or not I am gonna hold an inmate down while you check her over for any more, potential, injuries?”

The doctor clearly had his ego bruised by Bucky’s words. When he asked to see the officer in private, it was to get his way and have him listen, not the other way around. It was clear the officer had no intentions of arguing any further, so Strange just kept his mouth shut and nodded his head, once.

“Okay,” he said, defeated, and opened the door behind his back, and stepped back inside.

When Bucky appeared behind the doctor as they both stepped through, he gave you a soft glance to let you know he had taken care of the situation. Again, he was still worried underneath, that you did in fact have more injuries which needed to be treated. But you yourself had declined the doctor’s offer, and who was he to argue with that?

CO Fisher lit up when the men returned to the room, after it having been silent since you shut her down. She wasn’t very comfortable with silence, not when she didn’t know what to make of it, so she was grateful to have them back, and filling up the room.

“Right,” doctor Strange said, and went to his desk to open the file he had brought with him. “Let’s get that wrist set back into place and put into a cast, and you’ll be free to go.”

He caught himself one second too late. A blush rose up his cheeks when he realized his poor choice of words. The officers both just gave him a look which said ‘yep, you fucked up’, but left it at that. You on the other hand, didn’t seem to have taken any offence.

“Sorry,” he said and cleared his throat. “Now, I’m gonna give you a mild sedative and some morphine, that should be enough to handle the pain of resetting the bone. That sound alright to you, miss Harper?”

You nodded your head when he looked up.

“Yes, sir.”

But Bucky didn’t quite agree.

“She’s not gonna be awake during the procedure, is she?”

Doctor Strange looked up and met the scowl on the officer’s face.

“The break is clean enough for me to simply force it back into position if she’s relaxed enough. The sedative and painkillers should be enough for that.”

“Should?” Bucky argued. “She has been walking around with a broken wrist for several days already, without anything to numb the pain, and now you’re gonna reset her bones while she’s still awake?”

CO Fisher looked on as the tension grew, looking between her colleague, the doctor and you, who seemed to be surprised by Bucky’s argument.

“If she says it’s fine, then it’s fine,” Strange countered, staring back. “It’s up to her, is it not, officer?”

That got Bucky’s blood boiling. The doctor was trying to throw his own words back at him, and he was not having it. It was both of their jobs to protect you and help you, and if the good doctor didn’t want to do his part, then so be it.

“You haven’t given her an option, doc,” Bucky said firmly. “Perhaps if you did, she might reconsider.”

You waited, tensions running high. You didn’t want to interrupt them, it was best to just wait. Apparently, officer Fisher shared your thought, since she still hadn’t spoke up. She seemed to be on Bucky’s side though, throwing a few vile glances at the doctor, and grateful ones at Bucky for speaking up.

“Alright,” Strange said, a strain in his voice. “It can also be done under anaesthesia, but that requires you to be fasting for 24 hours before. That means no food or water whatsoever. Or I can reset it, like I said, with a sedative and morphine to help you relax. It shouldn’t take long to get it fixed. And if you have been walking around with the break for several days already, like the officer said–” he didn’t sound too pleased to be referring to the officer’s words. “–the pain of resetting the bone should be a walk in the park for you. And just as quick.”

Wow, how tempting it all sounded... You thought both options over. If you wanted the anaesthesia, that meant you had to come back again, which you really weren’t keen on. Plus, the doctor seemed very insistent of examining you, and you didn’t fully trust that he wouldn’t take advantage of the situation when you weren’t conscious to oppose, your trust for men was low as it was. Maybe resetting it right away was the best option? It would be done now, you would be somewhat under, then you would be out of there. You had already bore the pain of having your wrist be broken, then be raped by two officers, to then walking around with it for days. And that was without any sedative, no matter how mild.

“I don’t need any anaesthesia,” you said, your voice surprisingly strong and stable, at least in comparison to a few hours ago. “I’d like it done today, please.”

Bucky wanted so bad to roll his eyes at himself. Of course, you went with that. What did he expect? You weren’t the one to be of inconvenience, and you were smart enough to know that you wouldn’t be staying at the hospital until you could go through with the procedure under anaesthesia. And you were so used to pain by now, you didn’t even have to think for long before opting for the quickest solution.

CO Fisher finally spoke up.

“You do realize it’s gonna be painful, right?”

She ignored the low sigh of the doctor, who in truth was beginning to feel fed up with the officers trying to convince you to wait. But you just nodded. You didn’t even look up at her. So, she left it at that. You had made your decision.

Bucky and her shared a look of concern, both feeling like you were making a mistake, that you just wanted to be out of here as quick as possible, and didn’t think of the pain involved. But Bucky was really coming to understand of just how used to pain you were.

“Great,” dr. Strange said. “I’ll go get things ready.”

With that, he left the room, and the officers could finally speak plainly.

“What an asshole,” Bucky said, not giving two fucks if the doctor could hear him through the door or not.

Fisher snickered, covering her mouth with her hand to keep from outright laughing. But you didn’t. You didn’t agree, you didn’t disagree. It wasn’t your place to have an opinion on anyone, and the officers were clearly talking amongst themselves. So, you stayed quiet and just waited for the doctor to come back. During the time, the officers were comparing dr. Strange to other people they also thought to be a bad fit for their job, and you were somewhat relieved to not have them directing anything at you.

The doctor came back in with all the supplies he would need for the whole procedure. He was quick to get a vein catheter in, and get you pumping with morphine before adding the sedative. He asked you to lay back and give in to the feeling of drowsiness, which was easy given how physically drained you were. You did as he asked, the pain in the rest of your body lessening thanks to the added morphine, so it didn’t hurt as much to move. You welcomed the feeling, and completely succumbed to it, more or less on the verge of unconsciousness.

Bucky had to strain to keep where he was, and not come to your side to watch the whole ordeal and make sure you were okay. He wanted so bad to just make the pain go away, to erase the past and save you before any of it happened. And watching your face contort in pain and nerves wasn’t helping.

The doctor was quick to push the bone back where it belonged, twisting your wrist over as he did to make sure it stayed put. It didn’t hurt as much as the breaking of it had, but it was still up there. You couldn’t help the tiny whimpers from falling during the whole ordeal, and your breaths came out in puffs of air.

CO Fisher had turned to her side during it all, being quite squeamish when it came to things like that. She didn’t fully turn her back, seeing she had to keep watch of everything, but she allowed herself to at least turn away. Especially since her fellow officer kept tabs on absolutely everything going on, not taking his eyes off you if he could help it. He twitched where he stood, clenching then unclenching his fists hidden underneath his biceps, as the doctor worked.

Dr. Strange did an x-ray with a similar portable machine as the one down in medical at the prison, to make sure the bones were all aligned, before he put a cast on. The cast was surprisingly thin, which Strange explained was for comfort, and proven just as stable as a thicker one, at least when it came to these types of fractures. It would allow you more movement and use of your fingers, which in turn would help speed up the recovery after the cast was to be taken off. You would still have to keep taking painkillers everyday to help keep the pain at bay, but he assured you that the pain would subside quite quick now that the bone was set straight again.

“And there we are,” the doctor said. “All done.”

Bucky took a deep breath and sighed in relief of it all being over and done with. Your pain should be lessened, and you would recover from the break within a few weeks. He was over the moon about knowing that you would be alright. Though, the worries and questions about the rest of you still lingered in his mind. What else ailed you? What else could the doctor potentially help you with, if only you let him? Guilt and shame built back up again, bricks upon bricks. The self-hatred was difficult to push back. All it took was one look at your submissive, weak and hurt state, and everything came flooding back. Sure, the doctor had fixed your wrist, but that didn’t change the fact that Bucky was still a monster who had raped you. Nothing could change that. And he had to live with that fact for the rest of his life.

The doctor started putting everything away, and gave you something to reverse the sedative and wake you up again. You weren’t all the way asleep, but you were close to it, and very much relaxed.

“It’s gonna take a while before the antidote kicks in,” Strange said, still messing about with everything. “She’ll be good to go whenever you wish.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Fisher said with a smile.

Bucky just nodded with a tight smile on his lips, but didn’t say anything. The doctor returned the favour, and headed for the door.

“We’ll send the bill to the prison, so you can just see yourselves out when you’re ready.”

With that, he left, shutting the door behind him.

Bucky took a step closer to where you lay on the bed, not caring about what Fisher thought about it. You looked so peaceful, yet still with a worry-line between your brows. Your breathing had calmed, your eyes were still closed and your head turned heavily to the side.

“Jess?” he tried with a low tone laced with worry.

He was met with a twitch of your brows and a low moan.

“...ugh...”

It brought back the horrid memories of that night, when all you could do was scream and cry behind a makeshift gag. It sounded just like it, just as helpless. He didn’t want to think about that right now, he wanted to get you back to camp, and get you back to bed to sleep it all off. He looked over at Fisher, who was still standing far back, her hands rubbing up and down her arms in a calming matter, looking somewhat uneasy.

“Should we wait?” she asked, and looked to the door, then back at Bucky.

He sighed, and looked down at your drowsy figure, still not showing any signs of wanting to come back to the land of the living. He didn’t want you to have to stay here any longer than you had to, not with that doctor running around. He could admit to himself why he was so irked by the doctor, and it wasn’t really the doctor’s fault at all... Not just.

“I think she’s be better off sleeping it off in her own bed,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

Susan nodded, and gave him a tight smile.

“Sure.”

She could see the worry written on Bucky’s face, and she knew what he was getting at. They had both seen the footage, both felt horrible about it and didn’t want you to feel any pain or fear anymore. She didn’t know the true feelings of guilt of course, but she could see he was feeling bad for you.

“Should I go get a wheelchair?” she offered, and stepped towards the door.

“No, that’s alright,” Bucky said. “I got her.”

He snaked one arm under your knees, and one under your arms, making sure to get one over his shoulder to help support you, and lifted you up.

“...ugh...” you groaned, and involuntarily rested your head against his shoulder, and let your hand find his other side.

Bucky held you closed to him as he carried you through the lobby and out to the van, not bothered by the weight of your semi unconscious form. He felt the softness of your body against him, the warmth of your skin seeping through your clothes. It felt so much better to feel your body against his this time around, when what he was doing was helpful and not hurtful, and for that he was relieved.

CHAPTER 23 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 8686

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

Chapter 23

-

Dinner was due in half an hour. They had half an hour before the prison was going to get buzzing with inmates. Half an hour to get their shit together.

Bucky and Steve had hidden away in the corridors leading down to supply rooms and the maintenance storage, trying to find an empty spot where they could talk in private. No one ever came down here unless they had to, it wasn’t the most spotless place to be at.

Steve stood leaning his back against a wall, holding his elbows, staring down at a spot on the ground, where Bucky was currently pacing with his hands running through his hair. They hadn’t said a word to each other about it yet, but it was very clear the same thoughts and emotions were running through them both, twisting and turning everything they had done into the horrible actions that they actually were. The smokescreen was gone.

There was no hiding from it anymore, there was no justifying it. They hadn’t been in the right, they hadn’t punished you for something you did wrong, they had punished you for staying alive, for surviving. They had defended Millers, defended his actions and stood by them without even knowing, thinking they were rectifying something, when in truth, all they did was pile it on. They had even told you that it was your fault. That you deserved it. No one deserved to be raped and beaten for defending their own life.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Steve said eventually, still not looking up from that very interesting spot on the ground.

Bucky nodded, kept nodding his head over and over until he stopped dead, leaning his head back to release a loud sigh.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can say, Steve.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to nod, the only movement he had done since they went down to the corridors. Bucky was moving around nonstop; kicking his feet, folding then unfolding his arms, running his fingers through his hair for the millionth time. He didn’t know what to do with himself, neither did Steve.

“What do you think he did to her?” Steve asked.

Bucky sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know how much worse it could get than–”

He didn’t need to finish. He didn’t need to say it. They both knew what he was referring to. The word written, carved, into your belly. The big, bold letters bleeding and staring at the camera, screaming at them to face their actions.

“I don’t know,” he said again.

A moment ticked by in silence before Steve spoke again.

“Think he raped her?”

“Fuck, Steve! How would I know?” Bucky yelled, frustration tearing away at him.

He took a deep breath, held it for a second or two, before slowly exhaling, letting the anger go with it.

“Sorry, I just–” he started again, but couldn’t finish, instead cradling his head in his hands, hiding away.

There wasn’t much doubt in his mind that Millers had molested you several times. The way he had talked about you, described what he wanted to do, fantasies of violence and control, which he and Steve ate up like cotton candy. That time in the laundry room was probably not the first time you had experienced such violence being done to you.

Steve finally looked up, finding his friend standing in front of him with his side turned to him, face in his hands.

“Remember in Iraq,” Steve started, his voice soft. “When we saved those women from being raped by some Iraqis?” He gave a soft chuckle. “All they had done was accidentally show some skin on their arms, and those men had every right to do that to ‘em. Because they accidentally showed some skin they weren’t supposed to.”

Bucky looked up at the sound of Steve scoffing who was looking to the side of his head for a quick second before meeting his eyes. He looked torn between emotions. Pride for having saved those women, ridiculing the punishment for the crime, and sadness for having done even worse himself.

“I felt good about that, Buck. For saving them. For not letting those men beat or rape those women, I felt good. In their eyes they had every right to do that, to punish them. They were in the right. But we—we... we were never in the right, were we? We thought that we were, we defended our actions even, but... I don’t know how to live with that. My entire life, I have always been the good guy. The guy who stands up to the other guy, saves the day, protect the ones that can’t protect themselves. But this, I—”

“Steve,” Bucky said when he heard Steve’s voice start to break. “We didn’t know. We didn’t know what Millers had done, we—”

He stopped himself short. He didn’t want to defend their actions anymore. They had done enough of that, and look what happened. They had even gone as far as raping you. As a form of punishment. He was done justifying it.

It wasn’t domination, it wasn’t a powerplay. It was rape. It wasn’t a consensual schtick where everyone was onboard with what was happening, you didn’t agree to any of that taking place. They had forced you, they had hurt you and made you submit. Give up. And during it all, they had gone on and on about how it was your fault they did it, how it was divine retribution.

“You’re right,” Bucky said in a dejected tone, kicking the ground with the heel of his boot. “We’re not heroes anymore. We’re rapists.”

He had said it. It was finally out in the open. What they had both been thinking, what they had both been feeling since it happened, but never dared admit. They could finally admit to themselves that they had in fact been feeling bad about that night, about what they had done to you. Seeing you limping back to the dorm, it wasn’t pride they were feeling. It was dishonour. Disgrace.

How had they gone from being American heroes to rapists? Where had they tripped up along the way to let that happen without seeing it coming? Was Millers that convincing in his arguments? Whatever it was, they had to make it up to you. They had to make it right.

“So,” Bucky said before sighing, hoping to regain some sanity and maybe some clarity. “What do we do now? How do we fix it?”

There had to be a way to fix it, to make everything better. Bucky had always been good at fixing things that were broken. And he had to fix you, because he was the one who broke you. Both him and Steve had always been the ones to look for solutions, ways to mend and heal things. They had to fix this.

Steve worried his bottom lip between his teeth, contemplating the best options to move forward. There wasn’t much they could do, they couldn’t exactly un-rape you, but they had to make amends in some way. Or at least try.

Steve took a deep breath before releasing it with a loud huff, standing up straight to get himself out of the self-pity-hole.

“Well,” he said. “There’s not much we can do before Caputo gets in touch with the legal team. We have to keep quiet about it, and going up to her and... explaining everything now would defeat that purpose. So, I say we keep an eye out for her, make sure no one messes with her. After all, it's our fault everyone is gunning for her. We... keep our distance, keep an eye out and wait.”

“We wait,” Bucky echoed, nodding as he spoke.

There was no undoing it. No way of taking it back. They couldn’t unring that bell. All they could do was make up for it, make sure nothing more happened to you. Keep you safe. At the moment they had to do it from a distance, they couldn’t talk to you about what they knew, not yet. They could only protect you as the correctional officers they were. It wasn’t enough by a long shot, but it was something. They had the power to protect you, and they would.

O.o.O.o.O

Everyone was heading towards the cafeteria. The ground was shuddering from the impacts of everyone rushing to get there first, get their food while it was hot. The initial line was always long and moved slow, so unless you were the winner of the race, you would still risk eating cooling food.

You were lying atop your blanket, looking up at the ceiling and waiting for everyone to leave the dorm. You would soon follow, but you didn’t mind some peace and quiet beforehand. There was a low and steady rumble to your stomach. You hadn’t eaten or drank anything in days, and you were starting to feel the affects of that decision.

It wasn’t the only reason you were going. The officers had been more than lenient with you and allowed you to not get up for meals or anything, but you doubted it would stay that way for long. Officer Barnes had ordered you to always be at attendance during meals, and you were not about to disobey a direct order.

Walking was getting easier. Your steps weren’t as staggering as they had been. They were still short, and not very quick, and if you kept them that way, it was semi painless to walk. Even though your wrist was still loudly complaining about the movement. Anything that wasn’t lying horizontal and resting meant a world of pain.

The hoodie covered your neck enough to not let the bruises show, and the extra warmth was welcomed. Being in a constant state of pain was taking its toll, and your body was slowly shutting down. Hopefully some food and water would remedy that.

You kept your head down through the entire line, and thankfully no one bothered you. Perhaps they didn’t want to catch whatever virus you had. You had heard that you were ‘ill’, explaining the leniency of the other guards. It was a good enough cover for your weakened state too, so you didn’t care to try and put on a mask of strength, but let the tiredness read true.

A tray was held out for you to take, an empty cup seated on it. You reached out your good hand and took a hold of it, testing to see if you could bare the weight. Usually it wouldn’t be a problem to carry such a light tray in one hand, or even balance it, but every tension of muscle ached down to your wrist, making you wince at the burn.

You managed to keep the tray and everything on it steady until you could set it down at the closest table, and went to fill up your cup with water. You knew it was risky to leave your food unattended, but whatever the inmates might do to it, you’d been forced to eat worse, you were sure.

You were so used to having eyes on you that you failed to realize when both Steve and Bucky, along with CO Bell, walked into the cafeteria, zeroing in on you, where you were now seated. They watched you struggle to eat with one hand, the other being kept close to your chest. The hoodie you were wearing covered even most of your hand so none of the guards could see any damage or bruising, but you looked like you were hurting. Steve and Bucky, both knowing the truth of that statement, felt a pang of guilt course through them. They didn’t know about your wrist being as hurt as it was, but they knew they were responsible for your pain, no matter where it resonated from.

“Jesus, hasn’t she been through enough already?” Bell said low under her breath to her fellow officers, upset about learning the truth and forced to witness more.

They were all watching you eat. You were looking so pale, and you were moving very slowly. Whatever had you bedridden for all those days didn’t seem to be fully gone yet. But it didn’t look like a fever or a cold was what had you grimacing and wincing every now and again.

Steve and Bucky couldn’t help but look between you and each other, the guilt piling on like bricks on a wall. You were hurting, and severally so. You couldn’t even try to hide it by the looks of it. They understood now what pain you must be in after the rape. You had fought them both pretty hard to not let it happen, and they sure had taken their frustrations out on you. It must hurt to even sit down.

You didn’t look up, but you knew Steve and Bucky were in the cafeteria with you. For some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything at all. There was no dread, no apprehension, no worry, nothing. You couldn’t feel anything anymore. They were there, thirty feet away from you, and you couldn’t even muster up fear. Before, you would have been shaking like a leaf from just being in the same room as them. You would have flinched whenever they moved. Now, you just focused on the small amount of food left on your tray, and let the officer do whatever they wanted. You couldn’t stop them no matter what, trying just made it worse.

You stood up awkwardly, your legs quivering from the strain to not move too much and be in even more pain than you were. It was hard to get a good grip on the tray and not stumble too much at the same time, but eventually you got there, wincing.

The three officers watched as you struggled, taking short, now staggering steps towards the trash to bus your tray, your other arm still kept close. CO Bell couldn’t just stand around anymore, letting out a tense sigh.

“I’ve seen enough,” she said and walked up to you.

You were facing the bin with the dirty trays, but your eyes looked glazed over and far away. You didn’t raise your eyes when officer Bell approached you.

“Ey,” she said, not too loud but not exactly a whisper either. “Are you okay?”

How come people always asked that when they already knew the answer?

“I’m fine,” you said, but your tone was as shallow and wooden as a puppet on a string.

“You don’t look it,” Bell pushed. “How’s your arm? Seems painful.”

“It’s fine.”

The tray was in the bin to be washed, your food was thrown away. But the officer was still talking to you, so you didn’t move away. You didn’t turn towards her either, you just waited for her to be done with whatever she was after, and you could go back to your bunk.

“Let me see,” Bell said, almost like an order, and you knew better than to disobey an order.

Slowly you gripped the hem of your hoodie and started to pull it up to uncover your dark and swollen wrist. The bruising was slowly starting to flow down onto your hand, snaking further up your arm as well. It looked pretty mangled.

“Ah, Jesus,” Bell sighed, and looked out across the room, assessing the need for guards in the cafeteria. “You need to go to medical.”

The plan was not to go to medical, but if a CO said so, you were going.

“Okay,” you said meekly, and let the officer put her arm around you and start leading you towards the exit, rolling your sleeve back down to cover the mess.

But she didn’t leave with you like you thought she would. Instead she walked up to CO Rogers and Barnes and told them of the situation.

“She needs medical attention. I’d take her, but my shift ends in fifteen minutes and this is gonna take longer.”

Steve and Bucky both looked down at you where you stood with your head bowed down, not meeting their eyes. You didn’t look afraid like you usually did, you didn’t look like you were about five seconds from bolting out of there. You just waited.

Medical attention. They had hurt you enough that you needed medical attention, and that was from an arm only. Both men loathed themselves right now, standing there, looking down at your dispirited figure just waiting for them to do whatever they wanted to you. You looked beat. Completely and utterly unresponsive. What had they done?

“I’ll take her,” Steve said. “You guys supervise the cafeteria.”

He looked to Bucky standing beside him. Steve knew Bucky must be feeling guilty for being the first one to rape you, even though they both shared the blame, despite who went first. Steve didn’t think Bucky was more at fault than he was, but by the look on his face, Bucky did not agree with him on that. Though Steve felt he was more at fault for being the first to touch you in a sexual manner, whilst Bucky only made a mess of your cell. But Steve still thought it kindest to let Bucky avoid watching you go through a medical check. Though he himself was slightly worried about what the nurse would find.

You looked down at the ground, not daring to take a step without being told to. You would do what they said, when they said, and not before. It was best, safest. You knew how to play this game, you knew the rules. So, you kept your head down.

Steve took a surprisingly light hold of your upper arm, your good arm, and started leading you out of the cafeteria. He didn’t push, he didn’t drag you along with him carelessly. Instead he slowed his own steps to make sure you could keep up, almost like he understood that you were in pain, and cared. You knew better than to think that. You had probably just caught him on a good day.

The hallways and corridors to medical were winding and turning. It seemed to be located as far away as possible from everything else. There were no inmates in these parts, no people at all. A perfect place for yet another assault.

You were sure it was going to happen, the place was too vacant for a man not to take advantage. And you had already passed several closets that would be optimal for privacy if the officer didn’t want to risk getting caught. But it didn’t happen. What did happen, was Steve letting go of your arm when you were out of sight, when no one could see him not escorting you like he should. You thought it strange, that instead of touching you more, he chose not to touch you at all. But it was no relief. Nothing was a relief anymore.

The entire way down to medical Steve wanted so bad to just apologize, to ask how badly you were hurt, to save the day. Taking you to see a nurse was as close as he was going to get, and he had to accept that. But at least he could show you the compassion of not holding onto you, not forcing you to go with him. Even though you followed like a lost puppy who just got wacked on the nose.

Steve looked down at you every now and then, only ever seeing the top of your head between your scrunched-up shoulders and bulky hoodie. You were still holding your arm close to you, and when he moved to once again take a light hold of your other arm before entering the nurse’s station, he didn’t miss the slight shift you made to keep the damaged appendage away from him. He felt his heart sink like a rock in his chest at the gesture, knowing he was the cause of your fear, and what he had done to increase it to such levels.

You mentally scolded yourself for flinching and turning away from the officer. If he wanted to hurt you, he could. If you moved away from him it might just give him a reason to. Nate was always quick to make you hurt whenever you tried to shield yourself or part of your body from him. Usually it meant that particular body part got the worst of it, just to make a point. But Steve didn’t hurt you, or scolded you for turning away from him, instead his grip on your upper arm eased slightly. But why, you couldn’t understand.

Steve pushed the door into medical open, leading you through, but not pulling. You kept close to his side to keep that from happening, keeping the pace of his steps as to not upset him. It hurt having to walk as far as all the way down to medical, but as long as he didn’t hurt you more, it was worth it.

The walls were just as pale and sterile as any hospital room, but the top half of the walls were windows, allowing for a good overview. There was a short hallway separating two rooms. On your right was what looked like a patient’s room, with two beds in it, and several cabinets on the far side wall, all with combination locks on them. There were a few trays and trolleys and rods for IV drips standing by the beds, ready to be used. On the other side was an examination room, and inside was a desk, a bookshelf and more cabinets, each with a lock, and a cot.

Steve knocked on the door to the examination room, and opened the door when hearing a man say ‘yeah’ inside. The nurse, Bruce Banner you read on the nametag sitting on the desk, was sitting in his chair, tapping away on his computer. He had slightly longer hair, ruffled and kind of unkempt looking, but he looked very kind. He didn’t seem too stiff like most medical workers you had met, and there had been a few over the years. And honestly, you were somewhat relieved to find it was a man working, and not a woman. A woman might be more inclined to ask more personal questions. At least in your experience.

He looked up from his computer screen, and noticed your timid and shrunk up figure standing next to the officer, who was still holding onto you.

“How can I help?” Bruce asked, and scooted back on his swivel chair.

You knew it wasn’t your place to answer. They didn’t trust inmates, not in any way, that’s why Steve was there. He wasn’t only there to provide physical protection from you, he was also there to make sure everything went accordingly.

“She’s hurt her arm,” Steve started, and was there a slight chagrin in his voice? “Or wrist, I’m not sure.”

Nurse Banner nodded, and looked over to where you stood, still clutching your arm to you.

“I see,” he said, tone friendly and light. “Name?”

He rose to his feet and walked over to a file cabinet standing in a corner, ready to dig out his copy of your file. He waited for the officer to answer, you assumed, cause in no way were you about to speak out of turn.

“Jessabelle Harper,” Steve said. “Number 45621.”

Steve didn’t need to look down to know your inmate number, and you weren’t surprised by the fact. Bucky also knew it by heart, he had proven that when giving you a shot for not wearing your tag, which had the number written on it.

Bruce found your file, picked it up and shut and locked the cabinet again. He walked back closer to where you were standing, noticing how you still hadn’t met his gaze yet.

“Alright,” he said just as cheerily as he had everything else. “Take a seat.”

He nodded to the cot, and you did what he asked. Steve went with, and only ever let go of you once you were seated. Had he helped you get up? It certainly felt like he pulled on you a bit when you went to sit, and the pain wasn’t as bad because of the angle. That, and the fact that the cot was much softer than your bed. Steve took a step back, standing to both yours and the nurse’s side, folding his arms and simply did his job of overseeing things.

“Let’s take a looksie,” Bruce said, and sat down on the revolving stool placed before you.

He reached his hands out to take your arm from you, and you let him. When his fingers touched yours, he moved the muscles and tendons in your wrist, and you clenched your jaw to keep quiet, closing your eyes for just a moment while the pain subsided as he started rolling your sleeve up.

He hissed when he got a good look of your wrist. Steve didn’t say anything, but in his mind, he was horrified when seeing the damaged done. Your wrist looked mangled and very, very painful. How had you been walking around with that and not crumpled?

“Oh, dear,” Bruce said, turning his head to look at it from all angles without moving your arm.

“How bad is it?” Steve asked before he could stop himself.

He shouldn’t be -and at the very least not sound- worried about an inmate. He had accompanied several other inmates to see the nurse before, and never had he uttered a word about their condition, or asked how they were doing. And certainly not with a rush and tightness to his voice.

“Uhm...” Bruce started. “It’s pretty roughed up. It looks broken, but I can’t be sure without an x-ray,” he said to answer Steve’s question, before turning to you. “When did this happen?”

Steve felt a pang of guilt hit him. It had been several days since the incident, as he liked to refer it as in his head, and you had yet to seek medical help. You must have munched down on painkillers in order to walk around with that and not be in constant pain.

“A few days ago, sir,” you said, tone as wooden as ever.

Banner nodded, and started pressing down higher up on your arm, testing to see how badly your muscles ached, noting the spreading bruises creeping further and further up your arm.

“Why didn’t you seek medical attention right away?” he asked, eyes darting up to you every once in a while, but never once did your eyes meet his.

“Didn’t seem that bad, sir.”

Neither men believed that to be true. A break like this felt very different to just a sprain or a bad bruise. You must have known you were in bad shape, but for some reason chose not to put it on record.

“How did it happen?”

Dread bloomed in Steve’s chest. What would you say? They question was directed to you, so he couldn’t interject. And if he did, Banner would think it strange that Steve had been present during the break's making without intervening, also that he didn’t take you down to see the nurse before now. He just had to hope you wouldn’t say anything, hating himself even more for wanting to protect his own when you were the one hurt. By him and Bucky.

“I fell,” you said, voice like you were stating the obvious, and Steve almost visibly relaxed, hating himself even more for doing so.

You didn’t look up to meet the nurse’s eyes, or even acknowledge that there were people in the room with you to begin with. You just sat there, gaze fixed on a spot on the floor, eyes vacant. Bruce was still holding your arm, examining the bruises.

“You fell?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Down the stairs.”

“Okay,” he said, keeping his tone friendly.

Bruce looked up at Steve, a furrow between his brows. Steve raised a questioning brow of his own down at the nurse where he sat, feeling his heart beat hard against his ribcage.

“Have there been any fights recently?” Bruce asked the officer.

Steve looked contemplating, when he was in truth just taking a moment to get rid of the worry wedged in his throat.

“No, not to my knowledge. I should have heard had there been any.”

Bruce nodded.

“This break... it doesn’t look like something you get from falling,” he explained. “I think someone broke her wrist.”

And the worry was back in Steve’s chest. Which was stupid, but that didn’t make him not feel it. This was a prison for crying out loud. Fights amongst inmates were a regular occurrence, maybe not to the extent where bones were broken but still, this was a building housing criminals. And he was an officer. He himself might be feeling like shit, knowing everything horrible he had done to you, knowing what kind of a monster he truly was, but to the nurse he was the protector and caretaker of these violent criminals. No way was he accusing Steve of anything.

“Really?” Steve asked, and kept his tone as firm as was appropriate.

Bruce did a quick jerk of his head sideways.

“Well, I can’t be sure, of course, but it does look like it,” he said, letting go of your arm, which immediately came back to rest against your chest.

He looked you over, taking you in. Your set gaze on the floor, the angle of your head which was constantly down, the way you seemed to be somewhere else in your head. Or maybe just not too fond of the way the two men were speaking like you weren’t in the room.

“Did somebody to this to you?” he asked, toned hushed and kind.

Steve was hoping you would keep on lying, and not fall for Banner’s friendly talk, trying to get information out of you. You were bound to disappoint one of the men, Steve just hoped it wasn’t him.

“No, sir. I just fell.”

“You just fell,” Bruce repeated, nodding shortly. “Are you sure?”

This situation wasn’t new to you. You had been in rooms like this, with nurses and doctors like this many times before. No one ever really believed the story about having fallen down the stairs, but it was a good cover nevertheless, as long as you stuck to it.

“Yes, sir,” you said again. “It was my fault.”

When hearing those words, Steve couldn’t help but begin to take a step towards you, wanting to apologize, tell you he was sorry that he said that, and that it truly wasn’t your fault. But he caught himself just in time, covering his movement up with rearranging his footing. In his head, it was a tornado of apologies flying around. He just wished he could open his mouth and let them all out.

“What about these old cuts here?” Bruce asked, and motioned to your forehead and cheek. “That from a fall too?”

You could tell he didn’t believe you, but that didn’t matter, he could search for the truth however much he wanted, he still wasn’t going to get it. You hadn’t spoken of the truth to such events before, even though Nate had never been in the examining room with you. Now, one of the men who hit you, kicked you and raped you, were standing not even three feet away.

“I’m clumsy, sir.”

Bruce left it alone, getting the feeling that he wasn’t going to get anything out of you at this rate anyway, and decided to just continue on with his check.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna need to do an x-ray and check exactly where the break is and how bad. Now, I’ve got a portable one but it’s in the backroom. You guys hang tight.”

Bruce patted your leg reassuringly, before walking out to the hallway and further down, supposedly to where the backroom was. Now it was only you and Steve in the room.

You didn’t move from your spot on the cot, you didn’t even look up at the officer standing next to you, but you felt his eyes. You always felt his eyes.

Steve was pondering whether or not to apologize anyway, you didn’t need to know about the footage, he could simply apologize for being an asshole, a monster, for raping you. Claiming temporary insanity, just anything to say he was sorry. You looked so pitiful where you sat with your sleeve rolled up and broken wrist exposed. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the dark and swollen bruising, almost feeling a phantom pain of it in his own. He couldn’t help it, he had to say something. Just... anything.

“Are you okay?”

Stupid question! Of course, you weren’t okay. Why didn’t he ask something better? He had always been good with words and taking care of people, and then in the situation where it matters the most, when standing next to the woman he raped, the best he could come up with was ‘are you okay’?

“I’m fine, sir, thank you.”

No, you weren’t. Not by a longshot. You had been walking around with a broken wrist for days, and god knows how many more injuries they inflicted on you. Steve was going through every hateful scene in his head, trying to find out when and where they had managed to hurt you this badly, and whatever else they might have caused without realizing it. What had Nate done to you to render you this compliant? Steve had never felt worse about himself than in that moment, standing in that medical room with you, his wrongdoings staring him right in the face. ‘Look at what you’ve done.’ If it was anyone’s fault, it was his.

Bruce came back into the room before Steve could utter another word, and he didn’t know whether to be thankful or not. Would he had come up with something better, something more comforting if you two weren’t interrupted?

“Okay,” Bruce muttered as he rolled in the portable x-ray machine.

It wasn’t very big, not for an x-ray, but it was ungainly and didn’t seem to want to move to where Bruce needed it. He managed to get it next to the cot, and plugged in all the cords that needed to be plugged in, both into the outlet and his computer. He patted higher up on the bed.

“Have a lie down and we’ll get this thing going. Be careful!”

Bruce was very attentive to you when you moved higher up on the bed, wincing and hissing involuntarily, but thankfully you already had a damage body part out in the open and blameable for any pain. You laid back down and held out your arm for him to move where he pleased, gaze set up in the ceiling, still just going through the motions more than actively participating. He put it on a plate and changed the settings to where he wanted them, and pressed a button. The machine hissed before beeping, and Bruce went over to his computer to see if the image was up to par.

“Okay,” he said, drawn out, and sat down at his desk to look over the picture.

You stayed where you were, not wanting to move and cause even more pain to erupt everywhere, your vagina still being the biggest complainer. Thankfully your ribs hadn’t complained much since that night where it had blossomed again, but your entire body felt drained of energy and stiff whenever you moved, which wasn’t a comfortable feeling. It seemed no matter what you did, you were always in pain.

Steve gathered that you wouldn’t even dare move a muscle without being told, so he thought it was risk-free to go stand behind Banner and get a look of the damage he or Bucky had caused with his own eyes. His pulse started racing, he felt his heart beat hard in his chest as he fought all the thoughts that wanted to take over, and not let him assess the situation. But that, he had experience with. Life in a warzone was pretty much just a big test to see if you could keep your composure when it mattered the most.

He looked down on the screen, not really knowing what he was looking at. He had never seen an x-ray picture of a hand before, and just saw a muddle of fingers and bones. Bruce looked up at the tall officer leaning over his shoulder to see. He pointed to the break.

“That’s the break. It’s a distal radius fracture, also known as a Colle’s facture.”

Steve nodded along, grateful for the explanation.

“How could it happen?” he asked, thinking Banner would most likely just take it as an interest in the anatomy and whatnot. “I mean, breaking a bone can happen easily, right?” At least he hoped so.

“Yeah, it can, but not a break like this. You’d have to be pretty strong to break a bone like this. See how that bone is set out of place?” he asked and pointed to where a bone stuck out. “Either the inmate that did this is a bodybuilder, or she got a pretty good velocity when turning her wrist over.”

You overheard everything they were saying, they weren’t speaking in hushed voices or anything. You were used to people talking about you like you weren’t in the room, especially during times like these. The notion of it being an inmate that had caused the damage was a preferable one to the nurse getting wind of the officers’ abuse. You really didn’t care to get a beating for not being inconspicuous enough. It was fine if he didn’t believe that you fell, as long as he didn’t think it was any of the COs that had done it. Should the truth come out, they would probably rain hellfire on you for letting it slip, for not being a good enough liar, for betraying them.

Steve stepped back to where he had been planted just inside the door, once again folding his arms, letting Bruce stand up and walk over to where you lay still, and removed the machine, which proved to be a task. Steve hated that he was relieved by Banner’s suspicions of it being an inmate and not a fall, which he could understand. Working at a prison with violent criminals and emotions running haywire was a great cover for any officer abusing an inmate. He just never thought he would be glad to have that cover.

Once the machine was out of the way, Bruce told you to sit back up again, which proved difficult to do without showing too much pain. You managed to catch most of the winces and whimpers wanting to escape.

Bruce sat back down on his stool in front of the cot, and looked up at you, despite you still not meeting his eyes.

“There’s a break in the larger of the two bones in your forearm,” he started to explain, hoping you logged the information despite your seeming apathetic state. “It’s not too uncommon. The bone breaks on the lower end, close to where it connects to the bones of the hand, but in your case, the bone is not in the correct position to heal. It needs to be reset by an orthopaedic surgeon,” he said, aiming that last part more at Steve than you, who nodded at everything Bruce said. “She needs to go to the hospital and have it reset. I can put on a splint until then, but this needs to be fixed as soon as possible, or she may have permanent damage.” He turned back to direct his speaking to you, knowing the officer was hearing everything anyway. “Resetting it is pretty painful so it’s usually done with anaesthesia, so you have nothing to worry about. What have you taken for the pain until now?”

He picked up a clipboard and started scribbling everything down, checking your file for some information as well.

“Nothing, sir.”

Bruce stopped dead at that, and Steve unfolded his arms and almost made to scold you like a parent would a child who hadn’t done its homework in time.

“You—You haven’t taken anything for the pain?” Bruce asked and looked to Steve who was just as baffled as he was.

“No, sir.”

“But your wrist has been broken for days,” Steve blurted out, not understanding how you had not been lying in a heap crying.

You didn’t answer it, it wasn’t a question, it was more of a statement to make things clear. You just kept your eyes down on the floor instead.

“Wh—why haven’t you taken any painkillers?” Bruce asked, checking your file to see if there was a history of substance abuse, but he couldn’t find any.

You weren’t really sure what to say. Should you let the nice nurse know that you had been bedridden since it happened? But that might just cause more questions, and you had enough trouble dodging everything as it were. You opted for a semi-truth.

“I don’t think my commissary has come in yet, sir.”

They sold aspirin in commissary, you had seen it that day when Steve had asked you to be there and buy shampoo. You had thought about getting up and maybe try to get some, but sleep had worked well enough, and like you said, you weren’t entirely sure you would be able to access your money, but it wasn’t because of the paperwork not being done...

Steve sighed, not believing how guilt could just be piled atop more guilt by the second. Not only had they broken your wrist, not only had several days passed since it happened, you hadn’t even taken any painkillers to help ease the pain. He could read between the lines, and understood that the reason you hadn’t even checked the commissary was because of what he had done last time. You probably didn’t trust that you would be allowed to buy anything, not even something as essential as aspirin. This was a nightmare, and he was still the monster.

“Wow,” Bruce said, and scribbled even more notes down. “Your threshold must be high like a skyscraper. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Again, the worry came back like another wave hitting the shore, and Steve looked worriedly over at you. If Banner wanted to look you over for more injuries, he might find some that would be hard to explain. Both him and Bucky had tried to make sure they wouldn’t leave any incriminating marks, but excitement might have gotten the best of them, something he hated to think about now.

But you kept covering for him.

“No, sir.”

“Really?” Bruce said. “I find that very hard to believe, that you fell down the stairs and manged to hurt your wrist so badly, but not be hurt anywhere else.”

If you showed the nurse any more of your bruises, he might find something you couldn’t explain away. Had the officer left any finger marks? Were the bruises on your shoulder resembling hickeys? They were both from mouth and hands, so there was a risk the kind nurse might find them and ask ever more complicated questions.

“I guess I was lucky, sir,” you said, hearing the repetitiveness of always adding an honorific, but you knew the rules, so you kept playing by them.

Bruce hummed and nodded, looking between you and the officer. Steve raised a shoulder in a half-shrug when he met the questioning eyes of the nurse, hoping he didn’t look like he was caught with his hand down the cookie jar of battery and rape.

“Nevertheless,” Bruce continued. “I would like to do a check to see that there isn’t anything else that needs care. Afterall, you didn’t think your wrist was this bad, now, did you?”

He wasn’t being rude, he was prying for information. Trying to trick you into confessing that someone had indeed hurt you, and that all this wasn’t an accident. But you feared the officer more than the nurse.

“That’s okay, sir,” you said, feeling the slight increasing beat of your heart at the worry of not being listened to. “I’m fine. It was just my wrist that was hurting.”

“That may be so, but what if there’s something we’re missing?” Bruce countered. “A fall down the stairs could do severe damaged to several parts of your body, and it might not all feel as bad as your wrist. There could be some internal bleeding.”

“There’s not,” you said calmly with a light tone. “I showered earlier and there is no other bruising anywhere else. I’m fine.”

Steve hoped and prayed that the nurse listened to you and didn’t try to push any further. Steve knew you were lying. There was bound to be severe bruising after their treatment of you, if they managed to break your wrist in the midst of it. He could still feel the softness of your skin on his palms and fingers, now feeling the pressure he had used to handle you. He had hurt you, and there was bound to be more proof than just a broken wrist.

Bruce nodded. He knew when to push and when not to, and you were not breaking your façade, and he did not want to force you. He didn’t believe for one second that you had fallen down the stairs, but you were more than inclined to not let the truth be revealed, for whatever reason.

“If you say so,” he began. “But I must utter my recommendation to reconsider, and let me do the check. Unless there’s another reason you don’t want me to take a look?”

“There’s not, sir.”

Bruce looked over at Steve, finding him looking you up and down with a worried frown on his face, his expression caring. He looked back to you.

“Would you like a female nurse instead?”

Steve held his breath, just for a second, hoping that luck would once again be on his side and not have you say yes to Banner’s question. If you did, he knew you would let the nurse check you for injuries and finding there are many more like that very bad break. And if she did, she might find the tracks of it coinciding with rape, and then the heat would be on the male officers, and not an inmate.

“No thank you, sir,” you said meekly, and Steve released a breath of relief. “But thank you for asking,” you added, and Steve felt his heart sink deeper.

You were so polite you thanked a nurse for showing you basic kindness and care. It was that easy to show you thoughtfulness, all one needed to do was offer you a second option. But you were loyal to a fault, and had lied your way through a medical check-up, which could potentially benefit you in more ways than simply splinting your wrist, just to keep the truth in the dark and not let him or Bucky take the fall. Steve felt like he was a punching bag, taking punch after punch after punch of reality.

“Okay, then,” Bruce said and got up to get the things he needed to splint your wrist.

He made quick work of it, despite taking extra care as to not cause you even more pain than you had already been forced to endure. During it all, you had been more than sparse with the complaints or winces, taking it like a champ. Neither men were particularly surprised though.

“Okay,” Bruce said and let go of your arm. “That should hold you until you get to the hospital, and I will write everything down for the officers to take with them when you go, so it should be pretty straight forward when you get there.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said meekly, and for the first time you let your hand fall down, feeling the relief in your shoulder and bicep.

“You’re welcome,” Bruce said with a smile, watching your face go from ‘severe pain’ to just ‘uncomfortable’.

He swivelled around on the stool, and started writing things down on the clipboard, entering information about the check-up and what he had done, making sure everything was accounted for. He looked up at Steve, who was looking as relieved as you at the lessening of pain in your wrist.

“How soon can she be taken to the hospital?”

Steve looked almost startled as Banner’s question was directed towards him, taking a deep breath as he thought about how many officers were working, and the managing of camp.

“Uh, not sure if we can manage it today, but I’ll look into it and make sure we take her as soon as possible,” he said. “Could always get a body up from down the hill to help cover for us and go tonight.”

“That would be great,” Bruce said, still scribbling things down. “The sooner the better. I think Harper here has had to deal with more pain than necessary already. I’ll give her something for the pain to last her through the day.”

Steve couldn’t agree more. If he could turn back time, he would without thinking twice. But if taking you to the hospital was the best option without time traveling, then he would make sure you at least got there tonight.

Nurse Banner gave you some morphine pills to take away the acute pain, and gave Steve all the paperwork he would need for a quick entry and treatment at the hospital. He said he would call ahead and make sure they knew you were coming, as was protocol whenever an inmate left the perimeter for medical help, or otherwise. He sent you on your way and Steve placed his hand on your upper arm once again, his grip just as easy as before. You weren’t sure if he did it just for show, or if it was maybe a power thing. Both of you knew that you wouldn’t try anything should he not hold on to you at all, so maybe his grip was just to mock you more than anything else.

You left the nurse’s station with Steve walking slower than was his normal beside you, your steps short and wobbling when the nurse wasn’t looking. You could fake it for some time, but not the entire way. Steve looked down at you every now and then, but you didn’t feel any anger radiating off of him. Whatever he was thinking and feeling, it didn’t seem like he was cross with you for anything you had said or done during the check, so at least there’s that. These officers seemed to want to play by the same rules as Nate, so it made it easier for you to not earn a punishment due to lack of understanding how to play the game.

“I’ll make sure we get you to the hospital tonight,” Steve said after several long moments of silence.

He wanted to say so much more than that, but he couldn’t. If he had managed to keep his mouth shut during the entire check-up, then he could keep it shut for a while longer. But the raging tornado of apologies was still coursing through his head, tearing at his heart and making him sick to his stomach. A hospital appointment to fix what he or Bucky had broken was the best he could offer. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it would have to suffice.

“Thank you, sir.”

Your voice was meek and hollow, like everything was an automatic response. He hated hearing the ‘sir’ at the end, knowing now why you were so persistent with it. You didn’t want to be rude and risk him hurting you for it, risk making another ‘mistake’ and earn another punishment like the one they dealt out in the laundry room. He understood now just how completely broken you really were.

-

CHAPTER 22 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 6608

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

Chapter 22

-

It was already late afternoon by the time you opened your eyes, fragments of the dream still floating around. You didn’t get up, nor did you let anyone know that you were awake. Not that anyone was around to even tell. Gina was nowhere to be seen, and the dorm seemed to be quiet. Maybe it was dinnertime?

A thought popped into your head; why hadn’t any of the CO’s made you get up for count? You had gathered that Peeve and Fuc- No, that was rude. You can’t be rude, Jess. – You had gathered that Steve and Bucky would be kind enough to leave you alone for the rest of the night and let you rest, but the other officers on site would still have counts to make. For whatever reason, they had let you sleep.

(Nicky had passed through your cube to get Gina for Red, spotting you sleeping soundly, not looking too hot. She had thought it was a sickness, a fever or a cold maybe, and had let the guards know that you were ill. They had then counted you from your bed, allowing you the rest. But you didn’t know that. If you did, you would have seen the hurt look on Nicky’s face as she felt remorse and regret pool in her chest from not being by your side. She felt for you. She really did. But she needed to look out for number one, and not risk her own sentence or life due to drugs.)

It was late. Soon the officers would start their shift, if they didn’t have the day off, but you doubted that. They wouldn’t act on their emotions the night before they had a day off when they could gloat instead. No, they were working tonight. It was only a question of when they would get here.

Would the same thing happen tonight as well? Would the officers pull you aside and assault you in the laundry room again? Or maybe somewhere else this time? Who knew how creative they could be? It they wanted it to happen, it was going to happen, and that’s the end of it. Nothing you could do about it. Not that you would. You were done. There was nothing left within you, no strength left to fight for your life. There was nothing but pain and guilt. You were done fighting.

It was your fault Nate was dead. Maybe if you had tried harder, he would still be alive, and you wouldn’t be in prison serving a sentence for taking his life. Maybe if you hadn’t given up and then found the fight in you somewhere, out of nowhere, Nate would still be alive. It was your fault you were here. It was your fault the officers hated you. It was your fault the officers had hurt you. It was your fault the officers had raped you. It was your fault.

So, you gave up. You wouldn’t do anything but listen to what they say, and do what they told you to do. You had no hope left for salvation, for saving, for forgiveness. You didn’t deserve to be forgiven, you didn’t deserve to be saved. You deserved what they did to you. Because it was your fault. It was all your fault.

You lifted the blanket covering you to get a look at your wrist. The mere movement of the blanket was enough to cause a flare of fire to erupt through your arm, more than what was always present. You looked down, ignoring the clear pain in your neck from the bend, knowing bruises must have formed after both men’s firm grip. The skin around your wrist was turning an ugly shade of a deep, dark purple, the edges blue. It didn’t look very distorted, just swollen and painful. The tension in your abs from lifting your head, was felt even through your core. You knew you must still be bleeding, but it didn’t feel like you had bled through the pads just yet, so you left it alone. You lay the blanket back down again, not fazed by the information.

You couldn’t find it in you to care about your situation, to care about your pain. It was your own fault it had happened, it was your own fault you were hurting. You didn’t care about anything anymore.

You closed your eyes once again, waiting for sleep to take over. And it did not disappoint.

O.o.O.o.O

Bucky did a routine check of all the dorms, as was his job. His own personal agenda just happened to merge with the task on happy accident. Steve was working the intake, processing the leftover of new inmates and assigning them rooms or bunks. It was a somewhat entertaining job, but he wouldn’t have minded going to check on you himself, but he trusted Bucky would tell all once he came back, and he did.

Both men walked into the empty lunchroom, still too early for the late workers to take a lunchbreak and the day staff had all gone. Bucky went to the fridge to take a swig from his premade smoothie, speaking as he went.

“She’s still in bed,” he said. “Sleeping by the looks of it.”

Steve leaned against the counter by the sink, folding his arms.

“Sure she’s not just pretending?”

Bucky did a half shrug as he drank before speaking.

“Didn’t seem like it. She’s been so skittish that she’s been up and at it before we've barely step in the dorm before, so... my money is on sleeping.”

Steve nodded slowly, agreeing with what Bucky said. It didn’t seem logical for you to fake being asleep when you’d seemed too fearful of appearing that way before. Fatigue must have taken over.

“Yeah, well,” he said, looking down at his feet. “Can’t really blame her.”

Bucky nodded where he stood leaning an arm on the opened door. He held the liquid in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it and put the rest back to keep cool. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “Wilson said she was sick according to the other inmates. Maybe there’s some truth to it, I don’t know.”

Steve nodded again. “Yeah, maybe. Whatever the reason, I say we let her sleep and rest up. She might need it, so...”

“Yeah, sounds fair,” Bucky agreed, before both walked out of the room and got back to work.

Neither voiced their concerns for you, for your tired state. Sure, they understood the hardship you had gone through the other night, and that you might indeed be in dire need of sleep, but the fact that you stayed asleep even in their presence seemed a little odd. Like Bucky had mentioned, you had been very skittish prior to the... incident, and that should have given you more than enough reason to keep your guard up. To fear them even more. Yet you seemed unbothered or unmoved by their presence. Perhaps they had been harder on you than they realized?

The night went on in the same manner. They checked the dorms, did their counts, but allowed you to stay sleeping like the rest of the officers had during the day, if you were in fact ill. Whenever they went by your cube, you were just lying there, in the same position as last time. If it wasn’t for the slow and steady rise and fall of your chest, you almost looked like you were dead. Your skin was pale, the expression on your face pained and relaxed at the same time.

It was time for lights out, and you had yet to wake up. Steve and Bucky had both taken turns checking your dorm, throwing an extra glance your direction, but were always met by the same sleeping figure. It seemed not even the commotion of all the inmates getting ready for the night could wake you from your slumber.

They passed through like they should during the night, never finding you awake or even turned over. The pain written across your face never left either, always present, sometimes even more so. But that was the only change they could notice.

They didn’t comment on it. This night they actually did what they were supposed to do, and didn’t linger too much around you, seeing there was no fun involved, and therefore no point. But in truth, neither one was in any mood to mess with you, too confused by their own emotions and thoughts after last night’s events. So, it was better for all to just leave you in peace.

O.o.O.o.O

Morning rolled around, and Bucky and Steve had both left the prison, and everyone else had begun to wake up and start their day. Gina had left early to work in the kitchen, so you were alone when you started to come to.

Your eyes still hung heavy with sleep and pain, your body too lax to be bothered to wake up. Pain seared through your wrist, throbbing now. It must be what had awakened you. You moved your pelvis, just a little to test the waters, and found that pain erupted through your entire core. You held back the hiss that threatened to escape, barely catching it in time. You had nothing to complain about. This was all your fault. You deserved the pain.

The other inmates left, for breakfast most likely. You weren’t even hungry. There was nothing appealing about getting up, the pain being the biggest obstacle to overcome. If that had you limping before, it was probably a tenfold now. No, there was nothing appealing about being awake, but sadly, being asleep had its own disadvantages. Nate.

Nate was always there, always in your head. He haunted your sleep like a poltergeist, living for the thrill of watching you crumble inside your mind. He did a bang-up job of it too, eating away at anything he could find, his words mocking you, echoing through to the day. They even echoed in the officers’ words. It was all about how pathetic you were, how you deserved pain and agony, that you were useless and worthless. It never stopped. And you had always fought hard to not let yourself believe any of it. Until now.

Now you let it rain. You let the bullets fly and hit their target, standing there like a bullseye. There was no hiding from the truth of it anymore. It wasn’t just one person that had said it, not two, not three. It had all been said by so many, all said to you, about you. There was only so much burying your head in the sand you could do, before you had to lift your head and listen to what was being said. That it was your fault. That you did deserve every bit of it. That Nate was right.

Hours passed while you just lay in your bed, not sleeping, but not really awake. You just lay there. There was almost a slight trembling to you now. The pain was becoming hard to handle, your wrist being the worst of it all. It didn’t have the proper support, and it might even need to be fixed or rearranged somehow. But you weren’t going to do that. You weren’t going to go to medical and seek help, that would only make things worse, that would only make the officers more mad at you. They might even hurt you again should you go. No, it was better to endure. You deserved that.

Gina came walking back into the cube sometime after lunch. She was looking for something in her locker when she glanced back at you.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

No. I’m torn apart and left in pieces.

“I’m fine.”

She stopped rummaging through her things, apparently finding what she was looking for, and stood up, walking over closer to you. But not too close. You weren’t friends or nothing.

“Doesn’t look like it,” she said, looking down at you staring up at the ceiling.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, your voice hollow and wooden, no assertion whatsoever.

“Maybe you should go take a shower. Might do you some good,” she said and left, not waiting for you to respond.

Shower. Take off your clothes. See your body. No, you didn’t want to do that, didn’t want anyone else to see the state of you. They might ask questions, and questions were never good. And how would you both cover your horrible scar and clean yourself, your wrist was broken? Everyone would see the horrific maim that was your body, everyone would know the truth. Not to mention the blossoming bruises littering your body here and there. More confetti to cover.

A thought hit you. The woman in the bathroom. The one who had already seen bits and pieces, and had seemingly kept her word of not telling anybody. Miss Claudette. You had learned her name in passing, hearing some inmates speak of her like some voodoo shaman, and an alleged murderer. Well, that makes two. She sure didn’t seem like no murderer. A hard-ass maybe, but certainly not a murderer. But she had earned the respect of the other inmates, and no one seemed to ever mess with her. Most likely fearing her but still, she deserved the benefit of the doubt.

The inmates were supposed to be at work during these hours, so the bathroom should be vacant. Miss Claudette did not have a set work assignment, helping out in the kitchen whenever she felt like it. But that was all way across camp. If you could walk, you couldn’t walk far, and an extra trip past the kitchen to ask for her help and discretion, was not favourable at this moment. Perhaps she was in her cube? If you were lucky.

You removed the blanket and sat up, twisting at the same time to get your feet on the floor. It was excruciating. It felt like your body was on fire, your vagina hurting like you were sitting on burning charcoal. And your wrist was no better, complaining loudly at the movement. But it had to be done. You probably didn’t smell too good, sleeping for days, and bleeding quite heavily. You wouldn’t mind getting clean, but you really didn’t care for getting up.

You shuffled along the hallways, staggering steps leading you towards the D-dorm where Miss Claudette had her bunk. You found her in her cube, thankfully, stirring something boiling in some kind of contraption and make-shift pot on her desk. She looked over at you, taking in your pale, milky skin, the hunched angle of your back with scrunched up shoulders. The way you were nursing one arm close to your body, the other housing all your toiletries and towels, a laundry bag of fresh clothes hanging from the same hand. You looked up at her, your glazed over eyes meeting her questioning ones.

“Hi,” you said lowly.

“Do you need anything, child?” she asked, her accent still not clear. French? No.

“I... uh... I need your help,” you said and swallowed, remembering your manners. “If you would be so kind, ma’am.”

She looked you up and down.

“Are you alright? What is the matter with you? Speak,” she all but demanded, her voice resonating like a lioness scolding a cub.

You cleared your throat. “Y-yes, I just... fell. I’m fine, just... I need to shower.”

You waited a beat, letting her take in what you said, seeing if she would work out your silent request on her own. And she did.

“I see,” she said, looking down at whatever she was cooking. “I suppose I can be of assistance. Just let me finish here, and I’ll meet you in the bathroom. B-dorm bathroom. It has the least people.”

You nodded, but didn’t leave. You were still somewhat new to prison, and estranged by everyone, but you had figured out the rules of the game.

“What’s it gonna cost?”

She looked up, sighing, noticing your pained face.

“Nothing,” she said. “I am doing this for free because I do not think that you fell, little girl, no matter what you say. We could all use some kindness every now and then. Now go.”

You did what she said, and made your way to the bathroom. It was slow but steady progress, and the hallways were as vacant as they could be, only a few inmates stalling from their work duty. The looks they gave you weren’t as mean as they were a week ago, but they weren’t particular nice either. They probably thought you had earned every bit of bruising on your body, and they didn’t exactly go out of their way to rectify it by kindness. If someone had given you a beating, you most likely had it coming.

The bathroom was calm, only two inmates there, standing by the sink with towels around their waists and nothing but bras on. You didn’t know any of them by name, and didn’t care to read their tags. They gave you a quick glance, but didn’t think more of it. They weren’t mean per se, but you didn’t want them there anyway, not during your most vulnerable moments.

You walked around the wall and put your things down on the bench and waited for your hero to come. The story of the damsel in distress and the knight in shining armour had changed drastically. Her armour was khaki-coloured.

Miss Claudette walked in, and the girls by the sinks immediately stopped gossiping and giggling.

“Ladies,” Miss Claudette said sternly, and that was all that was needed.

Both girls packed up their things and hurried out, not saying another word, at least none that you could hear. Maybe they muttered something incoherent to Miss Claudette, but if so, it wasn’t meant for your ears.

She peeked around the wall, finding you standing there, staring down at your things.

“I’ll stay on this side,” she said softly, and disappeared again.

Relief blossomed in your chest. She wasn’t going to look either. No one was going to stare at you, or ask you questions. You were safe. At least for a while, so better not waste time.

You prepared your new, fresh clothes on the bench, sticking several pads on your new panties, the more coverage the better. Everything was set out for easy access, so you started to remove your clothes. Sitting down on the bench, hissing in pain as that once again bloomed in your core, you removed your socks. It hurt to move your legs too much, but you endured. The shirt was next, carefully being pulled over your head before traveling down to your hurt arm.

“Mmm...” you muttered through a clenched shut mouth, as fire raged up the length of your arm, before the shirt was finally off, along with your bra, all in one go.

The top of your pants was pulled up to cover the scar, you didn’t care to be bothered by the others. But you found that you didn’t really care at all. Not about the new bruises, not about the old scars. Not even about the word. You didn’t care about any of it. At least not like you did before. The shame was still hard to force back.

You stood up and pulled your pants down your things, dragging your underwear with them. Blood traced the inside of your legs, leaving tracks of crimson. You stepped out of your trousers, and put everything inside the laundry bag, save for the used and bloodied pads which waited on the bench, ready to be chucked into a bin.

You didn’t look down. You didn’t search for any new information regarding your body. It was what it was, nothing you could do about it now, except get clean.

Stepping into the stall, you hung a towel on the side and turned the water on, not caring about the initial cold spray hitting you. It couldn’t hurt any more anyway. You angled your body so the spray didn’t hit directly on your hurt arm, but still keeping your back to the world.

You wanted so bad to just stand there and let the water clear away everything that had happened. Just stand there and not care about fear or pain or responsibilities. Just stand there, and let the water work its magic on your healing body.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were there to get clean, nothing else. So, you did just that. You washed your hair, remembering the officers' fingers raking through it. You lathered up your body, feeling their touches haunting your skin, their marks laughing at you trying to wash them away, your wrist the biggest clown of all. You only graced it, thinking the water would do enough. Then you braced yourself, and slid a hand down to your vulva, as ready for the pain as you could be. Fire burned through your core at the touch, your legs quivering from the sudden pain. But you persevered. You did what you had to do, and washed and washed until the water flowing down the drain was no longer pink or carrying any traces of blood. It was done.

You turned the water off and grabbed the towel, snaking it around you the best you could and dried off, your hair following. It wasn’t an easy task with only one good hand, but you made due. After all, it was your fault you were in this situation to begin with.

Getting dressed with only one hand proved harder than getting undressed, and the water sticking to your skin did little to help. You had yet to hear anything from the other side of the wall, grateful for the peace at least. You shimmed as much as your core would allow, twisted as much as your arm would allow, but eventually you were fully dressed in clean sweats again. The khaki was not an option at this time, and you were allowed to wear sweats too so it was an easy choice.

You grabbed your things from the bench, not caring if it wet your new clothes, as long as it didn’t touch your hurt arm. You could barely hold the used pads along with everything else, but managed to balance it all. You walked around the wall, finding Miss Claudette doing her make-up at the sink. You put your things down a few sinks away, chucked the pads in the bin without her seeing, and began to wash your hand, then brush your teeth.

“Thank you,” you said in a hushed voice, and put the toothbrush in your mouth.

You didn’t look up at her, keeping your head bowed down. Though, you could feel her eyes on her.

“Are you going to tell me what happened to you?” she asked, and the only response you gave was slowly shaking your head whilst continuing to brush your teeth.

You were almost completely apathetic at this point, feeling your grasp on the world losing its grip. It was like your emotions shut down, like you couldn’t feel anything but your physical body, which was not a nice place to live at the moment. Miss Claudette’s voice sounded distorted and far away, or like she was talking underwater.

“Well,” she said. “I hope you will take more care in the future, child. Prison is not a kind place, and there are many unkind people here. Do your best to keep out of trouble, would you?”

“Yes, Miss Claudette,” came out like an automatic response, your voice completely empty.

She took her things and turned to look at you. You were still slowly brushing your teeth, your head still down and eyes fixed on a crack in the sink. She said no more, and left you in peace.

Her leaving didn’t make you feel less alone, or even more alone for that matter. It didn’t affect you. Nothing affected you. Slowly, but clearly, you felt the world slip away and leave you behind. Like there was a new mirror breaking, one you hadn’t seen or felt before, but you were vigorously pounding away at the glass. Like the world had caged you in inside its reflective surface, with nothing but a thin sheet of glass, and you were desperate to get out. Fists pounding away to break the wall, to break free from the bonds of reality. And just like that, you did it.

O.o.O.o.O

The ride to work was a nice imitation of their normal. Bucky made jokes, threw a few low punches at Steve, which he returned in kind. Usually about their military days, and Steve’s command, and Bucky’s set intentions of never listening to him when he knew it wouldn’t endanger anyone.

They got to work, walked in through the entry and through the detectors and all, and headed for the staffroom. For some reason it was crowded with officers. Donaldson, Bell, Maxwell, Bennett, Fisher, Kowalski, O’Neill. A few were still missing, having work to do.

Steve and Bucky both put their things away inside their lockers and hung up their jackets on the hooks available, and walked over to the table were everyone was gathered. There was mail on the table, and Bell, O’Neill, Kowalski and Maxwell were all seated with letters in their hands, but that didn’t seem to be the topic of discussion.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked, but before anyone already in the room could answer, Luscheck walked in.

He wasn’t a team player by any means, and wasn’t the most subtle person on the planet. He had little care for tact.

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” he asked nonchalantly, like it was clear as day what he was about to say. “There’s been some footage leaked of inmate Harper.”

“Harper?” Steve echoed, gripping the edge of a chair, and leaned to his side on one foot, crossing the other one over.

“What kind of footage?” Bucky asked, crossing his arms and looking out over the group, who all seemed to await Luscheck’s answer.

“The violent kind,” he said, sticking both hands in his pockets.

Steve and Bucky looked to each other, both thinking the same thing. Their initial guilt which had slowly been building was washed away as quickly as the anger came flooding back. Of course, there was footage of your past doings. Of course, it wouldn’t stay hidden what a lying, murdering bitch you were. There was bound to be evidence floating around somewhere, it was just a matter of time before it leaked. And maybe Nate wasn’t the only one to fall victim to your schemes.

“How violent?” Bucky asked, clenching his jaw as he felt irritation start to brew deep in his gut.

Luscheck sighed, but fished out his phone. He clicked away before holding it out for the other man to take.

“That violent.”

The video started to play. But it didn’t show you yelling, damaging or hurting someone or anything like they thought it would, it showed you being severely beaten by Millers. Your clothes were dirty and torn where you lay coughing on the floor, trying to get away. There was blood all over you, your face was swollen enough to shut at least an eye, if not both, and Nate was just laughing. The sound of the tape was too roaring for them to make out any words. It looked like it was taking place inside a basement of some sort, or somewhere else with bouncing walls where the camera had been placed. But the tone of his voice was not lost. He was mocking you, taunting you in between kicks and punches, which were all followed by laughter from him, and screams or pained moans from you where you lay crying on the floor.

Steve looked up from the phone, having been looking over Bucky’s shoulder.

“When was this taken?” he asked to no one in particular, but Kowalski spoke first.

“I think that particular one was around November last year, if I’m not mistaken.” The tall, gangly man was still sorting through letters, not wanting to really hear or see any more than he already had.

“There are plenty more floating around on various websites an’ YouTube,” CO Bell added with her booming jersey voice. “I should’ve guessed.”

“What do you mean?” O’Neill asked from where he was sitting beside her, their relationship not really a secret among their co-workers.

“Oh,” she sighed. “Ya should see the state of her body. There are sca’s everywhere. Her chest, her a’ms, her back, her legs, and what’s worse... He’e, I’ll show ya.”

She picked up her own phone from her pocket and tapped away to get to a link to a different video, and laid her phone flat on the table so everyone could see. Bucky handed the one he had been given back to its owner, and leaned down to see the screen.

“Now, I warn ya,” she said. “This is graphic. She’s naked but, hey, nothing we haven’t all seen befo’e. Well, except for–” she didn’t finish her sentence, just waved her hand at the screen when it started to play the next video.

It was graphic indeed. Nothing was covered, you were completely naked and beaten bloody, as the camera spanned from top to bottom. Your arms were secured above your head by some means of tying, your wrists scraped bloody, your face was raw from crying, you were barely moving. There were a few cuts along your chest, your breasts carrying some bruises, but then the camera zeroed in on the finale.

Along your lower abdomen were the angry, open wounds reading WHORE. Blood was seeping from the deep cuts which all looked like they had been carved out of your flesh, the letters big and bold. And then a voice sounded through the speakers.

“I never thought you had it in ya.”

There was no mistaking whose voice it was. Steve and Bucky both shared horrified looks with each other as realization hit like a fricking wrecking ball. Everything came crashing down like a building collapsing on itself, burying them both beneath the debris. Everything Nate had said to them, every undermining remark, every demeaning word about you hadn’t been fantasies or imagines. They didn’t even begin to cover the truth of what he had not only said he wanted to do to you, but had done.

Both stepped away from their co-workers, not wanting to see anymore, but heard them all still speaking to each other in the background. The women seemed most appalled, the men not far behind. Except Luscheck, who made a proud comment of how tough you had to be to still be conscious. Sick fuck!

Bucky folded his arms against the lockers and leaned his face into the cushion, his back turned to the others. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe how wrong they both had been about Millers. And you. They’d swallowed everything he had said to them, no questions asked! What the fuck was wrong with them? How did they not see it? He scolded himself for the comment that he should have removed your shirt that night. He should have removed it and then they would have seen the evidence of Nate’s abuse, right there. Bright as day. He never should have believed what that fucking Millers had said! He should have known something wasn’t right!

Steve stood by a far wall, leaning one hand firmly against it, the other on his hip and his head bowed down. He didn’t want to see or hear anything more, he didn’t want to be shown exactly how wrong he had been right from the get-go. How could they both have missed all this about you? You had been cut open, tortured, beaten and most likely raped if Millers’ words were anything to go by, and neither of them had seen it. And it had been right in front of them the entire time. Your obedience, your meekness, the way you recoiled from them even on your first day. And they had given you reason enough to continue on that path. Now they were the monsters.

“Oh, my god,” officer Fisher let out when a particular gruel shot was shown.

Her usually soft and friendly face was starting to look more squeamish, contorted in despair and disbelief. She was a kind-hearted woman, this was bound to affect her.

“I knew there was something about that Millers guy that didn’t sit right,” Maxwell said, opening another letter to check through.

“Totally,” Kowalski second.

“Yeah, but this?” Bennett asked. “This is like... Hannibal Lecter psycho level.”

“Always knew there was something wrong with that guy,” Donaldson said from where he stood, his face as set as stone as always, arms crossed over his chest. “You could tell it from the way he acted with the inmates. Wouldn’t surprise me if he acted out some of those fantasies even here.”

“Nah,” Luscheck said from behind the group, not looking too affected by all this information. “Would’ve heard about it. These bitches gossip about everything, wouldn’t have taken long for Caputo to find out.”

And like summoned, Joe Caputo appeared in the doorway. He looked troubled. The look on his face was pained and serious, as he walked into the staff-room and closed the door behind him. He sighed deeply.

Both Bucky and Steve moved from their hiding places to stand closer to the group, arms crossed. They wanted nothing more than to shrink away, but obligation and duty read strong in their bodies, their faces following. They were never the ones to take things going awry with an inmate lightly, and certainly not in this situation, where they were the miscreants responsible for making sure your stay at Litchfield was worse than where you had come from.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard about inmate Harper’s past, maybe even seen some of it,” Caputo said, addressing everyone and getting the attention. “The... footage was leaked early this morning by some anonymous source the police have yet to find, but they are working on it. It has been proven that former correctional officer Nate Millers was responsible for these... assaults. Now, I know some of you were more than colleagues with him–”

“I’d say way more than that,” Luscheck muttered and nodded his head towards Bucky and Steve.

“Shut your mouth, Luscheck,” Bucky barked back at him, watching the man actually take a small step back, even from across the room. “We were friends, nothing else. And we didn’t know.”

Caputo raised a hand to calm everything down.

“Yes, yes, it’s all very unfortunate,” he went on. “We all knew him. But this–” he said and pointed to the ground, like everything was in a pile before him. “–none of us knew. And I’m deeply sorry for not having seen it, for giving him the job in the first place. He was obviously a deeply disturbed individual to be able to do this to someone. I think we can all agree on that. But what's done is done. We can only focus on what we can change. Now, I have not yet been in contact with anyone in Harper’s legal team. I’m trying to reach the mayor and judge to get to the bottom of how this could slip through their fingers, how she could have been sentenced in the first place.”

“But, sir,” Bennett interrupted. “This doesn’t prove that she didn’t kill Millers. It just proves that he... hurt her. Albeit, very much so.”

“Yeah, but come on,” Bell said. “There’s no way that little girl meant to kill’im. It was probably an accident.”

“Yeah,” Fisher agreed. “She doesn’t seem capable of murdering anyone. I’m mean, she’s as friendly as be. For an inmate, of course,” she added for good measure, in case she was wrong.

“I hear ya,” Caputo said. “Now, I don’t believe she did it either. Not by choice, at least. But we can’t jump to any conclusions until I get her lawyer on the phone, and talk to the court to see what will happen. Most likely, her case is going to be reopened and reviewed again. But until that happens, we need to keep this under wraps, okay? Harper doesn’t know any of this yet, and we’re gonna keep it that way until I get control over the situation.”

“How are we going to handle her, sir?” Bennett asked.

“What?”

“I mean, if she’s innocent then she doesn’t belong in prison. Should we still treat her like an inmate, or...?”

Caputo sighed, running his hand over his moustache.

“Yes, you will still treat her like an inmate. Best not let anyone get wind of any of this. But maybe you can... take it easy on her? Maybe not go out of your way to make her stay here more uncomfortable than it already is, okay?” he asked, and everybody nodded.

Steve and Bucky could feel the shame start to eat away at them, building in their chests. ‘Don’t go out of your way to make her stay here more uncomfortable than it already is.’ Well, that’s what they had been doing since you got here, and they had been proud of it too. They’d literally made sure your time in prison was as bad as can be, even turning your fellow inmates against you. And to now hear that you were a victim of abuse, a survivor of assault and battery...

“Now,” Caputo continued, oblivious to the two officers racing thoughts and feelings. “I know you are all upset about this, so am I, but you have to keep doing your job like nothing has happened, and let me handle this with the legal team and justice system. We will get to the bottom of this. Alright?”

Everyone nodded or muttered a ‘yes’ at their captain. Caputo seemed reassured enough by it all.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be in my office trying to sort this mess out. If there’s anything you need in the meantime– Rogers, would you mind covering for me as captain during your shift?”

Steve looked up and med Joe’s eyes, anxiety and stress prominent. He cleared his throat and nodded, pushing down his own anxious emotions.

“Of course,” he said.

“Alright,” Caputo said, exhaling loudly as some added pressure was relieved. “Thank you, Steve.” He turned to address the whole room. “If there’s anything you need, Rogers is your man. Talk to him if there’s anything, and he will come to me should there be a reason, but I’m sure he can handle everything.”

The room was silent for a moment. No one said anything or moved from their spots. The tension was palpable, everyone was upset, or angry or sad, either about Millers or you. Steve and Bucky were the main chimneys letting off heat, their emotions running haywire, thoughts racing in their minds, but they kept it on ice until they could have some privacy. This was not the time or place to have a meltdown.

“Thank you, everyone,” Joe said, nodding to each and everyone in the room. “Keep up the good work, and keep these inmates safe.”

With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the door. He gave Steve a grateful pat on the shoulder for stepping up to the plate and taking on the responsibility as captain and coordinator should anything erupt. If only he knew the weight that was already on Steve’s shoulders.

CHAPTER 21 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 2656

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

Chapter 21

-

Morning rolled around and their shift had ended. They had done what they usually did after a shift; they’d made sure to leave their intercoms at the station, they’d gone to the staffroom to get their things from their lockers and made sure to not leave anything in the lunchroom that wasn’t supposed to be there. It was a typical morning in so many ways, yet everything was different. They were different.

Whenever they had come around to check the dorms during the night, you were asleep. They’d given you some time alone before they did a check, and it was not because of guilt, but once they did, you were fast asleep. It had surprised them at first, seeing Steve had pointed out that you never slept during the night, always sitting perched on your bed instead. But now you slept. Wasn’t that strange after all, they’d really put you through the wringer, so of course you needed to sleep. They really needed sleep too, and their own beds were calling out to them, even before they walked through the door.

Bucky walked in and went straight to the fridge to get them both a cold beer. They needed something to celebrate with, and something that might take the edge off before going to bed. Steve threw his jacket on the backrest of a kitchen chair, and walked into the living room with a loud sigh. He turned the tv on for some company, something they both did, which made their bill skyrocket but they didn’t care. He sat down on the couch, leaning back heavily into the cushions, resting a foot on the coffee table. Bucky was right behind him, and mirrored his position right beside him, handing him a cold one.

“Thanks,” Steve mumbled and took a swig of the smooth liquid.

They sat there, watching the tv screen without really seeing anything, both already having a private viewing of last night's events replaying in their minds. It was everything they had wanted, everything they had planned for and prepared for. Even your initial reaction to seeing Bucky standing there waiting in the laundry room. You figured it all out so quickly, it didn’t take more than a look from him to let you know you were right.

The way you struggled and begged was all so perfect. It took a few tries to get you under control, to get you to learn your place and just let them use your body as they wished, and it was perfect. How they got to manhandle you, just like they wanted. How they got to hear you beg, just like they wanted. How they got to pin you down, just like they wanted. Everything was what they wanted. And you got what you deserved.

“Think she’ll even get up today?” Bucky asked into his bottle before a sip.

Steve did a half shrug.

“Doubt it. She’s probably gonna be bedridden for the entire day,” he said, ending with a slight chuckle, which Bucky joined in on.

“I doubt she can even walk,” Bucky said.

“Seemed to have trouble with that last night even,” Steve added.

Both smiled at the thought, quite proud to be the ones to achieve that staggering gait. Just like Steve, it wasn’t the first time a lady had left Bucky’s bed with an awkward walk. The occasions were rare for such vigour, but certain nights called for a rougher handle than others.

Images flashed in the minds of the passed night, sounds echoed in their ears. And they weren’t all really that pleasurable to remember. Sure, the amazing orgasm, their power and your helplessness were all fond memories, but it was somewhere along those last images where things started to turn a bit sour in memory. Questions started to appear. Questions they did not want to hear, nor answer.

“We did the right thing, right?” Bucky asked after a few silent moments had ticked by.

Steve turned his head to his friend, finding an uncertain look plaguing his usually upbeat features. His face wasn’t any better, he knew, so he forced it to change.

“Of course, we did,” he said. “She’s deserved every bit of rough treatment we’ve given her, and then some. Murdering Millers... She got off easy, you know that. And if the justice system can’t punish murdering cunts, then we have to step up.”

Bucky let out a snicker, almost spilling the beer in his mouth, barely managing to swallow before speaking.

“Such foul mouth, Stevie,” he said, earning an almost shameful look from Steve, if it weren’t for the twitching smile.

“Your words. Jerk,” he shot back, no spite in the word whatsoever, before he clanked their bottles together and took a swig to finish his beer.

Steve inhaled deeply and rose to his feet with a loud sigh, putting down his now empty bottle on the table.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said and, again, pushed his way through Bucky’s raised leg without a second thought.

“You do see me sitting here, right?” Bucky fired back, and threw one of the pillows from beside him after Steve, just grazing his leg before sliding onward on the floor.

Steve barked a laugh at Bucky’s annoyed face, and picked up the pillow and shucked it right back. He would have hit his face if Bucky didn’t have catlike reflexes and dodged it.

“Asshole,” Bucky muttered under his breath through a smile as Steve went to turn a corner.

He heard the shower come on from inside the bathroom, the door a tinge ajar to let the steam out. Privacy was a luxury none of them had much care for, effectively beaten out of them from their time in the army. Now it was all open doors, disciplined wakeup calls and meticulous making of beds. And their closets were always neatly stacked with perfectly square shirts.

They were army men. Part of the US finest. Heroes. They’d gone to war to fight for their country, they’d saved lives and risked their own in the process. They were heroes. But right now, sitting at home on his couch after just having forced himself on a young woman, Bucky didn’t feel like a hero. Far from it. Yes, they had been right to do it, you had deserved the pain and the punishment for murdering a man and getting such a minimum sentence, but right now... When the buzz had worn off, and the rush had gone with it, he was left with nothing but the doubtful questions he had buried so deep prior to it all. And it didn’t leave a heroic aftertaste at all.

Steve turned the knob to increase the chill of the steady stream falling from the showerhead above, leaning his hands heavily against the wall to let it cascade down his neck and broad back, the muscles tensing under the cold water. He stood there for several minutes, not moving, not showering. Just letting the water wash over him and clear out his mind. At least that was the goal, but the execution was not really turning out that great.

He could still feel your body. Could still feel his grip tightening around you, leaving bruises and making it hard for you to breath against him. He could still feel how you kicked back against him when Bucky had taken his shirt off, how you had upped your efforts to get away. He could still feel it. And the shame ate away at him.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this now. He was supposed to be calm and collected, joyous over the happy outcome. He was supposed to look back at this night and only remember the high of being completely in control, the heavenly feel of your pussy tightening around him, making him cum harder than he had for quite some time. But that ship had sailed, leaving just a heavy anchor behind, dragging him to the bottom.

When he couldn’t hold back the shivers anymore, he switched the water to hot and routinely washed off, feeling the ache in his body and the desperate need for sleep. He wondered if Bucky felt the same. In all aspects. He knew his friend, he could read him like an open book, and vice versa, which made their friendship run so deep. And Steve could hear the doubt in his voice, hear the forced conviction whenever Steve himself had voiced his own concerns. Bucky felt the same, that much he was sure of. But neither wanted to say anything aloud, not wanting to open that door and let them both be consumed by it. And they both knew, deep down, that it was just a matter of time before their happy little bubble of unspoken words would burst.

O.o.O.o.O

Static hissing sounded through the dorm, screeching like an old angry cat, before CO Wilson’s voice came through the speakers to go over the schedule for the chapel and giving a few encouraging words to start the day. The inmates started stirring, some early risers but most were just lying in a sleepy haze, not wanting to get up, annoyed by the loud and booming voice of the officer telling them they had work to attend.

You stayed asleep. You didn’t wake up despite the commotion. The tiredness outran anything trying to chase it down and get you to open your eyes and feel the world of pain you were in. No, you wanted to stay asleep, needed to stay asleep. Some things would be worse once you did wake up, you knew that. Like the ache after a hard workout which gets progressively worse as time goes on, peaking a day later than expected. But some things would also have lessened, so you stayed asleep.

The hope of having a dreamless sleep was quickly shattered. Horrible images and memories haunted you wherever you turned in your subconscious, terrorising your body even through the foggy vail keeping you asleep. Images of the officers, their hands, their mouths, their shafts impaling you over and over, seeking completion and bliss from your body. Their words plagued you. Not so tough now, are ya? You only have yourself to blame. Lying, murdering cunt. Blood must have blood. ...time to shed yours. Your fault.

Images started blurring with memories of Nate. Memories of that night. Images and echoes of the past back to haunt you, even as you slept.

FLASHBACK/DREAM

“Told you.”

Nate’s voice was joyous, gleeful almost. He looked down at your shuddering form, sputtering out blood, trying to draw breath whilst clenching your belly to protect it. More blood pooled onto the floor, like someone had spilled a glass of crimson milk. Nate lifted a foot to tap the toe of his shoe in the liquid, drawing a line through it, covering his entire sole, but he didn’t care. Every time he did, your eyes followed his movement wearily, expecting another kick maybe. He noticed you watching his boot, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“A man can’t help but have a little fun, now, can he?”

Your eyes shot up at him, finding him smirking down at you. He crouched down, making you recoil and involuntarily made your belly ache even more from the movement. He reached out a hand and grabbed you by your chin, keeping you in place. Keeping your eyes on him.

“Are you gonna be a good girl?” he asked mockingly, his fingers pinching into your skin.

You couldn’t nod, his hold wouldn’t let you. His fingers kept your mouth closed, so all you could do was moan weakly in response.

“Ugh...”

It was enough to satisfy as an answer thankfully, because Nate smiled.

“See I’ve been thinking about this little...” he said, letting go of you, rising to his feet and began to pace before you. “...pushing of limits for a while now. Every minute of it in fact. Every single thing that I wanna do to you.”

“Mmph...” you whimpered as his eyes shot a harsh look down at you.

“See how much you can take.”

He stopped in his tracks close by your head, biting his lip where he stood, almost calculating. He was always so expressive in his features. His face never told a lie unless he wanted it too. And his hands were keen, twitching around the handle of the knife.

“See, I’m gonna make this hurt. It’s gonna hurt so bad, until your last... final... gasping breath.”

He turned on his heel away from you.

“Please, Nate... You don’t have to do this...ugh...” you begged, gasping as more blood flooded onto the floor, creeping further and further away.

Nate scoffed, his back still towards you, but he turned his head to look at you.

“Oh, but I wanna. I want it so much it makes me hard.”

No. Not that too. You couldn’t bear it! You didn’t spare a look down to see if he was in fact speaking the truth because you knew he was. He never lied about that. He had never once showed you mercy when you begged him not to force himself on you. Usually you didn’t even bother to put up a fight, knowing it was futile and he was going to get his way anyway, no matter what you did. And not fighting him was the only way to spare yourself the pain and harm.

“I’m gonna make you beg,” he went on, looking down at the blade. “Beg for your life. To spare it. Or to take it.”

Oh, god. This was it. He was going to kill you. He was actually going to end your life. Thoughts of ending your own life to be free of this torment had circled in your mind more than once, but you were never ready. You weren’t ready to die. Not before, not now. You weren’t ready for Nate to take your life, to claim himself the sole destroyer of your entire being. No, you couldn’t die. Not now, not like this. Not now.

With a rush, Nate lunched himself at you, ready should you try to work yourself out of his grip. But what he wasn’t ready for, was the slippery blood under his boot betraying his footing. He fell down to the floor with a loud thud, falling face first into the blood and losing grip of the knife. It rolled across the floor. To you.

He looked up. First at the knife, then you, noticing you eyeing the knife. He threw out a hand, trying to get it back quickly, but you were faster.

There was nothing in your mind but one lonely thought chanting over and over again, deafening you to the world. One thing that controlled your entire body, making you act on it to have its will be done. Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die.

The knife was warm in your hand, the handle rough against your fingers. It contrasted beautifully with the softness of flesh and blood giving way to its silvery steel, soon coated in red. With every deep cut, the skin seemed to give away easier and easier.

If anyone were to ask you afterwards what was being said or heard during that moment, you wouldn’t know. To you, it was all silent. You couldn’t hear Nate’s gasps, or his groans, or his pleas, or even your own voice screaming stop. No. I don’t wanna die. No. Stop, as the knife pierced his torso with each word. You couldn’t hear anything but white noise fogging your ears and your mind, your vision going dark from the overflow of adrenaline in your system. You couldn’t hear anything, you couldn’t see anything, until all you could see was Nate. Dead. And the knife in your hands, covered in the same blood falling from the open wounds of his lifeless body.

Oh, no. What had you done?

CHAPTER 20 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 3959

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

Chapter 20

-

Empty. Consumed. Hollow.

Stripped of worth. Filled with shame.

Worthless. Shameful.

Your fault.

Silent. The room was silent. No machines were running, no clothes were being folded. Silent. If not for the slow, steady dripping of a faucet leaking behind you, the room was silent.

A broken wrist. Cheek still stung from the hand that had struck it. Jaw ached from still being kept open, throat raw from weeping and screaming. Your neck hurt from digging fingers keeping you down against the wood where the tears had pooled, irritating your skin. It itched.

“…ugh…” escaped, muffled by the socks still wedged in your mouth.

Your feet shifted, trying to find the floor and slowly ease down from the high table. Pain erupted through your core like internal barbwire tightening. Like fire. It burned. You were burning.

Fifteen minutes. That was a while ago now. Maybe it had even passed. Time could move so fast sometimes. And sometimes it just stood still. But not now. Now it wasn’t still. Move. You have to move.

Your good hand, the dominant one, steadied you against the surface, pushing yourself off. The broken one slowly moved from behind your back to resting against your chest. Safe.

“Agh..” you groaned at the searing pain shooting up your arm.

You were shaking. Trembling. Despite it all, you reached up, carefully removing the socks from your mouth, tears spilling over as your jaw was forced slightly more open to do so. Your mouth was dry, your tongue sticking to the roof of it when you finally got to close it. Your lips were chapped. Your fault.

A flare of fire surged between your legs, and you fought to stay standing, leaning against the table.

“Ugh!”

Tears. More tears fell, itching their way down your cheeks, scraping them raw. Could they just stop?

You looked down, shivering from the movement but you had to see. There was blood covering the inside of your thighs, spattered and dripped. Your thighs quivered from the strain of standing, pain surging through your body like a pulse. Move. You have to move.

You swiveled around to face the sink with the dripping faucet, leaning against the side for support. Breathe in. Breathe out. Every breath felt like lava as it rushed through your esophagus, screamed raw and wounded by unshed tears. Your fault.

Turning the tap was like trying to move a boulder. It hurt to move. You had no strength left. But the water slowly started to go from a dripping to a slow pour, enough to soak the socks preciously keeping your fight out of earshot. Traitorous socks. Socks which shouldn’t have picked sides, but had. Your fault.

You fought to place a cold and wet sock against your vulva, the chill initially startling but easing the pain when not moved. You held it still for just a moment before drawing it back, only to see blood seeping further and further into the white along with the water. Clots of coagulated blood spotted it from where it had touched your folds. You folded it over and softly placed it back against your opening, slowly, gently moving it to clean off the blood with an unsteady hand. You rinsed the sock off best you could, the crimson turning a light blush, and hung it on the side of the sink before picking up the other one to wet it. You cleaned off the inside of your thighs all the way up to your vagina, then moving it behind you to clean off the back and your buttocks. It came back covered in red. Your fault.

The slow pour of the water couldn’t clean the entirety of blood off, but did enough to only leave a blush of it left. The basket for stray dirty laundry was close enough you could simply toss the socks into it, but you knew you couldn’t do that. Instead you had to shuffle over, fighting the pain with each step, to look down and try to find any panties stained with period blood. That’s a good thing about a women’s prison; periods all year around. That’s a good cover. There were more than enough in the basket to claim the staining of socks. You placed them near and let go of the traitorous socks. Your fault.

Beside the basket lay maxi pads. They were used for cleaning, but their initial use was what you needed them for, knowing full and well the blood would not stop for some time. There were only a few ones left, so you didn’t dare to take more than one. It would have to do.

With jerking motions, you bent down to grab your underwear and trousers to pull them back up, pain pulsating again.

“Ugh…” you breathed painfully, as the pain spiked everywhere at once.

Your wrist, your vagina, your spine, everywhere they had grabbed. Everything hurt. Your fault.

You managed to get your pants back up and place the pad on your panties, but the graze of the material hurt against the rawness of your folds, like pressing down on a bruise. Despite the ties not being pulled, the elastic edge of your trousers pressed tightly against the forming bruises of your hips. It didn’t feel that way before, but now it did. Your fault.

Above the sink was a metal tray, much like the one in SHU, acting like some sort of mirror. It was dirty, showing a distorted reflection but still, it mirrored what faced it. You didn’t want to look but you knew you had to. You had been told to clean yourself up, and that’s what you needed to do. So, you looked.

Your face wasn’t too bad. You hadn’t taken a beating so it wasn’t too bad. It was still too early to really see anything, but there would be a slight bruise on your cheek and chin from the slap, you could tell from the redness. You knew it well, so… you could tell. Wet streaks had blushed the skin of your cheeks, your eyes were bloodshot from constant crying. There was a slight darkening to your throat but nothing that would bloom to any real bruising, but the same couldn’t be said for you neck, which already showed the distinctive imprints of fingers, which would undoubtedly darken as time passed. Small spots of red and purple made with mouth and teeth accompanied them, littering your skin with possessive marks. The hoodie would cover that. It would. The hoodie would cover it.

You turned to get a look at your shoulder where more specks of red and purple grew. Marks made by wandering lips and curious teeth, and too hard a grip. A new shirt would cover that. One that didn’t have a ripped and torn collar. Thankfully prison attire wasn’t all that new or unused, so torn shirts with holes and whatnot wasn’t anything anyone was concerned about if they found one in the laundry.

Slowly, so slowly you were barely sure the fabric was actually moving away from your body, you removed the shirt, careful not to upset your wrist as you tugged it off. Underneath, redness and the budding of bruises littered your body, written on your skin like a new story altogether. It was a stark contrast to the old ones already healed, but these would heal too. These would even fade from sight. But never from memory. Your fault.

Both wrists were turning a dark shade of blue, the broken one severally so, even blackening where the swelling was worst. There was the slightest distinction of nipping steel going around them, but that would fade quickly. You could see some scrapes from wandering hands and fingers on your chest from where both men had grabbed at you like kids at a fair trying to get the best toy from the lottery. They didn’t need to. They were the only ones there. They didn’t need to fight for the prize.

Gentle, prying fingers grazed the outlines of the word written on your abdomen, tracing it like the outlines of a drawing. It felt so true. It felt so real. Like it had predicted the future to come. Like a brand, or a scarlet letter.

Your fault.

There were thankfully a few clean, folded shirts on a nearby table, beckoning you over, luring you in with their protection from scrutiny. Their promise to keep what lay underneath safe. Though you would always know what was true underneath. What was being shamefully hidden.

Shameful.

Worthless.

Your fault.

“…aah…” you grunted when the sleeve met your wounded wrist, slowly working it on and over enough to pull the entirety of the shirt on, and cover everything else.

It was like putting a band aid on a severed limb. It wouldn’t hold anything in, or keep anything together, but you would be able to say ‘I patched it up’. You patched it up. The wound would heal, the damaged would be fixed by a simple band aid. Because you patched it up.

With every step along the long and winding corridors, flares of fire burned in your core and up your spine. You tried to relieve the pressure with short, staggering steps, but everything still hurt. Everything still burned and ached and seared as you moved. Your fault. You were almost there. You passed through the gates, one, two, three and four before at last reaching the last hallway leading to your dorm.

O.o.O.o.O

The room of the bubble was as dark as the dorm, the lights set to the lowest setting, a comfortable light to work nights in. It didn’t make the officers too sleepy, and it wasn’t a straining contrast whenever they needed to leave and check the dorms.

They came in through the door from the hallway, Bucky going over to glance out into the dorm to make sure no one was up, as Steve shut the door behind him. They grabbed a chair each and sat down, both letting out exaggerated sighs which morphed into delighted and relieved laughter.

“Holy fucking shit,” Bucky said with both his hands over his mouth, looking over at Steve who sat leaned back, running both hands through his hair.

“You could say that again,” he said, focusing on a spot on the floor.

They could hardly believe it was real, that they’d finally done it. They had finally let themselves go, and done what they had wanted to do for so long, what they’d dreamt about. And how glorious it had been, the rush of endorphins was still buzzing. The control, the power… It was so different to all the other times either one of them had had sex with a woman, even if they were always the ones calling the shots. This was something else entirely. They’d never felt so alive, so in the moment before. It was like every touch had been electric.

“I’m still coming down from the clouds,” Bucky said through a grin, rocking back and forth on his chair with a steady beat of his foot. “That was… intense.”

Steve leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, drawing a deep breath through his nose.

“Intense doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

A few moments ticked by, some in silence, some in the mild titter of amusement, and some tenser than either one was comfortable with. There were so many things left unspoken and undone. So many things they had expected to feel or do, but didn’t, and some things they weren’t prepared for. The ambiguity was the major one, which neither dared to say out loud, but their expressions and demeanor let them know they weren’t alone in feeling it.

“Think Millers would be proud or just jealous?” Bucky asked, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Steve scoffed. “Pretty sure jealousy would take first place, but who knows. At least she got what she deserved, right?”

Bucky moved his head in a slow nod, the action not really carrying the affirmative he was looking for.

“Damn right,” he said, but it didn’t hold much assertion. “Should have removed her shirt before I cuffed her though. Never got a chance to really feel those tits,” he said with a snort, thinking back on his mistake.

“Well, all in hindsight,” Steve said. “Weren’t really her tits I was after.”

He looked over at a grinning Bucky with a raised eyebrow, who slowly moved a hand through his hair.

“Neither was I, but seeing how good her pussy felt, I bet her tits would be fucking perfect too.”

Both men nodded, letting a moment or two pass just to reminisce. It was a huge, life-changing moment in their lives after all. And they weren’t sure sitting there talking about it did it any justice.

“She was so tight, wasn’t she?” Steve said, slowly grinding his palms together. “Like a piece of pure fricking heaven. And I was second, I can only imagine how tight she was for you.”

Both men chuckled at the comment, recalling the warm cavern which they’d both invaded not too long ago, feeling the phantom feel of it on their cocks, tightening like a vice around them.

“Best cherry I’ve ever popped,” Bucky said with a smile, earning one back.

“You don’t actually think it was her first time, do you?” Steve asked, a worried thought starting to form in his head.

Bucky scoffed halfheartedly. “No, I don’t. If Millers didn’t get in there before we did, someone else sure did. A girl like that doesn’t stay a virgin for long. But I got to pop her prison cherry, so…”

Steve chuckled at the remark before Bucky joined in as well. That was one way of looking at it. There was a first time for everything, and someone’s first time in prison sure does count.

The room was growing tense with an energy mixed between a high rush and haziness. Thoughts of Millers popped up in the back of their minds, and what happened to him, which justified their actions. They had done the right thing. Because a man was dead and you did not suffer enough for that, so they had seen to it that you did suffer, that you did get the punishment you so rightfully deserved. And they had certainly enjoyed themselves in the process.

Other thoughts started burrowing into those thoughts, questioning the real enjoyment of the sentence dealt. Small, indecisive emotions of wrong started pecking at the stronger feelings of right. They had gotten what they wanted, they had gotten to feel the power and control they wanted in their sexlives, to have complete authority over someone, to call the shots in every way. So, why did it feel, just a little, like they’d made an error of judgement?

They heard the familiar sound of the heavy door to the dorm being opened through the wall, bringing them both back to the present. Their hearts started beating harder against their chests, the beat almost visible through their shirts. Bucky looked to the clock on the wall.

“She listened,” he said smugly, noting that you were in fact on time.

“Lesson apparently learned,” Steve said, and grazed his fingers along his jawline, intently watching the direction of the door for your arrival.

O.o.O.o.O

With every step it felt like you were stabbed through your pelvis, the pain erupting swift and fiercely, making it hard to stay quiet when all you wanted to do was moan and groan in pain to relieve it. The jagged movement of limping every time you took a step, sent shocks of fire through your wrist, adding to the already overwhelming pain. Your fault.

The door to the dorm was shut as always during the night, feeling heavier than ever when you leaned against it to open it, like trying to move a wall. Like Steve had been a wall behind you, not letting you go. No, don’t think about it anymore. It was over. It was done with. Your fault.

You leaned heavier against the door to get it to open, and quietly shut it behind you to not wake anyone. You hoped desperately that everyone was still dead asleep, and not awake to see the mess of you. Not that any of them should care that somebody had hurt you, you deserved everything coming to you, like the snitch you were. And if it by chance had been dealt out by the hands of a guard, seeing the night was prime time for that sort of thing, they’d probably make it seem like it was a consensual thing, that you got off on being hurt. That you had seized the opportunity to get roughed up by one or more of the handsome officers working the night.

You felt their eyes on you, you didn’t even need to turn your head to know that the officers were intently watching every staggering step you took from behind the glass. The tears had stopped at least, that was a good thing. Not that it mattered if you cried or not. They didn’t care if you cried.

Bucky noticed that the collar of your shirt was no longer torn, thinking you must have changed into a new one. He didn’t tell you to do that. He hadn’t even thought of it, but you obviously had. He was relieved to find that you had covered for his slipup, but the fact that you had even thought to change out of your torn clothes made him wonder how or why you even knew to do that. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t linger on that thought. Nor did he linger on the fact that your face scrunched up in pain with every step forward, or that the steps you took were all short and hobbling. No, he lingered on the warmth of your pussy, the softness of your skin beneath his fingers. Or so he told himself.

Steve took in the state of your body, the way it staggered forward as you held your arm close to your chest in a comforting manner. You looked like you were in quite some pain, your cheeks were red from crying but there weren’t any tears falling now. He hadn’t expected the forced, short steps you took, clearly in discomfort. Wasn’t the first time he had fucked a woman hard enough to leave her not being able to walk, or at least have trouble doing so, but this didn’t look like that. This looked like something else. And usually it was the morning after that was troublesome. It was probably from taking two guys right after each other that had you limping down the hallway. And who could blame you?

Once your back was turned to them and you had almost reached the seclusion of your cube, you felt a rush of fire and a gush of blood coming from your vagina. You caught yourself with your hand against the side of someone’s cube, stopping fully, leaning forward to ease the stretch of your abdomen.

“…ugh…” came out, despite trying to keep quiet, but no one seemed to notice.

The officers noticed. How you stopped just a few feet away from your assigned cube, leaning against the wall with fingers digging in hard enough to white your knuckles. They shared a look. A look that read of guilt, of shame, of worry. But that was all covered by a forced chuckle from both.

“It hurts to learn,” Steve said, tugging a corner of his mouth upward in a lopsided smile.

“Sure does,” Bucky agreed, an idle hand running through his long hair, yet again. “I wouldn’t mind teaching her some more.”

Steve gave a scoffing laugh. “Me neither. Wouldn’t mind really making sure she learns her lesson. You can never get enough education,” he said, making them both laugh at the snide remark, slowly losing themselves in another scenario involving more lessons.

You wobbled your way into your cube, leaning heavily against the top of your locker. You looked over at Gina, but all you found was a sleeping form with its back to you as always. You had to look. There was no doubt in your mind that the blood had been enough to not soak into the pad, and you really didn’t want or need to have bloodstains covering your pants. Sure, bloodstains weren’t all that uncommon in an all-women’s prison, but you didn’t plan on getting out of bed for quite some time, and the cleaner the clothes, the better.

Keeping as quiet as you could with the strain, you slowly got your trousers down the curve of your hips enough to get a look at the damage. You had been right. There was blood brimming the edge of the pad, and it needed to be changed. You removed the used one, which had just started to not hurt where it touched your folds, and replaced it with a few new ones from the stock laying on your locker. They were a thicker kind than what you had found in the laundry, but you still double stacked them, and covered the back of your panties for good measure. There was always more blood that you’d expect after being… raped. Your fault.

You threw the used one in the lidded bin beside the locker, having wrapped it in a clean one to disguise the smell for as long as possible. At least blood from tearing didn’t have that same distinct smell that period blood had. Slowly you dragged your pants back up, trying not to wiggle too much when every small movement sent spikes of pain through your core.

Carefully you wobbled over to your bed. It looked as inviting as a king with crispy white down sheets even in its simplicity. You sat down and immediately regretted it.

“Agh…” escaped you without warning as a stabbing pain surged up your spine, and you lifted yourself up a bit to relieve the pressure on your vulva. Your fault!

Gina stirred from the noise, but didn’t seem to wake up or turn. You kept a keen eye out, moving down to lean more on your hip than anything, and lay down slowly on your side, your back snug to the wall in the feigned comforts of security. You kept your hurt wrist close to your body, holding it safely to you to keep it out of harm’s way as the tension slowly started to be relieved. Your fault. All of it was your fault.

The pain was very much apparent, and you knew it would be for some time. This wasn’t the first time you had been forced with such violence. At least the officers didn’t beat you to a pulp, so… silver lining? But everything down there still hurt like a raging inferno tearing through you. Your fault. Your muscles ached from the futile fight you’d put up, your skin was scraped from the table, both on your hips and abdomen as well as your cheek, which still hurt from the hand which had struck it. Your fault. The back of your neck was tense from their unrelenting grip, the muscles there almost cramping up when forced down. Your fault.

You watched the wall above Gina, where the bricks met neatly and firm. You watched it until time stopped, until it started moving backwards. Like sand through an hourglass, never ending. But there was nothing you could do. Nothing you could do to take it back. To take back everything you had ever done to the officers, to Nate, to yourself. If you could, you’d take it back. You’d take it back.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

CHAPTER 19 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 10027

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

All hell breaks lose…

Chapter 19 (includes excplicit NC)

-

When they got to work, they made sure to keep their distance. It was more of a way of teasing themselves than an outright attempt to spook you, though that effect wasn’t unenjoyable. Like a game of tag being played where only two players knew the game was afoot, and played by their own rules.

They chose the postings where they knew you wouldn’t be, but from time to time they had to pass through the hallways, or guard the cafeteria where you were once again allowed to eat. The expression on your face when you saw them was enough to send sparks of desire through their bodies, going straight to their cocks as imagination ran wild. That doe eyed look of shock and fear fit so perfectly on your face, and that glint of tears starting to brim your eyes made them want to see them spill over in the most gorgeous cascading waterfall.

For you, the experience was quite different. For you, the smirks and grins along with those leering eyes that seemed to be sewn on the officers’ faces today, sent different sparks through you entirely. They seemed awfully cheery and bright, their stature prouder and taller than normal, which was saying a lot when it came to the two towering men, who only seemed to be getting bigger by the day. You should feel more at ease when meeting a cheerful smile or two from the officers, but it only made your stomach flip and twist like it was tying a knot on itself.

You kept out of their way all day and night, dread starting to fill you up at the realization of both men working the nightshift. That wasn’t supposed to happen! They must be short on officers after the incident with Pornstache. You hadn’t heard the whole story, seeing no one was actively talking to you, but you’d heard enough to understand that he wasn’t coming to work his shift tonight. He must have done something really bad if he was suspended.

You peeked around every corner like a toddler playing hide and seek. But you didn’t care how you looked, you just wanted to get to the bathroom and back without any interference. You managed to do so, feeling like you were imitating Gina with the way you scurried back to your bunk.

You changed into the sweats instead of the khaki uniform, the cotton softer and gentler during the night, but provided just the same amount of protection from gawking eyes. The dorm was hot after the sun had beat down on the roof of it the entire day, so you decided the white long-sleeved, cotton shirt would suffice, and left the hoodie on its shelf in your locker. You were left in your comfy sweatpants and only slightly stiff sweater, taking off the heavy boots to settle on your bed. This time you even lay down. On top of the covers, of course, for a swift getup should you need it. Plus, there hadn’t been a count yet, so you were bound to get up at least once more.

Speak of the devil, officers Maxwell and Barnes came walking through the door, calling for everyone’s attention.

“Stand for count,” CO Maxwell bellowed, her voice surprisingly sharp. She must be tired already.

You followed the routine and stood outside your cube, not surprised when CO Fucky picked your side to count. His smile widened even more when he passed close to you, humming approvingly as he did. You cowered back, trying to get some space from the man, but knew better than to move away without an order to do so. Years of conditioning had left its marks. It was becoming ridiculous how easily these men made you fall back into your old tracks, falling back in line. Knowing your place, as it were. As long as that place kept you out of harm’s way, you were more than happy to stay there, no matter how ridiculous.

“Thank you, ladies,” Maxwell said through a sigh as she headed out.

CO Barnes was moving slow behind her, turning his head back, zeroing in on you. You shivered as his mouth spread in a wide, bright smile.

“Goodnight,” he said as smooth as he possibly could, and could practically see the lump wedging itself into your throat. Good night indeed.

You hurried back into your cube and away from everyone’s leering eyes after the CO’s comment. Even though you’d seen the door shut behind the officer you couldn’t be sure he wasn’t going to be in the bubble at any second, and you’d rather keep out of his sight too.

The bed felt softer when you lay back down. Or maybe it was your body growing stiff like cement under the beaming sun on some highway that made it feel softer. Whichever it was, it made for a confusing combo. You felt more tired than you had before; matrass or rigor mortis working its way through your muscle and bones? You felt more uncomfortable than you had before; matrass or the slow tune of a swan song? Or maybe just the fear of the officers. Could be that. Yeah, it was probably that.

An hour passed before any of the COs came in for a check. This time it was Peeve. His boots sent echoes of steps along the small corridor between the cubes, his footing slow and unhurried. He shined his flashlight at you, he looked over at you, he smiled at you, but he didn’t talk to you. But that didn’t stop you from seizing up like a corpse where you lay on top of your bedding, eyes fixed on the dirty ceiling to avoid having to face the man. Every time he came in, he just looked at you, but didn’t say a word.

The same with CO Barnes. He came in, flashlight tight in hand to make sure the beds were still occupied, smiled at you and walked back out again. Another merry-go-round, but this one seemed ominous. Not the kind where laughter and joy was what kept it running, it just ran until someone stopped it. And they didn’t stop it.

3 am. 3 am on the dot and the whole dorm was asleep besides you. Snores were louder, mumbles were heard from the known sleep-talkers, and beds squeaked when someone turned, but everyone was asleep.

The door was opened, like it was every thirty minutes or so, nothing new. CO Rogers peeked his head in through the doorway, like he always did, nothing new. But this time he stopped. That was new. He even walked in, steps slow and quiet as to not wake anyone, coming up to you and shined his flashlight in your face. You scooted away as much as you could with one arm, the other coming up to block the light blinding you. Your heart was almost bursting in its cage of bones, trembles working their way through your entire body when Steve leaned down to whisper,

“You’re needed in the laundry room, inmate. That washer hasn’t been fixed.”

He straightened up but didn’t move away. He stood there, flashlight beaming down brightly on you.

You let out a shallow breath, trying to find your words in such a low tone.

“B-but... it’s t-three o’clock in the m-morning...”

Your voice stammered and faltered as you looked up at the black shadow that was the officer behind the light. Surely someone else had fixed that machine by now, but you left that unspoken.

“Laundry needs to run in the morning,” he said, voice firm and ornery even through a whisper. “Let’s go.”

He took a minor step back, minor, to let you get up. Shivers and shakes sent loud warning bells as you slowly stood from the cot which had kept you safe for so long. Tension and strain in your muscles burned as you forced your body to move, the officer walking slowly behind you. This wasn’t right. That machine must have been fixed already by someone else, and if not, they would have ordered you to fix it as soon as you got back. No, this wasn’t about some machine.

This was something else.

The officer’s footsteps were a mocking contrast to your own soundless steps along the maze of corridors leading down to the laundry room. The floor was cold and dirty, blackening your white socks with each step. You clenched and unclenched your fists over and over, arms heavy where they hung down your sides, shoulders up and rigid. Your airways were tightening up with each shallow breath you forced yourself to take. This wasn’t right. You knew enough to know that this wasn’t right.

Steve moved you aside with a gentle push when you came up to the last gate before the laundry. Despite the mildness of the touch you still flinched. Gates that were kept open during the day to ease the flow of people coming and going were locked during the night to keep the inmates contained. You had passed three already, this was the fourth. Steve let you walk through, before following and locking it shut behind the both of you, like all the other ones prior.

He seemed nervous, you thought. Unsure, maybe? He kept looking around every corner, taking deep breaths and releasing them in loud sighs, and his fingers were fumbling with the keys as he put them back in the pocket of his trousers. Why was he nervous? You were fixing a machine. That was it, you were just fixing a machine. Right?

His demeanor changed when you reached the seclusion of the door to the laundry room, and he shoved you forcefully through.

“Uh!” you gasped and stumbled, turning around to face the officer as he locked the door behind him.

His eyes grew darker, menacing, as they fixed on you. You took a short, stumbling step back out of instinct and Steve just started marching towards you.

“Wha–”

“Walk,” he ordered, grabbing your arm and pushed you forward, not caring whether you kept your balance or not. You did, but barely.

Goosebumps prickled your skin, the hairs at the back of your neck stood at attention. Your breathing came out in short puffs and you barely managed to draw enough air to keep you going. This wasn’t right. This was definetly not right.

When you rounded the wall of machines splitting the room in half, successfully blocking the view and the way to the door, CO Barnes came into view and it all became clear as a summers day.

He was leaning against one of the many tables of the room, his arms crossed over his chest per usual, one foot resting over the other and a strand of his semi long hair had fallen over his forehead. He was smiling, smirking almost, white teeth bared in delight. Had the situation been different, he would look like a tall drink of water who any woman would be lucky to get even five minutes with, but this was a different situation entirely.

You stopped like a derailed train, gasping at the sight of the second officer awaiting your presence. This was it. You knew this all too well. You didn’t want to admit it, you didn’t want it to be true, but it was. This was it. No!

You tried to turn around, tried to get away and run, but only found the strong arms of officer Rogers expecting the attempt, who grabbed you and forced you back around.

“Where do you think you’re goin’, huh?” he mocked, tightening his grip around you even as you thrashed, trying to get out of his vicelike hold, his strong body keeping you pressed to him.

“No, please,” you begged. “Let me go...” you voice betrayed you, turning into a puny sob.

The door was locked, as were the four gates leading back to the dorms, to people. You wouldn’t get far should you make it out of here, and by the tightening of Steve’s grip, he wasn’t going to let that happen. They had you cornered.

Your vision was swimming with tears at the futile attempts to get free, trying to pry his arms off you, but it was useless. Steve didn’t seem to be bothered in the least with you trying to worm yourself out from his arms, kicking meekly at his legs as you started crying and whining.

“Okay,” he said sternly. “That’s enough.”

With that, he all but threw you against one of the machines like you weighed nothing, like the struggle had been ridiculous in his mind. Which it evidently had been.

“Agh,” you gasped and grunted at the impact, fighting to stay upright even as the pain in your ribs came back, the crying not helping ease the pain.

This couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t be here, again. You couldn’t be in this mess, in this chaos that only ever brought you pain. They had you caged in. Steve was blocking the only way out of the laundry room, at the ready should you try anything again. And Bucky kept your other flank covered. You were caged in. They had you caged in.

“Please...”

You looked past Steve, to his side, debating whether or not to try and make another run for it anyway, despite the hollow hallways and locked gates, but he followed your gaze and thought.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, and you cowered, emitting another whimper as tears fell.

The first attempt didn’t do you any good, only harm, so why would the second one be any different? You looked over at Bucky where he stood, scoffing at the remark Steve had made.

“You’re not getting outta here before we say so, doll,” he said through a smile.

Another useless whimper escaped you at the notion, you didn’t even try to stop it, your voice hiding away. This was all too familiar, and all too new. What were they going to do to you? How bad would this get before you got out? More tears fell down your cheeks as your jaw quivered. You didn’t want to think about the horrors you were about to succumb to. Anything but that.

Bucky rose to his feet and unhooked the handcuffs from his belt. You shuddered at the sight, looking up at the man with teary, pleading eyes as he slowly walked up to you.

“...no...” you said and slowly shook your head, not caring about the sprinkler of tears falling to the floor.

Not cuffs, not defenseless!

“Yes,” he countered, flipping the cuffs in his hand and smirking down at you.

You tried to back up, to move the damn machines, anything to get away. But he kept stalking towards you, cuffs at the ready. His eyes were set, determined to get what he wanted, but you weren’t done trying to escape.

You took a swift step to the side to get away from the officer in front of you, only to get caught in the arms of the other one, again. Steve’s grip was yet again relentless, even as you started pounding your fists into his strong chest, digging your nails into his arms, whatever you could reach, while keeping your eyes on Bucky.

“No, please! Let me go, please!” You begged and kicked and punched, but it was useless against his superior strength.

Steve scooped you up and against his chest, holding you there until you started to tire yourself out. He maneuvered you around like you were nothing more than a troublesome toddler having a temper tantrum. And that’s when you saw it.

A taser.

Both men chuckled when you froze, pressing yourself back into Steve to keep the distance with the terrifying gadget in Bucky’s hand, the cuffs in his other hand long forgotten. Bucky pressed the button to start the crackling of electricity, making you flinch with each fit.

“No! Please, no,” you begged, trying to get out of Steve’s unyielding hold, trying to get away, but they wouldn’t let you.

“You ready?” Bucky asked, but the question wasn’t meant for you.

“As ever,” Steve said, burrowing his fingers into your skin to keep you put.

Bucky buzzed the taser again just to see you recoil from it, before he held the button down and pressed it firmly into your abdomen.

“Wait–”

But it was too late.

All your muscles clenched. Your body stiffened like a board as the electric current coursed through every fiber of your being, the pain mind-numbing. You lost all control of your body, going rigid against Steve where he held you tight, and you were glad for it. Had he not, you would have been a boneless heap on the floor.

Bucky removed the taser and the pain instantly went away. Your body went lax, your mind still foggy, your breathing rapid to get air back into your lungs, to get the control of your muscles back.

“Ugh... ngh...”

The officers seized the opportunity

“Turn her,” Bucky said, and Steve complied, turning you to the side to give Bucky better access to both arms, efficiently cuffing your hands behind your back in a tight hold.

You started coming back to, back to the present, feeling the sting of steel being tightened against your wrist. It was too late.

“No, no, no, please!”

Sobs were shaking your body again like they never left, as you cried for them to stop, but they ignored your pleas. Bucky steadily worked the bands on, before Steve let him have you.

“Please, stop, please!”

Bucky grabbed a harsh hold of your hair to end the useless struggle, and craned your head back against his shoulder.

“Ugh!”

The position was all too familiar; the officer’s hand firmly in your hair, and the opening of a washing machine staring down at you, edges looking sharp like blades. Please, don’t, not again. The wound on your forehead had almost healed.

“Please? Is that what Nate said to you?” Bucky asked mockingly with a tight voice, and spun you both around only to let you go and have you crash into the wall on the far side of the room.

With no hands to catch yourself, your side hit the wall with a loud thud, bones and muscles aching at the impact, but at least it didn’t break skin.

“Ugh!”

You were breathing heavily, shallowly, lungs burning to draw even the slightest breath to try to calm yourself as the last traces of electricity were still leaving you. Everything hurt. Even the wet streaks on your cheeks were starting to itch and sting. More and more kept falling, but you couldn’t even wipe them away.

Even though fear was the only thing coursing through your veins, even though everything you knew told you not to, you still raised your gaze and kept your eyes locked on the two men now blocking the only exit.

Both men watched you with their intentions reading clear in their eyes. Their fingers were twitching with the want and need to touch you, their blood running hot as it worked its way down to their cocks, getting harder by the second. Bucky shamelessly adjusted himself, easing the ache just a little, smirking when the action sent another wave of sobs coming from you.

Both Steve and Bucky took a few steps closer, adrenaline being fired through their bodies at the rush of control. This was it. They were doing it. Uncertainty hinted at the back of their minds, just a hint, but neither one listened to it. They didn’t want to hear that right now. This was their time, they had waited for this moment, planned it, and they were going full steam ahead on what they wanted to do, what they had to do. No time for second-guessing.

Your throat burned from crying, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop the tremors going down your spine and weakening your knees, and you couldn’t stop the useless tries to get out of the cold steel keeping your arms back and unable to protect you from their assault. If there was a god in heaven, now would be a good time for a rapture.

“Please...” you sobbed as they closed in, more tears spilling from your eyes.

“Quiet,” Steve barked at you, making you flinch and whimper at the harshness of his voice, tears truly falling in that cascading waterfall they wanted so bad to see.

But it was nothing compared to the fear of when Bucky grabbed the nightstick from his belt and pointed it straight at your face with a smile. You shook uncontrollably when meeting his eyes. Eyes that were still as determined, eyes that were pleased at the fear shining in your own.

You shrunk back, eyes tightly shut to block out the world. You wanted to just crawl into a corner and never come out, never have to face them. They couldn’t hurt you if you weren’t here. You tried so hard not to be. What you thought would echo in your mind were begs and pleas, but the only thing you could hear, the only thing you could say came out like a prayer,

“This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this–Ah!”

You screamed when Bucky smashed the stick into the wall behind you, making you recoil again, sobs jarring your body.

“Oh, this is happening, doll,” Bucky said roughly, letting the hard plastic roam your body, circling your breasts, poking at the soft flesh.

“...please...” came out through a sob as you tried to move away from his prodding, but he just pushed you back in place. “Ah...”

“What?” Steve said in a feigned concerned voice when you met his steely blue eyes. “You thought you’d just sail through your sentence? That you’d get out of murder scot-free?”

You leaned your head back to breathe, gaze jumping from one angry man to the other. Their jaws were set, Bucky even baring teeth when your eyes lingered too long. A hard smack stung your cheek as he backhanded you.

“Uh!” you gasped at the impact, sniveling as you looked down on the floor.

Bucky poked you with the nightstick, forcing you back against the wall.

“Please, I didn’t m-mean to k-kill him…” you pleaded, hating how small your voice sounded, chest hiccupping from your endless sobbing.

“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” Steve said, voice still forced.

“You just managed to kill a man almost twice your size out of carelessness, right?” Bucky asked, voice sarcastic and mocking. “Just an accident?”

“Please, it was an a-accident, I s-swear.”

The shaking of your body was impossible to hide, the officers looking more heated by the second. You recalled how Steve had reacted the last time you tried to clear your case. He didn’t have a staircase to push you down, but he did have fists and very strong arms, and the sting on your cheek was still very much present. But self-preservation wouldn’t let you give up.

“He-he was gonna kill m-me. Please…”

You bowed your head to hide away, hide your shame and your guilt and your fear. Hide away from them.

“I’ve heard enough,” Steve said and turned on his heel.

You were almost quick enough to let relief take over, breathing out in heavy gasps as you hoped Bucky would turn around and follow. That it was over. Bucky looked back at Steve with a smirk, keeping the stick close enough to graze you when he turned. To your despair, Steve only walked over to one of the tables with fresh laundry on them, and picked up a pair of folded socks. You knew where this was going.

“No, no, no, please,” you begged as he came closer, steps as daunting as his expression. “Please! N–”

Steve forcibly grabbed a hold of your chin, digging his fingers into your cheeks and prying your mouth open to force the socks in to silence you. It efficiently stopped your begging, but worsened your crying as more tears wet your cheeks. The fabric was coarse against your tongue, the dryness choking.

“Aah!” you cried through the gag, biting down on it, trying to eject it.

The sound didn’t travel far but you just had to scream, had to let the fear out, praying this was all just some horrible dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. The hands grabbing at you, Bucky’s hands, forcing your back against his chest were very real. You heard the loud clatter of the stick meeting the ground, before his hand came up and rested on your forehead to expose your throat, making it hard to swallow down the lump and wetness wedged there. The other hand squeezed your breast as he nipped and licked at the bared skin, pinching it between his teeth.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned into your neck.

You cried harder as his touches went from mere grazes to urgent handfuls of your skin, hard enough to leave bruises in their wake.

“P’ease,” you managed through the gag, the sound muffled and distorted. “Aah!”

You screamed and cried and wiggled in Bucky’s grip, but his grip was relentless. He held onto you, not letting you get out of his hands or do any harm to him or Steve. Not that you even could. Bucky was a whole head taller than you so even when you banged your head back, all you managed to hit was his chest or a shoulder. Whenever you twisted your body his hands just kneaded your breasts even more, the sensation painful and disgusting in his enjoyment.

Steve watched as you struggled and twisted in Bucky’s tight grip, your tits jiggling just enough to be enticing. He reached a callous hand out to feel you through the fabric of your shirt. He groaned at the pillow-y softness of it.

“Let me have her,” he said, taking a step closer and biting his lip as he watched you squirm, not sure which man frightened you more.

Your eyes were pools of water and fear, pupils blown wide as you tried to look back and up at Bucky when he chuckled, and leaned his head down to whisper in your ear, his teeth nipping at the shell of it.

“Looks like you’re Miss Popular tonight, doll.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and groaned loudly as Bucky handed you over to Steve like you were a new puppy to be held and loved. Like what they were showing you was affection. Your kicking and wiggling showed both men what you thought, but neither gave a damn.

“Ngh..”

Steve reached his hand in through the collar of your slowly soaking shirt to paw at your breasts, seeing as your tied arms refrained them from lifting your shirt up, something you were mentally thanking whatever god would listen for showing you that mercy. His fingers grazed several scars, but he didn’t reflect on it, too caught up with the warmth of your skin against his palms, and the steady quiver of your body against his.

“Mmm,” he hummed approvingly at the feel, wanting more.

He reached down and into your trousers, pressing down with the whole of his hand on your mound, pushing you back against the evident bulge in his slacks.

“M-mmph,” you gurgled and shook your head feebly.

Not that, no! Anything but that! You could take the touches on your chest, the licking of your skin, whatever hell they wanted to rain down on you, but not that. Anything but that. Please, just… anything…

Steve’s fingers dug in deep enough to hurt, the heel of his hand pressing down as his fingers slid further through your folds. He drew a deep breath to scent your hair, and licked a stripe on your cheek to collect the salt slowly falling down it. More fell in their wake.

“I think she likes it,” Bucky slurred, his tongue coming out to wet his lower lip.

You hadn’t forgotten about the other man watching you intently as Steve molested your body, even though you’d tried to go somewhere else in your head, but you just couldn’t. It was all too much. They were everywhere, they surrounded you, smothered you in their presence.

Bucky slowly started undoing buttons on his shirt, glad to see your eyes snapping to him at the slow motion of his fingers going down.

“Agh!”

You shook your head more violently as his shirt came off entirely, and the muscle hidden underneath came into view. Steve moved his head away just in time to not get knocked into, and laughed at the renewed fire.

“Feisty little thing, huh?” he said as you kicked, almost comforted to see the fight in you, the fight they both knew you must have somewhere in you to be able to kill.

Bucky was sculpted like a Greek god. Strong, hard lines of muscle covered his abdomen and arms, the expanse of his chest wide and powerful. Long veins winding up the length of his arms, bulging wherever he moved as he slowly undid his belt and let it fall to the floor.

The rumble of Steve’s laughter jolted your body.

“You like what you see, darlin’?” he teased and ground his hand down harder into your vulva and squeezed your tit, and you began your futile struggle once more, crying harder by the second.

“Mmgh… No…”

But Bucky just smiled proudly, slowly working open his fly. He knew he was the epiphany of a wet dream for many women, but he also knew the power his strong build exuded, and what damage he could do. And by the looks of it, so did you. Nate had been stronger than you, and greatly so, but these men were something else entirely.

“Mmm! Agh!”

You screamed and cried the best you could through the gag in your mouth, and the officers just smiled down at you at your pathetic tries for freedom, for mercy.

“It’s okay, you can look,” Bucky assured you with a soft, tender voice, as if shame was what refrained you from blatantly gawking, but you just shut your eyes even harder.

You didn’t want to look, you didn’t want to see the man in front of you, the man who was getting ready to assault you. The man who was getting ready to hurt you in the most horrible way you could possibly imagine.

Every time it had happened with Nate you came that much closer to being broken, to being shattered into nothingness. It ate away at you, taking one piece each time. But it was always him. It was always bound to him. This wasn’t. These men weren’t an extension of Nate, this wasn’t set in that world. You feared men because you saw Nate in them, you feared men because of what Nate had done to you, what other men could potentially do. But they never had. Not like this. Not in its own setting, in its own world. Not without Nate.

And that was a million times worse.

As Bucky took a step closer, you tried to move back, cuffs and all be damned, your sock-clad feet slipping futilely on the floor. The strong body behind you could might as well have been a wall, if it hadn’t chuckled and forced you back to meet the assailant.

“Now, now, none of that,” Steve said and squeezed you harder in his arms, ending your struggle as you fought to just breathe, nostrils flaring to draw air.

“Mmgh,” you grunted with pleading eyes, but you were ignored.

A hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your air supply and forcing you to face the officer before you, terror screaming in your eyes at the sight. His eyes were dark and blown as they beamed down on you, brows knitted together to form a wicked scowl.

“This is for Millers,” Bucky said, and drew his other fist back and hurled it right into your stomach, sending you reeling to the floor when Steve let go.

If the gag hadn’t been in your mouth you would have thrown up from the force of the punch. Your lungs tried to expand, tried to get air but the wind was knocked out of you, the stretch of your back-bound arms not helping at all. You tried to cough, but the socks were making it impossible to do anything but grunt and groan in pain where you lay doubled over on the dirty floor.

Why? Why was this even happening? Why were they doing this to you? You didn’t deserve it, you didn’t! You were alive despite all of Nate’s doings, and this was the reward you got? Nate must have been god’s favourite child if he was getting his wishes fulfilled even when he himself wasn’t there to enjoy them. He must have been a saint in a previous life if this was the redemption. It wasn’t right.

None of it was right.

You were grabbed by your upper arms and panic immediately set in. No, you weren’t going to let them do this. You weren’t going to let them win. Not without one more fight.

You kicked a leg out, connecting with something solid but moveable, and by the sound of it; a person.

“Fuck!” Bucky grunted as he moved his leg back to protect it from further assault.

You managed to roll over to your side and almost up on your knees when a harsh kick landed on your thigh and sent you right back down on the ground again, hard. You weren’t sure which one of them had kicked you, but none of them seemed amused by the effort.

“Ngh..” you squeaked at the pain spreading through your leg.

Bucky was on you again in a split second, adrenaline pumping through his veins, grabbing your hands and wrist and forcing you back on your stomach. You felt a searing pain shoot through your wrist as the bone was broken.

“Agh!” you grunted and screamed as more tears fell.

The pain wasn’t lessened when you were hauled up and over a table, the cuffs digging into the hurt cartilage surrounding the break. Your hips were pressed into the wood, the table high enough that your feet were barely touching the floor. One hand moved to your neck, holding you down with a tight grip even as sobs shook your body violently, your cheek pressed down against the sticky wood. When Bucky got you under control again, his elaborate breathing started to slow down, but the rush of it all stayed.

“Not bad,” he praised, still breathing somewhat heavily.

The pain of your wrist was burning and searing whenever you were moved, hard hands shoving you into a position of subservience. The officer didn’t seem to have noticed the damage he had done to your wrist, or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Still got some fire in her,” Steve said from where he stood a few feet away.

He didn’t make a move towards you, letting Bucky deal with you however he pleased. He slowly started undoing his own shirt, his muscled chest peeking out, sending you into a frenzy again, but it was short-lived when the cuffs tugged painfully on your wrist and the grip of your neck tensed, and you couldn’t do anything but submit.

You closed your eyes and readied yourself for what was to come. Each breath came and went with a groan, as tears started to fall yet again. You hadn’t even noticed their absence, but here they were again.

How was this possible? How was this happening all over again, how was this your reality? This wasn’t supposed to happen ever again…

Bucky groaned loudly as he reached up to tear the collar of your shirt enough to expose the warm skin on your shoulder, leaning down over you to press rough kisses to the soft flesh. He nipped and licked wherever he could reach, leaving marks and bruises easily hidden.

He reached a hand down, partially lifting the bottom of your shirt to get to the hem of your trousers, before roughly shoving them down your thighs to expose your ass.

“Ngh!”

You cried out in alarm, renewing your struggles as your most private parts were exposed to the world, to the man making ready to use you. You screamed through the gag, but the sound was too muffled to be heard from anywhere but inside the room.

Cold metal grazed your folds before being removed, and the hiss of electricity sparked near your flesh.

The taser.

You stopped struggling, stopped moving as the chilly prods once again ghosted over the soft flesh, the threat silent but very much there.

“Mmph…”

Bucky chuckled when he moved it through the slit of your pussy, making your legs quake as he listened to the weak whimpering through the makeshift gag.

“Not so tough now, are ya?” he mocked, causing more tears and muffled pleads.

“P’ease… Ngh…”

Steve could feel his cock straining against the confines of his trousers, already aching and leaking precum against his boxers as he watched the show before him. He took a short step closer, his hands on the huge table as he leaned forward.

“You only have yourself to blame for this, doll,” he said in a gravelly voice, meeting Bucky’s grin where he was boldly pawing all over your body, the taser smoothing over your skin, the threat to use it again apparent.

“Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time, right?” Bucky said, and smacked your ass hard, causing you to scream yet again, and grabbed a handful of your hair to lift your head. “Maybe if you weren’t such a lying, murdering cunt, we wouldn’t be hollowing out your honey hole, now, would we, Stevie?”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Steve agreed and backed off a step again. “But blood must have blood. Now it’s time for you to shed yours.”

“Mno…” you sobbed and shook your head, the men just smiling at the response.

Bucky groaned in delight, releasing your tresses and letting you fall back down on the wood with a thump, the pain in your wrist becoming unbearable as it moved and twisted. His rough hands ventured the expanse of your uncovered flesh, slamming the taser down beside you on the table, a close reach should he want to use it. His fingers brushed over the edge of the long scar on your thigh, making you go stiff at the reminder of its birthday, but he didn’t linger enough to regard it, too busy roaming the cheeks of your ass, delve into your warmth.

You thanked whatever god for the grace of your abdomen lying flat on the surface of the table, effectively keeping the worst of the worse safe. It didn’t matter that its presence on your body could be your salvation, you were too fearful of it instead sparking ideas in the officers’ heads, that more would accompany it should they know of its existence.

You opened your eyes with a gurgling sob, looking back behind you in hopes of reassuring officer Barnes of his mistakes, only to find him fishing out a condom from his pocket.

“Agh! No, p’ease! Mm-mph!”

Wet, gurgling screams and cries sounded in the room, but stayed there. You tried to move away, tried to kick him off the best you could with your pants bundled by your knees, but he ground his pelvis into your behind, and you froze when feeling the massive bulge pressing up against you bared ass. That was it. This was happening. And you couldn’t do anything more to prevent it. So, you did the only things you knew to persevere; you completely succumbed to your fate.

He chuckled at your reaction, seeing the gears turning as you figured it all out.

“Shh,” he said soothingly, and ripped the packet with his teeth. “You’re only making things worse for yourself, doll. And we can’t have you waking up the entire prison, now, can we?”

Steve chuckled at the remark from where he paced in front of the table, his uniform shirt discarded, his body tensing with each step. Tight muscles curved his arms, veins snaking up the length of them. His chest was wide and his waist was narrow, solid squares of abdominal muscles thinning down to under the edge of his trousers, to the obvious erection still contained. He was next.

Bucky pumped his cock in a few swift strokes, before making quick work of rolling the condom on. A moment of silence ticked by, Steve stopping in front of you as the officers’ eyes met. Both nodded, and Bucky started pushing in.

“Ngh!”

The intrusion of his shaft burned your walls, tearing as he forced himself further in, claiming you completely. Bucky watched the tight stretch as he eased himself in deeper, captivated by how beautiful your body looked all flushed and shaking, seating his cock deeply inside it.

“Holy fuck…” he grunted, before he finally, finally, sheathed himself inside your warmth.

“Nngh!” you screamed, muffled by the gag still holding strong in your aching mouth.

You cried and hiccupped, fighting to draw breath and stay alive, surrounded by pain and agony. With every drag of his cock against your burning walls, shards of glass broke off. Tap. The mirror webbed completely, the frame fighting to keep the silvery mess contained. That’s how hard someone needed to tap on the glass. Now you knew. And you wished you didn’t.

The tightness gripped him so deliciously, the pained throbbing sending pulses of pleasure through his entire body. He’d never felt someone so tight, and he’d popped several girls' cherries.

He thrust hard and fast, setting a brutal pace, the table scraping the floor with the force of it. He was determined to make it hurt, to make you feel the pain he was dishing out. His fingers would leave imprints on your skin from the tight grip he held on your hips, not even bothering to hold you down as you could barely reach the floor for any purchase. His elaborate breathing was filling the room as he grunted and groaned, blending beautifully with your endless sobs and cries of pain, lost in the pleasure he was taking from you. You couldn’t do anything besides lay there and let him use your body as he wished, as he pleased.

The pain was worse than you could remember. It been a long time since you struggled so much to not let your body be invaded, that you had almost forgotten how agonizing it was, how excruciating. You could feel the tears of your inner walls, and the slow trickle of blood seeping down your thighs and smoothing his entry with each thrust. The muscles burned around your opening, bones ached in your pelvis as he delved into you with such vigor you felt him in your belly.

It was like you had been impaled on his shaft, your spine aching as he moved in and out of your pussy, moaning in pleasure as he slowly worked his way towards the bliss he craved from your quaking body. With every jolt forward, pain spiked up your arm from the clear break nesting there.

Minutes passed.

Long, excruciating minutes of his onslaught before the slow movements turned into more determined ones, and the heavy breaths turned into louder grunts. His hands were tugging at your body to keep you meeting his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping too loud in the room, echoing in your mind. You were relieved to hear the familiar sound of white noise as pain surged through your entire body.

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky grunted, grabbing your hair for more purchase, and you just closed your eyes and waited for it to be over.

Bucky could feel himself coming to the cusp of climax as he snapped his hips harshly forward, his fingers gripping bruises into your scalp and hip as he forced himself into you completely. Pleasure coursed through his entire system, numbing his mind and uncoiling the tension in the pit of his stomach.

“Ah...” he groaned and pushed himself as far as he could inside your warm, clenching pussy, appreciating every single second of bliss.

The muffled hiccup of a solemn sob sounded through the gag, when he finally stilled inside you. He groaned loudly, his chest rising and falling in deep, rapid breaths, slowly milking the last drops of his orgasm, slowly coming down from his high, still sheathed inside you.

“Goddamn...” he swore through the jarring of a pleased laugh, and slowly started to withdraw, making sure to keep his fingers still tangled in your hair and keep you down, as you lay there, still, and crying, grateful for the ease of pain in his absence.

“Finally,” Steve rumbled, hurriedly walking up to the side of the table and replacing Bucky’s hand in your hair with his own, ready to take his turn on the joyride of pleasure.

“Mngh...” you sobbed as the men traded places, the torture not ending.

You were alive.

It hurt enough to scream of your survival.

Your lungs drew air, your heart kept its steady, drumming beat. Physically, you were alive. But shards were breaking off, falling from the frame of your mind and working their way into that beating heart, coming close to severing it in half.

Tap.

Bucky moved away from you, breathing hard. He removed the blood covered condom, wrapping it in a piece of tissue for safekeeping until he could discard it at home. He wiped the remainder of the blood from his body, a pang of blame hitting him at the reminder of it not being period blood, but blood from tears. But an aftershock of pleasure removed that small sensation, and replaced it with pleasure instead, something he didn’t mind lingering on.

Steve came to stand between your spread legs, eyeing the damage already done by his fellow officer. Your pussy was covered in crimson, fading out around your ass and thighs from where Bucky’s hips had spread it. The quivering of your thighs, and the anticipation rising in his own chest pushed down any care for the state of your body. You deserved this. They had every right to do this.

He had waited long enough to get his hands on you, to feel you wrapped around his cock and simply take what he was giving you, helpless and receptive. Steve didn’t mind the longer wait of going second, liking the extra teasing of watching you getting fucked by Bucky, feeling his cock twitching and leaking at the anticipation.

His rough hands kneaded your ass, spreading your cheeks before slapping them both hard, earning a startled yelp and more tears to fall and seep into the socks in your mouth, already soaked by your saliva.

“Ungh,” you sobbed at the sting, your entire body shaking and quivering from fear and pain.

“You’re not going soft on me, are ya, Jessie?” Steve asked, his voice almost caring. Almost.

He picked up the taser from the table and zapped your bare thigh, getting the reaction he wanted; some fire.

“Agh!” you screamed through the gag as the burning current moved through you, stinging your leg and jolting your body.

Steve smiled at the wail you let out from a mere graze of the taser. The sounds you made were so beautiful, so enticing. It didn’t take much to leave you crying and whimpering on the table, silently begging him not to zap you again.

“P’ease... ahh...”

The meek sounds falling from you like prayers were heaven to their ears. Submission as it should be. This was what they had been waiting for, wanting, since Nate had popped the idea in their head, saying it out loud and sharing it. And you truly were the perfect girl.

Steve caressed your wet cheek and watched you recoil from his touch, whimpering. Looks like Bucky hadn’t fucked all the fight out of you after all.

He raked his fingers over your ass-cheeks, leaving red welts, and smacked your ass for good measure.

“Ugh!” Another sob, another plea. “P’ease, nmo...”

Steve let out a chuckle at the measly request and slow shaking of your head, and grabbed the condom waiting in his pocket.

“Oh, Jessie, Jessie,” he said, his voice becoming firmer, more impatient.

The sound of Steve’s zipper scraping down met your ears, fabric rustling quietly, and the familiar tear and crackle of the broken packet was heard behind you, and you couldn’t hold back the scream.

“Aah!”

Every bruise, every touch, every lingering trace of them manhandling you was let out in that scream. One last, pitiful scream to not let yourself give up, not break. But the wrecked sound of your raspy voice let you know that you were already broken.

Smack!

Bucky had grabbed his nightstick from the floor again and slammed it down hard, right in front of your face.

“Ugh!”

You flinched back as much as you could, breathing hard, fearing the hard plastic would meet your face otherwise, and the spike of your wrist told you just how real the damaged they could do was. Bucky laughed at your reaction, before Steve told him off.

“Hey! I didn’t mess with her when you were fucking her, did I?”

Bucky just shrugged, and placed the stick back on the belt.

“So get to it,” he said, straightening his arms to move his still open shirt back in place, and ran his fingers through his hair to set it all back in place.

This was it. Again. You prepared yourself for the sure pain to come, your walls already teared and aching, and by the feel of it, Steve was just as endowed as Bucky. You couldn’t help but beg. Beg for him not to do this to you, not to wreck you more that you already were.

“S’eve, p’ease-e...”

You sniffled and shook, hoping the officer would show mercy, that he would be humanized by the use of his name. But he wasn’t. He was angered.

He snaked his arm around your torso, wrapping a massive hand around your throat and stifled a breath, lifting you up against his chest. Your wrist was caught painfully between the both of you, and you wailed once more.

“Agh-h!”

“What you say, inmate?” he demanded, his grip tightening around your airway.

Your entire body shuddered through a meek whine, fear taking over as you fought to draw breath.

“’m so’wy,” was heard. A weak impression of ‘I’m sorry’, but he heard it, as you chanted it over and over, hoping he would listen. “’m so-so’wy, sir, a-ah...”

You didn’t know what you were apologizing for. Saying his name? Begging? Killing Nate? For being back in this situation again, this time with two correctional officers holding all the power, and no way to get out? You were sorry for all of it. You were sorry you didn’t stay down. You were sorry for grabbing that knife and plunging it into Nate’s chest instead of your own. You were sorry for everything. You were sorry. You were sorry.

Steve released his hold on your throat, moving it to the back of your neck and forcing you down, your cheek pressed hard into the wet wood where all your tears had pooled, yet to sink in.

“I bet you’re fucking sorry,” he said through gritted teeth.

Anger flared up at the pathetic excuse for killing a man, an excuse for them to show mercy. Not if he could help it.

He grazed his cock over your pussy, feeling the shiver run through you as your body was paralyzed with the fear of his intrusion. He moved his cock slowly, softly even, through your folds, gathering the blood that had seeped down as slick, his motions controlled and patient. But it was just a tease.

He positioned himself at your entry and pushed himself in to the hilt, bottoming out in one swift move.

“Aa-aah! Ngh...”

The scream was wrenched from your burning, raw throat, the quiver of it barely making it past the gag keeping the sounds contained to the room. You screamed as he pulled back, almost all the way out, before ramming himself back in, setting a relentless, punishing pace. Wrecked moans and pitiful whimpers were wrung from you with every thrust of his hips, the burn of your skin agonizing where his pelvis met your bare ass.

“This is your own fault, ya know,” he said, with a vigorously hard thrust into your tight pussy trying to push him out. “Your. Fault.”

He punctuated each word with a thrust forward, the screech of the table legs matching his pace.

“’m so’wy...”

Your fault.

It was your fault Bucky had forced his way into your body. It was your fault Steve had done the same. It was your fault that you were torn between your legs, that you were coating their cocks in blood. It was your fault you were here.

It was your fault.

You were sorry.

The pain came back like a raging fire between your legs, stabbing at your pelvis and spine. Your legs quivered where they fought for purchase against the table or the floor, anything to keep yourself grounded. The small break between the men only seemed to have worsened the pain of being penetrated so forcefully yet again, your walls tearing even more as you clenched around him, fighting the intrusion. But Steve was relentless in his punishment.

Steve dug his fingers into your neck even harder, a scream wrenched from your raw throat and the pressure undoubtedly leaving bruises, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that you cried, he didn’t care that your moans and groans where from pain and not from pleasure. He didn’t care. That’s what he told himself. He didn’t care.

Memories of their time with Nate flashed in Steve’s mind, hearing his voice and his laughter as he joked about Luscheck’s sad excuse for a motorcycle, all plastic parts. How his words slurred as he got more and more drunk. He remembered. So he didn’t care.

His pelvis started losing its rhythm when he felt the familiar coil tightening in his lower abdomen, the muscles contracting powerfully as he kept up the movement, and slammed into your pussy over and over.

“Oh... shit,” he cursed, leaning his head back as the pleasure erupted, storming through his body and sending sparks of pleasure through his veins.

“... ngh...” you mewled when he slowed his movements, keeping the strength of every drive in and out of your wrecked body, before he finally stilled inside you.

“Oh, fuck...” he breathed, his hands pawing at whatever part of your body he could find.

He leaned over you, unintentionally pressing down on your broken wrist, to plant tender kisses on your shoulder and neck, your pained whimpers disregarded. He rested his forehead in your hair as he tried to calm his rapid breathing, scenting your hair with each inhale, storing it to memory.

Tap.

The mirror shattered.

The window broke.

Shards of glass fell down like glistening droplets of rain, breaking into irreparable smithereens. Like sparks and bursts of a firework over a night sky. Like glittering stars of a galaxy so warm and dark. Like confetti.

There was nothing left. Nothing else they could take from you. No damage left to be done. There was nothing but scars that would never heal. Nothing that time could ever erase. You were hollow.

Completely and utterly hollow.

You didn’t move. You couldn’t move. When Steve pulled himself out, when his hands left you, you didn’t move. There was nothing left that you could do. So you did. Nothing. Your fault. You were sorry.

“Ah, man,” Bucky said with a small titter from when he had been stood leaning against the side of a bench the entire time, watching you getting fucked into the table by his own best friend.

Steve raised an amused eyebrow at him, as he continued to clean himself up and tuck himself back inside his pants. He put the condom safely in his pocket in a piece of tissue, and zipped his pants back up. He let out an exasperated sigh, feeling his muscles relax.

“You can say that again,” he chuckled and grabbed his uniform shirt from where he had discarded it and put it back on, rolling the sleeves up his strong, seaming forearms.

His heart was beating hard in his chest, his pulse raising enough to put a slight shake to his hands. His mind was empty, completely hazed, but so perfectly cleared. The kick it gave them both to finally succumb to their imagination, their fantasies.

Bucky felt the same. Even when they’d talked about it and everything it would entail, nothing could have prepared him for the real deal, and the emotions that came with such domination. Complete power. Complete authority. The rush of having a woman beneath him so inferior, so submissive, she could do nothing but beg and plead and moan as he had his way with her.

Bucky pushed off the bench and walked up to you where you lay, unmoving if it weren’t for the slow rise and fall of your chest, soft, almost inaudible rasps escaping you with each breath. He picked up the key to the cuffs from his pocket.

“…mmgh…” was heard behind the gag, a lonely tear falling into your hairline when he grabbed your wrists to free them, turning the key with a click.

A wave of pain surged through you when your wrist was released, melding with the rest of the pain already prominent everywhere else. If you’d had it in you, you would scream. But you didn’t. It wouldn’t change anything even if you did. There was nothing in you anymore.

Your fault.

You were sorry.

Steve finished rolling up his sleeves and buttoning up his shirt, looking over at you where you lay, motionless and unmoving, softly whimpering. He cleared his throat, slightly surprised at the lack of reaction from you.

“We’ll leave the gates unlocked until you get back,” he said reassuringly, turning to Bucky who nodded his head.

They didn’t want to leave, but at the same time they needed some space to process everything that had happened. And they still had a job to do, despite both wanting nothing more than to take the rest of the night off and just reminisce, and enjoy the comforts of post orgasm bliss.

“Clean yourself up, and don’t leave a mess,” Bucky said. “We’ll come to check later to make sure that you do. You have fifteen minutes to get back in your dorm, inmate. You better be there when we check.”

Bucky knew he was distancing himself from you by not calling you by your name, or a nickname for that matter. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t want to know. It was what it was, plain and simple. Then again, maybe not so simple.

Steve turned on his heel with Bucky at his side, throwing one last glance back at you, as if to make sure you were okay. No, that was stupid. He didn’t care whether you were okay or not, because he knew you weren’t. He had even made sure of that. No, he looked back to take a mental picture and savor it for later. Nothing else.

Both men left, letting the door to the laundry fall shut behind them and leave you laying there. Alone. Broken and alone.

It was over. It was finally over.

Your fault. You were sorry.

Tap.

Crash.

CHAPTER 18 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 3405

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

Chapter 18

-

The officers had gone AWOL. You’d kept an eye out for them all day and you hadn’t seen either of them, and it was closing in on lights out. They had been in the bubble, looking pissed when seeing you, and now they were gone. This couldn’t be good. This really couldn’t be good. You were slightly eased by their absence because, well, they were absent, but it felt like the calm before the storm for some reason. You tried to shake the feeling, and focus on the threats that were present instead, but in the back of your mind, things were growing crazy with questions.

Everyone around was making ready for bed, but you hadn’t moved from your perked position on the bed, unless you had to. You kept a keen eye out for any hunters trying to get to the rabbit, but none had come. There were still looks being shot your way, but the shooting ended at that. You hadn’t even tried for dinner when the time came, pretty sure you weren’t going to get any. Hope was still burning that the involuntary hunger strike would end soon, but you weren’t about to press your luck on the first day back in gen pop.

Gina came walking in from a neighbouring cube, looking uncaring when spotting you.

“You’re back?” she asked, probably out of courtesy more than anything else, and started digging out her toiletries from her locker.

“Yeah,” you said. Kinda obvious, wasn’t it?

“That was short,” she said into her locker, her voice bouncing off the metallic walls.

“Yeah, guess I got lucky.”

She stood up with her things in hand and grabbed her towel hanging from one of the hooks.

“So I’ve heard,” she added, and walked out with a pep in her step, scurrying like only she could.

Wrong thing to say, Jess. Fricking foot-in-mouth disease. You really should choose your words more carefully. You’d only just gotten back from the sunny vacation from down the hill, one piss-smelling traumatic experience richer, and already you’re adding fuel to the fire. Though, you suspected a lot of the inmates had been adding both fuel and gasoline and possibly a whole damn forest of logs to that fire in your absence. It must be burning like a witch’s stake by now. Now all they needed was the witch.

But CO Rogers was back on the dayshift so... there’s that! Now you just had your fellow roommates to worry about stabbing you should you try and sleep. Your body felt heavy with stress, but the exhaustion was eased from getting several good nights, even days, down in the SHU. At least something good had come out of it. You hoped that the treatment officer Rogers had given you when cuffing you after he searched your cube had done something to ease back the rumours of any favours being done in either direction. But people usually only saw what they wanted to see.

Another count, then the lights were dimmed to the lowest setting, covering the whole dorm in a comfortable gloaming light for the night. Everyone quieted down. Silence lay steadily against the cold concrete, only soft snores and mumbles being heard from a corner here and there.

CO Bennett was on duty tonight, checking the dorms and counting sleeping heads. Whenever he passed you, he gave you a concerned look, a corner of his mouth twitching up to show his sympathy for the lack of sleep. He had seen the state of you when Peeve had brought you to the van after the tumble you’d taken down the stairs, even verbally uttering his concern to the fellow officer, who of course shut it down dismissively. By the look he gave you, he seemed to assume those injuries had been dealt by the hands of your fellow inmates, and also assumed it was the most likely reason for your still awake state.

The officer stopped not far from the doorway to your cube, looking around to see if any of the other inmates were listening before he whispered to you.

“Trouble sleeping?” His tone was kept light and inviting, not a string of intimidation in it.

The sound was still loud in the quiet room, quickening your heart rate just enough to feel it thumping in your chest. You looked over at the officer, noticing his insecure smile and bouncing gaze, not sure whether to look straight at you or around. But he made no move towards you, nor did he seem to be angered or upset.

“Yes, sir,” you said in a hushed tone, looking down at the floor by your bed rather than keeping his gaze. It was never a good idea to tempt fate like that.

Bennett nodded to himself, fiddling with his belt to occupy the silence that fell between you.

“Well,” he said lowly. “Hope you get some rest soon.”

The officer walked on with the steady clicking of his counter, before disappearing out into the hallway to check the other dorms. And on like that it went, like a merry-go-round; he came in, counted, looked at you with the tug of an apologetic smile, and walked out. He didn’t speak to you again, and you had never moved an inch from where you were sat when he came around the next time. It was like an endless loop of uncertain tension where neither of you knew what to make of the other, so instead just opted for uncomfortable silence. It was going to be a long night.

And it was a long night. Every hour passed by so slowly it was a miracle the clocks didn’t stop altogether. But when morning came and CO Bennett was replaced by CO Donaldson, another thorough, but more closed-off officer, time started ticking by. Inmates started stirring in their bunks, some hurrying off to the bathroom before it was occupied by everyone else.

You had already been, just after 5 am when inmates were allowed to leave their dorms. You had even dared a shower, surprise, surprise. Even though you had made quick work of it, you had made sure to wash your private parts extremely thoroughly, the ghosting trace of CO Peeve’s fingers still haunting your flesh. You wanted to be rid of every memory of his touches. Usually you let at least a day pass between showering, not wanting to see or feel the state of your body, but after an invasion like that, you’d rather live under a steady stream of boiling water and soap than pass up an opportunity to get clean.

Before the food line got too long, you thought you’d try your luck for something to eat. You kept a close eye out for both officer Peeve and Fucky, but they were still AWOL. Did they have the day off perhaps? The hairs at the back of your neck stood at attention, foreboding something else besides a ‘yes’ to that question. But you forced yourself to focus on the now, and the problems at hand. Like eating for example. Cross that bridge when you get to it.

When you got to the cafeteria Gina was there. She was standing behind the glass, serving, still not noticing you. Most of Red’s family were there, some worked in the kitchen along with her, but the others were sat at a table talking. Even Nicky had made an early appearance. You felt a pinch of sadness in your chest at the sight of her, laughing and joking with her friends. Her family. And you weren’t there. You wanted to, you really did, but you also didn’t want to get her, or anyone else, in trouble should the officers find out. That was a risk you were not willing to take. Collateral damage Nate had called it. Collateral damage to get what you want. Not if you could help it.

You walked up to the counter, a few inmates ahead of you and behind you, all waiting patiently for their turn. Gina raised her gaze, only to find you standing in front of her, with an apologetic and hopeful look painted across your face. She looked back down, scooping some extra eggs onto the tray, and held it out for you to take. She still didn’t look at you, just waiting for you to take it and walk away. You gratefully took it, smiling dearly at her when you did, despite the slight twitch of pain to the cut on your cheek.

“Thank you,” you said to her, but made sure Red heard you as well from where she stood overlooking the exchange.

She didn’t look mad, or upset in anyway, but she also didn’t look all buddy-buddy. She was a tough woman to read, but you remembered Nicky saying you weren’t on bad terms with anyone in the family. You just hoped it had stayed that way even after those pesky rumours started going around.

You ate your breakfast in peace and quiet at your own table. No one sat down with you, which you were kind of grateful for anyway. It didn’t ease the awareness of everyone’s whereabouts, or the feeling of having everyone’s eyes on you (with not so kind looks), but it did give you the space you needed. If someone got too close, goose bumps rose like an armour on your skin. You were on constant alert, which was tiresome as hell. And you severally doubted that the day would bring anything else but more hyperawareness and aching muscles, and a very sore butt from sitting like a perched hawk on that thin matrass. You could only hope the clocks kept on ticking.

O.o.O.o.O

The tv was loud in their shared living room, a rerun of the past Friday’s football game on. Bucky sat reclined on the couch with nothing but a pair of sweatpants on, the hem darkened by the few droplets of water remaining after his shower, and resting a bare foot up against the coffee table before him. In his hand he held a cold light beer, trying to calm his nerves. Usually he never drank before work, light beer or no light beer, but today he really needed it.

Steve came walking in to the living room from the bathroom down the hall, freshly showered and with a towel around his waist, glistening droplets of water traveling down his toned chest and abdomen. Both had been to the gym earlier in the day, like always, despite neither having gotten that much sleep, but they really needed to keep busy. Unruly nerves tingled in them both, and nothing kept their minds as busy as a good session in the gym.

Steve walked up to one of the armchairs beside the table, effectively knocking Bucky’s leg down on purpose when he walked straight through. Bucky gave him an annoyed look, and put his foot back up on the table with a bit more force than needed.

“I’m sitting here!”

“So I see,” Steve said and sat down with a loud sigh, taking a swig from his own bottle that Bucky had so kindly placed on the table for him, which he was kind of starting to regret.

Bucky rolled his eyes and tangled a hand into his still drying hair, letting it get stuck in the strands comfortably. He watched the screen, but paid no attention to the game being played, his mind elsewhere, lost deep in thought. Pleasant, happy thoughts.

Steve wasn’t any better. Despite the few hours of actual sleep, harsh workout and almost half-hour long shower, he still couldn’t get his mind to focus on anything other than his favourite inmate and impending night. His mind was reeling with emotion and thought, scenarios and fantasies blending together in a mishmash of reality.

They had talked it over so many times that it was slowly waring them both down if they didn’t get to it soon. Fantasies were no longer enough for either of them. Their patience was wearing thin, the wants and must-haves becoming almost too much to bear. Butterflies raced like fighter jets in their bellies, adrenaline was ready to be expelled into their bloodstream. They were nervous, excited. And, oh, so ready.

“Did you jerk off?” Bucky asked out of the blue.

“Bucky!”

Steve wiped his mouth clean of the beer that had barely made it into his mouth, looking horrified and embarrassed by the question. Bucky was never one to shy away, he’d give him that. Always straight to the point.

Bucky snickered into his bottle, and took a sip.

“What? It’s a fair question,” he defended, noticing the rising blush of Steve’s cheeks. “So, did ya?”

Steve gave him a look that would make anyone back the hell up if it was fired their way, but then it morphed into an even worse blush than the one prior, and he hid his face behind the bottle.

“That’s a yes,” Bucky said triumphantly and chuckled.

“You’re an asshole, you know that, right?”

Bucky just nodded with a wide grin on his face.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “There’s no shame in it, Stevie. We all do it.”

Steve looked up at his friend, searching his face.

“You did it, too,” he stated, not surprised when Bucky gave a short nod in affirmative.

“Sure did. Had to let off some steam. It was either that, or go another round on the punching bag, and I’m not sure my knuckles could take it.”

He looked down at his hands, noting the still red skin covering the area around his knuckles where he had hit the bag, no wrap to protect his hands. Which Steve had been quick to comment on, even in the gym.

“That’s cause you don’t wrap your hands,” he said, yet again. “If you wrap your hands, you protect your hands. It’s simple.”

“Yeah, but there wasn’t time for that,” Bucky said nonchalantly. “I saw the bag, and I just had to hit it. You know how it is when you get an idea into your head, and that idea has a face, and you would much rather punch that face, but that face is still behind bars at work where you are not, but the bag is right in front of you, and then there’s no time to wrap your hands.”

Steve just smiled and nodded during Bucky’s whole rambling session, which ended with a loud grunting sigh when he leaned his head back.

“Fuuuuck,” Bucky groaned and pinched his eyes. “What time is it, anyway?”

Time was moving so slow, too slow, for either men’s liking. They wanted to get to work, and the lack of sleep kept them both slightly agitated when time seemed to fuck with them on purpose. What made it all even worse was the fact that they had the late nightshift, which continued on into the morning, and didn’t start until six.

“It’s 4,30,” Steve said when looking at the small clock sitting on the bookshelf beside his chair. “Or, 4,33 to be exact.”

An hour to go before they could leave for work without being suspiciously eager. Hell, they worked at a prison, no one was eager to voluntarily lock themselves behind bars. And even when they got to work it would be hours before anything good were to happen, so in reality, they were more comfortable right where they were. At home. Where time didn’t go by.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Bucky said and leaned forward on his knees, his abs contracting at the slow movement, the burn of his muscles still prominent after the workout. “How ‘bout a pitstop at Wendy’s on the way? Then we get to leave here, feel like we’re doin' somethin' and maybe get time to move its fucking ass, and we get to enjoy some delicious food.”

Bucky felt like a kid where he sat all tense and excited. Or like he was back in Iraq. Like he was back in the war, ready to face the enemy head on and blow shit up. Yeah, that’s what he felt like. He looked over at Steve, who too looked like he used to when back in the desert lands. He was on high alert, eager and ready but still controlled. It was a thrilling feeling, and they didn’t even need to risk their own lives in the process.

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve said, and chugged back the last of his beer, as did Bucky.

Both got dressed in an eager haste, with fingers fumbling with belt buckles and buttons as they tried not to rush. It was hard though. Both knew what awaited them tonight, what new things they would get to experience, to dish out. They had mixed emotions about the whole ordeal, like a horror filled excitement pumping through their veins. Like when you take your driver’s test; one part is rambling on about everything that could go wrong, weighing the risk with the reward, while the other is too keen on the freedom and excitement to come that it’s blocks out any negativity and heighten the nerves, blending with the anxiety. Like war. Something they were both very familiar with.

Bucky stood by the door, flipping the car keys round and round in his hand as he patiently waited for Steve to get ready. His uniform was freshly washed, his shoes had undergone a scrub down and his black leather jacket was brand new. Overall, it was a good day. And it was about to be a very good night.

Steve came through the doorway from the living room, fixing the cuffs on his uniform before grabbing his favourite brown leather jacket from one of the hooks.

“You ready?” Bucky asked with assertion, and stopped jingling the keys.

Steve drew a deep breath, only to let it out with a loud huff. He fixed the collar of his jacket, setting it in place and collected himself like the assertive correctional officer that he was. Like they both were.

“Yes,” he said with a nod. “Let’s go.”

For once, Bucky drove. It was his idea to go to Wendy’s, and a damn good idea it was, so he drove. He drove to keep his hands busy, he drove to keep his attention on something besides you, and he drove slower than usual to get time to pass. It all worked. They were kept busy, time passed and they got to enjoy some good food.

Barbara at the diner, a middle-aged, brown-haired woman with freckles on her nose and crow’s-feet around her eyes, and who had taken quite the liking to the two handsome officers, treated them both to some of her freshly baked lemon meringue pie, free of charge. The young men were always so polite whenever they came in for a meal, or just for a coffee, and their bright smiles and handsome, rugged looks didn’t hurt the eye. They deserved some pie.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Bucky said when he rose from his seat and picked up a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and put it on the counter. “But we really have to get going now.”

Barbara held up a hand and shushed him.

“You don’t need to do that, young man,” she said in her southern drawl and slid the money back towards him on the counter. “It’s on the house.”

Steve gave a soft chuckle as he too got up from his seat at the bar counter.

“Really, Barbara,” he said and gave her one of his kind smiles, the kind that would make a woman go weak at the knees. “We do. You are too kind, and if you keep this up, you’re gonna have to roll us both out of here.”

“Oh,” she said through a laugh, as a blush worked its way up her cheeks. “I don’t see that happening anytime soon, officer. Now you just take your coffee to go, and I’ll see ya both some other time. Don’t mind about the check. I got you covered, sugar.”

Both Bucky and Steve felt some heat rise at the kindness shown and said, politely bidding their goodbyes. And when Barbara turned her back for just a short second, Bucky made sure to slide the money back to her across the counter, before they both walked out and headed towards new, unfamiliar territory. These nightshifts just keep getting better and better.

CHAPTER 17 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 4727

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

Chapter 17

-

The looks you received upon your return weren’t exactly pleasant, to say the least. The few smiles you got held a darker undertone, gloating and feeding on your misfortune. More often than not they zeroed in on the cuts and bruises still on your face, healing quick enough to not throb and ache constantly, but apparently still gawk worthy.

You slid along the walls like a ghostly shadow, hoping to go unseen in the crowd of inmates. It was the weekend so no one had any work to go to, instead roaming the halls and rooms available like a late-night slumber party. Not only was it the weekend, and people had the day off, it was also visitation day. Names upon names were screeched through the static filled speakers, telling them they had a visitor waiting.

Your name wasn’t called. It wasn’t going to be called either. There was only one number on your approved call-list, and he wouldn’t as much as pick up the phone should you try and call him, let alone set his foot in here should you add him to your visitation-list. Jared, Nate’s father.

To say things turned sour between the two of you after Nate’s death was an understatement. He was the first one you had called that night, after the ambulance. He had showed up just before they rolled out his son’s body on a stretcher, dead. Killed. By you. He had held you for a moment, just for a brief moment you were allowed the fatherly love you hadn’t felt since your own father died in Afghanistan when you were nine. You were safe and sound in his embrace, for just a moment. That was the last time you had seen him. He had stayed with Nate’s body, even as you were taken to hospital to tend to your own wounds by his son’s hand. He had made his choice right then and there. No, Jared wasn’t going to be visiting. He was too busy grieving, and blaming you for his son’s death, which he was right to do. If only he could understand the circumstances.

Your mother not visiting hurt a tenfold worse than Jared’s absence. It wasn’t her fault though, you knew that. Logically, you knew that. You knew she didn’t even feel the wrong of not visiting her only child in prison. But it didn’t take away the pain of it. When it had all began, the hurt, the cuts, the bruises, she hadn’t believed you. She didn’t see the truth, hear the facts you so futilely gave. No one had believed you, but to hear your own mother calling you a liar was indescribable. It broke you. Then, suddenly, she stopped worrying at all, stopped seeing the signs or hearing the bells tolling louder each day. Bells meant for you, not her. And you were too deep in you own pit of fear, and pain, and abandonment to see. She deteriorated too quick for anyone to notice what was happening to her, slowly lost in her mind and memory. Now she no longer remembered you being born.

Alzheimer’s. It ate away at her memory, ate everything up like a starved parasite. Now there was nothing left of woman you knew, and loved. The woman you called ‘mom’. She had no recollection of your existence, no idea she had a daughter who longed for her mother, plagued by reality. When you were hurt, your mother wasn’t there. When you needed her to keep you safe, she wasn’t there to hold you. When you were sent to prison for murder after barely surviving the attempt on your own life, she didn’t even know you were hers to mourn over. She wasn’t there to fight for her daughter. She wasn’t there.

A selfish part of you wished she would have simply died in some freak accident instead of this. It was selfish of you to want to bury her, need to bury her like you were forced to bury the life you had with her. You knew it wasn’t fair to think it, but that didn’t stop the wishful thinking of having gotten to just let her go. It would be easier, less painful. For you. For her, there was no pain, there was no loss that she knew of or could feel consume her like a tidal wave. In her mind, she was happy, she was in love even. She had her life ahead of her, adventures to explore and dreams to live, and no concept of time to tell her the truth. Whereas you were left to pick up the shards of your life with hands cut off at the wrist. A life so painful, so shattered it was left in smithereens. Abandoned.

There was no one in your life. No mother, no father, no friends. Nate hadn’t allowed for anyone to get close to you, not if he could help it, and he made sure that he could. Everyone had abandoned ship when sighting the iceberg that was isolation, set on a collision course that would put the Titanic to shame. You were ramming yourself right into that ice, full steam ahead. Where the first tear had ended up was hard to tell. Somewhere along the line you must have suffered a tear big enough to sink you to the bottom in a slow, silent descend, unaware of your own drowning. Somewhere along the line. Somewhere.

O.o.O.o.O

The B-dorm was loud and rowdy, Bucky could hear it even through the glass windows and closed door. The door behind him leading to the corridor was kept open to get some airflow in, since the D.O.C wasn’t really prioritizing air-conditioning. Prison was just as bad for the guards as it was for the inmates. At least in humidity.

Bucky was sat leaning back in the creaky, worn-down chair, a crosswords puzzle in one hand and a pen in the other, casually flicking it between his teeth to add to the noise. Every once in a while, he’d glance up and out into the dorm, making sure things didn’t get out of hand. Talking, laughing and joking around was allowed, and so far, nothing else was going on.

Steve came walking in through the door behind him, having been monitoring the hallways around the reception and arriving visitors for the past hour or so. Bucky made no impression of having heard him, but when Steve closed the door behind him to shut out the noise, he leaned his head back for a quick glance.

“Oh, hey,” he said, getting back to his crossing of words and flicking of his pen.

Steve grabbed the free chair from underneath the table, having been scooted away for more room to move for a single officer. He sat down with a loud sigh, fingers interlocking behind his head to rest back against.

“I hate weekends,” he muttered.

Bucky gave a huffing snicker, too caught up in the puzzle to look up.

“Yeah, they’re loud,” he said, scribbling a new word down in 4 across.

Steve turned his head to peek at the magazine, not letting his hands down.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

Bucky hummed. “Eh, kinda easy, kinda boring. But it beats walking the hallways up and down till your feet wear down.”

He looked over at his friend with a grin, chuckling when meeting his tired expression. Steve couldn’t even bother to try and be mad at the unfairness of fatigue. At least things happened in the corridors. He’d handed out two shots already today. So what if his feet hurt a bit? It usually took a day or two to get back in the swing of things.

“At least my ass won’t get flat from sitting on it all day,” Steve countered with a smirk, earning a smack of the magazine on his leg.

“My ass isn’t flat, let’s get that straight right now,” Bucky said in an, obviously, sarcastically offended tone. “I am bootylicious.”

Steve laughed, his torso jolting and jarring the tattered chair beneath him.

“You don’t skip leg day, I’ll give you that,” Steve said, stretching his arms above his head before bringing them down to lean forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Thank you very much for noticing,” Bucky pushed, smiling coyly.

“You are welcome.” Steve exaggerated his words, punctuating each one mockingly.

A comfortable silence fell between the men. Bucky had his nose in the puzzle, quickly working through it to get on to the next one. Steve sat peacefully next to him, glancing out across the dorm, watching it like it was some crazy reality show. He hadn’t quite expected to see you in his line of vision.

“Well, lookie who we have here,” he said, dragging Bucky’s attention from his crossword to find you walking through the door, looking as skittish as he remembered.

You hadn’t spotted the officers sitting in the bubble yet, mind too focused on the inmates in the room, who all quieted down at your arrival. Pretty much everyone gave you cold stares and mean looks. How welcoming.

“I didn’t expect her to get out of SHU so early,” Bucky said, throwing his magazine and pen on the bench before him. “What was it, like three days?”

“Four,” Steve corrected. “Neither did I. I thought it was gonna be at least a couple of weeks before she was back up. Must be running low on cells, or something.”

You came further into view, your wet hair had dampened the fabric on your shoulders, and your unkempt strands tussled around your head. Bucky scoffed at the sight of it.

“She must have showered,” he said through a laugh.

“Who can blame her? That place reeked.”

“Yeah, and you pretty much fingered her.”

Steve smiled when thinking back on earlier that day, and how mortified you had been when Bucky started pissing all over your bed. The tingle of your softness on his fingers came back to memory like a postcard in the mail. He unconsciously smoothed his fingers over each other. Both thought they’d had you cornered, not in any rush to visit you again while in lockdown. They had you away from the rest of the prison population, in private, where you were theirs to do with as they pleased, but now that plan was shot to shreds. Thankfully, for them, the SHU wasn’t the only place where cameras didn’t work.

“Fuck, I thought we had plenty of time,” Bucky complained, running an irritated hand through his hair to set it back in place, after it had fallen forward.

“Take it easy, she’s got plenty of years left,” Steve assured him, still prowling, waiting for you to look back.

“Yeah, but opportunities are passing. Before we know it, we’ve passed up too many of ‘em. Fuck! I had so many ideas.”

Bucky bit the side of his fist in annoyance, glaring at the back of your head. So many of his plans and ideas left unravelled. It wasn’t fair. You deserved every bit of pain coming your way for what you had done.

“You know,” he started, voice tight but calm. “A memory popped up in my phone last night. Of Millers.”

Steve looked over in surprise, waiting to hear more.

“It was game night, the second one he was over for, I think. He had brought those grilled chicken wings from town, that Carl’s place, or whatever. It was just the three of us, a bucket of wings, few bottles of beer, you know, just hanging out. Made me miss him a little bit,” he confessed.

Steve looked away, taking it in. He missed Nate some times too. Not all the time, but on some occasions. He was a happy-go-lucky guy, and he brought wings for game night, even though they said he didn’t have to bring anything. Sure, he made some snide comments from time to time, was a little too easy to anger for some people, but mostly he was just easy-going and a hard worker. Neither himself nor Bucky ever had a problem with him, though Steve could understand why some people might. But what he could never understand, was the reason you had to kill him. He wasn’t that annoying.

“Yeah,” Steve said after a while, still watching you intently. “Me too.”

Taking another unsure step into the dorm, you briefly turned your head to see what officer was in the bubble, more out of routine than actual apprehension, but you wished that you hadn’t. Not only was it officer Barnes, but Rogers as well. Both men were watching you, and neither had a happy expression on their face. Their brows hung low, casting dark shadows over their eyes, and their jaws were clenched hard enough you could cut marble on the bone.

You averted your eyes in a flash, quickly walking away from their gazes and through the crowd of inmates to get to your cube, all but bolting to the bed. Your chest strained with every breath, tension high. You felt like you were a rabbit, and everyone else the hunter. There were no trees or rocks to hide behind, it was all open land and a spotlight hanging over your head. ‘Here I am, come get me!’. Almost had you missing the solidarity of SHU, if only it was safe from the guards, and you doubted anything was.

“Fucking bitch!” Bucky spat out, slamming his fist down on the desk, jarring the pencil stand and knocking it over.

“Lang–” Steve started.

“Don’t say it! Don’t give me that crap, Rogers. You’re just as fucking angry as me, there’s nothing wrong with letting it out.”

“Yes, there is, when letting it out means cursing and shouting while in the workplace,” Steve pointed out, earning a deep exhale from Bucky trying to get his emotions in check. “I feel just as strongly about her as you do–”

“Really? Could have fooled me.”

Steve gave it a second, allowing Bucky some time to reign himself in. Bucky knew that Steve too felt angry, pissed off even, but that didn’t mean he had to go off like Bucky did just to prove it. They had both shared ideas, plans, fantasies, about you and what they wanted to do, Steve included. Hell, he’d even been the one to bring it up most of the time. He had been more than vocal in his sharing, but there was a time and a place for it.

“I want her to suffer just as much as you do, Bucky,” Steve said firmly. “I too want her to pay for what she did to Millers, but letting my emotions run away with me isn’t gonna accomplish that.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky said with a raise of his hand to stop Steve’s lecture. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I’m just... I feel left out.”

Bucky looked down at his hands, leaning forward to slowly slide them over each other in slow, warming strokes. Steve furrowed his brow.

“What do you mean?” he asked softly, uneasy about potentially having hurt his friend in some unspoken way.

“You know... You got to touch her, Steve. I mean, you had her completely at your mercy against that wall. And not only did you pretty much slap her ass, you grabbed her tits and put your hand down her fucking pants. You even described how her pussy felt, for fuck’s sake!”

Bucky sighed in relief at the release of the words, closing his eyes and breathed deeply. God, he wanted to be the one to touch you like that, the one who did the describing to Steve and feeling your softness on his own fingers, and not the one living through it vicariously. He should have seized his opportunity when he had you against that washing machine. You had been so helpless, practically begging him to.

Steve sighed to contain his snicker, knowing where this was coming from. He felt the tug at the corners of his mouth, begging to be let up.

“Sounds like someone is a bit sexually frustrated,” he said with a lopsided smile.

Bucky looked over at him, initially annoyed by the comment, but when meeting his fellow officer’s familiar, sympathetic smile, he couldn’t help the rising blush covering his cheeks. It wasn’t untrue.

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky said with a growing smile on his face. “I’m not some horny teenager who can’t keep it in his pants.”

He said it more to ensure himself of that rather than Steve.

“Oh, really,” Steve said baffled. “Could have fooled me with that tent you had in your pants just a few hours ago.”

Both men laughed, the mood lightening and clearing any negativity that was. Bucky felt better after airing some feelings out, even though he was pretty much laughed at. He knew Steve wasn’t spiteful in his words, and that they did hold some truth to them, no matter how badly he wanted that to be very much untrue. Plus, Steve had just been as bad. But they were abruptly interrupted by officer Donaldson’s voice coming through both their radios, the noise loud and echoey in the small room.

“We have a code 13 in corridor D. I repeat; a code 13 in corridor D. Personnel needed to clear out the cafeteria and connecting rooms and corridors. Do you copy?”

Steve and Bucky looked at each other, both as baffled as the other by the message. Who had gotten themselves in such trouble? And got caught in the act most likely, by the sound of it.

Bucky was quick to reach for the com-radio sitting on his shoulder.

“Barnes here. Rogers and I copy. Do you need any assistance or are you covered?”

Both waited for an answer. There might very well be other officers already on scene, but if not, they were more than happy to assist. More correctly, both were curious to know what officer got themselves caught in the honey jar.

A static was heard through the radio, before CO Fisher’s soft voice was heard.

“Uhm, Fisher here,” she started, clearly uncertain about what to say. “We could use a few more officers here to... help with the inmates and... uh... escort officer Mendez from the perimeter.”

Mendez. Steve and Bucky shared a charged look with each other as they listened intently to Fisher’s words. They had talked about this very situation mere hours ago, and here it was now. Neither were particularly surprised to hear Mendez’s name in the situation, obviously, but the seriousness of the event sent sparks of adrenaline through their bodies.

This time, Steve reached for his radio first.

“Rogers here. We copy. Proceeding with officer Barnes to corridor D, leaving B-dorm unattended.”

Code 13. That was sexual assault by an officer. Officer Mendez in this case. Both Steve and Bucky knew of his illegal distribution of drugs to several of the inmates, and how it was being paid for, but it still came as quite a shock to them both to actually hear the code being called. And kind of disappointed, if they were being honest. They had Mendez pegged for a guy who liked his job, comfortable in his position of power. They had thought he would be more careful than this. And to get caught in corridor D meant he was fucking someone in the broom closet. That was just plain stupid.

The inmates were mumbling accusing words and, most likely, made up details as both officers approached the corridor in which they were needed. CO Fisher was looking apologetically at an inmate, Dayanara Diaz by the looks of it, and indicating for her to follow her, to medical most likely. Diaz seemed quite calm, gratefully following Fisher to wherever they were heading.

Joe Caputo, the captain of the guards, was standing further down the hall, looking fuzzed in his brown suit. His hands were jumping from his hips to his face and what was left of his hair, only to go back down again. His gaze was snapping feverishly around the corridor, looking worried, and with good reason. Caputo nodded his head at the men when they came close.

“Ah, gentlemen,” he said, his voice edgy. “I’ve asked Donaldson and Wilson to remove officer Mendez from the building,” he said with a raise of his hand in the direction of the exiting doors.

They looked to the end of the hallway where Mendez was being escorted by said officers at his sides, their hands secured to his arms in a most likely faint grip. It was probably more for show for the admin than anything else, not many of the officers would ever blatantly embarrass a fellow officer in such a way if they didn’t have to. Even in circumstances like this.

“I am forced to put Mendez on ice, as you might understand,” Caputo continued, to which both Steve and Bucky nodded apologetically. “I’m sorry, I know he’s a fellow officer, but...” he threw his hands up in ... “I caught him in the act, and the inmate is being taken to medical as we speak, I have no other choice. You understand that right?”

Joe was worried about offending any of the officers left to clean up the mess, and did not want to be caught on anyone’s bad side. It was enough to deal with the chaos already created, he didn’t need to bring any more of it to the warden.

“Yes, sir,” Steve said as Bucky nodded along, letting Steve speak for both.

Caputo nodded. “Good, good. I, uh... I need you to calm things down with the surrounding inmates. Make sure they are ensured about this being an isolated incident and that we have removed the officer responsible for this... infraction. And, and please come see me in my office when you are done, I’ll be... I’ll be in my... office.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve said, and started towards the cafeteria entry where most of the ogling inmates were stood.

“Right away,” Bucky said and headed for the rec room to start clearing inmates.

“Good, great, thank you,” Caputo said and hurried off looking hazed and... was that a blush?

Bucky gave a slight knock on the door to Mr. Caputo’s office. It was more of courtesy since both him and Steve had been asked to attend. Joe was standing by his desk with his reading glasses on, looking through the sea of papers mounded on his desk.

“Ah, Barnes, Rogers,” he said, removing his glasses to keep his hands busy. “Come in, please.”

They did as asked, both planting their feet wide apart with their hands behind their backs, an act etched into them from years of military service. Caputo gave a slightly nervous scoff at the action.

“Oh, please. At ease,” he said uncertainly as he waved a hand, and both men relaxed their arms. “I, uh... Mendez is going to be taking a little... temporary leave without pay. I can’t fire his ass without the authorisation from Fig, and she is fighting me like a bloodthirsty vampire on this.”

Mr. Caputo slumped back down into his chair with a tight grip on the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly and hard enough to ruffle some of the papers on his desk. Natalie Figueroa, the assistant warden, Caputo’s sworn enemy and a walking headache in human form. Even if that form was wearing tight skirts and high heels and looking fine as hell, she was still evil incarnate for trying to bury the story more than Mendez.

Caputo looked up, finding the officers waiting patiently for him to continue.

“Sorry,” he went on. “This isn’t your problem, it’s mine.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Bucky said. “But if an officer is caught raping an inmate, it’s all of our problem.”

Caputo slowly nodded, a faint smile spreading his cheeks at the reassurance. The true intentions of Bucky’s words were left in the dark.

“Yes, I suppose it is. And even more so when that officer was working the nightshift for the upcoming days.”

Steve understood where this was going, and decided to interrupt before Caputo could go on.

“Sir, I just got back to the dayshift today,” he said, hearing the slight tension in his voice, despite trying his best. “I can’t work tonight too.”

Caputo held up his palms and shook his head apologetically.

“Of course not, Rogers, of course” he said. “I wouldn’t even ask. We’ll get a body in from down the hill to cover tonight’s shift, they’re used to being short-staffed, they’ll survive. And apparently, they run a tighter ship than we do here,” he said under his breath, but knew the other men could hear him. “But without Mendez here, I need someone to cover the upcoming nights. And apparently CO O’Neill had an emergency trip to Jersey he had to make and can’t come either, so I’m short two officers for three nights, starting tomorrow.”

He waited a second or two, but neither Barnes nor Rogers spoke up, both looking at him with expecting faces. If they were going to be working extra shifts, they would need to be wooed.

“You’ll be compensated, obviously,” Joe added. “And you get to leave right away to make up for the time difference.”

Steve turned to Bucky, greeted by a raised brow and a slight nod to his head in affirmative. Steve could pretty much see the wheels of Bucky’s brain turning and working their magic, new ideas popping up in his head when the SHU turned out to be a bust. Steve just had to trust it.

“Okay,” he said with a quick nod of his head.

“We’ll cover for ‘em,” Bucky added, to make sure they were all on the same page.

Caputo sighed in relief and leaned back against his headrest.

“Thank you, thank you,” he said and stood, placing his glasses on his nose once again. “You’re really saving my ass here.”

Bucky chuckled.

“Glad we could help.”

Bucky walked out the door with Steve on his tail, walking with a slight bounce in his step and a pride in his back. Steve wasn’t quite as blatant about the whole ordeal, the jitters staying hidden until they were out of sight.

“You do realize how lucky we are, right?” he asked when Bucky opened the door to the men’s room to talk in private.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Bucky said, crossing his arms over his chest and just waiting for Steve to start doubting. He was always overthinking things.

“Oh, really? What, this is your doing somehow?” Steve asked cynically, mirroring Bucky’s stance from across the room.

Bucky snickered. “No, but the universe is clearly on our side, on the side of justice. Think about it, Steve. The admin has their work cut out for them, weeks of damage control ahead, Caputo and Fig especially. The press is going to be on their asses whenever they step foot outside this prison, asking about Mendez. They have no time for minor infractions, and they are convinced the bad seed is out of the prison, and will assure the press of that too, therefore not batting an eye at any of the other officers. And then they just hand us the nightshift like a steak on a platter, which is even better than the SHU. We’re doing this.”

Steve listened intently to the words coming out of his mouth, agreeing completely when hearing them out in the open. The lights were beaming down on one officer, and one officer only, and he had drawn enough attention to keep it for weeks to come. And the nights were the most private, the most secluded. Less officers, less inmates awake, less eyes overall. No wonder Bucky didn’t hesitate to accept the offer, he had a sharp eye for opportunities. And he was not going to pass up another one.

Bucky bit his lip in the wait for Steve to agree, which he knew he would. He wasn’t stupid, the smorgasbord was practically presenting itself and begging them to dig in, he wouldn’t pass up a chance like this.

Steve met his eyes, a widening smile on his face, just as bright as Bucky’s. He was right. He was absolutely right.

“Better get some rest, then.”

CHAPTER 16 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 5973

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

Chapter 16

-

Pieces were falling. The mirror was breaking. The glass was shattering. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t feel anything but his touch burning, seething on your skin, leaving invisible marks all over. You felt his fingers between your legs, the coarseness of his fingertips grazing your folds even through your underwear. He was still there. You could still feel him.

You fell to your knees with a crash of bones against the concrete, your body folding over with a sob. Hands gripped furtively at the ground for some kind of purchase, anything, just anything to save you from falling further into the tomb of pain and fear opening up beneath you. Tears wet the floor. Each drop landed with a loud crash as it splattered over the concrete, vibrating through the floor and into your fingers. Like tiny meteoroids quaking the earth. You could feel everything. It was all over. It consumed you.

The loudest scream you’d ever thought was possible, sounded through your cell, ricocheting off the walls, echoing down the hall and away. Away from you. You screamed through the white static buzzing in your head. You screamed until there was nothing left inside.

You slammed your fists down on the floor, over and over and over, feeling the skin break and blood staining the grey and spreading with the tears. Pain erupted through your hands whenever they met the ground, breaking the skin more and more, but you kept slamming, kept slapping the cement, to feel anything but him. Even nothing was better than the lingering stains of his touch, the echo of his words. You wanted to be so empty of emotion and thought that there was nothing left inside of you they could take away. But you could never make yourself so small, so insignificant, there wasn’t a piece left for them to take. There was always something left they could carve away at.

Flashes of pain, memories of fear rippling through your mind like a slideshow of terror. Slide after slide of hurt and violation just going around in a circle. How it felt the first time Nate forced himself inside of you, breaking you, consuming you. How he had stretched your walls beyond capacity, drawing blood and tearing as he moved. How his fingers had left bruises on your body from their unforgiving grip when holding you down, as you thrashed and tried to get away, trying to get him to stop. And how he had groaned in pleasure, grunted his release inside your body, marking you in the most horrible of ways. Your pain was his pleasure. The sounds he had made were ringing in your ears like bells on a tower.

How you had managed to survive it was beyond you, but you doubted you could ever survive it again, even though you’d lived through it for years and years. Years of pain and torment, cuts and bruises and the never-ending blame of it all being your fault. That you deserved it. That you needed it. That you wanted it.

You had wanted him. Once. A very long time ago you had wanted him. You were young, and he was exciting and sweet. He cared for you like a good brother, like he was supposed to. He was so kind in the beginning, so charismatic. He could light up a room with a simple smile. Everyone who knew him wanted to be around him. He could draw a crowd like moths were drawn to a flame, his own warm, inviting light. He was intoxicating.

But when your time alone began to increase, he started to change. He started demanding more, ordering you around, threatening to hurt you and hurt you even more if you told anyone. His light went from warm and inviting to intimidating and scorching. Once it started there was no stopping it. There was no stopping the pain, or the fear. You got burned.

Somehow you always knew it was Nate’s doing. Even when it was his friends doing all the hurting, it was because he had told them to, invited them to it. They did what they did because he wanted them to. They wanted to keep him happy, cause he was just so nice when he was happy and got what he wanted. Even if that meant a world of pain for you.

But this was different. These officers weren’t doing this because Nate had asked them to, or because he wanted them to. They did this for him. They did this to punish you, to make you pay for your mistakes. For killing him. They were blaming you, just like Nate had. No one else had ever blamed you for your pain, said that you deserved it, that you had it coming. No one had ever played with you like a cat with a mouse, working up an appetite, getting ready to consume you whole.

They were playing with you like a toy. Twisting and turning to find the right buttons to push and wind you up, only to let you go and watch as you walked yourself into a wall. There for their amusement. How far would they take their musings? Could it be left at this? This threatening of worse to come but in fact never would? Was it possible?

Tap, tap.

O.o.O.o.O

Jitters went through both their bodies. There was almost the sensation of butterflies in their stomachs, fluttering and flying around. It was more than any one of them had hoped for. Especially for Steve who had gotten his hands on you, had felt your body, your warmth on his fingers. They had barely made it through security and into the sanctuary of the bathroom without anyone seeing the state of them both, Lady Luck being very much on their side. The ride back up to camp had been tense, the air tight with words unspoken and restrained tension.

Steve clenched his hand, moving his fingers against his palm as he remembered the softness of your body, the velvety touch of your pussy through the fabric of your panties. It went straight to his cock. Shamelessly, he palmed himself through his slacks, pressing the heel of his hand down hard before adjusting himself. If only Bucky wasn’t there in the bathroom with him, he might have actually taken a moment to relieve himself of all the pent-up energy. The lingering feel of your warmth was practically begging him to.

“Fuck,” he grunted, fingers gripping the sink hard enough to turn his knuckles white with the pressure.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, tried to will his body to cooperate. It wouldn’t exactly be appropriate for an officer to walk around a women’s prison with a boner from groping an inmate. He wasn’t that kind of man, and certainly not that kind of guard. Really.

Bucky chuckled as he dried his hands for the third time after washing them yet again, just to occupy his hands more than anything, keeping them busy enough to not go straight down his pants.

“Language,” he teased.

That was usually Steve’s line for him, not the other way around.

Bucky sighed deeply, feeling his shoulder sag down in relaxation. The echo of your voice was sweet like summer rain on sun kissed skin. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards at the endless loop of your pleas for him not to piss on your bed. The pureness of it, the sweetness. Such a contrast to the act itself. He was proud of himself for that one.

Like Steve, he had trouble getting a hold on himself, the tightness of his trousers straining almost painfully against his hard cock. The men might have released some tension in an army tent surrounded by several other men, and might share a house where the walls were very thin indeed, but jerking off in a locked bathroom with just the two of them in it was a line neither wanted to cross. It was too close, too intimate.

“God, I can’t fucking get rid of it,” Bucky grunted, as he too leaned against the sink with a firmer grip than necessary, head hanging down between his shoulders, willing his body to listen to reason.

“I second that,” Steve said with a sigh.

“You even got to touch her. Jerk.”

Steve scoffed with a grin, watching Bucky through the reflection in the mirror.

“Jealous?” he asked with a shit-eating grin. Not as good as Bucky’s, but good enough.

“Fuck yeah, are you kidding? First a pat-down and then–” he closed his eyes and drew a harsh breath through his nose. “–Fuck! You had your hand down her fucking pants, man.” He met Steve’s all too happy expression in the mirror. “What she feel like?” he asked, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Steve closed his eyes while exhaling with a puff of air. He shook his head.

“So fucking good,” he huffed out. “She’s so soft it’s like running your fingers through velvet. Even through the underwear I could feel it.”

“Oh, yeah? Does she shave?”

“No,” Steve said with a slight headshake.

“God, I love when they don’t shave it all off. I don’t wanna be fuckin’ a toddler, you know?” he said with a raise of a brow at his friend, who reciprocated with a nod.

“I hear ya. Remember that redhead you used to bring around? The short one, with the 'molest-me-daddy'-voice? What the hell were you thinking there? She shaved everything.”

“She didn’t shave, she fucking lasered it off,” Bucky said with a hint of annoyance at the reminder. “Yeah, I don’t know. I must have been desperate or somethin’.”

Bucky dragged a slow hand through his hair, setting it back in place from where it had fallen onto his face. He was growing it out, liking it longer ever since he got out of the army and he didn’t have to keep it short anymore. Not too long though, the man-bun really wasn’t his style.

“All this talk about sex and velvety pussies isn’t really helping me bring things back to sea-level, if you catch my drift?” Bucky asked with a smirk. “Does it show?”

Steve didn’t even need to glance down at his friends crotch to know that it was.

“Yeah, it shows,” he said, standing up straight and pulling at his belt to test out the waters, so to speak. Still mount Everest.

Bucky chuckled. “Man, we’re like two horny teenagers trying to hide rock-hard boners in slacks,” he said through a laugh. “Fuck!”

He reached down to adjust himself for the fourteenth time, the graze of the zipper sending sparks of pleasure right to his core. Seriously, he could come without even pulling himself out in the open. He really was a fucking teenager.

“Just think about something bad,” Steve said, trying to help both himself and his friend. “Like... cold feet, roadkill, pouring fucking bleach in your eyes, whatever turns you off.”

“Wow, that got dark,” Bucky said with a chuckle. “Sure you okay, Rogers?”

Steve laughed along, knowing that last one was a little weird. But desperate times called for desperate measures. He’d think about eating kitty litter as long as it promised to get rid of his hard-on.

“Just get yourself under control, alright?” he said. “We need to be in the rec room in like two minutes.”

Steve ran the tap to get the coldest possible water, and splashed some on his face and wrist, trying to cool down. Bucky did the same, opting for the only thing left he hadn’t tried yet, that wasn’t the best solution and what he really wanted to do; jerk off.

Neither said a thing, both simply waiting for the water to work its magic and quell the flames of desire. It worked. After several minutes of ice-cold water and the risk of frostbite on their hands and wrists, things settled in both body and mind.

“Thank fucking god,” Bucky sighed in relief, tearing paper from the holder on the wall for both himself and Steve, chuckling as he did. “I thought I was gonna have to walk around hard all day.”

Steve laughed at the reality of it. It was a close call. He hadn’t been so turned on in a long time, and poor Bucky had only gotten to watch.

“Come on,” he said and threw his damp tissue in the garbage. “We gotta take over from Mendez and Wilson. They’re probably wondering where we are.”

The rec room was booming with inmates. It usually was after breakfast, nothing new. It was quite entertaining actually, kept the officers on their toes. A lot of things could transpire, but if it didn’t there was still a great deal of entertainment provided. The Spanish girls were playing dominos, bickering in Español whenever they couldn’t agree on the points. The black girls were doing their version of charades, Crazy Eyes, or Warren as her real name was, keeping time by the clock. And the white girls, the part of Red’s family that didn’t work in the kitchen, were playing scrabble on their homemade board made from a cardboardbox Big Boo had found in the garbage.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” Mendez said when Steve and Bucky came walking in from the corridor.

Steve bowed his head down with a smile, coming up to stand at the entrance beside the man, Bucky not far behind.

“How you doin’?” Steve asked politely, planting his feet comforatably apart.

“Can’t complain,” Mendez said. “Not a whole lot goin’ on, so can’t say I’m not relieved to leave it all in your capable hands, and go get me some fresh air.”

Mendez started walking out of the room, interrupted by Bucky’s voice.

“You takin’ Wilson with you?”

All three looked over at CO Wilson who was standing on the other side of the room, overseeing a cardgame. How exciting.

“Hell no, he ain’t my partner. We don’t all couple up like you guys,” Mendez said with a laughter that turned quite nervous when meeting the other officers’ eyes.

He cleared his throat to cover for his slipup. He didn’t mean to ensinuate anything, but he knew the ice was wearing thin when it came to Barnes, and he’d rather keep them both on his good side.

“Besides,” he went on, ignoring his earlier comment. “He’s on mailduty today, with Bell and O’Neill. They can have him. Hey, Wilson!”

Sam lifted his head at the call of his name, seeing the other officers standing by the door, Mendez clearly leaving and nodding his head for him to follw suit. He uncrossed his folded arms and started walking towards them. After his little encounter in the staffroom where Barnes had been on him like a fucking raging Pitbull, he had no intention of interacting with either men more than necessary. So he just nodded his head at them when passing.

“Sam,” Steve said in acknowledgement as the other man left.

Bucky stayed silent, just sighing in annoyance.

“Calm down, Bucky. He didn’t say anything,” Steve said calmly.

“They say silence speaks louder than words,” Bucky countered, earning a lovable chuckle from Steve.

“You just have to find a reason to argue with the guy? Come on, he’s probably still a little freaked-out from your outburst the other day.”

“What fucking outburst?” Steve just continued laughing at the tone of Bucky’s voice, clearly aggitated. “You saying I have a temper?”

“Oh, god, yes! Just look at you. He just walked past you and you’re getting all riled up.”

Bucky exhaled loudly, trying to force the annoyance out of his body.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be if I’d gotten to relieve a little tension before coming here. How the fuck are you so calm? You were just as fucking hard as I was just a minute ago.”

Steve bumped a shoulder into Bucky’s, getting a scolding look from the other man. Bucky looked at him annoyed.

“What?”

“Keep your voice down,” Steve said low through gritted teeth. “You want the whole camp to know?”

“Oh, please. Half of these inmates would probably cream their panties at the thought of us with raging hard-ons in the bathroom,” Bucky said matteroffactly.

“Yeah, well, it’s not really the inmates I’m worried about,” Steve said as he looked around the room to make sure no one was paying attention to their conversation.

Bucky raised his brows, looking at Steve like he was something out of a cartoon or something.

“Please,” he said. “If the administration’s got their eyes on anyone, it’s Mendez. Okay? We’re model fucking officers compared to that guy. They love that sadistic fuck, but if anything was to happen with an inmate, he’s suspect number one, I guarentee you that.”

Steve nodded, defeatedly. He knew Mendez wasn’t up to code when it came to how he handled matters with the inmates. He knew he was dealing drugs, paid for in blowjobs most likely, but he wouldn’t put it past him to go even furhter than that. He wasn’t one to shy away from an opportunity if it presented itself. With Steve and Bucky it was different. It was personal. That made it different.

O.o.O.o.O

A loud rattling woke you with a fright where you lay face down on the floor. Your face almost stuck to the sticky surface where you must have passed out from sheer panic, or maybe exhaustion. The growing stench of urine gave you a bearing on your surroundings, the cold ground a harsh reminder of where you were. The more you breathed the more you recalled the incident with the officers, your face crunching up at the stench of testosterone, dens in the air.

Pain blossomed and spiked through your hands as you moved to a seated position. Stale blood covered the skin, creating cracks like a delta when you clenched your fingers. Your head felt fussy, heavy. Like it was filled with a gallon of water. A rush of gratefulness coursed through you at the sensation, as it blocked your thoughts enough to not let the panic set in straight away. Even a minute without it was heaven.

The red door was being pulled open, revealing another male guard. You moved to something like a crouch, anything to not leave yourself too exposed. The spark of pain gave a strong warning of needing to protect yourself. You couldn’t take anything more being done to you, psychically or mentally.

The man wasn’t that tall nor that big, but his persona still read somewhat of power. He stood in the doorway with cuffs ready in hand, looking down at you. He wasn’t fazed by the state of you, clearly used to inmates getting into some weird shit when in solitary.

“Shower time,” he said, before the messed-up bedding drew his attention. He furrowed his brows and sniffed the air, regretting it when the sharp odour hit his nose.

“Oh, fuck!” He covered his face with the crease of his elbow, looking at you accusingly. “Use the fucking toilet, ya nasty,” he said, his voice muffled by his arm.

You followed his gaze over to the soaked matrass and blanket, the burn of tears prominent in your eyes at the sight, at the memory. How the new guard couldn’t put two and two together and smell the clear indication of testosterone in the stench was mind-blowing. He was clearly accusing you of wetting the bed. Last time you checked your testosterone levels weren’t high enough to cause that much of a reek.

“I didn’t–” you started, but stopped yourself.

‘No cameras’. There were no cameras in the room, and no proof of it not being your doing. And you knew he wouldn’t believe you if you claimed that two of his fellow officers had come in here to grope you and piss on your bed. He really didn’t seem like the type of guard to believe an inmate over an officer, but he did look like the type to run and tell should you try to clear your case. Better to not say anything at all, than risk having Peeve and Fucky find out and do even worse.

“Come on, let’s go,” the officer urged, taking a step back not to stand in the stinking cell.

You shot up, ribs complaining at the sudden movement. You hissed, slowing your movements as you stood. There wasn’t just the pain caused by bruises and scrapes, the floor was an unforgiving resting spot, and it seemed like every muscle in your body had turned to stone and strained uncomfortably when you tried to wake them.

“Uhm... I don’t need to shower,” you said, taking a step back, wanting to keep the distance as much as you could.

You had survived the looks, the touches and the threats of officers Rogers and Barnes. You body had already been invaded, violated in horrid ways, and couldn’t withstand any more. Though the haunting brushes of Steve’s fingers over your skin and most private parts you wouldn’t mind washing away. If it was even possible. They scorched their marks on you, holding on for dear life to keep you reminded of what could come to pass.

The officer first gave you a stern gaze, then looked over at the bed, and the mess of it. His eyes spoke volumes, clearly indicating that you did need to shower after making that mess. But he opted for the routine speech.

“Inmates are required to shower at least two times a week, and today is shower day. Let’s go, Harper.”

You didn’t want to go with him, not a man. You didn’t want to hurt anymore.

“Are-aren’t there any female CO’s around? I-I have a right to a-a female officer in the shower.”

It was a daring move, arguing with a CO, but you really didn’t want a male officer near you in such a vulnerable state, not if you could help it. The fight to persist was slowly dying out, and the salvation of cleanliness was luring you in. You wanted to wash. You wanted to be clean. As clean as can be anyway.

“No, there aren’t,” the officer said. “And even if there was, we are under no obligation to comply. This is solitary confinement, you take what you get. Don’t make me come in there and drag your ass out.”

The man didn’t look all too pleased with you, and you really didn’t want to know what being dragged out of your cell felt like. With slow, shuffling steps you walked over to the officer, your aching knee arguing. He raised a questioning brow at the limp, but didn’t ask. No one ever seemed to ask.

“Hands together,” he said, and readied his cuffs.

You did what he said, grateful to have your hands cuffed in front of you and not behind. It allowed for some protection against assault should there be any. Though, this particular guard didn’t seem all that violent. You just hoped it would stay that way even when your clothes came off. Did he know who you were? Did he know who Nate had been?

The unrelenting steel around your wrists dug in as you moved, and the flashback of it being officer Rogers hands cuffing you threatened to surface. The coarseness of his fingertips, all too gentle in their grazes, before turning demanding, hurtful, lusting.

You drew a shallow breath, releasing it shakily. Stay here, Jess. He’ll be gone soon. The water will cleanse you of his touch.

The showers were empty. There was only one inmate at a time, for safety reasons, so at least there’s that. You had been handed a clean towel from a bin, and a new set of clothes and underwear from yet another male officer. Thankfully, he left it at handing things out, and didn’t come with you to the showers. It was just you, and officer Barton.

CO Barton released your hands and told you to strip by the bench opposite the showers. He was standing just a few feet away with his arms crossed menacingly over his chest. He looked like he was in no mood to argue, but it wasn’t as intimidating as Rogers or Barnes. You had to try.

“Are-are you gonna be watching me the entire time?” you asked, feeling tears sting your eyes.

Showering with an audience was torment enough, scars and marks on display, but to do it with a single male officer present was proving almost too much to handle.

“Yep,” he said, not moving a muscle.

Your entire body went rigid and goose bumps rushed to cover every inch of your skin. You had to get naked. In front of a man. There was no part of you that wanted to let you do this, but you felt the impending doom of a temper lost draw nearer, and you opted for the only other option to not have panic set in right then and there; do it quick.

“Could... could you turn around at least? Please?”

Your voice was timid, clearly afraid, barely louder than a whisper in the night.

The officer sighed defeatedly, and turned to his side to only see you out of his peripheral vision. Tears began to fall freely, relief and gratitude soaring through you from the first and only kindness shown by a male guard.

Your fingers were stiff as the ones of a corpse when ridding of the clothes keeping the story underneath hidden from the world. Your body fought your mind the entire way, and your mind was more than willing to get on that train as well. But you had to do it. You had to persevere, dare to hope that the officer wouldn’t harm you even though he could, the opportunity presenting itself like a flower opening up to a bee.

You kept your back turned to the officer, trying to protect the most shameful stories. Your back could tell its own story, but it wasn’t the main attraction drawing attention at least. Wrapping yourself as much as you could in the coarse towel, you walked up to one of the cubicles, your underwear still on like always. There weren’t any curtains, nothing to shield you from view, nothing to protect you. You looked back over at the officer, who was still standing with his side turned to you. You suspected he could still see quite a bit of the ‘stories’ that littered your body, but he made no comment on it. Just hang in there, little flower.

You hung the towel on the side of the stall, protecting your bare chest with your arms as much as you could. Soap and shampoo were already standing on a small shelf in the corner of the stall, beckoning you to hurry up and get on with it.

Never once did you turn around to neither confirm or deny that the officer had kept his eyes averted, or stayed where he was, just living on the hope that he did. You could almost feel the scars burn and seethe on your skin, like they were calling out for attention. ‘Please look at us’. ‘Please acknowledge us’. ‘Please ask about us’. Please don’t.

Your skin reddened and blushed from the pressure of your fingers, eager to remove Steve’s invisible marks. Nails scratched hard where they could, leaving scrapes in their wake. The bruises, at first prominent and contrasting, now blended and faded with the tender redness caused by your own will. As your hand slipped beneath the hem of your underwear, a flash of memory hit like a lightning in your mind, quick and sudden. His fingers, his hand, his touch. You couldn’t stop it. Everything came up.

You fell to your knees just as the first hurl worked its way up your throat and spewing its contents over the drain. The mush of whatever you had been eating got stuck in the cracks, before the water disintegrated it enough to let it pass. Your stomach contracted again, spitting out more bile, until nothing more came out, leaving you to dry heave till your oesophagus relaxed.

Officer Barton looked worriedly over at you. He couldn’t see much, but he gathered what was happening by the sound. He didn’t want to impose. You had asked him for privacy, and he had given as much as he was allowed, and any interference at this stage would probably do more harm than good. So, he left you to it. At least it was an easy clean-up.

If your body was weak and aching before, it was shaking worse than an aspen leaf now. Your legs had trouble supporting your weight as you stood, despite leaning on the wall to keep from falling. Tears hid in the steady stream falling from above, the salt quickly washed away before it stung the gash on your face.

Breathe in, breathe out. You’re here, they’re not. You focused on the splash of water showering over your skin, feeling the tracks left as they slithered down. Okay, one more try.

With a generous amount of soap coating your palm and fingers, you reached down again, this time with purpose. Steve’s grazes had been light at first, their tracing gentle to begin with, before he had gripped you harder. So, you kept you pressure consistent, right between the two, and managed to clean yourself thoroughly, every haunting trace of his fingers gone, washed away. You released the breath you had unconsciously been holding, the hot air coming out in a quick, shuddering huff.

Turning the water off with one hand, you hastily grabbed the towel in the other and covered yourself from view. Okay, you were clean, you were covered. It’s done. You’re done.

Careful as to not trip on the slippery tiles, you walked back to the bench to begin to dress in the new and fresh clothes waiting there. The relief of having clean clothes to wear couldn’t be denied even if you tried, not after sitting on that awful floor, bloodstains all over and sleeping several hours in the old ones. Not after the... incident. The smell or urine had seeped into your hair, and the smell of the most basic shampoo was like a high-end perfume in comparison. Even the soap smelled like a garden of roses on your skin.

“Were you in an accident or something?”

The sound of the officer’s voice startled you. It was soft, and low. Like when you’re speaking to a frightened puppy who just made a mess on the carpet.

You knew what he wanted to hear, you knew what he was asking, and it wasn’t why you had thrown up. You knew what he had seen. And you also knew that he didn’t actually think that an accident had left all of those little marks here and there, and long, wide ones in other places. No one ever thought that after seeing so much of it. You knew he was prying for the story, but not wanting to be blunt. But you couldn’t care less about what he wanted.

“Yes,” you said, and pulled a new bra over the towel secured around you.

“When did––”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you interrupted before he could ask. “If that’s okay?” you added softly.

“Okay,” he nodded. “That’s fine.”

He turned his head away even more than before, not even spotting you in his peripheral vision anymore. With your back turned to him he knew you didn’t see it, but he could give you the relief of not feeling his eyes on you when you made quick work of dressing.

The grass was greener on the other side. It was greener, cleaner and better. The glass didn’t seem as broken. The mirror didn’t seem as shattered. You didn’t seem that close to falling apart. If it was a fleeting moment, then you would enjoy it. If it was just here, in the steaming shower room with fresh clothes and newly washed hair, then you would enjoy every second of it.

When you were safely tucked away in your new prison attire, long sleeved shirt warming you underneath the khaki shirt, you slowed down. You were covered, protected, and CO Barton hadn’t moved from his spot in the doorway. He was fiddling with his cuffs, twirling them around his finger as he waited for you to be done.

“We’ll give you a new cell until we can get the other one cleaned,” he said when he placed the steel bands back on your wrists.

You met his eyes, finding the green softer than it had been when he was scolding you for supposedly peeing the bed.

“Thank you,” you said, voice even and strong.

He smiled down at you, just a quick tug of his lips. It was more of a place marker than anything else. Something to show that he heard you.

On the way back to the holding cells, CO Barton keeping a comfortable grip on your upper arm as he led you back through the maze of corridors, you passed a new guard standing by the counter to what you gathered was the intake, a female guard. Hm, guess it was just resistance on Barton’s part that led you to believe there were no female officers around. You couldn't find the will to be mad, the man had been kinder than you’d ever expect. A little disappointed perhaps, but you let that feeling drop away when Officer Barton stopped to talk to her.

“I’m moving Harper from B12 to B14. She’s... made a mess of the bed and it needs to be cleaned out.”

The woman, A. McCullough it read on her blue shirt, looked over at you as she grabbed a clipboard from the counter.

“What she do?” she asked, her voice smoky and rumbling, not at all what you’d imagine.

Her blonde hair was tied back in a neat bun, controlled, much like her personality you’d expect.

“The bedding needs to be washed, and everything scrubbed clean,” Barton informed.

You looked down. Now both officers thought you had wet the bed, great. But CO McCullough didn’t make a snide remark like you thought she might, too focused on the clipboard in her hands.

“She’s here for contraband,” she read out, looking up at you. “What was the contraband, inmate?” she asked.

“A lighter,” you said.

There was no use in telling the truth of its presence, no one believed you anyway.

“Hmm, doesn’t seem that serious,” she said, and dropped the board back down with a slap on the counter. “Well, she’s been here four days now, and we’re running low on cells. Think it’s time to let her back up to camp?”

What? Did you hear her correctly? Were they discussing your release back to gen pop? How green was this side? Was there a paradise lurking around a corner somewhere too?

“Sure,” CO Barton said, his grip on your arm lessening profoundly. “Call camp and send for the van. I’ll bring Harper up to the parking lot. Let’s go, inmate.”

You gladly followed the officer through the Max facility back up to the where the van would soon show. Anything to get out of this hellhole. Had it only been four days? It seemed a lot longer to you, even though you’d, thankfully, slept through the most part. How you hadn’t gone mad was beyond you, but the reality was that you hadn’t. You weren’t broken. Then it hit you. The reason for your restful nights and full stomach. The reason you’d thought SHU to be a blessing in disguise. Because of the absence of two people in particular. Officers Barnes and Rogers.

Oh, no.

CHAPTER 15 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 4721

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood

You have been warned.

Chapter 15

-

The reflective metallic acting as a mirror above the sink showed an ill and distorted image. The cuts and scrapes where all cleaned now, leaving only sore scabs and reddening bruises prominent on your skin. There was just the scrape on your cheekbone accompanying the earlier cut on your face, but both a hip and a knee had taken some assault, the tiniest bit of blood had seeped through the skin and stained your clothes. Besides that, there were just more bruises here and there, your ribs having taken first prize in that department.

After yet another meltdown sitting huddled in the corner and crying, you were left feeling empty and restless. You hated that feeling. The feeling of being completely drained of thought and emotion, body heavy with exhaustion, yet there was an underlying itch to move.

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything but choose between the sink, the bed or the corner. And your butt was favouring the bed above the floor when it came to resting places. You laid down on the thin, worn matrass, your body thankful in spite of the poor layer cushioning you from the metal. Your ribs and hip complained at the movement, forcing out hisses and grunts. But despite the pain of lying down, exhaustion overtook you. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t have to worry about nightly visitors. You could rest. Finally. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t dream. Of anything.

You were awakened by the screech of the hatch on the door being opened, and a plastic tray being sent through.

“Breakfast,” a male guard said on the other side.

Wow, you must have slept for at least twelve hours. Maybe this whole SHU ordeal should be considered a vacation from camp? There was both sleep and food, which was not an option up the hill. Blessing in disguise? A loud, gut-wrenching scream was heard farther down the hall. Nope. Not a blessing.

You got up on weak and tired legs, your knee hurting even more after some rest, and gratefully grabbed the tray being handed to you. The hatch closed as soon as the tray was through, without another word from the CO. On it was a simple, lonely piece of bread with a simple, lonely slice of bologna on top. Nothing else. Except, of course, for a splotch of mould right in the middle. Great. Well, beggars can’t be choosers.

You limped back to the bed and sat back down with your delicious food. You gave the sandwich a onceover before biting into it, and immediately regretted it. The plastic-y feel and the metallic taste told of an expiration date having come and gone several times over. Seriously? Was this even edible at this point? But with a few determined and open-mouthed bites, it was quelling your hunger nonetheless. At least it was food. The last thing you’d eaten was that deceitful Twix, luring you in with its chocolaty cover and crunchy caramel filling. Satan’s treat.

Your mind drifted to the officers, Steve and Bucky. Bucky, weird name. You gathered that it was a nickname, seeing there was a J stitched into all his shirts, but it was still weird. More like Fucky when the mood struck. And Peeve. Fucky and Peeve. Yeah, that’s more suiting.

Why had they set you up with contraband? Was it just to put you in this hellhole and let your own mind run haywire and drive you insane, or was there something else? The SHU was a part of the Max-facility, and from what you understood, that was its own separate workplace. Which meant that Peeve and Fucky didn’t spend their days down here, and therefore weren’t around you whilst you were still locked up. Could you be so lucky? Everything prior to this vacation spoke against it. No, you were never lucky.

Dread started creeping up your spine, crashing through every vertebra and sending spears of fear into every corner of your body. Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging little half-moons into your palms and stiffening like they were submerged under icy water. You laid back down on your side with your knees pulled up towards your chest as high as they would go without causing even more pain, hoping to find the comfort you needed. But the matrass only mocked you. There was no comfort here. It was just cold, and hard, and lonely.

Spots started dancing around the room like glittering little stars, there just for you. Everything else blurred away into nothing, leaving only the growing stars creating a galaxy with only you in it. It was almost pretty, if darkness hadn’t overtaken you so soon.

You woke only to eat, grateful for some kind of routine. You were too afraid to think about anything, fearing your own mind like a haunted house. So, you chose to sleep the time away for as long as you could, the earlier sleepless nights aided greatly in your mission. So far it worked. So far counting US capitals and European countries worked wonders to not only keep the ghosts locked away, but it was boring as hell and made you fall asleep before you could ever finish counting.

Your body was slowly healing as well, cuts scabbing over quickly, and bruises took on a new shade each day. Or maybe it was longer than that. Hard to tell. However long it took, you were grateful for the lessening pain, but you had no doubts in your mind that there was more to come.

O.o.O.o.O

“You ready?” Steve asked.

He was standing by the door, ready to make his way out, just waiting for Bucky to get all of his things together from where they were littering the bench. They were going straight from the gym to get to work early, having some... business to attend to before starting their day.

Steve’s days off hadn’t been all that restful. He wanted to get back to work and see the damaged done, and not having to guess and fantasize constantly. He’d busied himself with several trips to the gym already, washing both the cars and bikes, and finally fixed the issue with the Wi-Fi. Anything to get time to pass.

“Yeah, yeah” Bucky said, and grabbed his water bottle and chucked it in the bag.

For Bucky, having to work and keep a leash on himself was harder than he had anticipated. He wanted to go down to SHU and just gloat, just see you sitting there all broken. He hadn’t done it of course, but it was harder not to than he’d previously thought. The days had passed by so slowly, and not having Steve there to talk to or joke around with made the day feel like one long, last drop of syrup not wanting to leave the bottle. But here they both were now. Time to reap what they’ve sown.

They were both already in uniform, both getting several flirtatious glances from both men and women on their way out. It wasn’t something new to either of them. They knew how well they filled out their uniform. Pants fitting snuggly in all the right places, shirts just tight enough to showcase the muscle that lay underneath, especially after a good workout. And the uniform itself did its part. But they made no move to flirt back, or otherwise show interest, other than smiling appreciatively back at them. They had other things in mind.

Steve got in the driver’s seat and started the car. Bucky rarely drove unless he called it, despite whose car they took. It was a habit left from their military days when Steve had been the designated driver for a good couple of months, always in charge of getting from point A to point B. He liked the control. Old habits die hard.

“How do you think she’s doing?” Bucky asked from where he sat comfortably leaned back in his seat, arm resting by the window.

Steve drew a deep breath, letting it out through his nose.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s only been a few days but it could be enough to do some real damage, depends on what she’s like with solitude. Some people aren’t affected by it at all, some crumble from just a day or two.”

“I think she’s crumbled,” Bucky said with a snort. “She’s seemed ready to tuck tail so many times before this, I’m surprised she’s managed to hold out for so long.” A moment of silence passed between them, speaking loudly, but Bucky read it the way he wanted. “I guess some people just aren’t meant for prison.”

“Then I guess some people shouldn’t commit heinous crimes,” Steve said tensely, clearly aggravated at that thought of you.

Bucky nodded, feeling that same aggravation starting to course through his own veins the more he thought about it.

“Damn right.”

Neither men said anything for a few moments, both thinking back on their time with Nate. He hadn’t been a close friend by any means, but he certainly didn’t deserve to be murdered, and certainly not in such horrid ways. No one deserved to die like that. And no one deserved to get out of murdering someone. Let alone you.

“Think he’d want this?” Steve asked after a while, taking another turn on the winding road.

“Millers?”

“Yeah. Think he’d want us to punish her?”

“I think he’d do the same for us,” Bucky said, and sat up straighter in his seat.

“That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking, would he want us to make her pay for what she did? For killing him?”

Bucky looked over at Steve, noticing the slightly firmer grip on the wheel and the tension set in his jaw. He was overthinking things. That was his overthinking-face.

“Wouldn’t you wanna know that the person responsible for your death was severally punished?” Bucky asked with some force. “That the person who jabbed a fucking knife into your chest over and over until you bled out, got what they fucking deserved?”

Steve nodded his head slowly, as if to himself, with the raise of a brow as he did. He’d want the person responsible to rot at the bottom of a fucking well, eating rats and maggots and drinking their blood to keep themselves alive, and never forget who put them there should someone end his life like that.

“Yeah, I would” he said, picturing you with the tail of a rat hanging out of the corner of your mouth.

“Fuck yeah,” Bucky agreed, dragging stiff fingers over his jaw as he himself pictured his own idea of hell happening to you.

If Nate were here to see the spectacle for himself, he’d pat them on the back for their hard work, and buy them a round of beer as a thank you.

“Plus,” he added. “The way he talked about her? He fucking knew that she needed to be shown her place, that she had it coming. I just think he’d wanna be the one to do it.”

Both men scoffed and chuckled at the picture forming in their heads of everything Nate said he would do to you, but most likely never got around to. The man could talk a good game. He’d gotten them both all riled up and antsy, even when he was alive to tell his stories. It wasn’t more than fitting that Bucky and Steve saw to it that it happened.

“Think he ever got around to it?” Steve asked with a grin.

“What?”

“Fucking her,” Steve said with laughter lining his words.

Bucky snorted at the comment, before giving in to the chuckle tickling in his chest.

“Oh, please,” he said sarcastically. “That dude was all talk and no game. I bet it was all just for show after Luscheck called him a fag for hanging out with us. He never brought her up before that, so...”

Steve nodded along. Millers hadn’t even mentioned you in passing before Luscheck’s comment about all three men being gay, which Millers had taken offense to, and quite a bit, going by his reaction. Luscheck hadn’t muttered another word on the matter since.

“True,” Steve said. “But the way he talked about her, you just knew he wanted to mess with her, in a lot of ways. I’m telling ya, he was hot for her.”

“Don’t blame him. There’s just something about her that makes me want to beat the shit out of her, and at the same time fuck her into oblivion.”

Both men laughed at the dilemma, agreeing to every word.

“I second that,” Steve said, just as they entered the parking lot to the Max facility.

O.o.O.o.O

Days passed without a living soul talking to you, beside a CO telling you what meal they were sending through. No one in the adjacent cells made a single sound meant for your ears, though you were left to endure their endless screaming.

Your mind was starting to fog over. Thoughts became heavy and unclear whenever you tried to follow them. Was time even passing? You weren’t sure. It could be early, or the middle of the night, you had no way of knowing. They kept the lights on to confuse and daze the inmates. It worked. Oh, did it work.

Footsteps sounded out in the hallway. Wasn’t anything new. Could be a guard, could be an inmate being transferred or cleaning the floor, could be a fucking ghost for all you cared. You didn’t trust your ears anymore. You didn’t trust anything anymore.

Then there it was. The familiar constriction of your chest. Like a weather forecaster telling of an upcoming storm with thunder and lightning and hail the size of golf balls. Like screaming sirens sounding throughout a pitch-black night. That you knew to trust. And then the door was pulled open.

“Huh,” you gasped.

You shot up to a sitting position, moving back with your knees up as a protective barrier. You ignored the ache firing through you at such a sudden movement, too preoccupied with the two smirking men standing in the doorway.

“Hi, Jess,” officer Barnes said, taking the first step into the cell, Steve following close behind.

“Good morning,” he said.

Okay, it was morning. Of what day? That doesn’t matter right now, focus! Why were they here? What did they want?

“I seem to have forgotten to... search you before bringing you down here,” Steve said. “We can’t have that, now, can we?”

You trembled. He was going to search you? Just a pat down, though, right? Only female COs were allowed to do the strip-searches. He can’t do that!

“Against the wall, inmate,” Barnes said with a sideways nod to the wall beside him.

You didn’t know what to do. Should you just go along with it and hope for the best, or do you fight? Could you fight? Where was the fire that let you argue with Grease Hair? You couldn’t find it anywhere. It wasn’t there anymore.

“Now, inmate,” Steve said firmly.

Okay, so option one. Rock, hard place, meet Jess. She’ll be staying here for the rest of her life.

You stood up on unsteady feet, shuffling along towards the officers still standing in the doorway. Both men just followed your slow limping with their eyes, but didn’t make a move, yet. They didn’t say anything, wanting to hear the soft, low whining coming from you. Your cheeks went red when you realized that the sound you had heard was coming from you.

“Hands against the wall,” Steve said when you were close enough, taking a large step to come up behind you.

You did as he ordered, the rough, filthy cement sticking to your palms and fingers. You felt him standing there, too close. His height overshadowed your shuddering body, submerging you in his authority. You didn’t dare to look back at him, but you could almost feel him smirking where he stood behind you, completely in control.

Officer Barnes took another step into the cell, before dragging the door to a close. You gasped at the sound, your hands unintentionally falling from their place on the wall when you turned towards the door, as if you could make it out before it shut completely. But CO Rogers was quick to correct you.

“Hands on the fucking wall,” he spat out, and shoved you back in place, forcing your hands back where they had been.

“Uh!” Apologize. Apologize, now! “I’m sorry, sir! I’m sorry.”

Steve gave Bucky a smile when hearing the helpless whine fall from your mouth, and Bucky returned it. Music to their ears. But to you, it was torture.

Tears were brimming your eyes, blurring everything you could see. Your shoulders were rigid in their set place, causing the tension to grow into a headache. Please, just let this be over.

Steve slowly started to run his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, pressure soft and easy, almost like he was caressing you. You trembled at the feeling, but Steve just smiled wider. His hands travelled down the length of your back, drawing several hisses from you when grazing your sore ribs, before coming down and checking the hem of your trousers with curious fingers. You couldn’t stop the whimper before it escaped through your quivering jaw, releasing the tears from their confinement as well.

“Shh,” Steve said calmly.

You hated it. You hated the feigned sound of comfort. He knew what he was doing, he knew what he was putting you through. And there wasn’t a comforting fibre in his body, despite the reassuring sound he made to try and convince you otherwise.

He crouched down and circled the length of your legs, pressing down on your thighs and patting the area around your butt. You felt the jiggle he caused. You wanted to throw up, bile even rising up. But Steve and Bucky just had trouble containing their grins at the lovely sight.

His hands came back up as he stood, this time over your belly. You drew a shaky breath, holding it tight within you and prayed that he didn’t move his fingers under the fabric. Anything but that. Please, anything but that. Thankfully, he didn’t.

Instead his fingers moved up and searched the underside of your breasts, lingering longer than necessary, not leaving anything untouched. You couldn’t contain the gasps and whimpers when the palms of his hands gripped you through your shirt, your knees threatening to buckle and send you to the floor. Your fingers curved into the wall, nails clawing at the dirt. Anything to keep upright, keep your hands where he had ordered them to be. Steve pressed you back hard into his chest, pain blossoming again throughout your ribcage. You scrunched your eyes up, trying to block him out, not let him invade your mind as he did your body. But more tears fell as he massaged your breasts in slow squeezes, humming approvingly as he did.

“She’s clean,” he said at the shell of your ear, making you recoil at the sound.

“Good,” Bucky said when Steve moved back just enough to allow you to catch your breath, closing your eyes tightly to regain calm. “Since Steve didn’t search you before bringing you down, you could have stashed something,” Bucky continued, looking around the small, cramped cell as he walked.

You turned your head, not daring to move anything else. What could they possibly be searching for? Both men knew that lighter hadn't been yours, they were the ones who had planted it, for crying out loud. And there wasn't exactly an overwhelming amount of possibilities to mess up your cell, if that was what they were going for. Both officers were looking at you expectantly, before turning to each other.

“Might have seized the opportunity,” Steve added. “Best to do a search, I think. Don’t you, Buck?”

“Seems only safe, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve said before turning to look at you again. “Hands behind your back.”

He grabbed the handcuffs from his belt and opened them, preparing to cuff you. Again.

“What?” you asked with a tremor.

You didn’t need to be cuffed for this. They never cuffed you when doing a sweep before, why did they need to do it now?

“It’s for our protection,” Steve explained, though you doubted the truth of his words. “Can’t have a dangerous inmate on the loose with unlocked doors and defenceless officers just doing their job, now, can we? Especially not one with a record of hurting said officers,” he said and forcibly shoved your arms down and behind your back, securing them with the snugness of the cuffs.

“Ah,” you grunted when he manoeuvred you around to stand with your back and arms against the wall, his hand still holding a firm grip on your shoulder, not letting you move an inch even if you tried.

Bucky started checking the room for contraband. Feeling around the toilet seat, the sink, the makeshift mirror, the vent, then lastly your bed. He flipped the matrass, almost folding it in half, and threw the shaken-out blanket on top, coming up empty. As expected.

“Seems clean to me,” he said, though his voice carried something wicked.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Maybe a little too clean, wouldn’t you say, Buck?”

Steve moved closer to you, letting go of your shoulder and leaning his own against the wall, bringing his face down almost next to yours, smiling when you flinched. Bucky slowly nodded his head like he was mulling something over.

“Hmm, what could we do about that?” he said in a very sarcastic tone. “Oh, I have an idea.”

With that said, a wide smile spread across his face, white teeth showing in an ominous grin. Then his hands travelled down to his belt and started undoing the buckle. You froze, eyes fixed on the officer as he undid his trousers and took out his cock through the open fly, and started to pee all over your matrass and blanket.

“No! No, no, no, please–” you started, going to take a step forward but was stopped by Steve who shoved you back against the wall with a hard thud. “Ah!”

“What you say, inmate?” he barked at you. “You mouthing off to an officer? You wanna spend a few extra weeks in this shithole, huh? Or should I say pisshole?”

Both men laughed as more tears cascaded down your cheeks, stinging the healing wound with its salt. You turned your head away, not wanting to see the horrific invasion of the officer pissing all over your things, the smell already spreading in the confined space.

But Steve wouldn’t have it. He grabbed a hold of your chin with one hand, forcing you to face them both.

“Uh-uh,” he tutted. “You don’t get to look away, doll.”

“Please,” you forced out through your clamped shut mouth, not caring how pathetic you looked when you begged.

You just wanted them to stop.

Bucky laughed, the sound briefly muffling the last splashes of urine hitting the plastic matrass and metal bedframe, before he shook himself off, and tucked himself back into his pants, smiling proudly at the wet bedding.

Steve watched your face intently, following the drops of tears flowing from your eyes and pooling onto his hand. He eased his grip on your chin, allowing you movement but still keeping you in place. You let out a shallow breath at the privilege to move your mouth. Though his fingers still burrowed into your skin, and painfully so.

“Did you know there are no cameras in this cell?” he asked. “Huh? Did you?”

You hadn’t thought about it, but you hadn’t spotted a camera anywhere when you came to think of it. A shudder ran through you at the thought. Oh, no.

“Only a few of them work,” he continued, like he was telling you an interesting story. “And they put the long-timers in those cells. This one, the one you’re in, doesn’t have any cameras. No one’s watching.”

His free hand slowly caressed down your torso, from your throat to your trousers. And this time, he didn’t stop. His fingers skilfully lifted the hem, playing with the fabric, grazing the, thankfully, unmarked skin.

You opened you mouth in a silent gasp, a scream fighting to emerge but never found its voice, your eyes blinking rapidly to shed the tears and leave room for new ones. Your breath was shaky as you fought for air, feeling the panic rising. Oh, god, no. Please, no. Please, not this. But Steve just smirked at you.

“We could do so many things to you right here, and there would be no way of proving any of it. So, unless you wanna find out all the different ways we could make you squirm–” his hand slid down into your pants to grab your core through the thin material of your panties. “–you better shut your mouth and be fucking grateful that pissing on your bed is all we’re gonna do. For now.”

And there it was. The anticipated threat. It lingered in the air with the words left unspoken, surrounding you in its invisible, unforgiving hold. Like a vice tightening around you, stealing the air from your lungs and blood from your veins. Leaving you as nothing more than an empty shell.

“Do I make myself clear, Jessie? Hmm?”

You swallowed. It didn’t do anything to regain the control of your voice, just shuddering breaths passing through. Your mind was like a blaring alarm going off, not a sane thought could penetrate it. But then he closed his grip on your pussy, fingers slipping through your folds and feeling around the soft flesh that lie there.

“Y-ye-yes, sir,” was whispered, hoping it was enough.

You wanted to beg, you wanted to plead, to reason with the men, but you didn’t. You knew better than to tempt fate when that threat dangled in front of you. The threat you never wanted to hear again, the threat you knew was a promise of unforgiving pain.

Bucky walked up to the two of you, eyes shamelessly taking in every inch of your body, adding every curve, every strand of hair to memory. He bit his lip when he locked in on the hand still down your pants. He noticed the tremor of your body. Like a lonely leaf left on a branch. Beautiful.

Steve retracted his hands with a pleased smiling sigh, drawing a shaky breath from you when his touch finally left you. You closed your eyes. Defeated. Shamed.

Steve pulled you forward by the arm to get to the cuffs still locked safely in place. You would have stumbled, if not fallen completely to the floor, hadn’t he held on to you, steadying you, before releasing the cuffs and left you to your own devices. Both men took a few steps back, giving you some much needed space. Though you made no attempt to move away from them. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. Your body was gone. Completely gone. An empty vessel. There was nothing left. You just prayed for them to leave. Prayed for the screams around to be the biggest problem you had. You'd listen to the screaming for years if it would only undo what they had done.

Bucky dragged the heavy door open again, stepping out of the cell and leaving space for Steve to follow, both men sad to be leaving but they had work to do that didn't involve you. Steve slowly backed out, wanting to savour the last seconds in your presence like he was starved. Never once did you turn your head to look at any of them, tears flowing like a faucet turned on. They had, once again, chased you into a corner and watched you crumble with delight. That was as good a start to the day as any in their book.

“See you around, Jess,” Steve said when he was through the door, a beaming smile painted on his face that wouldn't go away any time soon.

With a quick glance back at the bed he had messed up, Bucky smirked at you and said, “Sleep tight.”

CHAPTER 14 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 2251

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death

You have been warned.

Chapter 14

-

A box. A box with grimy walls and sticky floor. A 10 by 10-foot cement box with nothing more than a toilet with a sink and a bed. And a blanket. At least you had a blanket.

People were screaming in the adjacent cells, shouting obscenities and damning the guards for putting them in this hellhole. The lonely florescent light in the ceiling was flickering endlessly, zapping like it was killing bugs with each flit. Cold, bright and loud. That’s what SHU is like.

Hours must have passed since that solid red door was shut, locking in place behind you. The guards taking you down to your new very humble abode hadn’t even commented on the cuts or bruises you had yet to clean, assuming you must have done something to deserve them. Maybe you had. Maybe you deserved everything that happened to you, and everything yet to come. After all, a man was dead at the hands of you. That couldn’t be changed, no matter how much you wished that it could. And apparently the circumstances of his death were trivial in the scheme of things.

You sat huddled in the corner, holding your knees as tightly as the ache in your ribs would allow, your constant crying making it no easier to try and breathe. You couldn’t find a single calm thought to grasp or hold onto for dear life, instead quickly drowning in the abyss of darkness of your own mind, haunted by the ghost that inhabited it.

FLASHBACK

“No, n-no, please. Nate, please,” you begged, your voice carrying pain and fear as you gulped in air.

He was stalking towards you, savoring every sweet, innocent plea falling from your mouth. No matter how much he hurt you, you never stopped begging. Never stopped pleading for him to have mercy, to, just please, don’t hurt you.

Sharp spikes of searing pain shot through your belly as you tried to move away from him, one hand firmly pressing down on the wound he had already caused. Warm blood was seeping through your fingers and slicking the floor beneath you, flowing out across the floorboards.

You moaned and cried. Even just the thought of any movement sent another sharp twang through your body.

Nate laughed, and kicked your leg to the side, drawing yet another whimper from you.

“Oh, dear,” he mocked, a grin plastered on his lips as he looked down. “Does it hurt?”

“Mmmph,” was all that came out in a shuddering breath. He laughed at you.

“What’s the matter? Cat’s got your tongue?” he said with a wink. “I think I can find a way to get you to speak. You might not like it, though.”

Nate took a step back, before hurling a hard foot right in your belly. Right at the blood.

“Agh!” you screamed, spitting blood as you fought to draw breath.

Mind-numbing pain blossomed in your abdomen, your ears ringing with the sound of white noise.

“Please…” you wheezed, shaking and shuddering.

The pain was burning you up from the inside, like a raging inferno. A raging inferno burning everything it came to touch.

But again, Nate just laughed. Amused by the pain, your pain, and the noises you made.

“Told you.”

END OF FLASHBACK

No, please, don’t go there. Not now. Not here. Not when there’s no place to run to, nothing to keep your attention or distract you. You needed to derail the train before you rammed yourself straight into that wall of crippling agony that was far too familiar. You were left with no alternative, fearing the mental and emotional pain more than the one you would subject yourself to in order to escape the others.

You lowered a leg down to the ground with an echoing groan, the pain horribly familiar to the one of getting kicked in the stomach after just being stabbed. As if the memory itself wasn’t bad enough, you just had to relive the physical pain as well, but it did what it was supposed to do, and grounded you in the now. The memory of Nate faded back into the blackness once more, when curious fingers caressed the sharp line of ribs underneath your shirt, testing what pressure they could take.

“Ugh… hah…” you rasped at the light touches.

Not a lot apparently. They must be mere millimeters from being broken.

Longing eyes watched the door in a silent pray for it to be opened again. To reveal salvation. To reveal anything. Anything but the dub grey or spotted metallic showering the room. At least there was the bright, sharp contrast of the door.

The red paint was flaked all over. Scratched. Flawed. The top was kept bright red, fading as it went down to the bottom where the underlying metal was bared, the upper part probably saved by its height. You couldn’t reach it. You doubted many of the inmates could. Even if they did, they probably wouldn’t hold the strength to scratch at the paint at that height.

There were inscriptions. Calls for help etched in the coating. Help. Save me. Kill me.

How long would it take for your mind to start spurring out ideas on how to save yourself? How to escape. A month? A week? A day perhaps? There’s no telling of just how dark your mind could get with so little. It’s like tapping on a broken window, or a cracked mirror, just waiting for the pieces to shatter apart. How hard would someone have to tap for your pieces to shatter? How long?

Tap, tap.

O.o.O.o.O

The rev of a motorcycle engine roared outside the window of their shared house. Bucky was stood leaning against the kitchen sink with his bare back to the window, a bowl of bran flakes in his hands. He had just gotten up, and Steve had apparently just gotten home. They both had the day off. Well, Steve had worked for several hours already, but he wasn’t due back to work for another couple of days, back on the dayshift again.

Steve parked his bike on the driveway next to Bucky’s and killed the engine. He didn’t take his bike that often, neither did Bucky, but when the weather was nice and he didn’t have to make a pitstop at Micky D’s or the local Wendy’s, he seized the opportunity.

“Mornin’,” Bucky mumbled through a mouthful as Steve walked in to the kitchen, throwing his jacket on the back of the nearest chair.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” Steve said, and sat down at the round table with a loud sigh.

He hated nightshifts when you weren’t there for him to tease and occupy his time with. It had been their fault that you weren’t in fact in the dorm where he roamed the nights, but still. He could nonetheless complain that it wasn’t any fun when you weren’t there. He’d had a taste of the thrills the shift could offer, but this? This plain, quiet, working in the dim lighting and trying to stay awake thing? That was just boring.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky said and spooned in another mouthful. “Restless night. Couldn’t get my mind off dear little Jessie, and what you might have gotten into bringing her down to SHU.”

Steve scoffed with a grin. Bucky waited a second before adding;

“Care to tell me? Does she look worse than when I last saw her?” Bucky asked with an equally wide smile.

“That she does,” Steve said drawn out.

“Oh, yeah? What you do?”

He shovelled another spoon into his mouth as he listened, curious to know what Steve had gotten up to.

Steve bit his lip, trying to contain his widening smile as he reminisced of your glorious downfall. Literally.

“She might have taken a tumble down the stairs.”

Bucky burst into laughter, almost spitting the milk out of his mouth. He dried his mouth with the back of his hand, and set down the almost empty bowl on the counter beside him.

“No shit! You didn’t?”

“I did,” Steve said proudly.

Bucky clapped his hands together in an impressed applaud.

“You’re worse than me, Steve.”

“Nah, it was a spur of the moment kind of thing. She was pissing me off with her excuses and all that.”

Steve got up to open the fridge and grabbed the prepared shake waiting for him, drinking straight from the jug. With the door still open as he did, which annoyed Bucky who was just in his underwear still, and not liking the cool breeze sweeping across the room. Luckily for Steve, he shut it quick enough not to earn a remark.

“Really?” Bucky said. “Still don’t know when to shut up, huh? Did you make her cry, too? ‘Cause all I got was begging. Not that I’m complaining, it’s so much hotter than I thought. Hearing her plead, and beg, and fucking whine like that. Fuck!” he exclaimed at the memory.

He hadn’t anticipated how good it would feel to be so hands on and in control. He was in control of all the inmates all the time, sure, but it wasn’t the same as it was with you. With you, there were no limits on what he could get up to, knowing Steve had his back and wanted the same things as he did; to get Nate some justice. With the other inmates there were more risks involved, and an honour code to uphold. With you, the risks were minimal, seeing no inmate was particular close to you (anymore), and most of them wanted nothing to do with you and frankly wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if something were to happen to you. The plans were unravelling splendidly.

“Oh, yeah? You should’ve heard her weeping and begging when she was lying on the bottom of the stairs. Hands still cuffed, completely helpless. Talk about a whining mess,” Steve snorted where he stood resting an arm over the Philco fridge and drink in his free hand, hearing every sound you had made echoing in his head.

How helpless you had been, how scared. And the look on your face when realization hit that you couldn’t do anything to stop him from doing what he wanted with you was beautiful in its sadness. No, not sadness. Submission. Nothing else.

Bucky scoffed at the remark and gratefully interrupted Steve’s thoughts, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee from the pot, taking the first steaming sip. He knew Steve wouldn’t want one so he didn’t offer. He never drank coffee before bed, and it was his bedtime after all.

“What?” he said surprised. “Still handcuffed? Damn, Rogers. You’re a meanie,” he said with a laugh into the cup.

“Don’t worry, it was like five steps left,” Steve said, and chucked the now empty container into the sink for Bucky to deal with whenever he decided to do the dishes. “She just did a nose-dive and landed awkwardly. All she got was a cut on her cheekbone, and probably some bruises here and there. She’ll live.”

Steve walked out of the kitchen with Bucky on his tail and into his bedroom to get out of his work clothes, and maybe take a shower and get the stench of prison off. He unbuckled his belt and stripped of his shirt and the tee underneath, throwing them both in the bin to be washed.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe to Steve’s room. Privacy wasn’t an issue in their house. There just wasn’t any.

“How do you think she’ll handle the SHU?” he asked and took a sip of the mug in his hand, equally unbothered by his friend’s upcoming nakedness as much as he was his own.

“Don’t know,” Steve said, and tossed his socks in the bin with the other items, left with just his pants on, the belt buckle clanking as he moved. “She seems... fragile. Might crack her.”

He didn’t linger on the thought though, instead opting for a more joyous approach, and finding your discomfort enjoyable more than anything else.

Bucky nodded at the thought. You were indeed very reserved already. Then add a few days, if not weeks, in a cement box with almost constant yelling and screaming going on around. It might do a number on your head, which didn’t seem like a foreign idea when it came to you.

He forced the thought away with a big gulp of hot coffee swimming in his mouth, drawing all the attention. All the while Steve stepped out of his pants, and made ready for the shower, and then the very tempting bed. He would only get a few hours of sleep if he was going to turn back his circadian rhythm, but he wanted them sooner rather than later.

“Well,” Bucky said, just as Steve made to pass him in the doorway. “If the alone time doesn’t crack her, we sure will.”

Steve snorted at the remark. They were both planning on grinding you down to the fucking bone, but Bucky’s confidence in the ordeal was amusing to say the least. The man could come up with the most ingenious ideas sometimes.

“Oh, yeah? Got big plans to achieve that?” he asked, and opened the door to the bathroom.

“I have a few ideas,” Bucky said cheerfully with a wink, then turned towards his bedroom to get ready for the day.

“You always do,” Steve agreed, before shutting the door to finally let the hot water wash away the last lingering doubts.

CHAPTER 13 of Blood Must Have Blood (AO3 links)

Links on tumblr; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12

Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…

What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?

Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader

Words: 4794

Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death

You have been warned.

Chapter 13

-

Blood splattered onto the porcelain, staining the cracked ivory with a blushing red. You rinsed the cut out in the sink in the somewhat quiet bathroom, dabbing it with damp pieces of paper to clean it. It stopped bleeding after a while, but the headache remained. The gash wasn’t too wide, you wouldn’t need stitches at least, so that was a relief. No way were you going to go down to medical for a small cut and a growing bruise, which was undoubtedly going to go through the entire Pride flag in colour before healing.

You met your reflection. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but still, the haunting look of pain in your eyes was always a tough pill to swallow. You hated seeing yourself like this; hurt, bruised and broken. ‘We haven’t even begun’. His words echoed in your mind, occupying all the space, hollowing you of anything other than fear and pain. There was no room left for anything else, just the comfort of familiar darkness. You knew how to live in this, how to survive in the drowning flood of suffering. You’d thought the death of your stepbrother had saved you from its swallowing depths, but now you were right back in it. Right. Fucking. In. It.

“Looks like someone got what was coming to them.”

Startled back into the present, you looked behind you through the reflection of the mirror and found Grease Hair looking at you from the doorway with a smirk, revealing her snaggly Gargamel teeth. You looked down, not wanting to be bothered, hearing how she snorted at your lack of response.

“What?” she said. “You only talk to COs?”

She came up and put her toilet paper and whatnot by the sink, checking her own reflection. How the mirror didn’t break was a mystery.

“I don’t talk to COs,” you said.

It came out slightly aggressive but you couldn’t care less.

She scoffed. “Yeah, right. Like we all don’t know how you let officer Rogers fuck you for treats. What? You some kind of pornstar or something?”

“What? No.”

“Oh, so you just manage to get one of the most handsome guards to fuck you, and risking his own, just because you’re, what? So fuckable? Please.”

Anger flared up, you couldn’t help it. You were almost vibrating with overrunning emotions, something was bound to surface. You turned to face her.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of twisted stories everyone’s been spreading about me, but I haven’t had sex with, or sucked off, or let any of the guards finger me for shit. I’m not that kind of girl, okay? It’s all bullshit.”

It came out a little meek but the anger persevered through your tone at least. You weren’t used to standing your ground, it never served you any good so you had very little practice in actually biting back.

Grease Hair turned her body towards you, amused by your outburst.

“So what? You’re a dyke?”

“Are those the options? Fuck a guard or an inmate? People can get through life, and prison, without the need to hump the first person they see, you know. It’s called self-restraint, look it up. If you can read.”

You forcefully shut off the faucet, grabbed the remainder of the toilet roll, and turned to leave. She didn’t say anything else, only snorting at your irate state, letting you storm out with what little power you had gained.

God, you hated being seen as a slut, or like the very haunting reminder on your body read; a whore. You weren’t interested in any man, and would never let another man touch you in your life if you could help it. So to be ridiculed and shamed like that just pushed you one step too far.

It had felt good to let off some of the steam that had been building up underneath, but whether it was wise or not was still unclear. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to piss off other inmates when they already had plenty of ‘reason’ so hate you, and you weren’t the only two in the bathroom. But, like they say; in for a penny, in for a pound. It didn’t matter that it hadn’t been you who put that penny in the pot in the first place. Officer Rogers, Steve you’d learned, had gladly thrown that penny in there. Whether you wanted to or not, you were stuck in the game now. And like officer Barnes had so kindly pointed out; the inmates weren’t your biggest problem.

O.o.O.o.O

“Can’t I do it?” Bucky asked Steve with a gleam, as they patrolled the yard in the afternoon.

Bucky had been assigned to watch the yard along with CO Bennet since lunch, before Steve replaced him and joined his friend in the early afternoon, so he hadn’t seen you since the morning. He had zero doubts of your attendance in the cafeteria though, not after his little reminder in the laundry room earlier. He relived the moment in his head over and over.

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” Steve said.

Bucky shouldn’t complain. Steve had yet to see you at all today, the only juicy thing he’d gotten was Bucky telling him every single detail of his own encounter with you. It made Steve feel like he should have been rougher with you last night, and not just given you a nudge. This was his time to get his hands dirty.

“You’ve already had your chance, now it’s my turn,” he said, earning what could only be described as a pout from Bucky.

“What? I thought we were gonna share. Not in a sharing mood, huh, Stevie?”

Bucky nudged his friend with his shoulder as they continued walking the perimeter, managing to get at least a huff of a smile out of the man.

“We are sharing, but you grabbed a hell of a big piece already. I only pushed her, you drew blood. This is my time.”

Bucky laughed loudly. “Someone’s pouting. Alright, how ‘bout this? We both do the search, but you get to rough her up a bit? Come on, Steve. You know we have to hand her over, we’re not gonna see her for a while. And you had all night to mess with her, it’s not my fault you didn’t do more. You can’t shut me out on this.”

Steve contemplated what he said, knowing deep down that Bucky was right. It wasn’t fair of him to try and hog you when it was the last chance to get to you for a while. Bucky was still working for a few days before Steve was coming back to the dayshift, and he had been nice enough to promise not to pay you a visit in the meantime.

“Alright, we’ll see how it plays out,” Steve said after a while with a sigh. “But I cuff her.”

Bucky grinned. Apparently not even having you all to himself during the entire night had quenched Steve’s thirst. He had the chance to mess with you all he wanted, it wasn’t Bucky’s fault that he hadn’t seized the opportunity. But he could give him this win. It was only fair.

“Fair enough,” he said, knowing he might not even get the chance to mess up your bunk, but it was better to live off of hope than nothing at all. “Go easy on her though. Can’t get too rough in front of the entire gen pop.”

Steve gave an irritated sigh. He hated when Bucky spoke to him like he was a child.

“I know, Buck. I’m not gonna bash her head in right then and there. I’m not you,” he added jokingly.

“I’m just saying, you’re built like a brickhouse. I know what you plan on doing, and the takedown alone could fucking shatter her.”

He couldn’t finish the sentence without bursting into laughter. Steve no better, chuckling as he spoke.

“If that’s the case, the future does not look bright for our dear Jessabelle Jane Harper.”

O.o.O.o.O

A few hours were left until dinner, another meal you doubted you would get to enjoy, your stomach growling in agreement. And your commissary hadn’t come in yet so you were left to endure. You spent the time like you always did; sitting on your bed with the hyperawareness of a ninja. Just without the whole ninja-y part. So, more like a scared little puppy ready to tuck tail and run should an altercation come your way.

Luckily, most inmates spent this quite nice day outside or in the common room playing music and having neck to neck scrabble battles, leaving the dorm as quiet as you’d expect it ever could be during the day. You leaned your head back against the wall and closed your eyes, eyelids heavy with exhaustion, your head throbbing like it had been stomped on by a horse. Or a hundred horses, hard to tell. Your ears were still vigilant but no one stepped foot inside your cube, thankfully. It provided some rest, but not nearly enough.

An hour or so passed before the inhabitants of the dorm came back in time for count, followed by officer Barnes and Rogers. Great. You suspected your cube would once again look like an earthquake had gotten to it.

You went to stand outside your cube as always, getting side-eyed by several of the inmates. Some, if not most, smiled when they saw the angry cut and bruise spreading across your forehead. In their mind you had gotten what you deserved, assumingly by some rouge inmate daring to step up in a corner somewhere, none suspecting it to be dealt by the hands of a guard. No, you got cozy with them, they had no reason to hurt you. If only that were true.

“Stand for search,” officer Rogers said, his voice resonating through the room where he stood just by the bubble at the front of the dorm, officer Barnes at his side.

The inmates stood obediently where they should, waiting for the checks to be done so they could head over to the cafeteria for dinner.

“Search time, ladies” officer Barnes said joyfully.

He stepped up to the first cube on the opposite side of you, looking at the inmates there. Only a few even bothered to look like they were even listening to what the officer was saying, having heard it all more than a few times already.

“This is a mandatory bunk inspection. I need to thoroughly search your cubicle for contraband.” He then turned to speak to the rest of the room. “That goes for all of you. I’m not gonna repeat myself for every fucking cube. You know the drill.”

With that said, both COs started trashing and messing up the bunks like it was a demolition site where no rules applied, items and clothing flying all over the place. They spared no mind for the clean-up afterwards. Their mess, sure, just not their problem.

The clanking and banging made your head hurt even worse, making you cringe at every sound. You should have taken an aspirin or something, if you could find one. They sold them at commissary so... that didn’t help. You were, once again, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Might as well take up residency.

CO Rogers stepped out from the cube next to yours, the inmates there going back inside to clean it up. He went over to you, eyeing the cut above your brow with a brow of his own raised in wonder. You figured he already knew who had put it there. The officers didn’t seem to be late to share any news on you. He was most likely just impressed by it.

Officer Rogers didn’t spare you a second look before he started demolishing your bunk. Clothes were torn from the hooks, your locker was emptied with a crash of everything scattering across the floor, your bedding turned upright. You looked away. You already knew the awaiting mess he would undoubtedly cause, you didn’t need to see it done.

“What have we here?” you heard the officer say.

You looked back, finding him standing by the small windowsill where the toilet paper was kept, with a lighter in his hands. What? That wasn’t yours! Did––Did he plant that?

“Wh––That’s not––” you started to defend yourself, but the officer ignored you.

“Hey, Bucky! Come here.”

Your head shot over to the approaching officer (apparently Barnes’ first name was Bucky, despite the J stitched on his shirt), a shiver running down your spine at the sight of his smirk. Shit! Shit, shit, shit.

“What you find?” he asked when he stepped into the cube, walking all over your pillow and kicking things around.

You payed close attention to their conversation.

“A lighter.”

“Oh, shit,” Barnes said. “That’s illegal contraband, isn’t it, Steve?” he said mockingly.

“Sure is,” Rogers said, handing it over to his fellow officer.

You didn’t miss the way they smiled at each other, both knowing that it wasn’t your lighter, and that you hadn’t brought it in there in the first place. They were setting you up again. For what? Another shot? More hate from the inmates?

Officer Rogers looked over at you where you stood shaking like a leaf, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights when he met your gaze. Oh, how precious.

“Hands behind your back, Harper,” he said, and started walking towards you.

“What? But... But I haven’t––” Oh, how he hoped you would say that.

“Get down on the ground, inmate,” he said sternly, steps eating up the floor as he stalked towards you.

You couldn’t help but take a flinching step back, fearing the anger radiating off of him. Your body was screaming for you to run. But he was faster than you.

Steve took one final step to reach you, and with a bruising grip on your upper arm, shoved you to the floor with more force than necessary. You managed to turn your head just in time to not let the already injured side connect with the floor, but you couldn’t avoid the pain shooting through your body at the harsh impact, for the second time that day.

“Ugh!”

The officer was on you before you could bat an eye, a hard knee burrowing into your back to keep you down as he removed the cuffs from his belt. He was surprisingly agile for his size, easily keeping you pinned beneath him.

“I said, hands behind your fucking back,” he barked, as he grabbed your hands to move them where he wanted, pulling and twisting despite you not struggling.

He made sure to purposely grip your wrists harder than he needed to, making your skin burn like his fingers were needles, as he tightened the cold steel more than enough to secure them.

The other inmates smiled and cheered quietly at the rough takedown, almost rejoicing as pained grunts left you when the officer manhandled you. You didn't acknowledge their joy, knowing their presence wouldn't change a thing in the officer's handling, as predicted.

“Ah! Please, sir! It’s not mine,” you pleaded, being ignored per usual.

Instead, he grabbed your shoulder with yet another bruising grip and hauled you up on your feet, roughly turning you towards the door, a firm hand leading you by the arm.

You spared the other officer, Bucky, a look, finding him ripping pages from the few books you had, raising an expecting eyebrow at you when he noticed you watching, almost daring you to speak up or complain. He smirked at the sight of you being pushed and shoved forward by Steve, enjoying the sweet sounds escaping your lips in pained grunts.

“Please, sir, I–”

“Mouth shut, eyes forward,” officer Rogers interrupted.

With his free hand, he grabbed the intercom resting on his shoulder and spoke into it.

“This is Rogers, requesting backup for a search in B-dorm. Escorting inmate Harper to seg, confiscated contraband left with Barnes. Copy?”

What? Seg? As in segregated housing? As in solitary? No! No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. This isn’t happening! You haven’t done anything wrong, the officers knew that. Surely they can’t treat you this way, they can’t just lock you up in solitary confinement as a ruse. Right?

A voice came through the radio, affirming the call and added a ‘good job’ for measure. Yeah, the officer had done an awesome job...

Officer Rogers walked out of the dorm and left his partner with the remaining inmates until backup showed, leading you down the maze of corridors going god-knows-where. His grip was growing unforgiving at this point, fingers digging into your skin and muscles, undoubtedly leaving bruises in their wake.

“Sir, please,” you begged. “Please don’t do this. That’s not my lighter, you know that.” He tugged your arm roughly at the mention. “Ah!”

You whimpered and cried, his grip becoming too much to bear. The cuffs were digging into your skin, cutting off the circulation.

“I’m sure they’ll believe an inmate over an officer,” Steve said scornfully. “Especially one with several shots already, proving her insubordinate attitude.”

You knew why they were doing it, why they were so set on punishing you. Though you didn’t know what Nate had told them, or what details he had twisted to fit his story, you did know they believed it, without a doubt. Maybe if they knew the real truth they’d think differently.

“Please, I haven’t done the things you think I have, you’ve got it all wrong. You don’t know what Nate did to me. You didn’t know him!”

The officer stopped in the middle of the vacant stairs you had begun to descend, pushing you hard up against the wall. He was looming over you, a whole head taller. You tried pulling at your cuffs to raise your hands but they wouldn’t budge. You were left feeling exposed and defenceless with nothing to shield your body from harm should he try to hurt you.

“Tell me again how wrong I am, Harper,” he spat out in an tense voice, making you recoil as much as his strong hold would allow, which wasn’t much.

You tried to find your words, but your tongue felt foreign in your mouth, sticking to the roof of it, catching on teeth. Your jaw trembled as you found your voice, barely more than a whisper, shaky and quivering, but better than silence. You knew it was stupid to push, but you had to try.

“I didn’t mean to kill him, I swear. It was an accident.” Steve sighed, irritated at your lack of judgment. “He hurt me, he tried to–– Ah!”

Not wanting to hear another word come out of your mouth, Steve pushed you down the rest of the remaining steps, watching you tumble and sag at the bottom. It wasn’t a fall long or hard enough to do any real or lasting damage, he wasn’t homicidal after all, he just wanted you to hurt. And with no chance of breaking your fall, he knew you’d be battered and bruised at the end of it.

Your body shuddered with sobs, whimpers and whines echoing through the stairwell as you cried. Your shoulder hurt, your ribs hurt, your hip, everything. And your head had been a soft, fluffy pillow before compared to now.

“Ugh...”

Breathing hurt as you tried to get a knee underneath you and maybe be able to stand, but found that you couldn’t raise it high enough without a sharp pang rushing up through your side. Your ribs had definitely taken a beating.

Steve beheld the sight before him, shamelessly basking in the whimpers and groans flying freely. His jaw ticked, his brows furrowed. God, how he hoped he’d drawn blood. He unhurriedly walked down the rest of the way and stepped over your timid frame, eyeing the snug cuffs keeping your hands tied together. He crouched down before you, resting his elbows on his knees. You slowly lifted your head with a pained whimper to look up at him, blood dripping from both the old cut, and a new one on the opposite cheek.

Steve exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Tell me again how wrong I am.”

Tears streamed down your face as you crumpled under his gaze. You cried shamelessly, breath hissing at the strain. You reckoned at least a few ribs were cracked, if not broken.

How could this happen? How could you be in this mess? How could you be lying face first at the bottom of a staircase, with blood dripping from your face and bruises forming on your skin, again? Nate was dead! This wasn’t supposed to ever happen again, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You didn’t deserve any of this. Did you?

Whenever you tried to defend yourself, they hurt you. Whenever you said nothing at all, they hurt you. It seemed no matter what you did, no matter what choices you made, trying to make the right one, they hurt you. If only they knew. If only they would listen.

Steve waited for a response, anything besides the pathetic cries and sobs coming from you, but none came. You just shook, trembled. Probably from both pain and fear. As you should.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Steve said, and hauled you up.

He slammed you not so carefully against the wall to keep you on your feet, holding you there, your knees threatening to give out at any second should he let you go. You coughed and moaned, trying to find your breath again, but yet another hard slam to your back made it more difficult than finding a drink of water in the Sahara.

"Uh!"

You met the officer’s cold, steely eyes, finding them surprisingly patient. You looked down almost immediately, fearing that might change any second if you didn’t.

Steve followed a trickle of blood slowly making its way from your cheek down your throat, staining the neck of the white undershirt you had on, fading to a soft crimson. He noticed the rapid flutter of your pulse at the side of your neck, beating like it was trying to burst free. He could almost hear your heartbeat drumming in your chest.

“Now,” he said, startling you. “Are we clear on the power dynamic here, or do I have to make myself even clearer?”

“Please...” you begged weakly, sniffling, but you were rewarded with another shove into the wall. “Uh!”

Steve bared his teeth, leaning in close. “Do I?”

“No! No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you say, sir, just, please...” your voice broke, shattering like glass. “Please, don’t hurt me...”

Sobs shook your body again, tears like rain on your cheeks, hitting the floor as you lowered your head in a silent pray for the man to show mercy. You wanted nothing more than to cover your face and cry in the corner, but you couldn’t. Instead you were trapped against the wall, held there by the same man who had just purposely pushed you down half a flight of stairs, just because he wanted to.

Steve observed your crying, cowering form, wanting so bad to get away, to get somewhere safe. Away from him. His fingers sunk deeper into your arms, drawing more gasps and whines from you.

“But hurting you is half the fun,” he said as his smiled widened. “The other half is watching you whimper, and whine, and beg for me not to. So you see, it makes no sense not to hurt you. If anything, I should hurt you even more.”

He moved back, just a little, enough to make you think he might take a swing at you, or shove you down the upcoming flight of stairs.

“No! Please, no,” you begged.

Steve furrowed his brows in makeshift wonder.

“But I thought you said you’d do anything?”

You didn’t know what to say. Sure, you had said that, but you didn’t want to give in. You didn’t want to hurt anymore. But it was becoming evident that there was no stopping it, no stopping them from causing you pain. Not if they wanted to. And they did.

So you leaned your head back, practically offering your face as a canvas for him to paint with your own blood. You submitted.

He watched you close your eyes for a second, preparing yourself for the whatever might come next. He watched a solemn tear leave your eye and mingle with the trail of blood already running down your face, before slowly reopening your eyes again, only to turn them away.

Steve felt a tinge of sadness mixed with the joy of victory, or dominance perhaps, but he shoved that so far down he doubted he would ever feel it again. He had you cornered, right where he wanted. His to do what he pleases with. And that was enough. Just the triumphant glory of knowing he was the one to beat you into that corner. Now you could wallow in it.

You were shocked when instead of being punched, or kicked, or shoved, you were dragged away by the arm yet again, staggeringly descending the remainder of steps, relying just a little too much on Steve to keep you from falling. But you suspected that if he wanted you to fall, you would, no matter how steady your feet were.

You arrived at the back of the prison, a loading dock of some sort. A van was parked on the other side of one of the many fences, motor already running and inmate Morello sitting in the driver’s seat. There was another guard, officer Bennett, standing by the side door awaiting you. Steve walked you over with bigger steps than he knew you could comfortably follow.

Steve nodded his head at the other guard.

“Bennett,” he said and halted, keeping you close to his side.

CO Bennett opened the van door, allowing Rogers to all but lift you up by your arm and shoving you in. You just managed to catch yourself from falling embarrassingly on your side. Morello gave you a worried look when you noticed her, but you looked away. You’d had enough of people being on your case for one day. Thankfully, she didn’t say anything. She just upped the volume on whatever station she was listening to, ignoring the tension.

“What happened?” Bennett asked, and motioned to his own face while nodding his head to the side at you.

“Oh,” Steve said and flailed his hands like he couldn’t believe your clumsiness. “She took a nasty fall down the stairs. Don’t worry, though. She won’t need a medic. She can just... wash off when she gets to the SHU.”

You blinked away tears. Not only at the reminder of where you were going, whatever kind of hellhole it might be, but at the clear disregard of your wellbeing. Your ribs hurt enough to tell-tale of at least cracks and bruising, your cheek was still seeping some blood, and your head hurt enough it made your ears ring. But no, sure, you didn’t need medical. Though, even if the offer was to be on the table, you doubted you would accept it. Sometimes trying to heal injuries just resulted in more and worse injuries. No one liked a snitch, right?

"Sure she's not concussed?" Bennett asked, looking worringly at the wound on your forehead.

"She's fine, it's just a small scrape," Steve said, smiling tensly.

“If you say so,” Bennett said, dragging the door to a close.

You looked at officer Rogers through the barred window, catching a glimpse of his smile, distorted through the glass. You swallowed down a clot of bloody saliva.

CO Bennet got in the van, closing his door without another word to his fellow officer, or another look back at you where you sat, still cuffed and no seatbelt on. Not like it mattered. A car crash sounded almost inviting at this point. You just hoped Morello would gain enough momentum to have you crash through the windshield and splatter like a bug on the pavement.

The van drove off and through the labyrinth of roads leading down the hill. You had no idea what awaited you. Would it be dark? Light? Cold and damp? Would you still be able to hear people talk, exist, even if there was a hundred feet of concrete separating you? Cuts and bruises weren’t the worst thing imaginable. Pain, physical pain, you could handle. But the mental, emotional pain was unbearable when left to its own device. And you were about to be locked in a box, with no way of escaping yourself.