#their sort of lost listless idle animations....

[thanatika]

guy who paces

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Painted Windows 6

Warnings: violence, trauma, allusions to abuse and noncon, isolation, torture, further tags to be added.

This is dark!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You struggle to make sense of your captivity.

Note: Alright so we’re seeing things amp up and I hope you all enjoy it. I have up to part 8 planned out and then brainstorming the rest lol. I honestly don’t know what this series is. I always appreciate you and thanks for all your patience. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Day fourteen. Two weeks. Two whole weeks of the interminable routine. Wake up; if you slept at all, breakfast, lunch, dinner; sometimes alone, sometimes not. In between, you opened your notebook, or watched television, or walked around in circles until you were dizzy. Other times, you did nothing at all and wondered at the principles of time.

Bucky was no different. Mercurial, albeit amenable since his little victory. Since your acceptance; your surrender, had become obvious. You were quiet, not that you had been eager for conversation before, and listless. You hadn’t had a purpose in years, no hopes, no ambitions, but something about this place felt so final.

That day, the door finally budged after lunch. You watched it fall open and listened to the grunts that announced your visitor. Bucky dragged in a box almost as big as himself. He dropped it in between the bed and table. He turned and closed the door before he knelt beside the large package.

“You wanna help?” He asked as he tore open the box. 

Several metal parts, a small screen, a seat, nuts, bolts, a screwdriver; everything you needed to piece together the stationary bike. You were stunned that he remembered. A passing comment about your inactivity; cramped legs and an impenetrable restlessness. You neared and stood on the other side of the box.

“If you want me to,” You answered.

“Are you busy?” He asked dryly.

“Never,” You dropped to your knees and helped him unwrap the contents.

You took the instructions and sat back on your heels. You search for Part A among the mess. You grabbed it and the other part listed in the first step and slid them over to Bucky. 

“You need one of the flat-topped screws it says.” You read carefully.

He considered you above the thin booklet. “Alright.”

You carried on as such. You read out the steps and helped sort through the pieces and he screwed them together. Almost an hour before you finished. A silver exercise cycle was your prize. You couldn’t help but be excited.

“There,” He stood and gathered up the packaging. “It should keep you busy; fit.”

“Thank you,” You touched the handlebar and walked around it.

“Well, go on,” He neared the door. “I’ll be back for dinner.” He opened the door and glanced back at you. “I can order something. You like Chinese?”

“All the way out here?” You peeked over at the window.

“Yes, all the way out here,” He grumbled. “Might be a bit cold but that never killed anyone.”

“Sure,” You shrugged. “Chinese is fine.”

He left. That was what you hated. The acquiescence. It was so easy to treat his control as courtesy. This wasn’t truly to make you happy, only to appease you. To make your captivity easier for him; not for you. You huffed and climbed up on the bike. You adjusted the resistance and pedalled as you lost yourself in thought.

You went until you were out of breath and achy. You slipped down onto your feet and ambled over to bed as you yawned. It was the most exercise you’d had in… well, you were still trying to figure out that math. 

You sprawled out and clicked on the television. Your latest addiction was a comedy about an office. It made you wonder where you’d be if you hadn’t ended up in the cell. Would you be at a desk wiling away the time staring at a computer? Or maybe you’d be a teacher or librarian. You liked animals; you could’ve been a vet.

You let yourself melt into the pillows and soon your eyes closed under their sudden weight. You fell asleep with the buzz of dialogue in your ears; the words vaguely familiar to your idle brain. Your snores rose too and mingled with the steady drone. You rolled over onto your side as you began to rouse and shadow passed through the slit of your eyelids.

Your eyes fluttered open through the haze of your unexpected nap. You looked at the table; a big white bag pulled taut over several cartons, beside it, a familiar set of pages laid open beneath a metal hand and you followed the arm to its owner. Your heart leaped and you sat up as Bucky pored over your journal. He didn’t seem to notice you as he was so wrapped up in the words. Your words. Private words. Secret thoughts.

You hurried across the bed and stormed over to him. You tried to wrench the book from beneath his hand but his grasp was stronger than yours. He merely looked over at you and ripped the notebook free. He held it away from you as he blocked you with his other arm.

“You can’t--” You slapped his arm. “How could you read that? It’s mine. You…. you…”

“You started writing,” He said plainly as he closed the book in his hand and set it down. “That’s good.”

“Why would you read it?” Your voice was brittle as you pushed away from him. “Why? It’s not for you.”

“Sit. The food’s going to get cold,” He gestured to the other chair. 

You frowned and he cleared his throat. You dragged yourself to the chair and sat heavily. You stared at the notebook. He untied the plastic bag and began to unpack the cartons one at a time. You were livid and speechless. Worse, you were helpless. He would always win. 

He rose and got two plates from the cupboard. He set them out and grabbed a carton. 

“Rice?” He asked. You ignored him and crossed your arms. “Noodles?”

You reached out and slid a plate in front of you. “I can serve myself.” You snarled. “You might think I’m weak but I wouldn’t be alive if that was true.”

He chuckled and spooned out rice onto his own plate. “Sure,” He scoffed as he set it aside and grabbed the box of veggies. 

You scowled and scooped out some noodles and waited for the veggies. You only took a little of the chicken and sat back with arms crossed. The food smelled great but you just couldn’t focus on the faint tickle in your stomach. You were angry. For the first time, you weren’t scared or sad or sickened, you were absolutely enraged.

He lowered himself into the other chair and started to eat. You watched him with a sneer. You recalled he said he knew what you felt because he had been kept once. It sure didn’t seem like it. It seemed like he was an expert at keeping others. His empathy was nothing more than manipulation. You dropped your arms and fiddled with your fork but didn’t use it.

“Why don’t you write about… before?” He swallowed. 

“What?” You spat.

“You write about the cell, about what they did to you,” He shifted in his chair, “But not about what came before. Your home, family… your life?”

You looked away embarrassed. You twirled a load of noodles around your fork and shoved them in your mouth to avoid answering. You chewed as he watched. As you took another bite, he dropped his fork and grabbed the notebook. You froze and watched as he flipped it open.

‘The man who came most often was tall but skinny. Still, he was cruel and too strong for me. I remember the first time he visited. It hurt and every time after, it did as well. It wasn’t just sex though. He would take out this little folding knife and draw lines down my stomach as he used me. Or he would choke me until I passed out. One time, he held my head in the toilet and I thought I would drown.

But I dreamt of that knife. I still do. I thought of how to steal it from him so that I could use it myself. So that I could finish the job he always left half done.’

Bucky closed the book and reached across to place it beside your plate. You were stunned as you gulped down the noodles and stared into his eyes. They were as dark as that night he returned. Savage and resolute. You shivered and looked down at the notebook.

“Do you miss the man with the knife?” He asked.

You shook your head but couldn’t look at him. Your chest knotted and you let your fork fall against the plate. You twined your fingers in your lap and bit your lip.

“But you write about him?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You whispered.

“Why do you write about those men and not your family?”

“Because…” You croaked and meekly looked up across at him. “Because I can remember those men. I can’t…” Your voice trailed off and you lowered your chin again. “Please, I can’t--”

He was silent. You stewed in the tension as you fought to hold back the tears. You pressed a hand to your stomach as you hunched in the chair. There were scars still; you ignored them as you passed by the mirror before your showers. Your cheeks twitched as you resisted the sob caught in your throat.

You sensed movement and your eyes were drawn across to the other side of the table. You made sure not to move your head as you watched along the edge of your vision. You could see Bucky’s arms as it disappeared below the table. You could tell his hand was moving in his lap, slowly. His breaths rasped and he suddenly seemed to recall himself. His hand came up and gripped the edge of the table.

“You should eat.” He said. 

“I’m not very hungry,” You lied.

He sighed and his fingers tapped on the table. “You know I can tell when you’re lying. I was trained to. It’s part of my job.” He grabbed his fork again and stabbed a piece of broccoli. “Among other things.”

You sat up at the foreboding in his words. You stared at him and he stared back. He chewed and nodded to your plate. 

“Go on.” He jabbed his fork towards your plate. “Eat.”

Bucky didn’t leave after dinner as he usually did. You cleaned up to keep yourself busy and ignored him as you hit play on the television and balled yourself up against the pillows. He lingered at the table but rose as the second episode began. He kicked off his boots and climbed up next to you. He said nothing as he watched the screen. His arm touched yours but he only sat with you.

He slumped down and began to snore several episodes in and you glanced over at him startled. You crawled off the other side of the bed as you kept your eyes on him. He didn’t wake, didn’t move. You left the television on as you tiptoed around the bed. You went to the washroom and closed the door behind you. There was no clasp to lock it.

You went to the tub and pulled the curtain across the bar. You laid down across the porcelain with your arm beneath your head. It was cold like your cell. Your heart slowly petered out and the pounding retreated from your ears. You closed your eyes and you were back behind the concrete walls. Waiting.

But your mind wouldn’t stay behind the bars. It slipped past them and returned to the padded room. To the table where the metal armed man sat, hand in his lap as he bent over your scribbled memories. You bit down on the heel of your hand and tears leaked down your nose and temple.

You wept until you fell asleep. Until the memories turned to nightmares; though they were barely dissimilar. Only your visitor differed. The shadow at the bars; broad shoulders, rifle, shining arm, hair to his shoulders. He kicked in the door but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t shield yourself from the new monster creeping through the dark.

Bucky stood over you as he set aside the rifle. You followed the barrel’s nuzzle with your eyes longingly. Your small cot trembled as he climbed over you. You were naked against his bloody leather jacket. The zippers and buckles cut into your skin as his metal fingers wrapped around your throat. You peered up into his eyes; blue like the ocean and just as endless..

You were woke by the sound of the rings sliding across the bar above. You looked up as Bucky stood by the tub and stared down at you. You shielded your eyes from the bright bulbs above the sink. He knelt and tilted his head as you crossed your arms over your chest and drew your legs up.

“What are you doing in here?” He asked. You shrugged. “Come on.” He grumbled and grabbed your arm. 

He pulled you until you stood. He forced you to step out of the tub and back into the bedroom. The sky outside had begun to lighten. He guided you to the bed and turned you to him. His hands rested on your shoulders and he pushed until you sat on the mattress. He frowned at your reluctance.

“Sleep,” He ordered as he drew away and bent to grab his boots. “I’ll be back at noon.”

You didn’t say anything as he crossed the room. You didn’t move even after he was gone. You just sat there on the edge of the bed. You closed your eyes and saw his again; the depths of terror. You quaked and balled your fists around the blankets. How long could he restrain the monster within? He was no different from your former wardens and this was no different from that frigid cell. It was all just as hopeless.