SAWYERANDSAYID SAWYERANDSAYID I NEED THEM TOGETHER I AEQGHFONWHFKF PLEASE GOD ENEMIES TO LOVERS TOXIC TRAPPED ON AN ISLAND WITH 2004 PREJUDICES YAOI I NEEEEEEED IT GOD AND the thing that I have nobody to blame for but which tears at my soul in a most painifying fashion is I HAVE TO BLOCK ALL TAGS AND WALL MYSELF AWAY LIKE A CHASTE MONK SECLUDED FROM FANART AND MY KINSPEOPLE DUE TO THE TERRIBLE PLAGUE KNOWN AS "SPOILERS" WHICH HAS RAVAGED MY KINGDOM MANY A YEAR PASST
A/N: My first request! I was initially gonna just post a preview but I finished Chapter one so I just decided to post it. First chapter is really just and intro to get to know reader's backstory, also Bucky doesn't show up yet. The next chapter will hopefully have some more. But I'm happy how it turned out so I hope you guys like it!
Warnings: PTSD Elements, References to captivity/trauma, Mild anxiety/panic attack symptoms, Implied medical experimentation, Tension and Distrust. Use of Y/N. NOT PROOFREAD! Bucky doesn't show up yet sorry! • ᴖ •
Pairings: Bucky x Reader
Word Count: 4k
Pt. 2
People say memories fade. But they don’t. They stay, lying, waiting to resurface.
The room was cold and dry, the kind of air that slowly settles into your skin, makes your shoulders stiffen, and leaves a faint ghost-like touch across your body. The hum of fluorescent lights gives you a dizzying headache. The throbbing continuously boring into the back of your head. What made it worse was that the room was a dust magnet. It looked like a place that’s been shut too long, until every breath of it felt like you were stepping into an old building. Just like the dust, the silence weighed heavy. They hadn’t tried to make it feel welcoming — the walls were bare, the bed too narrow, the air seemed to smell strangely of bleach. No care put into a room for a supposed ‘Recovery Center’. Still, it was better than some of the rooms you’d seen on the way in. You weren't a long-term patient; hell, you weren't even sure you’d stay longer than a few days. You just had to come here to get it over with, the longer you stayed silent the longer it came back the gnawing feeling of dread, staying in silence too long would bring back the memories you fought to suppress. You told yourself you wouldn’t need this place for months on end, that you could live with the constant nightmares. Believing that if you didn’t bring it up the memories would be too far buried in the back of your subconscious. Too far to hurt you. But the longer you kept silent the longer you sat and thought the worse they got. The truth was it was eating you alive, You sat in front of the computer for hours before you finally decided to press the information link, you found out that the S.H.I.E.L.D recovery center for Hydra ‘assets’ was a good 2 hour drive west of downtown far out enough the not arise any suspicion. You hated it here. They clearly didn’t make much of an effort to keep their ‘patients’ comfortable here, that much was obvious. Even when being escorted the man made sure to avoid any eye contact and only spoke once to call your name. It didn’t matter you weren’t here for comfort, you were here for release. Maybe after getting everything off your chest you’d finally be able to lead a normal life. You nearly scoffed at the idea. The constant fear of being found out, the trauma, memories of what they’d done, everything you lost. Your life would never be the same, let alone normal.
The thought twisted in your chest, leaving you staring at the blank wall opposite the bed, lost in the noise of your own head. You almost didn’t hear the faint knock at the door — three short taps, hesitant, as if whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure they should be here. Before you could answer, the handle turned.
You recognized the face that stepped inside. How could you not — the face of the blonde man before you had been drilled into your mind for years. His name had been through all sorts of conversations spit on, praised, dragged through the mud, spoken of so highly it deserved its own mantel. But above all it was the ideal, they wouldn’t accept anything less. Hydra made sure of that. Captain America was their golden standard, their original miracle. Every injection, every test, every grueling, torturous training session came with his name thrown in your face, a constant reminder of what you were supposed to become. He was the benchmark, the impossible shadow to live under along with their other ghost. Their perfect soldier, their obedient killing machine. You were meant to be his partner, his underling taking care of tasks they couldn’t risk sending their precious creation on. You were essentially just expendable. Even once you were “free,” you couldn’t escape him. The golden boy you were meant to live up too. News reports, history books, museum walls — his face followed you everywhere.
As he stepped inside, his presence filled the sterile room like a sudden shift in air pressure. One thing they didn’t lie about was the way he carried himself they’d tarnish and slur how proudly he presented himself ‘The perfect American soldier’ the symbol of patriotism. You hated when these conversations would arise because in the end you’d be the one hurt as if taking out their anger on you.
The door shut with a click and a hiss of the heavy locks. He didn’t speak right away. He shot a quick glance to the mirror in the room. No doubt someone watching from behind.
He finally broke the silence. “You didn’t provide any documentation when you arrived. I’d like for us to introduce ourselves to make you feel more comfortable sharing with me what you know. But I don’t even know your name.” His voice was calm, steady, nothing like the Hydra scientists who used words as weapons.
You were sure to find a way to get an appointment with Steve Rogers himself, if you provided a false name and documentation you’d surely be flagged by their system and wouldn’t even be eligible. You used what little knowledge of bypassing security systems to knock down a patient and file yourself in. The screen still showed the patients information except they’d receive a convenient email saying that they’d been rescheduled for admission another day. Which is where you appeared in their place.
Thankfully the receptionist who signed you in really seemed to hate her job so she barely made the effort to skim over your report to ensure that you matched the description and appearance of the patient scheduled. You didn’t care, whatever got you through.
But it was now clear that you’d been found out.
“So you clearly had an urgent reason to be here so if you could tell me who you are we can talk” He continued, keeping his voice neutral still standing near the table
You stayed silent, the weight of your past pressing down too hard to find the right words. You knew that whoever was behind the glass would absolutely search for your profile. But you didn’t care anymore. Let them know who you are. They’ll see that your valuable and maybe.. Hopefully keep you safe from any certain someone looking for you. After what felt like an eternity, you whispered, “Y/N”
He watched you speak. Keeping his calmed composure. When he was told someone had bypassed their patient list. He was sure it was the work of some expert extremist group who had ties to Hydra. But when he found you sitting knees tucked to your chest sitting at the small in the middle of the room, he knew he needed to go in with and open mind. Fury had told him he should be cautious but something about the way you sat silently with eyes as expressionless as a veteran who’d watched people die around him. He knew what survivors guilt looked like, just one look at you and he could see it practically oozing out of every pore. He nodded slowly, the name hanging between the two of you like fragile glass. “Thank you, so … You clearly have something you think is important enough that you need to share it with me.”
Your throat tightened instantly, like invisible hands clenching, cutting off your breath. You opened your mouth
“I-.. I’ve” You spoke with a shaky breath as if a ghost was stopping your voice from escaping. deep breaths, take your time ..
“I was a Hydra experiment” As soon as the words escaped you saw sterile rooms, injections upon injection, every needle pierced your flesh accompanied by an unkindly burning sensation. Tests upon tests.
“They.. I was a soldier, but I wasn’t. Supposed to be. I’m a failed.. I didn’t.” You tried your hardest to speak as clearly as you could but every word came out followed by a shaky breath, your pulse spiked rapidly. The fear that shocked you felt like the torturous training you’d been through.
You tried your hardest willing yourself to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. A wave of nausea crashed through you, your vision blurring.
Suddenly, a flash seized your mind and the memory pulled you back as if reliving the past—dark brown hair slipping messily over cold, unblinking blue eyes that bored straight into your soul. The weight of the his stare was unbearable, a storm of silent accusation and something deeper you couldn’t quite grasp. His arm, steady and merciless, this is what many saw before they’re death. You felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against your chest, freezing every breath. Time seemed to slow, each second stretching endlessly, the air thick and suffocating around you. No words were spoken, only the raw intensity of a moment that would haunt you forever. This is where most lives ended. But why not yours? Why did those murderous, unforgiving icy blue eyes falter? For just a moment, why you? When all the others had already been taken care of, why hesitate for you?
You clutched your stomach, fighting the rising bile. A soft touch landed on your shoulder, tentative and warm. You flinched, shrinking away the delicate touch made you feel uncomfortable in this state. You looked up to find Steve hands up in surrender. He looked at you with pity. How pathetic you must look, utterly defenceless. You stared back up at him as tears pricked the corners of your eyes.
Steve’s voice was gentle. “Take your time. I’ll be right outside.”
The door clicked shut, muffling his footsteps as he moved into another room. You could hear faint voices—too low to make out, but firm. You guessed they were talking about you. You didn’t know who was there with him. You tried to calm yourself, the empty room and faint voices didn’t help much, it felt strangely like a situation you’d been in before.
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Steve closed the door gently behind him, the soft click echoing down the sterile corridor. He leaned against the cold wall, rubbing the back of his neck as a slow, heavy weight settled in his chest. Natasha sat at a nearby desk in front of a small portable laptop, arms crossed, her expression unreadable but sharp — her eyes flickering between stern expression and something else unreadable. Fury’s presence was a constant shadow in the room, his stare heavy, always calculating.
The silence between them wasn’t comfortable; it was filled with unspoken questions, guesses, and the quiet gravity of what they’d just witnessed.
“So are we gonna talk about what the hell that was?” He said looking at Steve
“She had a PTSD reaction,” Steve said finally, his voice low but steady. “That kind of trauma doesn’t come from fabrications. I’ve seen it in veterans.” His eyes were tired but resolute, his conviction clear in the lines of his face.
Natasha let out something like a scoff, the skepticism clear in her tone. “Or maybe she’s hiding something. Trauma or not, we can’t take everything at face value.” She glanced toward the observation window, her gaze sharp as a hawk’s, scanning the woman inside. “You shouldn’t put aside the fact that she could be using her trauma to manipulate us, make us lower our guard..”
Steve shook his head slowly, meeting her gaze with quiet conviction. “No. Something about her… she’s not lying. I can tell.”
Fury’s eyes narrowed, the ever-present edge of suspicion sharpening. “Romanoff, what have you found? Any trace of a real identity?” He didn’t really need to wait for an answer; he already knew Natasha’s skills were unmatched when it came to digging through shadows.
Natasha tapped rapidly on her laptop, the faint glow illuminating her focused expression. The room was heavy with anticipation, every second stretching like the breath before a storm. “Full name, Y/N Kane. Used to be a medical student before things went sideways.” Her voice steady as she continued reading “Her firm was compromised. Apparently some power hungry nobody was itching for some extra cash, tipped Hydra that they had a doctor working on the serum. The doctor just happened to be mentoring Y/N at the time she must’ve been taken during that.”
Steve exchanged a glance with Fury, both men feeling the silent weight of history closing in around them.
Natasha’s fingers hesitated as she scrolled deeper into the files, the air thickening with unspoken tension. “Weird..” She tried to scroll down to see if there was any more information following, eyes widening. It’s like any trace after that had most definitely been wiped. Hydra not wanting anyone reading up on loose ends.The bottom of the page is what shocked her as the screen revealed more. She spoke the last line of the government documentation “Y/N Kane.” She looked up at Fury and Steve with a more concerned than confused expression "Deceased.”
There was a stillness that fell over them. As if allowing the words to sink in— a moment suspended in disbelief. “Eight years ago,” Natasha murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
They all turned slowly to look back toward the observation window, the reflection of the woman inside mirrored in their eyes. She sat there, unaware of the truth that had just been uncovered. The knowledge of who she was — or wasn’t — hung between them like a fragile thread ready to snap.
The air was still heavy in the cramped conference room, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead as the trio gathered around the sleek black table. The air was thick with unease, their earlier conversation lingering like smoke in the room. Fury’s brow furrowed deeply, still staring at the woman across the glass. She seemed to have calmed down still, if you looked close enough you could see her shaking. His fingers drummed a slow, deliberate rhythm against the surface.
Steve had pitched the idea of keeping her in an empty room in the tower, she clearly wasn’t gonna budge here. Treated like a prisoner, probably not much better than she was with Hydra. No way she’d spill in a cramped concrete room.
Steve stood by the window, arms crossed but his posture tight with resolve. Letting the question bounce around in their thoughts. Natasha leaned back in her chair, eyes sharp and unyielding.
Fury was the first to speak up.
“We can’t just bring her into the Tower,” Fury said, his voice low but edged with steel.
“She’s clearly an imposter. Someone sent to sabotage us from within. We’re talking about people who hide in the shadows, who lie without blinking.” His glare swept across the room, landing on Steve. “We have to be cautious.”
Steve met Fury’s gaze evenly. “How do you know she’s an imposter? We don’t have any proof of that.” His voice was calm but firm, refusing to back down.
Natasha’s smirk deepened, a playful edge in her tone as she chimed in, “Well, we kinda just read her obituary.” She tapped the laptop lightly, eyes gleaming with dry humor.
Fury grunted, clearly unimpressed.
“Whatever. Imposter or not, she’s sitting on valuable intel. If she’s willing to talk, we can’t afford to turn her away.” Steve added
Fury just contemplated, folding his arms with quiet conviction. “Listen. If we bring her in, keep her close, we can find out the truth for ourselves.”
There was a pause—a charged silence where each of them weighed the risks and the hope tangled within the woman’s fractured story.
Finally, Fury exhaled sharply, his decision made.
“I’ll allow it, Captain, but any slip up. Danger to the team or S.H.I.E.L.D in any way.” He spoke with the tone that made it clear he was serious
“You will be accountable.” Steve stood up straight. He was confident he was doing the right thing.
“She stays under watch. No exceptions.” Steve nodded and Fury shot a look back at the woman who was now staring at the glass. “Don’t make me regret this”
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You sat in the chair, waiting. The room felt too familiar — cold, empty, the kind of silence that pressed on your chest. Somewhere beyond the walls, muffled voices traded in hushed tones. You weren’t a super soldier, but years trapped in a Hydra bunker as nothing more than a lab rat had taught you things. You could read body language, distinguish footsteps, hear the subtle shift in someone’s breathing. You knew when to speak, when to stay silent, and exactly how to avoid trouble. Even a few of your senses had heightened one of them being sound. You couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying but enough to tell when they – however many of them are in that room – began arguing.
The voices outside sharpened for a moment. An argument. Heated enough that it bled through the walls, before fading again into that suffocating stillness. That was always worse. Silence meant they’d found something, and you couldn’t tell if it would save you or destroy you.
Your hands tightened in your lap. Pathetic — that’s what you felt like. You didn’t even have the courage to call out. You’d given them enough to confirm you’d been a Hydra prisoner, but not enough to convince them you carried anything worth trusting. All you could muster was a panic attack and plenty of untrustworthyness. So you sat there, waiting for their verdict, the air growing heavier with every second.
Soon you heard the hiss of the heavy door once again, you flinched like it was a reflex. Because it was.
When Steve entered the room beyond was colder, quieter. You sat there, elbows on the table, your fingers knotted together in a white-knuckled grip. Your eyes darted to him briefly, then back down again. If you stared at him any longer he’d surely notice the fear in your eyes. You were desperate for someone to believe you, you wanted to help, so no one else would end up like you. The heavy door closed behind Steve, the click of the locks loud in the silence.
He didn’t sit right away. Instead, he stood at the edge of the table, studying you with a kind of patience you weren’t used to. His voice, when it came, was low — not sharp, not accusing. It made you feel less uneasy like you weren’t wrong for feeling this way. Understanding.
“I know you’re scared,” he finally spoke.“And nervous. That’s… okay. You’ve been through a lot.”
Your jaw tightened, eyes flicking up to his, searching for the catch in his tone, but there wasn’t one. He was being genuine
“I’m not asking you to trust us right away,” Steve continued, finally taking the seat across from you. “But staying here, in this room, isn’t doing you any favors. We’ve got a place — the Tower. It’s secure, private. You’ll have space to breathe… and if you want to talk, we’ll be there to listen.”
You looked up at him. He was being genuine. Captain America was nothing like what you were taught during your time at Hydra. They made him out to be some prideful American soldier, haughty and conceited. But when he spoke it was with care and patience, the kindest anyone has been to you.
You blinked slowly, the words settling in your chest like something you didn’t want to admit you needed. The Tower. With them. Avengers. You just know the minute their brand had dropped Hydra would be seething at the mouth, you're surprised they haven’t sent out their ‘weapon’ yet. You hated when they called him that. But he didn’t know any better either. Part of you bristled at the idea — you’d been in cages before, no matter how pretty the walls looked. But there was another part, quieter, that whispered about warmth. Safety. A locked door that kept danger out for once. You’d be surrounded by people who would genuinely protect you for once.
“You can take your time. But I'd just like you to know that the sooner we can get this information the better.” He spoke.
You understood what he meant he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable but also get the information sooner rather than later. You were sure to try your best to tell as much as you could.
Steve didn’t push. He just waited, eyes steady, giving you the space to wrestle with the thought. The seconds stretched into a minute, the hum of the vent the only sound.
Finally, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
“…Fine,” you said, the word tasting strange in your mouth. “I’ll go.”
The faintest curve pulled at the corner of his mouth — not quite a smile, but close enough.
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The ride to the Tower was quiet at first. You’d expected him to take the passenger seat, to put as much space between you as possible, but instead Steve slid into the back with you. He didn’t sit too close — just far enough that you had room to lean against the window if you wanted. You appreciated that more than you thought you would.
The city blurred past in streaks of headlights and neon. Steve sat with his hands loosely clasped, watching you from time to time but never staring. Eventually, he broke the silence.
“You from around here?”
You shrugged. “No, not really. It's been a long time since I’ve actually… been anywhere.”
He didn’t press, just nodded, like he understood more than you’d said. That loosened something in your chest, enough for you to add, “Grew up in Norlisk, for most of my life. My father was an Englishman who moved to Russia. Wanted better opportunities of medicine” I spoke slowly trying to get comfortable, Steve was surprisingly very easy to talk to.
“Moved around after that. Not by choice.”
Steve’s jaw ticked slightly, his gaze shifting to the window. “Hydra?”
The name made you shudder, but you pulled yourself together because you were stronger then that, then them and what they put you through.
“Something like that.” Your fingers tugged with the seam of your sleeve, debating whether to say more. You almost mentioned him — the Winter Soldier — how you weren’t the only one Hydra toyed with, but you knew if you talked about him so soon you’d just dive back into the rabbit hole. Then you’d never be able to get anything out. That in itself was a whole other wound you weren’t ready to open. But you swallowed the words. Not yet.
Instead, you said, “When you’re somewhere like that for long enough, you learn to stop counting the years. Days blur together. Faces too.” You glanced at him, testing his reaction.
He didn’t flinch. “I can’t say I know exactly what that’s like,” he said quietly, “but I know what it’s like to lose time.”
Something in his tone, the way it carried a weight you recognized from a familiar face. You did talk to him, Hydra would put you together hoping that his demanor would rub off onto you and that you’d work. Training, testing, sometimes you were even caged together. He’d never speak but the longer you stayed together. The softer he got. He wouldn’t hurt you as much during training, even speaking in more than just 2 word sentences. That when they separated you two instead of the perfect weapon corrupting you. You were corrupting him making him soft, questioning, they made you watch as they wiped everything from him.
The night before he’d asked you “Do you ever ask yourself ‘Who you really are?’” and at the time you gave him no answer and he just stared. Wondering. Thinking.
That was the longest thing he’d ever said to you. After that you never spoke again. Until.. Well...
“We’re here” Steve said as the car turned off. Waking you out of your thoughts.
You turned back to the window, the hum city filling the silence that once was. You got out of the car and stared at the building with a giant ‘A’ as the logo. Then for the first time in years, you’d felt like you were safe.
But you'd see how long that would last.
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Thanks to @screechingdreamercollectorsblog for the request, I had so much fun writing it, and hope it did your idea justice so far!
I plan to post chapters every Thursday!
Also like if anyone knows how to make those image banners look better and not so pixelated PLEASE teach me (ᵕ•_•)
Some of you talk a big game about being anti-abuse whilst actively and materially harming abuse survivors without even realising it.
If you buy into this idea of people being "energy vampires" or "trauma-dumping" for just talking about the ways in which they've been harmed (historically or in the present)... You're participating in rhetoric that silences abused people and potentially keeps them within abusive situations.
When you've been repeatedly abused throughout your life, there's no way to talk about your life without also talking about the abuse. But the belief a lot of people hold is that "heavy topics" aren't to be discussed in every day conversation. You're seen as moaning, or depressing, or attention seeking, or trauma-dumping, or whatever else- just for naming your reality as an abuse survivor. So, as an abuse survivor trying to form community connections and make friends- you're left with a few main options;
→ avoid talking about your life at all (poor basis for making close connections),
→ lie about or hide details of your life (also not a great basis for a relationship),
→ tell the full truth (and risk being ostracised).
All of these options have the same core outcome for the survivor; being unable to talk about your experiences without risking facing sanist violence. And this is isolating and fucking dangerous!!
The survivor is forced to quieten down about the abuse they have faced/ are currently facing. This creates a situation where the survivor can't safely talk about their experiences of harm and abuse- which can potentially cut them off from support networks entirely and reinforce their relationship with their abuser(s)... If you're left with nobody to talk to except your abuser, what are you meant to do? If everybody else refuses to listen to you, or help you, or advise you, or protect you... Who are you left with?
So... When you say that a person who told you they were abused is just "randomly venting at you", or that the person who made a joke about their childhood trauma is "trauma-dumping"? And when you distance yourself from them as a result of that alone? You are not making a harmless move. You are distancing yourself from people who are trying to connect with you, who are putting a degree of trust in you, who are being vulnerable with you... And for what? Their "audacity" to be open with you? That's fucked. Sorry, but that's so fucked. It's a refusal to interact with some of the most systematically harmed, isolated and abandoned people in society (trauma survivors) because they don't hide the fact that they're traumatised.
Does your love and praxis extend to the unpalatable abuse survivors?
If it doesn't, I think that's something for you to change. Please.
