#punching SAM repeatedly and viciously

[danddymaro]

Bucky Barnes x Reader | Pt.3

Word Count: 3402 | Part 3: A single Name 

Previous part : Shooting Down Hope 

A Single Name

His angry hold on the pistol made his entire arm shake, thankfully causing him to miss his true aim which was targeted to her risen chest. It was what his eyes seared holes into, intent on cutting through with hot slugs from her own weapon. 

The offending arm then stiffened, pointed out straight as he aimed yet again, the man planning on not missing a second time.

He sneered, his index finger pressing the trigger, and immediately after another one of the bullets cut through the air, coming toward her body with a vicious purpose.

"Not on my watch," Sam growled, using his wings to move, his legs both dragged over the ground as he went forward with the intention of aiming low towards the other brunette's midsection, yet again causing the Winter Soldier to miss.

Consequently, the super soldier’s arm jolted up high up into the air during the struggle, the shot angled wrong and only scraping by (f/n) instead, saving her from the true damage of the hit.

Even so, she doubled over, tightly pressing the bleeding spot of the first bullet with a withheld sob, wanting to curse out loud with the searing pain she felt, but knowing it was not the time, nor place to do so. 

'No...no...right now... I can't stop!' She gritted, hacking out loud.

She could feel her eyes sting, her vision becoming blurry before her other hand flew up to wipe off the annoying excess of moisture, sucking up a hollow breath as she dove forward. 

Both hands landed on strong, broad shoulders,  her muscles straining to pull the vicious man off of her friend as he'd just gained the upper hand, having been too late, 

"Sam..." She murmured, distraught as her eyes caught sight of his unconscious body laid sprawled and vulnerable as he had been hit by a brutal headbutt. 

With the gun still in hand, the opposing male turned back to her after rolling into a quick stand, his dark, damp hair whipping through the air as he wasted no time at aiming it at her again, this time pointing the barrel right in between her eyebrows, stomping closer to actually press it over her flesh with darkened eyes. 

'There's nothing there,'  She thought with relief, taking a daring step towards him as his finger pressed down on the trigger, her left hand delivering a mean blow to his face that made him stumble back instead, shocked beyond reason. 

"There was only two in there," She explained with a partial smirk, huffing out the words as she saw him press the trigger yet again, receiving nothing but a disappointing click instead.

She'd decided to bring the weapon as only a piece of assurance, knowing already that he could have taken advantage of it. 

Her plan had been to subdue him with it, the bullets within it only being an extra precaution to lay him down with non-lethal blows in case things got too out of hand, which should have been an earlier choice for her, but she'd been so hesitant, not wanting to hurt the man despite all the torment he'd put her through.

'Because I know this isn't really you,' She reasoned, willing to go through hell and back for him, so long as he was being pulled along with her out of the miserable state he was currently in.

Angrily he threw the gun aside, no longer having a use for it while she hastily reached to the strap on the side of her leg, pulling out a dagger, it being the only other weapon she brought with her.

 Holding it into her right hand firmly, she fell into a stance as she glared towards the cold, stony eyes of the ruthless man, not willing to back down.

‘I've got so much more in me than this,’ She thought whilst she ground her teeth, pushing past the pain. 'Not just for me,' She added.

 "For Steve...For Sam... and for you," she spoke in an undertone before rushing to him.

 With a swing of her leg, she moved it forward into a half-circle, retracting it back to her body before springing it forward to hit his chest with all her force. And she could see it in his widened eyes that she caught him by surprise, something that made her relish from within with victory, 

'Just a little more,' She thought while ignoring her body desperately crying out for her to stop.

Lunging her body for extra measure, she felt the connection between his chest and the bottom of her boot be executed, signaling her to make her next move, however, the instant they met, she felt two hands tightly grip her, one at her ankle and the other a few centimeters below her knee cap.

Before she could counter it or have a second thought on the matter, he dragged her towards him, and reached out with an opened hand, taking a grasp of her neck in one quick scoop. Meanwhile, the hand still gripping her leg dug its fingers into her mercilessly, as the one practically crushing her windpipe gave her an even tighter squeeze, making her wheeze, her air supply abruptly cut short.

The pressure was then short-lived as he suddenly swept his leg beneath her, attacking the supporting one, causing her to fall back onto the rocky terrain with a brute push.

Yet another searing pain shot through her entire body, this time rattling her entire body as her head collided with the hard, rugged surface, bouncing back from the impact like a small, rubber ball. The dagger that had been clutched in her tightly wound fist was then released whilst her entire body convulsed into a harsh tremor as a result of his counter,

"Sh-shit..." She gritted, her two hands desperate to pry the hand off, but the grip on her neck remained un-flinched as he now stood above her, falling to his knees, both on either side of her to straddle her as he continued to choke her, his other hand intent on joining the assault.

She frailed, wheezing like a hogtied swine in a rodeo as both the hands then moved her sides, frantically trying to find a grasp on any object to use, be it a rock or even a small twig, but having no luck.

She knew she wouldn't win by tearing him off, so she yearned for the touch of her fallen blade, hoping it'd somehow find it's way to her.

‘Come on!’ She thought desperately.

And just as she was beginning to see the world begin to fade in and out from the lack of oxygen, she felt her fingertips touch a familiar, cool metal object. Feeling the texture on her hand, she stretched out her arm as far as it could go, clawing the weapon back towards her with antsy fingers,

'Yes...YES!' She inwardly chanted.

Once her palm came into contact with the engraved dagger, she held onto it with a tight grip, feeling the painful sting of her broken bones as they cried in agony, but yet again, she choose to ignore the ache.

Her immediate response cried for her to aim for his neck. It begged to split through an artery, but instead, she brought it forward towards his side, jabbing at his left rib with all the strength she had left.

‘I guess we're even,’ she then thought, releasing a shaky laugh, remembering he had aimed at her sides so viciously since the beginning of his hunt, using her in the same manner a boxer would a punching bag.

‘I swear I don’t want to hurt you...but you leave me no choice,’ She inwardly thought with remorse as she saw his eyes squeeze tight in a show of pain, no doubt wincing.

‘I promise… this will all be over soon,’ She compromised. 

He hissed from within the black mask, reaching towards the offending hand in charge of digging the sharp dagger into his flesh, and grasped it entirely within his metal one, the sudden pressure causing her to release a pained cry before he crushed her balled fist in his, forcing it open, cracking it like a little walnut, thus earning him yet another cry.

After she released her hold, he continued to tear the blade out from his body, letting his wound flow red, but seeming unconcerned by the gory spill, because by then she was all he could see.

Her heart came to an abrupt stop as his hands, both clenching the bloodied dagger rose high above his head, her awaiting body sprawled out for him, defenseless, like the held down, pitiful sacrifice of a ritual.

Time slowed down for her, and only her as she lay weak and at his mercy. She felt as though she lagged behind the rest of the world, her body reacting too slow to stop him.

He brought it down, just below her chest, piercing through her clothes and flesh in one go, descending to her navel in a slow, ragged drag.

She released an ear-piercing cry in mortification and agony as soon as the metal penetrated her body, and she continued to cry bloody murder as he practically gutted her like a fish. Her voice rose in high volumes, scratching her throat raw in a manner of seconds, the sound not only affecting her but him as well as it caused a pounding pain to strike him from within.

Thus , his head felt a splitting torment as a result of her wails, 

“That sound...” he murmured, not being able to think without having her cries overpower the sound of his own inner voice, leaving him hearing nothing but her. A snarl left him as she thrashed, continuing to fruitlessly fight him, 

“SHUT UP!” he said lowly, growing livid at her noisy wails.

 One of his hands then moved to  press tightly over her wide open mouth, silencing the cries into a muffled song of agony. 

Meanwhile, the other hand had not ceased its torture, continuing on,  dragging the sharp object down onto her flesh, repeatedly doing so with the same merciless onslaught, again and again repeating the action.

 He found her nothing but an obstacle, a complete nuisance following him, coming back like an unwanted pest each time he turned.

 Why couldn’t she just leave him alone?... Why?

 Through it all he was enraged, frustrated, lost and scared; he was cornered and in a sense nothing but a wild, untamed animal.

And he did what came natural, what was drilled in him...which was to kill.

To survive…

Her hands which had been clawing at him then fell to her sides, outspread as her chest fell with a weak breath. She grew silent, having spent the last bit of resistance in her outcries, which in the end had been silenced by his own hand.

The winter soldier then stared straight at her, right into her slowly blinking eyes as something strange compelled him to do so. Something unknown to him urged him to watch the life drain from her (e/c) colored eyes with interest, pulled by a force greater than his reasoning, causing him to stay there motionless, observing her.

Like a crow eyeing gleaming metal, he looked on, curious and dumbfounded, allured by the sight for a reason unbeknown to him.

It was then that grip on her lower jaw loosened, dying out and gliding away from her flesh, a wet, sticky mess of her spit connecting them for just a second more as he continued to part the limb from her.

 ‘Those damn eyes...’ He thought to himself,

 They pleaded with him, stared into him so pathetically... so pitifully it made his insides bubble at how stupidly weak she looked beneath his hold. 

They were searching for reasoning ; searching for a person, just like her. 

In a sense it seemed almost as though the entire time, she had been calling out for him, or at the very least,  a piece that lay beneath the deepest cracks of his heart, something he quickly dismissed as a delusion of his.

Her right hand rose up, trembling with each inch of ascension towards him, only stopping once she reached the flesh beneath his eyes, barely hovering over the dark smudges coating the skin beneath his Icy oculars.

“What are you doing…?” He said lowly as his eyes trailed down to the small, filthy hand which wavered as it ran quivering fingers over the edge of his mask,  struggling to curl its fingers.

His own hand rose, reaching to capture her wrist, coiling his fingers around the joint, ready to snap it, when he stopped. 

He stopped just as his eyes once again fell over hers, stunned by her and their short message that urged him to give her that once bit of peace.

She graced him with a touch almost without existence and he stood motionless, letting her hand gingerly ghost over his concealed face more, leering down to her to allow her more access to him.

Numbly, his arms fell to his side, allowing her fingers to curl the edge of his mask without any opposition of his as she slowly peeled it off of him, letting it land right onto her slowly heaving chest.

She could see his bare face now, naked for her watery eyes to gaze at, and shamelessly she swallowed up the image of him bare.

Her gaze fell from the dull eyes she’d gazed at right from the start, drawing down to the point of his nose, right at the very tip of it, having diligently followed the length of the straight bridge.

She then moved to the shallow part of his cheeks which were both hidden beneath the curtain of his long, dark and unruly hair that was damned by a concocted mix of both their blood and sweat.

(f/n) then noticed the touch of facial hair just barely growing from his chin and sides, almost as light as a peach’s gentle fuzz, but of course, darker in color, matching his long, and messy strands of deep chocolate.

As her exploring eyes traveled more she then found an end to their small journey, slowly centering her vision on to his parted lips, noting that they were a gentle peach color, similar to the outer petals of a softly tinted ranunculus flower.

  ‘ I really tried... ’ she thought sadly, ‘ I just hope he finds you… I hope he gets to bring you home…’ She continued on, wanting nothing more than his safe arrival.

Because while she failed, she hoped others succeeded and prevailed,

‘One of us should make it home today...’ she thought to herself with certainty. ‘ And then you can live all the beautiful things you deserve to…

Bring him ease… make him happy.’ She silently pleaded with the man, wishing she could tell him, but being unable to as she barely conjured up a low croak.

Descending down the sides of her face were thin streams of tears, her gaze not falling from the man, wanting to remember just what he looked like, envisioning his sullen expression purified by a touch of joy instead.

 Somehow she was still alive and it astonished him, causing him to slightly tilt his head to the side, his eyes peering into her even more, now able to count the dark little specs in her eyes with ease if he had the desire to.

Reluctantly, he stepped away from her, stumbling back to take in her sight, to remember just what she looked like ;

To remember what the strange woman looked like before she fell into an unawakenable coma.

It was something he didn’t want erased. All in all, even if he knew the chances of recalling her ever again was slim to nothing, he felt the urge to try to remember him for a long as he could.

Throughout it all, she didn't say a single  word or move even an inch, seeming akin to an abused, little rag doll, thrown over carelessly, and having seen better days. 

Instead, she stared directly at him with tired (e/c) eyes, a seldom smile painted over her because at that moment she wanted nothing but the best for him.

But, of course,  he had no way of knowing that, all he was aware of was how strangely captivating she was.

She made him wonder many things : such as the reasoning for her lovely smile. 

For what reason is there to show him such a tender expression? And just why, why was she still clinging to life?

Didn't she understand how much pain she was experiencing, and that the more she continued the fruitless fight, the more she’d remain in bitter torment?

And just why did it hurt? Why did it start to hurt the longer he stared at her?

Why did he force himself through the pain by taking longer to memorize all of her features...when in the end, he knew they’d later be forgotten.

 "What are you waiting for?" He muttered, the sound not quite reaching her.

 The shadow that loomed over her stood tall and treacherous, much like the presence of death itself watching over her dying body, something she mused in during her delirious state.

Meanwhile, he stared down at her with lusterless eyes, void of inner light and spirit, ogling at the strange sight of her peaceful smile forming and the un-concentrated gaze in which her (e/c) colored eyes were beginning to set upon.

By now their light should have died out, but like a small flame, barely flickering through a dark, cold room left vacant, they continued to live on.

They continued to fight for existence…

He felt so much surfacing, so many emotions he didn't know could exist in him. 

So many he was forced to forget over time…And then she said something that sent him on edge,

 Just A single word…

 A single name …

 “B..ucky…” she said hoarsely, barely able to pronounce the name, and suddenly, he felt as though that small, shaky smile had been directed at just him. 

With just the single address he felt his insides stir, and he stared down at her with wide eyes, his mouth going desert dry.

“Bucky..?” he repeated gruffly, feeling his stomach churn. The name made his hands shake, quivering like a young sapling in the middle of a heavy storm, to the point that even his knees buckled beneath his weight. 

A heavy feeling of loss and question washed over him, taking control of his body, because he recalls being called that before, all in a time that felt distant now, like it was ages ago.

- An entire lifetime.

His breath came out strangled as he tried to remember just why the name haunted him so much, why it pained him right at his chest when the gentle sound had reached him.

‘Bucky…’ Said another voice, this time echoing in his head, and then he remembered the blonde male dressed in patriotic colors.

He had called him that too...

He had also looked at him like he knew something else,  as though he had so many things to reveal to him as well.

Had she been with him? Was that the reason she trailed after him? Was it because she was working with that man?

  Sam’s head slowly rose, using his arm’s strength to lift his upper body up from his unwanted sleep, groaning out as his eyes began to settle into his surroundings, slowly coming to.

 His hazy, dark eyes then trailed up to fall on the sight before him, and upon seeing the slaughter widened, the glazed look within them washed away immediately, and before he knew it he was on his feet.

He moved, no longer feeling pain, no longer feeling anything in his body as his eyes stayed glued to his bloodied friend.

All the while Bucky stared down at his trembling hands with full trance, not even looking at his side to pay attention to the charging man, because the storm within him sucked him up, pulling him into it’s whirlpool.

“What the hell did you do?!” Sam said angrily, his injured leg failing him, making him fall forward, being in no better shape than the long-haired brunette.

  ‘What...What have I done..?’ Bucky wondered, repeating the question once over to himself.

Next Part : Content 

[kotofvi]

TWs: Depicted Gore, Torture, General Mind fuckery, Manipulation, Violence (obviously), Limb loss, Body Horror.  

             It hit him near instantly. They were not going to escape this. The minute he found himself on his knees, screaming and pleading that they weren’t hostile and that they were a peaceful people with no response other than violence from them– he knew they weren’t going to get home. Even though he thought this, even though he knew this, he’d still struggled as hard as he could and continued to struggle to at least get to Sam and Matt in order to find a way to free them. To make sure they could get back safely. In the end he failed. He failed and then he came face to face with the reality that those called ‘Galra’ were a violent and cruel species as he stood shackled with Matthew close behind in front of a coliseum. (THEY SCREAM WITH BLOOD LUST.) Chanting and hollering came into earshot and was soon followed by the grotesque visage of two contenders brawling on the platform. He could feel the panic rising in his chest but his thought first and foremost was the man behind him.

This was his best friend. The friend that he had trained with, fought with, laughed with– the friend who he would do anything to protect and to make sure he at least stayed with his father. In the span of a few seconds he realized that there wasn’t going to be a best friend to send home if he didn’t figure out a way to get him out of this situation. Matthew Holt was not suited for this. He was a scientist, a man who got excited about the properties of ice and rockets. It was then he did the unimaginable. He intentionally hurt him in order to save him. Whispered words of luck and reassurance through the guise of his ‘blood lust’ were given before he was pried away from him, certain that at least with this.. At least with this he could be sure that Matt would be alright in some way or another. That at least he wouldn’t be forced into the situation he now faced. (YOU COULD LIVE WITH IT IF THEY WERE SAFE.)

Fight or die. In the minds of the Galra, fight to die. There was nothing more entertaining to them it seemed than to watch the prisoners square up against creatures and other species ten times their size or more. He learned quickly that a blade wasn’t going to cut it all the time. Sometimes he’d have to get his hands directly on the throat of his opponent and squeeze the air out of their lungs. (YOU NEVER FOUGHT TO KILL THEM.) In the beginning he could calculate it. He could figure out the weak point of his opponents by watching them and keeping them at bay long enough to determine the strike point. None of the fights had been easy though. The minute they dragged him from his cell thrashing and screaming to be released, he was thrown into a fight that he never wanted to be in. Time after time, sometimes without rest at all, they’d throw him into battle after battle. Eventually he learned that being observant couldn’t solve everything. Sometimes they didn’t have a discernible point of weakness for him to immediately act on. Sometimes his spatial awareness couldn’t help. Sometimes he just wasn’t enough.

The first time it happened was the first time the opponent was able to slice his face. Immediately he’d hit the ground. He could taste his own blood dripping into his mouth as he clawed at the wound across the bridge of his nose and gasped for air he couldn’t seem to find. Panic set in because he knew anatomy too well not to be aware that this could blind him. If he went blind how would he survive? How would he be able to save them? How could he get them home? His heart had begun to thrash wildly in his chest, a fire brewing in his lungs as he let out a guttural scream of anger and disdain when he launched himself to his feet. Instincts. He’d relied on them a bit so far but now he was fighting completely on instinct. Survive. He wasn’t allowed to die here, wasn’t allowed to fall, couldn’t allow himself to become nothing more than a carcass for someone to prey on– he barely remembered dropping his blade. (YOU WOULD NOT BECOME DIRT.) He barely recalled tackling the larger beast down and grabbing him by the throat, thrashing him into the floor with every bit of his strength and a snarl in his throat. He couldn’t recall when he’d grabbed the sharp toothed maw beneath him and repeatedly slammed his head into the ground beneath them, nor could he recall tearing at flesh violently with his nails to rip as much away as he could.

He couldn’t recall it all but he recalled enough after all was said and done. It took four sentries that time to pry him away from the gurgling near dead opponent, his savagery apparent in that one instance as he violently pulled around until he was thrown into the cell once more. It took him hours to calm down. Hours to find some semblance of himself again as he sat in his cell with his head hung and his hand perched over the still oozing wound on his face. It stung. It didn’t sting because of the severed flesh and muscles. It stung because he could feel the salty liquid running into his wound from his eyes as he felt nauseous from what he could remember doing. (YOU RETCHED AT THE THOUGHT OF HIS BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS.) That one instance, that one momentary break– shaped his future battles in the Arena. Shaped him into a monstrosity bent on survival as the rage slowly began to build and worsen it. He was angry, hell bent on tearing them all to pieces, hoping that just one Galra soldier would take the place of a sentry so he could rip their throats out.

Despite his unbridled anger, he found solace in the silence of his cell. (YOU NEEDED IT MORE THAN ANYTHING.) He found some semblance of thought there because there were other things to focus on. Other things to deal with. Something he could concentrate on and temporarily forget his grudge. People. Aliens of varying kinds who seemed to speak a plethora of languages were around him in the cramped and musky cell. Once upon a time they’d been enough to distract him. To keep him somewhat sane through conversation and trying to find peace in the situation they were all in. He learned a couple languages, learned about a few cultures and even found it a little easier to breathe during these minute lessons he gave and received. Yet it was the day they brought two new prisoners in that he found his rage unable to be quelled. Children. They brought children into this place. It was this day that he lost even more of his humanity than he ever would or ever had. He vaguely remembered gnashing his teeth at the sentries who came. Vaguely recalled throwing several punches and ripping a few of their parts off– but it mattered little when he was only one man trying to keep them away from the rest of the group in his cell.

Too many had gone away and not made it back so far. He wouldn’t allow it to happen to the shaking balls of fur in the corner. No, he’d kill every last one of them before they even got near them. (YOU WERE ALWAYS MORE VIOLENT WHEN IT CAME TO PROTECTING THOSE SMALLER THAN YOU.) The strangest thing? Those small creatures, those shivering fur covered aliens were none other than the same kind that had put him here. Galra. Even so he did not stop his assault. He did not pause or break from the intensive want to protect them. Eventually he fell though, in a broken and battered heap upon the ground– but a heap that conveniently concealed the two kits from sight as he continued to snap his teeth and snarl viciously through the pain. When all was said and done that day, he’d managed to keep them safe this time and that was all he cared about in those moments. It didn’t matter what they were. They were two kids who were incredibly frightened and had no idea what was going to happen to them. Shiro wouldn’t allow anything to happen to them if he could help it.

This is what kept his mind focused for a little bit longer. Focusing on them, making sure they were alright every time he came back into the cell or left the cell– it kept him sane. Kept him rooted to his humanity. Perhaps that was why they noticed him all the more though. The shadows that lurked around sometimes and suggested escape. Maybe his growing prowess in combat and his humanity would be enough to get him out. So he paid attention. (COUNT THEIR STEPS UNTIL THEIR STEPS NO LONGER EXIST.) Rage was still prevalent outside of his cell but inside he was whole for just a little while. The cycle came though and took those two kits away, yet there was a whispered reassurance in the air that kept him from furthering his broken body when all was said and done. He’d struggled so hard and yet, his injuries were not as bad as they could have been and it was when whispered words from a familiar shadow told him they’d be alright that he settled down. (YOU HAVE FRIENDS SOMEWHERE IN THIS GODS FORSAKEN PRISON.)

But having someone on his side didn’t matter when they wouldn’t or couldn’t interject in what was transpiring. Time in and time out, he was pulled from his cell and made to undergo several fights. Not just for the soldier entertainment in the arena but for the soldiers themselves that knew he couldn’t beat them just yet. Locked rooms, experimentation, how far can he go– how much can he handle? The answer was: A lot. His rage continued to build, his instability continued to grow worse and time and time again he’d find himself retching till his throat bled from the aftermath of what he’d done. Until it began to matter less and less. Until the next cycle through the arena. It was then that he discovered how cruel Haggar could truly be towards him. He was already so exhausted, already so spent from his round, but it hadn’t mattered– Still he would bite, snarl, throw every punch he could and kick until the broken parts of the sentries lied at his feet. (YOU TRIED SO HARD TO PREVENT THIS.) It didn’t matter even still. Did it ever truly matter what he did? They always made more of them and always replaced the soldiers he’d taken down.

It never actually mattered what he did but that also didn’t matter to him because all he felt was an unbridled rage towards them. A primal and instinctive want to rip their throats out and obliterate their entire existence. In light of what was about to happen, he wished he would’ve done more at that time. He could remember coming in and out of consciousness, the haze of anesthesia clouding his vision and mind as they repeatedly put him on minimal doses as if to torment him further by waking him up through the pain. Was that his own voice? He sounded-- terrified. He wished he’d never heard it even at a distance from his thoughts, never recognized the fear in his tones and the words to please stop. His heart thrummed in his chest, by the time he was fully conscious he was hazily listening to that horrible witch talk pridefully about her latest work. How it was so similar to the other one. If similarities were to be maintained, she could have just left the original one there. 

He’d only glanced but the second he had, his eyes focused on the ceiling above him and the white strands that had gotten increasingly worse out of pure panic rising in his lungs. It felt like something heavy was growing in his chest, weighing him down as he heard the monitor ticking by all the faster for his accelerated heart rate. He couldn’t breathe. How could anyone be so cruel? How could any one creature in any universe actively take something and replace it with something so obviously monstrous? Her voice crept into his thoughts again and again. Settle down now, you’ll be my best warrior, the greatest champion. Whatever she was planning, whatever her game was-- Shiro wanted nothing to do with it. They didn’t give him an adjustment period, didn’t give him even a day to recover beyond what was necessary since he was unconscious half the time. He wanted it gone. 

He needed it gone. It wouldn’t be a shame if it were ripped off in the next fight, it would be a blessing. So what had he done? He stared at this giant, hulking creature that seemed hellbent on taking him out and offered the mechanical limb on a silver platter to him. He could remember the grip-- could remember feeling those claws against the metal plates after he dug them in all the further. The parts that were black, his joints and palm, he could feel it all the more there. That searing, blinding pain that shot up through his arm, through his shoulder and rendered him on his knees almost-- he hadn’t been expecting it. Hadn’t known he could feel with the damnable thing. Does it matter though? No. It didn’t. He could not find it within himself to care even as he felt the joints tear apart and be torn from each other. He couldn’t find it in himself to care when that sickening sound as if bones were being crushed and shattered occurred as the thing was ripped from his bicep’s port. 

A fail-safe, he supposed. A way to maintain the organic portion of the prosthetic, making a seam line like a perforated sheet of paper so it would keep the damage to the port minimal. It was mind numbing but that still hadn’t stopped him. It still hadn’t quelled his rage. Still hadn’t put a damper on anything going through his mind, those furious instincts that dictated his entirety in the moment he felt those claws come down on his shoulder. The arm was enough. He couldn’t remember what happened next, he could only remember coming to as the blood ran down his features and confirmed it wasn’t his own by the odd blue colouring of it. His blood ran cold but he could only stand there, staring at the barely breathing husk of a creature with that prosthetic monstrosity still clenched in claws in its tattered remains. 

The clicking of a tongue enters his thoughts though, a tsking noise like a chiding mother who was looking at her son’s first mistake. “Did you learn your lesson, Champion? You can’t allow just anyone to take your arm again now can you?” A taunt, a rise of hackles that demonstrated something horrifying. Only I can take it. That was what she was saying, that was the whole point-- only she was allowed to and the allowance of anyone else doing so was on him and therefore: punishable. Perhaps this is where his mind had said it was done trying to record everything traumatic and actively keep it in the forefront of his mind. Was there even a possibility of escape? So what if he had friends in this prison? So what if there was someone actively looking out for him? What could he do? What could be done about all of this? In that moment, his mind sought to remind him of his goal. Of what his entire reason for fighting so hard had been. 

Get them home. Home? Right, he had a home. He had a place to go back to and so did they. So did everyone amassed behind these cell doors. He still had to save Sam and Matt. He still needed to get them home to their families. Shirogane Takashi still had to get home to his own mother, to Keith, to his students-- he had every reason to survive and this? All of this could fucking bite him. No matter the terror that settled in his bones and the screams that died on his lips to fill his lungs with ash; he would survive. He would keep going until he found a way out. Until the steps counted as Sentries patrolled payed off. Until he was back home to warn them of the incoming danger, to enlist help to save the Holts, to reassure his mother, to make sure Keith didn’t do anything reckless like get himself too far involved. 

A year passed, he was on the fourth model of the prosthetic limb invasively leeching onto his bicep, when Ulaz revealed himself and his intentions to get him out of here in order to save the universes. 

He’s not sure about any of that. 

But he knows he can at least save them.