Brock wakes up from being doused with water. The morning. He jerks up, spraying muddy drops with a musty smell in all directions. The soldiers around him laugh. He spits, tries to wipe his face. They walk away to the next cage. Nobody looks at him anymore. He straightens, raises his knees to the chest, puts his hands on them and rests his head on the cage bars in hope of another nap.
He dreamed he was saved. He dreamed that some alpha came for him. Huge as a mountain and strong, he easily moved apart cage bars and carried him to the freedom. The alpha had warm eyes and rough chapped lips. Whole alpha was warm.
Brock hugs himself and tries not to shake. He knows it's withdrawal from the suppressants. He's always shivering in here. The days are blurred in a haze of pain and vague dreams. He never thought he'd dream about alpha. About beautiful, tall, caring and affectionate man who’d be able to endure Brock’s bad temper on a permanent basis, not just warming his knot through the heat.
Brock is woken up by the soft touches of fingers to the back of his head. Jack pets his hair pressing the pads a little near his temples and neck. Brock purrs contently and arches feeling the heaviness of the knot resting in him. His belly is warm and wet with semen.
He turns his head to bury his nose in Jack's neck and nearly breaks it on the rod of the cage. There's a hoarse chuckle above his head. Brock jerks back, spins and sees one of the guards. Alpha looks at him with amusement in his eyes and says to Brock with a heavy accent:
- You'll stop running soon.
Brock scrambles away back to the center of the cage while he can. The guards don't always let him go. One of them likes to squeeze his hair in a handful and Brock has to sit for a long time inhaling the heavy smell of an unwashed body as if it never knew the suppressants. They're doing this to lure his heat. Brock desperately sorry for himself.
Alpha snorts and throws ration into the cage: biscuit so dry it scraps throat, and leaves. Brock curls up, pinches off crumbs and swallows, choking, to maintain body strength.
Jack wakes him up with a kiss in his temple and the thick smell of coffee. Brock's face is wet with tears. He's not trying to hide from the attentive look of gray-green eyes. He clings to his reflection in them. He's at home, in their bed, lying on soft sheets and pillows. He's wearing warm pajamas because he's always cold. Brock tugs alpha to himself. They need to leave soon but Jack does not stop him, he lays over him covering him from head to toe. He is so huge that Brock easily fits under him warming his hands and his soul.
Jack gets up in five minutes and Brock is able to start a new day. He goes to wash himself while Jack makes coffee for him. Brock takes a razor and looks up at the mirror.
The mirror reflects the dirty ceiling of the cage. Brock blinks and turns his head. He lies near small puddle on the cement floor. Or concrete floor. Or the cave is in the rock and floor is granite. Or some other stone. He doesn't know. He lays near small puddle that reflects the ceiling. The ceiling is no different from the floor. Whether stone, or cement, or concrete.
Brock believes he cried this puddle with his tears. He believes that if he cry some more, it will become deep enough to drown. Tears dried long ago. His whole body burns from the inside out with fever. He's delusional all the time.
Nonna puts her palm on his forehead checking the temperature. Nonna has hot rough skin. Nonna has big black eyes: the legacy of Italian ancestors. Nonna has big ears and teeth. Brock giggles hysterically, twisting from under the palm of the alpha checking his forehead. Alpha's not paying attention to him. Brock feels the other hands on himself. Someone keeps hand on his chest pinning him to the floor, someone holds his legs open, someone gropes roughly him inside. He's hot. Alphas are not happy with him. He still does not leaking. Military drugs are really good. He is released finally and someone kicks him on the thigh, without anger, like a stray dog. Brock sobs and curls up in a ball. He’s hot. He's cold.
Jack kisses his knee, causing Brock to blush. He still can not get used to the endless tenderness of his alpha. Brock waits for him to get tired of being nice with him and just take what he wants. But Jack still wants to take shy smiles and chaste affection from Brock. Jack is still satisfied with his inability to string two words in bed and his endless chatter outside of it. Jack tames him, drowns him in his kindness, so there would not left a drop of fear. Brock snuggles up to him still afraid of being rejected, abandoned, beaten. Frozen.
He snuggles into alpha's heat sighing contently when alpha begins to stroke his bare back, up and down the spine, slightly pressing his fingertips on the soft hemispheres near the crevice and returning back to the neck. And again. And again. Brock arches like a cat under a caress. Alpha hums pleased with his pliability and Brock is getting warmer.
The calloused finger touches his hole and Brock tenses. It’s dry. It hurts. He’s not leaking. There is no lubrication. Alpha pushes his finger through the resisting muscle ring. Brock jerks up in the hope of hitting alpha on chin with his head. Collar on his neck tightens blocking the air. Brock wheezes unable to scream: from pain, from fear, from fatigue, from the unbearable grief.
Nobody's coming for him. He can't even die here to avoid mating with one of the black-eyed strangers. He closes his eyes and lets go of his body to hang on the collar, which leash is tied to the bars. The alpha slaps him in the face.
They never tie him anymore. He's naked. He has no blanket. He was thrown a tiny rag which can cover some small area of his body. Brock could've ripped it into strips, but it's so decrepit it doesn't make sense. He covers his face with it to hide himself.
Jack squeezes his shoulder shaking him from another nightmare. They're sitting next to each other in the airplane seats. They are returned with a successful operation. No one was killed or even injured heavily. Mercier ties her hair in braid sitting in the seat opposite them. She has a bandage on her arm, the bullet went off in passing. Westfall stumbled, tripping on a tree root and bumped his head on the trunk. Murphy looks through the tweets from another protest he missed, something about rescue sea lions, or river otters — Brock can’t see properly that far. Pilots murmur something in their seats, the team is fine, everything is fine. Brock lowers his head on Jack's shoulder. If it weren't for the armrests, he would have laid down on his lap like they had the first time. They'll be flying for a few hours more. Brock is dead tired. He's afraid of falling asleep.
He blinks when the plane lands. Dreams don't always come. Nightmares don't always go away. He gets up with Jack and moves out. There’s a mountain of paperwork waiting for them, shower, medical examination, dinner. In some random order. Brock discreetly finds Jack’s hand and interlaces their fingers. Jack hugs him in response, smiling understandingly with the corner of his mouth; Brock is rarely up for public display of affection, but he feels too bad to deprive himself of support.
The setting sun glows softly with a reddish tint. Brock squints at the puffy ball hovering over the city. He blinks. Alpha's eyes are red. Alpha is in rut. Alpha sits near his cage. Brock does not react. Two omegas were taken away yesterday, their heat was triggered with the smell of this very rut. Brock waits for his body to give up. His body stubbornly doesn't listen and continues to fight. Brock is so weak he can't even shove away the arm smeared with alpha's sperm covering his mouth and nose. He breathes it but nothing happens. He closes his eyes. He wants to sleep.
He's woken up by a bucket of water. As usual. He gets food. As usual. He's being examined. As usual. Time after time: gray floor, gray ceiling, dirty water, alphas around. Brock can't even get up to pee anymore. He is ready to give himself to any of them just to stop the torture. He's cold. He's wet.
Jack gently pushes his cock into him. Jack opened him with his fingers and tongue first. Brock loves when Jack licks him. The knot hurts too much, fingers not as much as his cock, but still too much. Jack thinks he'll get used to it. Jack trains him in the gym, at the shooting range, on the treadmill and in the bed. Jack licks him gladly and Brock always relaxes and opens for him. Brock always feels warm and safe under him. Jack loves to play with him during knotting: Brock becomes more desperate, demanding, louder. He always goes lax after orgasm, nearly melts and the knot stops hurting him. After orgasm Brock snuggles to Jack, enjoying his hands, his smell, his presence. After orgasm he even gathers some courage to say a couple of endearments, and alpha always kisses him, collecting compliments from his lips.
Brock hopes he wouldn't fall asleep in Jack's hands.
Brock hopes he wouldn’t wake up in captivity.
Brock sleeps with no dreams, there’s only darkness and emptiness around. Brock doesn't know where or when he is. He doesn't open his eyes so not to see what he doesn't want to see.
There are rustling sounds, someone talks, beeps of hospital equipment. Somewhere in the distance there is a rumble as from the big road. Or airfield. Or engines of an aircraft carrier.
Brock thinks he's going crazy. He dreams of a grandmother he never knew. He dreams of an alpha he never met. He dreams of a desert he never been to. He feels tears running down his face. There's always sedative in his drip. Brock knows he's going crazy.
The doctors talks over him like they don't know that he had regained consciousness. They discuss fractures, burns and coma. They discuss poisoning and brain damage. They discuss cars, baseball and a new café around the corner. They discuss a life that Brock doesn't participate in.
Brock wants to fall asleep and wake up next to Jack.
Brock wants to fall asleep and never wake up.
Jack kisses his tears away, calming the hysteria caused by another nightmare. Brock, choking on his words, says that he dreams of the cage. He sees a world without Jack in his dream. He sees as he’s buried alive under the wreckage of the collapsing building after he did not have time to get out before the explosion. He sees that he has no family nor friends. He sees that he was never an omega and did not know the warmth of Jack’s arms around him. Jack rocks him like a child and promises to make things right. Jack doesn't say it's gonna be okay. Jack promises to make it right.
Brock looks at Winter Soldier and thinks he couldn't live like that: with his memories taken away. He squeezes Jack's palm and thinks he'll die if he forgets him. He thinks he'll go crazy if Jack leaves him. Alpha prompts him closer to the Hydra's famous weapon. Brock shyly stretches out his wrist. Winter gently takes his hand and licks skin wet with sweat. He has empty grey eyes. Jack says he'll be working with their team often now. Brock watches him curiously, snuggled back to his alpha. He thinks if he hadn't met Jack at the base in his first year, he might have been interested in this handsome alpha. At least as a heat partner.
But he has Jack. Jack is the best thing that ever happened to him.
Winter Soldier examines him as if he met him before but can't remember.
A cyborg with a metal hand, whose memories are wiped in a special chair; Brock joined Hydra long ago and has long been accustomed not to be surprised too much.