Steve Rogers And Bucky Barnes Images

Protector

Warnings - Reader is mute, mentions of torture, death, very descripted details of gore, trust issues, some fluff

Anything in "italic" will be sign language

The noise is what startled you the most, before the few other guests in the room. They just stared before moving on, allowing you peace as you watched them on the bed, too caught up in what they were doing to hear the sounds outside that sounded as if a war was going on.

Half of them ignored you anyways as they went through you. It's like they knew you couldn't do anything but let them. Your eyes were empty, and you had nowhere to run within the white padded walls they kept you in.

Everything is normal. Electricity is still coursing through you, your brain trying to figure out where you are and what you're seeing, but you ignore that as well. These things around you are more your priority, how they glide through the air before spacing through you. There's a jolt in your stomach, and it's really the only pain you feel before another one joins, and then another.

Hours have gone by, and now, you ignore the pain as well, just watching as they move around the room, skip through the walls, or stare at you from the corner. There's only one that will do this, its hands crossed and eyes set straight on you like it has been since you have awoken.

You have gotten used to how red the eyes are, how it almost keeps you paralyzed as these things ghost around you. You wonder if the cameras can pick them up as well, or if other's in their cells can see them.

The door opens quickly, and you don't even phase, staring at the corner now with your hands on your knees. You don't know why you can't look away, but you know you can't speak. They took that away from you, just as everything else.

"Don't detonate yet," a voice says from your side, and then you hear the footsteps. "Someone else is here." They slow their footsteps, and everything flashes back. Your head turns to see who has entered, and you're shocked to see it's not anyone in the black clothing everyone else that normally comes in wears.

Whispers rush past your ears, and you can't help the small whimper that escapes you when you hear the high pitched ringing, hands immediately covering them. Nothing hurts more than when they try to communicate. They're so loud, yet it's hard to hear them. They're the worst at speaking anything you can understand at the moment, as well, not making sense when they say whatever it is they're trying to tell you.

The man stops the moment you move, and then you hear more footsteps, the whispers becoming louder. The walls are opening up, and you can't bare seeing how many more are on the outside of your designated room. Why can't he see what's happening to you? Why is he so unaffected by this?

"Romanoff, I'm gonna need you on the East side," the man speaks again, lowly, as if he knows you're hurting. Your eyes open up to him, and you're very grateful how kind he is being by keeping a distance. You like your space. "Hi," he says now, whispering almost. It's a gentle one, though, and it doesn't hurt your ears. Everything is much more quieter when he talks. "You're alright, I'm not going to hurt you."

The whispers come back, now much more angrier. The shadow is right back in the corner, and you can't help but look at it, eyes watering as its eyes bare right into the man's. Your legs shoot up, and you race to the corner, shaking your head. He's innocent, you try to plead. He had said he wasn't going to harm you, why wouldn't it believe him?