[Despite Sam's advice, Bucky continues to try and lock away the memories that continue to rise at the continued contact. Lieutenants who didn't like the way he looked at them slamming him by his head down onto the cold concrete of a cell. Or the time when he had to be held down in the chair, he can only remember once, when he screamed until his voice gave out. And then there was nothing left. No fight, no Bucky, only the weapon.
Bucky relaxes, more from the sensation remaining from the memory than comfort. He can be pliant, he can be soft. He's done it before. He needs to try now.
The feathers will help, he reminds himself, even as that relaxing feeling causes its own round of panic. Sam won't hurt him. Sam's had plenty of chances to kill him or turn him into the weapon and not done so. Sam won't hit him, Sam won't force him into the chair.]
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Bucky relaxes, more from the sensation remaining from the memory than comfort. He can be pliant, he can be soft. He's done it before. He needs to try now.
The feathers will help, he reminds himself, even as that relaxing feeling causes its own round of panic. Sam won't hurt him. Sam's had plenty of chances to kill him or turn him into the weapon and not done so. Sam won't hit him, Sam won't force him into the chair.]