"Rise and shine, cupcake!"

Steve groaned and rolled over. He reached out to grab the clock that stood on his nightstand, trying to see what time it was. He blearily opened his eyes when his hand didn't wrap around the clock like it should've, and with a jolt, he realized exactly where he was.

"Aw, fuck." He yanked the covers up over his head, the sight of Rumlow grinning down at him first thing in the morning making him want to jump right back into the ocean. He scowled when he heard a small laugh above him, and then Rumlow effortlessly pulled the covers off of him. Realizing just how naked and exposed he was, Steve flopped over onto his side, trying to protect himself and his dignity in vain.

Rumlow undid the rope around his ankle, which Steve had surprisingly forgotten about while sleeping. Then, Rumlow grabbed Steve's elbow, wrenching him up into a sitting position.

"Ow, fuck!" Steve complained, rubbing his arm. "You know I'm gonna end up bruising if you keep doing that."

Rumlow ushered him outside, steering Steve out of the barn-like structure with a firm hand on the back of his neck. It was clearly a possessive gesture, but he chose not to dwell on it for too long. It was quiet, still relatively early in the morning. The sun shone brightly into the barn through the high, small windows, glowering down at them and heating up the small area. Steve realized that the others he'd seen in the barn last night were gone, nowhere to be found. That should've probably been concerning, but it wasn't; the worst thing that could happen to him was being tossed into the ocean and getting eaten by sharks. They'd all probably just woken up early; he must've been allowed to sleep in and rest.

Rumlow's grip loosened a little on his neck. It was still there and Steve could feel it, a clear reminder of his place, but it wasn't hard enough to feel overbearing. In fact, it almost seemed as if the larger man was trying to soothe him, like he was a frightened puppy, with the way his fingers scritched at his nape.

Rumlow was… interesting. Steve wasn't really sure how to act around him; he scared him a little, but he was also pretty sure Rumlow wasn't the type of person to box his ears or pummel him to the ground if he gave a bit of sass. Was he? Well, he supposed he'd find out sooner or later.

"Is this the part where I get to go sightseeing around the island?" Steve asked dryly. "Or are we painting someone else today?"

Rumlow just laughed.

Steve stared as they passed a group of young children all trying to climb up the same tree at once. A monkey chittered from the top, like it was taunting them, and before Steve could react, a branch that a little girl was hanging on snapped and she dropped. Steve nearly screamed, but the girl didn't hit the ground; instead, she caught onto another branch with her hands, swinging back on.

"What the fuck," Steve muttered.

"Don't ask me," Rumlow replied, still watching the kids. "Fuckin' monkey kids. Come on."

Soon, they entered a clearing, Steve flinching minutely when he heard the buzz of a bug near his ear. Rumlow sniffed a laugh from next to him. Steve figured it was probably a real effort on Rumlow's part to stifle it at all, so he stayed quiet.

The sun suddenly felt much hotter now that there weren't any trees around them to provide shade. The glare of the sunlight made his eyes hurt, so he averted his eyes to Rumlow, trying to figure out why exactly they were there.

Rumlow noticed his stare. "It's breakfast time."

Breakfast, my ass, Steve thought, but he wisely kept silent, letting Rumlow drag him further into the clearing. He hissed when he stepped on something sharp, swearing under his breath. God, why didn't these people have shoes? Steve scoffed. Their weird ass bodies had probably adapted to the weird ass island. Figures.

As they made their way forward, Steve quickly noticed that they weren't alone. There were a few others lingering around the clearing. Most of them sat on the ground, spooning something akin to porridge into their mouths from coconut shells, while the rest munched on what looked to be papayas and guavas. Large palm fronds arched over them, giving them relief from the scorching heat. Steve watched as Rollins walked over to a redhead sitting on a boulder, nudging her slightly to sit beside her. It was casual enough, but the way they smiled coolly at each other and the way they were positioned, physically sitting above the others made Steve realize that both of them were masters. That meant that the ones on the ground were slaves.

He also realized with a blush that he was the only one completely naked. The other slaves all had some form of attire, although it didn't cover much. Males wore shorts that stopped at their upper thighs, while females wore shorts that stopped at their mid-thighs, as well as what looked like strapless bralettes. Steve suddenly wondered what it meant that he was still naked.

Apparently it didn't mean much besides the fact that Rumlow was just lazy, or he'd forgotten, because the moment Rollins caught sight of them, he grinned and called out, "Where are your pants, little man?" The fucker was wearing pants and a tank top.

Steve scowled, his embarrassment growing when he realized that the others had stopped eating to stare at him.

Rollins was clearly enjoying this too much, because he approached them, ruffled Steve's hair, and joked to Rumlow, "You know, just because you like going around au naturel doesn't mean that other people do."

Rumlow grinned. "Oh, come on. It's a freeing sensation. I'm sure this one would agree, wouldn't he?" He nudged Steve, as if Steve was supposed to play along and respond to that.

Spoiler alert: Steve didn't.

The two larger men still found it equally funny. Rollins was still chuckling as he grabbed a towel and tossed it at Steve. "Tie that around your waist. We don't want dirt going up your ass crack."

Steve wanted to die.

Still, he obeyed mutely, fumbling to secure the towel around his waist. He tried to slap Rumlow's hands away when the man reached out to help him, but Rumlow just ignored him and tied it himself regardless, as if Steve was incapable of doing so.

Rumlow sent him off with a little push towards a man Steve hadn't seen before. He was tall, his skin a dark golden brown, and he stood with his chest puffed out a bit, as if he were proud of something that Steve wasn't aware of.

"You've got two choices," he told Steve, a grin tugging at his lips when he noticed Steve's mutinous expression. "Fruit or soup?" He held up two separate bowls.

Steve observed the soup with a barely concealed distaste. It was a yellow-ish liquid with chunks of whatever the hell that was, and oh god, with a fucking leaf to top it off. The fruit, on the other hand, looked to be at least edible, but Steve wasn't a huge fan of papaya or guava. Still, he'd take that over the soup any day.

"Or, if you really want, there's also the option of this." The man nudged a coconut with his foot and it rolled to a slow stop in front of Steve. "But there's a catch—you only get to eat it if you crack it open with your forehead."

Behind Steve, Rumlow let out a loud bark of laughter, and Steve came to the conclusion that there must be an inside joke about it. God, he didn't even want to know what had happened between the two of them.

In the end, Steve took the bowl that carried fruits, deciding it was the safest option for now. When he hesitated to sit down, unsure of where, Rumlow, who was in the middle of scooping a plentiful amount of fruit into his own bowl, turned slightly and pointed to the ground where all the others were.

Steve sat down, extremely grateful for the towel, and he adjusted it to reassure himself that he wasn't flashing anyone.

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the slaves; they ate silently without speaking a word. Steve made eye contact with a few of the others on the ground with him. He couldn't help but wonder how long they'd been here, held against their will. The silence was slowly driving Steve crazy. It meant that he had too much time to think, too much time to dwell on how things could get much worse from here. Maybe they would be used for labour, or sex. Or maybe they would all be killed off one by one as sacrifices. The people here seemed like they were fucked up enough to do something like that. Steve shuddered.

Steve and the others jumped when Rumlow roared, "Sam!" when the man who'd offered Steve food dumped a bowl of water—God, Steve hoped it was water—on his lap. He watched with furrowed brows when Rumlow tackled the other man to the ground, the two wrestling in the dirt.

Steve started when one of the slaves leaned over to him and whispered, "They do this shit everyday," before going back to her meal, as if she hadn't spoken.

Meal time quickly came to an end when Rollins clapped his hands twice and announced that they would head down to the river now. Apprehensively, Steve copied the other slaves' actions, watching as they tossed their bowls into a pile in front of a boulder and began to trek into the jungle. They walked back in the direction they'd come from, but diverted so instead of going to their quarters, they went down a small hill. At the bottom was a river, wide and deep enough to deter Steve from wanting to cross it. It wasn't moving very fast, so he could probably make it across without much trouble, but it definitely seemed to be some sort of border, like a moat around a castle—

"Okay," Rumlow announced, clapping close enough to Steve's ear to make him jump. "Everyone, strip down. You've got ten minutes to bathe. Leave your clothes on the shore, and when you're done you can retrieve a towel from Rollins. Stay close, alright?"

Steve gaped when the others began to strip, even though he knew he probably shouldn't even be surprised, considering the things he'd been forced to go through so far. He inched closer to the others, who were beginning to make their way down closer to the shore, when he heard Rollins chuckle behind him. "Oh, look who decided to show up. You here to take your bi-annual bath?"

Steve turned around and was greeted with the sight of… more nudity. Next to Rollins stood someone Steve had never seen before. He had striking blue eyes and a mess of lightning white waves on his head, and had just dropped his shorts, stepping out of them. "I bathe more than you do," he teased. "Actually, how about I stay out here while you take a dip? I think you need it more."

Rollins smacked him on the thigh right as Rumlow walked over, announcing, "Pietro!" Immediately, Pietro stepped forwards, standing at attention with his hands clasped behind him. He seemed completely comfortable, even though he was butt-ass naked. Rumlow stopped in front of him, his posture military, though one hand strayed to Pietro's hip, landing on it lightly. "Are you our training assistant today?"

Steve couldn't see Pietro's face from where he was standing, but he could hear the softness of his voice, the caution that wasn't present when talking to Rollins. "Yes, Sir. Is there anyone new today?"

Silently, Rumlow pointed over to where Steve was standing, still on the shore. "Over there. He's too hesitant."

"I can help with that," Pietro promised. He gave Rumlow a meaningful look, then carefully stepped away, letting Rumlow's hand fall to the side. He strode over to Steve, confident as ever. "Come on, newbie, get in the water." In one smooth move, he yanked Steve's towel off. Steve squawked in protest, but before he could grab it again Pietro was tugging him away, pulling him towards the river.

The bath wasn't as much a pain in the ass as Steve had expected it to be. The water felt nice on his skin, and he liked that the dried paint was washed away. The river was also deep enough that it gave him a break from feeling exposed. Overall, it felt like a win-win, until they were called back up to the shore by Rumlow.

He ruefully stepped out of the river, following behind the others. Snatching a towel from Rollins, he threw it over his body. It was large enough to cover most of his body as he dried his hair with it. Once he was finished, he cocooned himself in it, unwilling to give back what was somewhat protecting his dignity.

Pietro, on the other hand, stood proud and naked. He'd towelled himself off swiftly before tossing it aside. Steve saw the look of approval on Rumlow's face at that, and he scowled. Pietro was a suck up.

Rumlow stepped closer to Pietro, running a hand through his damp hair. "Look at him; he's a perfect slave," he commented to no one in particular. He made it sound as if it was something to be proud of.

Steve thought that was a bad thing, to be considered a well-trained, well-behaved slave, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Towel."

Steve looked up and found Rollins waiting with an expectant expression on his face. In his hand, he held a pair of shorts, the same ones that Steve had seen the others wearing before their bath. Rollins snapped his fingers as if to say, 'Come on, we don't have all day,' and Steve reluctantly handed over his towel. The shorts were tossed to him in return, along with a pair of shoes. At least it was more cover, he told himself in a pathetic attempt to feel better.

"Let's move," Rumlow called, striding forward. "Pietro, stick with us for now." He ruffled Steve's hair as he passed by, making him scowl.

Steve wondered what sort of torture he would have to go through now. It was still morning, he knew, and couldn't help but wish the night would arrive faster so that he would have the chance to get away from all of this and take a breather. Even though he would have to repeat this the next day. And the day after that. Shit.

The slaves were led like livestock to a rocky area, where they were told to sit and continue their projects from before. All of the other slaves did as they were told, with most pulling strands of twine from baskets to resume braiding. Steve was about to find a spot as far away from the others as possible when there was a hand on his shoulder, and Steve nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Rollins," Rumlow growled, too close for comfort. "I'm going to take this one back to the barracks to talk about his new duties. Are you good here?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Rollins looked Steve up and down, seeming weary. "Be smart about this."

"Yeah, yeah, when am I not?"

Steve felt the urge to run, or at least escape the hand holding firm on his shoulder. But he didn't. So far, the best results had been achieved by giving in and following his orders. He could at least pretend to keep doing that… right?

Rumlow led him back to the barracks, now empty. He sat on one of the cots, looking at Steve like he was expecting him to eagerly sit on his lap or something. Steve stared back, unflinching under Rumlow's gaze. There were a few more moments of silence until Rumlow told him, "Come here, Stevie."

Steve didn't want to.

But he did.

He had to bite his tongue from responding. He just moved, because it wasn't that fucking hard to take a few steps forward. He stiffened when Rumlow firmly gripped his shoulder and said, "On your knees."

Steve jerked a bit at that, having not expected it. He clenched his jaw when Rumlow raised an eyebrow patronizingly, and slowly let himself go down on his knees, body tense and ready to bolt at any moment necessary.

He was surprised when Rumlow got up after a few moments of petting his hair as if he would pet a dog. Then, he headed to the back of the building. Steve couldn't get a clear view of what he was doing, but he found out soon enough when Rumlow returned holding what looked like straps of leather in his hands.

When Rumlow got closer, Steve realized the pieces of leather had laces. Rumlow sat down in front of him once more, resuming his position, and held out one of the leather straps in front of Steve.

Steve was debating on whether or not Rumlow wanted him to eat it or something, when Rumlow spoke. "Give me your arm."

Steve reluctantly lifted his left arm and Rumlow placed the leather over his forearm. It was fairly long, covering most of his forearm up to his elbow. Rumlow began briskly doing up the laces, making it tight enough so that Steve could definitely feel its presence, but ensuring that it didn't cut off blood circulation.

"Understand that you are never allowed to take these off without explicit permission," Rumlow said, eyes fixed on the laces. "Non-negotiable."

"Why?" Steve asked, the word coming out before he could stop himself.

Steve was surprised when Rumlow didn't do anything else but give him a look, eyes flicking up to Steve's face and his hands pausing before he resumed in his task a second later, finishing up the laces. "It marks your servitude to the people and to the island. It's a symbol of your submission and acceptance as one of the island's offerings. You should be grateful to the island for allowing you to be a part of this."

Fucking hell. Steve scoffed at that, his mood significantly darker, if that was even possible. Seriously? Thank the island for dropping him here? Yeah, not happening.

He wasn't expecting it when Rumlow firmly grabbed his chin after he'd finished up the wristband. His eyes locked onto Rumlow's, and he couldn't help but swallow nervously, mouth dry as a desert.

"I'm going to say this once, and only once," Rumlow said softly. "You never disrespect the island. Ever. It keeps us alive, and in return, we show gratitude. If that needs to be drilled into your head, then it will be." He released his grip on his chin and took Steve's wrist in his hand, fastening the other wristband around his arm. Afterwards, Rumlow ran a hand through his hair and commented, "Good, you learn fast; that'll come in handy."

Steve had to suppress the urge to punch him in the nose. When he made a move to get up from his knees, Rumlow clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "I didn't tell you to do that. C'mon, Stevie, be a good boy."

Steve stiffened at that. "I'm not a dog."

"No, you're not," Rumlow agreed, lips curling into a smirk. "You're a slave. Which is why I'm going to be showing you exactly what you need to do as a slave, not a dog."

"Like that's supposed to make me feel better," Steve muttered under his breath.

Rumlow just let out a laugh at that. "Oh, that mouth on you is going to make things so much more fun. Up, on your feet." He snapped his fingers.

When Steve stood, Rumlow pointed to the back of the building and said, "See that basket? Pull the sheets off of the beds and put them in there so that you can take it out for laundry later. Not too hard, is it?" He wasn't really asking, of course. "Get a move on with it or we'll be here all day."

Steve purposely made his way over to the bed farthest from Rumlow, pulling the sheets off of it and tossing it into the basket. When Rumlow said with a grin, "Atta boy, keep up the good work," Steve gritted his teeth and seriously considered hurling the entire basket at him. He amused himself by imagining exactly that.

Much to Steve's annoyance, Rumlow continued with the commentary as the number of sheets in the basket grew. It was a wonder he didn't storm out of the barracks—not that anything good would have resulted from that anyway. When he reluctantly approached the cot that Rumlow was sitting on to remove the blankets, the larger man placed a large hand on his hip. Steve scowled. Clearly, Rumlow didn't know a thing about personal space.

When Steve placed the last sheet in the basket, he picked it up and said in a sarcastically innocent tone, "Do you need me to take this outside, your majesty? Should I crawl while I'm at it?"

Rumlow snorted, clearly amused. He didn't even move from his spot, only saying, "Put that down before I decide you need to be put to better use than just doing simple chores."

Steve didn't want to find out what exactly that meant. He dropped the basket and made his way over to Rumlow. He was made to sweep the floor, which Steve didn't really see the point of because they were on an island and dirt and dust and whatnot were pretty much guaranteed to exist even if he cleaned the floor for twenty hours, but he didn't question it.

In the middle of him carrying out his seemingly pointless task, Rumlow called out, "My shoes need a good polish too. Feel free to get to that after you're done with sweeping."

"Polish your life first, asshole," Steve muttered under his breath.

It continued on and on. Steve, do this. Steve do that. Steve, you missed a spot. Steve, you're a slave, you're supposed to be working harder, you're supposed to be doing better.

After a few more painful moments, Steve let the broom clatter to the ground in the corner, deeming his job finished. He didn't bother to pick it up, just heading back to Rumlow. The man was waiting with a smirk on his lips, legs spread comfortably wide.

"C'mon, Stevie, there's no need to look so sour, mm?" Rumlow was clearly enjoying himself, the bastard.

Steve positively glowered. "I don't think you'd be happy if you were in my position, dickhead," he growled, knowing that Rumlow was within hearing distance.

Sure enough, Rumlow's eyebrows shot up. "Which is exactly why I'm not in your position. I'm the Keeper, you're the slave. Get used to it." He snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground, a clear sign for Steve to get on his knees.

Steve didn't. "Like that's supposed to mean anything." He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms in an effort to hold himself back from strangling Rumlow. Steve was going to kill him. God, he hated him. His anger built up, more and more, and suddenly, before he even realized it, words were tumbling out of his mouth, trying to goad Rumlow into doing something, anything, just so he could prove how much of a fucking dick he really was. "You know what, asshole? You act so high and mighty, but I don't see you doing anything to prove just how strong you actually are, huh? You know what I think? I think you're just all bark and no bite; you're too scared to even try to do anything besides yappin' like that—"

He broke off when Rumlow stood up suddenly and shoved him to his knees, looming over Steve. He hadn't been expecting it, and his knees hit the floor with a painful thump.

"I'd watch your mouth if I were you," Rumlow said warningly, his face dark. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you, slave." When Steve still avoided eye contact, he fisted his hand in Steve's hair and yanked. Steve hissed and clenched his fists, but Rumlow disregarded it. Instead, he glowered down at Steve and narrowed his eyes, growling, "When I give you an order, you obey it."

"Jesus fuck, what's stuck up your ass?" Steve spat angrily. "You're a fucking dick, you know that?"

Rumlow yanked Steve's hair again, and panic began to build in Steve's gut when he processed the fact that he was kneeling between Rumlow's legs. Fuck. Steve gulped, mouth going dry, and all he could think was, shit, what was going to happen now?

"Did you hear what I said?"

Steve hissed through his teeth when Rumlow patted his cheek, just hard enough to sting. "I said, you need to understand the difference between playing around and disrespectful behaviour. If you don't figure that out, I'll have to show you, and you won't like that at all." Rumlow's voice was nearly a hiss now.

"Fuck you," Steve whispered, putting every ounce of hatred he felt towards him into those two words.

Rumlow's nostrils flared, and he jerked Steve to his feet, shoving him against the wall. "You need to be fucking taught a lesson, slave," he growled, making a move to reach out for Steve.

And Steve panicked.

He punched Rumlow between the legs, arms flailing, and with a gasp of pain, he wrenched himself out of Rumlow's grasp. While Rumlow doubled over and cursed, he scrambled to his feet. Steve stumbled, trying to regain his balance. Then, before he knew it, he was running.

He didn't even know where he was running to. All he knew was that he had to get away from Rumlow.

He heard more cursing and running footsteps following behind him, and Steve pushed himself to run faster. A branch cut his cheek, but he didn't care, ignoring the stinging. Then, he broke out of the jungle and into a new clearing, when he was tackled from behind.

The breath was punched out of him as he fell to the ground with a shriek. He fell on his front, and a dead weight fell on top of him, making him yelp. Rumlow didn't hesitate for a second before trying to grab him. Steve thrashed, trying to get away, and he was pretty sure he'd kicked Rumlow in the groin again, judging from the loud exclamation of, "Shit!"

Steve tried to shove Rumlow off of him, breath coming in quick little gasps. It took him a few moments to realize that a second pair of hands had joined in the wrestling match. For a split second, he thought they were trying to get Rumlow off of him until they yanked his arms above him, over his head. Steve let out another shriek of protest and writhed, only stopping when his arms twinged in pain.

Rumlow got back to his feet, chest heaving as he stood over Steve, ready to jump and grab him once more if he managed to break free. "You little shit, I swear to—"

Blood roaring in his ears, Steve bucked and screamed, "Let me go, you sick fuck!" He shouted at the top of his lungs until his throat felt hoarse, trying to talk over Rumlow's booming voice. He only struggled harder when the hands on his wrists tightened, gripping almost painfully in an effort to get him to stop thrashing around. The mulch dug into his knees as he struggled.

"Jesus fuck, stop screaming!"

Steve started when a voice interrupted the shouting match between him and Rumlow. Breaking off with a cough, he twisted to try to see who it was.

Behind them stood a man with messy brown hair that was pulled up into a bun. He was frowning, looking rather unpleased, but Steve barely paid any attention to that. Instead, his gaze flicked over to the man's metal arm and lingered there.

Steve only tore his eyes away from it when Rumlow straightened and gave the other man an easy grin. "Bucky!" he said in a pleasant tone. "Had a nice sleep?"

"I was having a nice sleep until he—" Bucky jutted his chin towards Steve, who scowled, "—made a big commotion." He sauntered over to Rumlow, standing next to him and appraising Steve, who was still held back by—Rollins, he realized. He nudged Rumlow and said with a touch of playfulness, "Getting too old and rusty for this job, Brock? You should keep him under better control."

Rumlow just scoffed fondly and retorted, "Oh, please. I'm not the problem, he's just a little shit."

Steve bared his teeth at Rumlow, but before Rumlow could react there was a sharp sting on Steve's face and he yelped. He tried to pull his hand down to touch the painful spot, but Rollins didn't let him.

Bucky put his hands on his hips, giving Rumlow an unimpressed look. "He's new, of course he's a little shit. Sometimes slaves need to be corrected for their bad behavior—it's not a new concept."

Steve let out a huff of annoyance and complained, "My arms are literally gonna rip off if you don't let go."

He was ignored, and the two carried on with their conversation as if nothing had happened. Rumlow scoffed and told Bucky, "Oh, please, Buck. I'd like to see you try with this one."

With those words, the atmosphere between them quickly changed. Bucky was suddenly eyeing Steve with an expression of intrigue on his face, as if he were trying to solve a hard puzzle.

Steve jolted, eliciting a warning grunt from Rollins, when Rumlow let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, I know that expression," Rumlow said, stepping over to Bucky and narrowly missing stepping on Steve as he did so, making Steve tense—knowing Rumlow, he'd probably done it on purpose, just to get back at Steve for kicking him in the balls more than once. "That's a Bucky's-gears-are-turning expression."

Bucky scoffed, tearing his eyes away from Steve. "You're ridiculous," he told Rumlow.

"Oh, I know," Rumlow said, looking pleased. "And I'm going to say something else ridiculous—I bet you'd have real good fun with this one, Buck."

Steve met Bucky's eyes, and immediately stilled in his shifting, unsure of what was about to happen. Bucky looked thoughtful, and he was eyeing Steve as if he were a delicious meal, lacing his hands—the real one and the metal one—together and fiddling with his fingers.

"C'mon," Rumlow said, sounding almost gleeful. "You know you want him."

Steve looked up indignantly at that. "Uh, I know this can be shocking for all of you, but I'm actually not some object that can be sold, so—mmph!" He broke off when Rumlow clapped a hand over his mouth, preventing him from saying anything else.

"Don't you dare bite," Rumlow told him warningly. Then, he turned his attention back to Bucky. "Come on, Buck. It's time for you to come out of hibernation; you're miserable and we all know it. Lemme just give you this one. Think of it as a gift from your best friend." When Bucky didn't speak or move, Rumlow sighed and signaled for Rollins to drag him to his feet. "Alright, no worries. I'll take him back to the barracks or something; you know where to find me if you change your mind." He crooked a finger and said, "C'mon, Stevie."

Steve was shoved forward by Rollins, and he gave the large man a dirty look over his shoulder before reluctantly trudging after Rumlow, although he made sure not to brush against him.

They were about to leave the clearing when Bucky's voice sounded from behind them. "Alright, fine!" he called. "I'll take him for a bit."

Rumlow turned around with a big grin on his face, as if he'd been anticipating Bucky's words. "That's the spirit, Buck!" he said triumphantly, giving Bucky a clap on the back. "Seriously, man, you'll feel better getting back into it."

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky grumbled. "But if he causes any trouble for me, I'm throwing him back in the ocean." He clasped his metal hand on the back of Steve's neck, gripping firmly.

Steve shivered when he felt cold metal on his skin. It felt unnatural and strange, and Steve couldn't help but tense. He was convinced that Bucky could snap his neck in one quick movement if he wanted to.

Steve was so focused on making sure Bucky didn't strangle him that he hadn't even noticed Rumlow and Rollins disappear back into the jungle. His breathing quickened when he realized he was alone with Bucky now.

Bucky just turned around and steered him away in the opposite direction where they'd come from, saying, "Follow me. Steven, was it?"

"Steve," Steve bit back. He didn't know how to feel about this new master, but either way he knew that he couldn't be much worse than Rumlow. Besides, maybe he'd get another chance to escape.