A/N Trigger Warning: This part contains a torture segment.  Do not read if being restrained or reading about torture makes you uncomfortable

You wake with a pained groan. Your throat feels raw and dry from all your coughing. It tastes like there's cotton in your mouth, your tongue thick and swollen. Your eyes blink open, trying to take in your surroundings. It's a dark room, only a single incandescent bulb hangs from a wire directly overhead. The walls are a cold, unforgiving metal. There are places where the metal has stained from blood, grime, and who the hell knows what else.

You try to move, only to realize you've been confined to the uncomfortable metal chair you're sitting in, your hands tied behind the back rest. Struggling a little more, you find that neither your binds, nor the chair will move. The chair must be bolted to the floor. Your bindings, on the other hand seem to tighten further the more you struggle, so you stop quickly. You try to stretch out your fingers, already feeling the effects from your blood being cut off at the wrist.

You're left in the dim room for a few minutes before a door opens behind you. You wince when the grating sound of metal against metal fills your ears. The man from before, Rumlow, steps into your field of vision, dragging a metal chair behind him. He flips it around and straddles it backward, arms crossed over the back of the chair as he faces you. His blackened gaze washes over your form.

You're still able to sense his aura, but it doesn't seem to affect you as much, he must be muting it.

"Glad to see you're awake. Was worried there for a moment," he smirks darkly.

You school your features into an unamused glare, knowing he doesn't actually give a shit about you.

Your reaction only seems to make his grin widen. "So... you're the little descendant that thought it would be a good idea to spread her legs for an incubus. Can I ask why?"

Your glare hardens. "Because he asked nicely," you respond sarcastically.

Rumlow's smirk falls and a second later you feel that heaviness in your lungs again. You can't fight the urge to cough, despite how much it hurts to do so. "You might want to think twice before testing my limits. You'll find that they're very short," he warns ominously.

The pain in your chest slowly eases up and you gasp for choked breath. "What are you?" you repeat your earlier question.

Rumlow regards you for a moment. "What do you know about magic wielders?"

You raise an eye brow. "You're a witch?" you ask incredulously.

He rolls his eyes. "There are four classes of magic wielders," he starts, holding up four fingers briefly, before switching to just hold one. "Witches are human and they make up the first class. They practice natural based magic, using potions from herbs and drawing energies from the alignment of the moon and the sun. Basic stuff, mostly white magic."

He holds up two fingers now. "Then there are Enchanters, descendants born with magic. They can cast spells using their own energies, and some can be relatively powerful. But they too, only wield white magic." He raises a third finger. "Then you have Bokors, the voodoo sorcerers that practice both white and black magic. They use a combination of natural and enhanced magic. Most usually come from demon bloodlines."

He crosses his arms back over the chair, a sort of darkness shadowing his features. "Lastly, you have Castors. And Castors live in a class all on their own, because they're the ones that give up their souls to possess unlimited power. They can wield dark magic in its purest form. The kind of magic you can only dream of. I'll let you take a guess at which one I am," he smirks.

Just one look at his soulless gaze and the answer is clear. "Castor," the word escapes you in a dry croak, the dread pooling into you.

He snickers, "That's right."

You gulp, despite the scratchiness of your throat. "But how...? Why has no one stopped you? You're surrounded by descendants. They should know when a demon is near-"

"I'm not a demon, sweet cheeks," he cuts you off. "Any of the three other classes can become a Castor. Though the more powerful you are in your original class, the more power you'll be able to obtain as a Castor. And the nice thing about it too, I have the ability to make myself seem unchanged to those around me. None of the idiots around here know that I'm now a Castor, because they still read me as a descendant. Makes blending in pretty nice."

You frown, eyeing him warily, "Then why can I sense you?"

A thoughtful expression appears on his face. "It took me a minute to figure it out." His gaze sweeps over you, lips twisting into a sneer. "But you've been fucking Barnes for a few months now. He's a high-level demon, can probably read auras better than most. If enough of his energy seeped into you, it could have enhanced your own abilities. After all, his energy has already been triggering your other powers."

Your frown deepens. "How long have you been watching me?" You thought Bucky and Talia were the only ones that knew about the emergence of your powers. But it seemed like there was almost nothing that SHIELD didn't already know about you.

He shrugs casually. "Technically since you were born. All documented descendent bloodlines are closely monitored. You were supposed to have been initiated into SHIELD after you graduated high school. We respectfully kept our distance due to your mother's wishes. The Enchantress was sent to keep a closer eye on you when you moved away from home. We weren't even sure if you were going to show signs of developing your powers. By the time she figured it out, you were already in too deep with Barnes."

The way he speaks, especially that last part... It makes your stomach twist. "You have absolutely no intention of recruiting me, do you?" you question hesitantly.

He chuckles dryly. "No. We don't."

*

Bucky's phone comes to life at his fingertips, the soft light illuminating his face in the dark hotel room. Another sigh escapes his lips when he sees there's still no response from you. His texts have gone unanswered all day, his phone calls running to voicemail. He thought that maybe you were just having a busy day at work, but when night fell and you still hadn't shown up in his hotel room, he knew something wasn't right.

Unlocking the phone, he moves into his contacts. Hitting the call button, he places the phone to his ear. It rings twice before he hears a response.

"You better have a damn good reason for waking me up at 2 in the morning, Buck." Talia's smooth voice fills his ear.

"I need you to check on Y/N."

He hears he groan quietly, as she shuffles beneath her sheets. "Can't it wait until morning? She's probably asleep."

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair, not liking the uneasy feeling in his chest. "She came here last night and we agreed that she'd come back tonight. But I haven't heard from her all day. Can you just make sure nothing's wrong?"

Talia huffs quietly but he can hear her moving out from her covers. "Yeah, yeah. I'll call you back."

The call ends before he can respond. He tries to tell himself that everything will be all right. That Talia will find you already passed out on his bed, because you'd had a hard day at work and just couldn't manage to stay awake long enough to translocate to him.

He moves into the photo app on his phone, a small smile quirking his lips when he sees your face. Your eyes are shining brightly, a grin stretching your lips. Bucky can see himself in the background, frowning slightly, but there's no mistaking the tenderness in his eyes. You'd been frustrated that he was spending so much time on his phone, he'd been texting work, so you ended up snatching the phone from his fingers and started taking a series of selfies with it.

He flips through the photo set, watching the frown disappear from his face in the images as your grin only seems to get wider with each shot. In the last one, he's moved in closer, his chest pressed to your back, head bent low, as his lips graze the side of your jaw. He can still hear the giggles that had escaped your lips when you tried to keep still enough so the picture wouldn't be blurry.

The screen suddenly changes to show the incoming call from Talia. Bucky swipes to answer before the first ring has finished. "How is she?"

There's a few seconds of painstaking silence, "She's not here, Buck."

Bucky shoots to his feet and immediately begins pacing the at the foot of the bed. "What do you mean? Where is she?"

Talia sighs quietly. "I don't know. Her phone is still on the nightstand, none of your texts even opened. The bed is unmade. Her work outfit is still hanging up in front of your closet. I called Scott down at the front desk and he said he never saw her come in this morning. I don't think she even made it back to the apartment..."

*

You hear the door open once again behind you. "How is it going?" The older man from before, Director Pierce, enters the room, coming around your seated form to stand beside Rumlow.

"We're having a nice chat," Rumlo smirks.

Seeing a potential opportunity to get yourself out of this, your heart skips a beat. "Yes, about how this man here is a Castor and he's been hiding it from everyone on this base, including you, sir." You speak quickly, urgently trying to oust Rumlow before he can stop you.

Pierce gives you a blank look, his lips pursed in a frown. His gaze then shifts to Rumlow. "You do realize that because you've told her, there's now no chance of us being able to initiate her."

You gape at his words. He knew?! This man was supposed to be the head of SHIELD, and he willing has a Castor working for him? Any possible hope for escape is dashed in an instant.

Rumlow chuckles darkly. "Was that even an option to begin with? She fucked an incubus. She's tainted goods now."

You glare at the two of them, your hands tightening into fists. If only you weren't tied up, you'd like to show these two just how tainted you really were.

"Fine," Pierce sighs solemnly. "See what information you can get out of her, then mark her and put her with the others."

Rumlow looks at him in slight confusion. "Mark her? Holy water isn't going to work on her."

Pierce reaches out to place his hand in Rumlow's shoulder. "I'm sure you'll think of something." With a parting nod he moves back to the door.

A sinister grin stretches his mouth, "Oh I do believe I already have. This is going to be fun."

Your heartrate triples in speed. You don't want to know what he's thinking, but either way, you know you're going to find out. You hear the door shut once again.

"So, what can you tell me about Barnes?" Rumlow asks.

You give him a flat look. It pisses you off that he actually expects you to answer. Like your loyalty to Bucky means nothing. "That his dick is bigger than yours." You already know you're not getting out of this, may as well make the most of it.

You see the rage ignite in his gaze, his face morphing into a scowl that makes you almost regret your choice of words. "Is that why you let him fuck you? Because he has a big dick?"

"Well it helps that he actually knows how to use it. When was the last time you were able to get a girl off using just your cock?"

You should have seen it coming, especially with how mouthy you were being, but the sting of his slap wouldn't have hurt any less, even if you had. Your head swings to the side, a loud crack piercing the air. Your lips part in a pained gasp, the whole left side of your face burning. There's a metallic taste on your tongue, blood seeping from where the inside of your cheek cut into your teeth.

"Let's try this again, shall we? What can you tell us about Barnes that's actually useful information?"

You grit your teeth against the pain, slowly turning your head back to face him. "Why would I help you hurt him?"

"Because it will help me to stop from hurting you," he threatens.

"Do your worst."

He stands abruptly. "Okay. But remember," he lifts the chair and moves it aside. "You asked for this."

You hear the clang of some other metal object knocking against the wall as Rumlow moves to grab it. Stepping back to your line of sight, he's now holding a long metal rod. One hand is wrapped around the handle, the rod extending about two feet. His other hand holds the rod just below its flared base. Turning it slightly, you're able to see that the base is in the shape of a star.

Your heart drops to your stomach and it's just now clicking what Pierce meant when he said to "Mark her." Bucky had told you that they used a branding iron dipped in holy water to create the mark on his shoulder.

"We've used this baby on every demon that's stepped foot in this facility over the last 300 years. Lucky you, you're going to be the first ever descendant on the receiving end." Rumlow takes pride in watching the blood drain from your face.

He releases the base end of the iron, holding his hand out flat, palm up. He gently blows into it and suddenly a flickering flame appears. It's small, not much bigger than a candle flame, but you can somehow feel the heat coming off of it all the way from where you're sitting.

"It's pretty, right?" Rumlow asks you, the blackness in his gaze flickering red with the light of the fire. "Pulled from the gates of hell itself. This is the hottest fire you're ever going to find." He moves his hand to hold the flame beneath the star. "Hell Fire is pretty nasty stuff for descendants, too. It doesn't affect me because I'm the conjurer, but if someone else was coming at me with some? You'd never see me run so fast," he chuckles with dry humor. "You want me to do my worst, sweet cheeks? This is it."

Within seconds, the star is glowing a vibrant orange from the heat of the fire. Not only that, but the sealed metal room has turned into an oven. Sweat forms on your brow, a few drops sliding down your cheeks.

"Why are you doing this?" you ask quietly, unable to push the fear back any more, not now that the threat is so real.

Rumlow laughs, closing his hand into a fist to extinguish the flame. "Because it's fun."

Before you get the chance to do or say anything else, he's pushed the sleeve of your shirt up and is already pressing the star to your left shoulder.

*

It's another horribly painful day and a half of meetings and contracts before Bucky is able to get on a plane to fly back home. He'd done everything he could to try to get out as fast as possible, but his bosses really wanted him to secure the land before he left. He had half a mind to say screw it and leave without doing so, but he also knew that he could quickly subdue the contractors and get papers signed if he increased the charm.

The task was a little difficult without his head, or really his heart, in it. He kept texting Talia for updates, but her responses only made the urgency to get back home more severe. As soon as the last contract was signed, Bucky was in a car headed to the airport.

His knee bounces anxiously the entire plane ride, he's almost surprised it doesn't throw them off course. He tries to calm himself down by going through the pictures on his phone, like he had the previous night. It helps for all of 15 minutes. His mind keeps racing with the worst scenarios of what could have happened to you.

He's running on zero sleep over the last 56 hours when the plane touches down and he leaves the airport. He'd left his car in the business lot, so at least he didn't have to deal with transportation issues. He shoves his luggage into the trunk and is on the road in seconds. It's time to get some damn answers.

He pulls up to your apartment, slamming the car door a little harsher than necessary. He walks through the front entrance, gritting his teeth against the wards that try to repel his presence. The enchantress had beefed up her security. Must mean she knows he was coming for her.

He makes his way up to your floor, stopping at the front door. He sees light shining beneath the door and he can hear sounds inside. He bangs his fist against the wood, nearly splitting it with his inability to control himself.

The door opens, the young enchantress' eyes widening in shock. "You are not welcome here," she tells him.

"Where is she?" he grits out, his voice cold, deadly.

"Somewhere she'll be safe from you," she glares back. Bucky might have been impressed by her courage if he wasn't so on edge.

"You really think she'll be safe there. After she's been with me for so long? They're not just going to accept her and be okay with it! Hell, she's not going to accept it! She knows the truth about what SHIELD is, a truth that you are too blinded to see. She's a threat to them. She is not safe."

Bucky already has the confirmation he needs on your location. His work here is done. He turns to head back down the hallway.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Wanda follows him out into the hallway, casting a ward quickly to prevent him from moving forward.

"To get her back," Bucky growls.

"I cannot let you," she can feel him resisting her ward as she tries to strengthen it.

He turns back to face her, taking several strides until there's barely space between the two of them. "Let me put it this way, so that maybe you will understand. As an agent for SHIELD, what is the charge for associating with demons?"

It takes Wanda a second to ponder his question, her eyes widening when she realizes where he's headed. She gulps, answering hesitantly. "Treason."

His head tilts, eyes glinting dangerously. "And what is the penalty for treason?"

One word escapes her lips in a horrified whisper. "Death."

Bucky feels his gut clench at even the possibility of that word being associated with you. He couldn't let that happen. "You really think they're going to welcome her with open arms, when she's already committed the highest possible offense? If anything happens to her... her blood is on your hands."

He turns to leave once more.

"James, wait I-" she calls out to him.

He pauses and looks at her over his shoulder.

She seems to be thinking things over, wondering if she truly did make a mistake. "There's a spell I can use... Clairvoyant Observation, that will allow me to see what's happening to her."

He turns fully around, raising a brow. "Can you do it now?"

She bites her lip and shakes her head. "I'll need a few days to prepare."

Bucky frowns. "She might not have a few days."

"Please. Let me make this right. She's my friend," Wanda begs.

He sighs, jaws clenching. "What do you need to complete the spell?"

A spark of hope lightens Wanda's gaze. "Something of hers that has sentimental value."

Bucky takes a moment to think it over. "I think she has a bracelet at my apartment. Her grandmother gave it to her."

Wanda nods, "Yes, I know the one. That should work. Bring it to me and I can take care of everything else."

Bucky nods and turns to leave without interruption.

*

Rumlow has moved you to a cell. Your body is curled up on the ground in the back corner, visibly shaking. You clutch your injured arm to your chest, the pain ripping through your whole body as fire stems from the burn on your shoulder. He explained to you that descendants had a particular weakness for Hell Fire. That wounds created by such fire would never stop burning.

You had hoped he'd been joking. Trying to scare you. But you don't even know how much time has passed and the pain still felt as fresh as when he'd first touched you with the iron. There was no escaping it. No growing numb to it. Just a constant ache. Fire forever burning in your veins.

Your body has broken into a cold sweat, desperately trying to counteract the heat. But it was fruitless. You were feverish, delirious... and you realize more than ever that you were probably going to die like this.

You hear the jingle of keys before the cell door slides open. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty."

Your body would have shuddered at Rumlow's voice, if you weren't already shaking like a leaf in a storm.

He grips your elbow, yanking you to your feet. You cry out, feeling the burn throb even more painfully in your shoulder. He tugs you down the hallway. In your bleary state, you can vaguely hear some of the other prisoners hissing or growling as the two of you walk passed. But most are huddled as far back into their cells as you had been.

Rumlow takes you back into the interrogation room, forcing you into the chair and tying you up. "Are you going to answer my questions today?" he asks, settling into the chair across from yours.

You remain silent, keeping your head low.

"Hey," he kicks his leg out, nudging his boot against your shin. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

You lift your gaze, staring at him blankly.

He stares back for a moment before a smirk curls at his lips. "How long do you think Barnes waited?"

Your lips draw into a frown, brows furrowing in slight confusion. It's difficult to discern his meaning with the pain clouding your head.

"I mean, the guy's gotta eat right?"

Oh. That's what he meant. You wince dropping your gaze once more. You're honestly not sure how much time has passed. A few days, a week... a month? You had no way to tell time besides Rumlow's visits to you. And honestly the pain made everything blur together anyway.

Even if it hadn't been long, there was still truth behind Rumlow's mocking. Bucky was going to have to feed sooner or later. And with you being here... that only meant that he'd have to go elsewhere.

You didn't want to think about that. You wanted to trust him. But at the same time, you could feel yourself losing your grip on reality. You could feel yourself breaking.

"You know, he could be fucking someone right now. He's probably forgotten all about you."

"No," your voice cracks on the simple word. The first thing you've managed to say that wasn't a scream or moan of pain.

Rumlow's eyes light up at your response, happy to get a rouse out of you. "Oh? You actually think that he's coming for you, don't you?" His sardonic laughter fills the room. "Poor little naïve angel. Thinking that a demon could ever care for her more than the fucks she gives him."

"Stop it."

"You need to open your eyes. He was using you from the start. He found an easy target. A constant supply of energy. And he used your desperation for attention and tenderness to get what he wanted. I guarantee that the second he realized you were out of his life, he already had someone new warming his bed."

"Shut up!" you scream, a burst of energy escaping your body in the form of white light.

The shock on Rumlows face registers for a split second before he chuckles. "Wow. You must be truly delirious to have just wasted all that energy. White light isn't going to work on me sweet cheeks, I may be a Castor, but I had been a descendant before that."

You grit your teeth, feeling your head swim. "You're a heartless demon. James has more humanity in his thumb than you did before you ever gave up your soul," you growl.

Rumlow smirks, not put out by your words. "Who needs humanity when you can have power?"