![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
[At 2:15, the following will air on everyone's TV:]
A younger Bucky Barnes appears on screen, with a black eye and split lip -- the latter of which is still bleeding. He's sitting in a straight-back chair in the middle of a hardwood floor, three men with him; one is Brock Rumlow, who's practically glowering at him, the other is an impassive Jack Rollins, and the third is Alexander Pierce, who sits in another seat, at a table that separates himself from the others. Pierce's hands are folded on the table.
"Expelled," Pierce says evenly. "What, exactly, did you do to bring this about, James?"
Bucky's shoulders are tense, and his gaze darts nervously to the other two men before looking back at Pierce. "They were beating the hell out of that kid. I couldn't stand by and watch. They would've killed him." There's defensiveness in his tone, but also fear. A hint of pleading for Pierce to understand.
Pierce hums. "And you proceeded to beat the son of one of our city councilmen in order to stop them."
"He had it coming," he says, voice firmer this time. "The kid wasn't moving. He wasn't fighting back. He could've died if --"
"Yes, yes, if you hadn't decided you were some kind of hero," Pierce says, tone mocking now. "But you see now we have multiple problems that I have to solve." He leans forward at the table. "One, I have to do a great deal of apologizing to Councilmen Ross, who's always been very supportive of our organization. Secondly, now I have to take the time out of my very busy schedule to find another school that will actually take you despite your less than savory record. And making these kinds of amends is going to be quite difficult."
He nods slightly to Rollins, who moves to stand beside Bucky, and Bucky sits up a little straighter, obviously growing nervous.
"I'm sorry. I'll do what I have to, to fix things," Bucky tells Pierce, all trace of defiance gone from his voice and replaced by fear.
"James, James...it's unfortunately too late for that. Once something is broken, you can't unbreak it, can you?" Pierce tilts his head. "I'm afraid the only choice I have here is punishment to assure you won't act out like this in the future." Pierce glances at Rumlow and nods at him.
Rumlow picks up a wicked looking device from the counter, sadistic smile on his face. "Hold him," he tells Rollins.
Rollins grabs Bucky's shoulders even as Rumlow reaches out and rolls up the left sleeve of Bucky's shirt, and Bucky's not small but he's no match for Rollins' size and muscle, either.
"Oh god, please don't," he whispers as Rumlow fires up the blow torch. "Please, don't. I'm sorry. It'll never happen again. I'll do anything you want, just please -- please don't." His voice breaks.
"Keep still or this may end up a lot worse than planned," Rumlow advises before lowering the flame to lick at the boy's upper arm as he howls, struggling uselessly against Rollins grip. His skin melts beneath the fire like candle wax as he screams.
A younger Bucky Barnes appears on screen, with a black eye and split lip -- the latter of which is still bleeding. He's sitting in a straight-back chair in the middle of a hardwood floor, three men with him; one is Brock Rumlow, who's practically glowering at him, the other is an impassive Jack Rollins, and the third is Alexander Pierce, who sits in another seat, at a table that separates himself from the others. Pierce's hands are folded on the table.
"Expelled," Pierce says evenly. "What, exactly, did you do to bring this about, James?"
Bucky's shoulders are tense, and his gaze darts nervously to the other two men before looking back at Pierce. "They were beating the hell out of that kid. I couldn't stand by and watch. They would've killed him." There's defensiveness in his tone, but also fear. A hint of pleading for Pierce to understand.
Pierce hums. "And you proceeded to beat the son of one of our city councilmen in order to stop them."
"He had it coming," he says, voice firmer this time. "The kid wasn't moving. He wasn't fighting back. He could've died if --"
"Yes, yes, if you hadn't decided you were some kind of hero," Pierce says, tone mocking now. "But you see now we have multiple problems that I have to solve." He leans forward at the table. "One, I have to do a great deal of apologizing to Councilmen Ross, who's always been very supportive of our organization. Secondly, now I have to take the time out of my very busy schedule to find another school that will actually take you despite your less than savory record. And making these kinds of amends is going to be quite difficult."
He nods slightly to Rollins, who moves to stand beside Bucky, and Bucky sits up a little straighter, obviously growing nervous.
"I'm sorry. I'll do what I have to, to fix things," Bucky tells Pierce, all trace of defiance gone from his voice and replaced by fear.
"James, James...it's unfortunately too late for that. Once something is broken, you can't unbreak it, can you?" Pierce tilts his head. "I'm afraid the only choice I have here is punishment to assure you won't act out like this in the future." Pierce glances at Rumlow and nods at him.
Rumlow picks up a wicked looking device from the counter, sadistic smile on his face. "Hold him," he tells Rollins.
Rollins grabs Bucky's shoulders even as Rumlow reaches out and rolls up the left sleeve of Bucky's shirt, and Bucky's not small but he's no match for Rollins' size and muscle, either.
"Oh god, please don't," he whispers as Rumlow fires up the blow torch. "Please, don't. I'm sorry. It'll never happen again. I'll do anything you want, just please -- please don't." His voice breaks.
"Keep still or this may end up a lot worse than planned," Rumlow advises before lowering the flame to lick at the boy's upper arm as he howls, struggling uselessly against Rollins grip. His skin melts beneath the fire like candle wax as he screams.