Keep Rumlow away from the Council, Sam had been told, and so like a good soldier, he listened.
He thought he might have a chance at winning the fight at the start. Rumlow was a better fighter, but Sam was bigger, heavier, had more bulk to him. He could hold his own even if he was taking a lot more hits. He got the occasional knee in there, managed to hit Rumlow a few times in the kidneys, and he knew Rumlow had to be hurting. Never mind that Sam was hurting more. He just had to keep Rumlow on this floor for as long as possible, keep him away from the Council, keep him occupied until all the Helicarriers had been brought down and the world was safe once again.
Sam ducked a second too late and took a solid punch in the face. He could feel his nose break, an explosion of sharp pain followed immediately by numbness that spread from the center all the way out to his entire face, like all the nerves had gone cold and dead. Blood trickled down the back of his throat and he swallowed thickly, no time to do anything about it because Rumlow was tireless, relentless. Sam had to duck again and just narrowly avoided an elbow that would've hit his temple and would probably have knocked him out.
He swept his leg out to try to catch Rumlow off guard, knock him down for just a second so he could catch his breath, but Rumlow knew what he was doing almost before he did it and blocked his leg with his own, kicking to the side and almost throwing Sam off balance. Sam stumbled, recovering just in time to dodge Rumlow's well-aimed roundhouse kick from the same foot.
The problem wasn't that Rumlow was so much more skilled than Sam. He was a little bit better, more practiced, but Sam still had the height advantage and a bigger reach. The problem was that Sam had been out of the game for too long, trying to be a civilian while Rumlow had been spending that whole time active in the field, taking down people much larger than himself. He was barely even winded. Sam was finding it harder and harder to breathe.
His throat was clogged, sticky with blood, and his chest burned on every inhale. Christ, he was out of shape. He should've done more running. He should've pushed himself harder in the mornings. He should've tried to keep up with Steve that first time, or he should've run as fast as he could in the other direction so he wouldn't be here now. But he knew in his heart that that had never been an option.
Over the sounds of his heart pounding and his own ragged panting, he could just barely hear the sound of Hill barking out orders in his earpiece. He had some vague idea that Steve was still on the Helicarrier, long past when he was supposed to have cleared it. But he didn't have time to worry about it, and shortly after that Rumlow caught him by the shoulders and bounced him off of a wall, so it didn't matter anyway because the earpiece went flying out of his head at the impact and that was that. No more connection to the others.
He got back up quickly and got two lucky hits in with a jab-cross combo when Rumlow thought he was down for the count. He swung his right arm back to follow with a hook, intending to do some real damage, but somehow Rumlow blocked it with his forearm. Sam didn't even know how. He was so much faster than Sam had expected, even after running around with super soldiers and spy assassins all day.
Following Sam's own momentum from his failed punch, Rumlow pulled him forward by the arm, landing a punch of his own straight onto Sam's face. Sam couldn't help the roar of pain that ripped through him as Rumlow's fist drove into the ruined mess that was his broken nose. The sensation washed over him like a tidal wave, his entire face feeling like it was on fire. It greyed out the edges of his vision, and his tongue felt thick and swollen behind his teeth, like a piece of bloody meat just lying there. Everything from his eyes downwards was agony, inflamed and distended and blocking his oxygen intake.
Taking advantage of his dazed state, Rumlow grabbed Sam by the front of his t-shirt and flung him bodily to the side.
Distantly, as though it was happening to somebody else, Sam could feel himself crash through a glass partition between two desks in the emptied out office building. The glass particles sliced his arms, which his body instinctively curled up to protect his face without any conscious input from his brain. He landed heavily on his back with a grunt, the wind knocked out of him entirely once again.
Rumlow jumped onto the top of a desk in a single bound, showing off. His bloodied face was proof that Sam hadn't just been lying back and taking it, but he just. Wasn't. Tired. He showed no signs of slowing down at all, his endurance was borderline inhuman. Standing atop his perch, he loomed over Sam's prone form like an animal about to pounce. Sam could practically feel his shadow falling over him like a pall.
"You're out of your depth, kid," Rumlow uttered in a husky voice, with a smile on his face for some inexplicable reason.
Through the window behind Rumlow's back, Sam could see the giant wing of one of the Helicarriers careening wildly off course threatened to hit the building. It came close enough to scrape the exterior, even, the squeal of steel rending a terrible sound in the air until it stopped just as suddenly as it started. The friction had pushed the aircraft away, so that it continued on its broken path without colliding.
Momentarily distracted by watching the Helicarrier's near miss, Sam didn't see Rumlow leaping off the desk until it was too late to do anything about the boot flying toward his face. Time seemed to slow down, so that it felt like he could feel every fraction of every inch of that boot driving into his jaw, his cheekbone, his brow bone, all the hard and soft parts of his face and bringing with it first a very hot bright light, and then nothing but darkness.
FILL: The Love of Cruel Discipline Re: Sam/Rumlow fight trash
Keep Rumlow away from the Council, Sam had been told, and so like a good soldier, he listened.
He thought he might have a chance at winning the fight at the start. Rumlow was a better fighter, but Sam was bigger, heavier, had more bulk to him. He could hold his own even if he was taking a lot more hits. He got the occasional knee in there, managed to hit Rumlow a few times in the kidneys, and he knew Rumlow had to be hurting. Never mind that Sam was hurting more. He just had to keep Rumlow on this floor for as long as possible, keep him away from the Council, keep him occupied until all the Helicarriers had been brought down and the world was safe once again.
Sam ducked a second too late and took a solid punch in the face. He could feel his nose break, an explosion of sharp pain followed immediately by numbness that spread from the center all the way out to his entire face, like all the nerves had gone cold and dead. Blood trickled down the back of his throat and he swallowed thickly, no time to do anything about it because Rumlow was tireless, relentless. Sam had to duck again and just narrowly avoided an elbow that would've hit his temple and would probably have knocked him out.
He swept his leg out to try to catch Rumlow off guard, knock him down for just a second so he could catch his breath, but Rumlow knew what he was doing almost before he did it and blocked his leg with his own, kicking to the side and almost throwing Sam off balance. Sam stumbled, recovering just in time to dodge Rumlow's well-aimed roundhouse kick from the same foot.
The problem wasn't that Rumlow was so much more skilled than Sam. He was a little bit better, more practiced, but Sam still had the height advantage and a bigger reach. The problem was that Sam had been out of the game for too long, trying to be a civilian while Rumlow had been spending that whole time active in the field, taking down people much larger than himself. He was barely even winded. Sam was finding it harder and harder to breathe.
His throat was clogged, sticky with blood, and his chest burned on every inhale. Christ, he was out of shape. He should've done more running. He should've pushed himself harder in the mornings. He should've tried to keep up with Steve that first time, or he should've run as fast as he could in the other direction so he wouldn't be here now. But he knew in his heart that that had never been an option.
Over the sounds of his heart pounding and his own ragged panting, he could just barely hear the sound of Hill barking out orders in his earpiece. He had some vague idea that Steve was still on the Helicarrier, long past when he was supposed to have cleared it. But he didn't have time to worry about it, and shortly after that Rumlow caught him by the shoulders and bounced him off of a wall, so it didn't matter anyway because the earpiece went flying out of his head at the impact and that was that. No more connection to the others.
He got back up quickly and got two lucky hits in with a jab-cross combo when Rumlow thought he was down for the count. He swung his right arm back to follow with a hook, intending to do some real damage, but somehow Rumlow blocked it with his forearm. Sam didn't even know how. He was so much faster than Sam had expected, even after running around with super soldiers and spy assassins all day.
Following Sam's own momentum from his failed punch, Rumlow pulled him forward by the arm, landing a punch of his own straight onto Sam's face. Sam couldn't help the roar of pain that ripped through him as Rumlow's fist drove into the ruined mess that was his broken nose. The sensation washed over him like a tidal wave, his entire face feeling like it was on fire. It greyed out the edges of his vision, and his tongue felt thick and swollen behind his teeth, like a piece of bloody meat just lying there. Everything from his eyes downwards was agony, inflamed and distended and blocking his oxygen intake.
Taking advantage of his dazed state, Rumlow grabbed Sam by the front of his t-shirt and flung him bodily to the side.
Distantly, as though it was happening to somebody else, Sam could feel himself crash through a glass partition between two desks in the emptied out office building. The glass particles sliced his arms, which his body instinctively curled up to protect his face without any conscious input from his brain. He landed heavily on his back with a grunt, the wind knocked out of him entirely once again.
Rumlow jumped onto the top of a desk in a single bound, showing off. His bloodied face was proof that Sam hadn't just been lying back and taking it, but he just. Wasn't. Tired. He showed no signs of slowing down at all, his endurance was borderline inhuman. Standing atop his perch, he loomed over Sam's prone form like an animal about to pounce. Sam could practically feel his shadow falling over him like a pall.
"You're out of your depth, kid," Rumlow uttered in a husky voice, with a smile on his face for some inexplicable reason.
Through the window behind Rumlow's back, Sam could see the giant wing of one of the Helicarriers careening wildly off course threatened to hit the building. It came close enough to scrape the exterior, even, the squeal of steel rending a terrible sound in the air until it stopped just as suddenly as it started. The friction had pushed the aircraft away, so that it continued on its broken path without colliding.
Momentarily distracted by watching the Helicarrier's near miss, Sam didn't see Rumlow leaping off the desk until it was too late to do anything about the boot flying toward his face. Time seemed to slow down, so that it felt like he could feel every fraction of every inch of that boot driving into his jaw, his cheekbone, his brow bone, all the hard and soft parts of his face and bringing with it first a very hot bright light, and then nothing but darkness.
(to be continued)