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They find him in an abandoned factory. The lazy groaning of a rope holding a considerable weight is the only noise after both super soldiers come barreling into the place, the Winter Soldier coming to a stop right next to a stunned Captain America.
In the silence that follows, the noise of the rope rings loudly, making it impossible to ignore the body hanging limply. Still, Steve Rogers looks on, perfectly still, and his wide eyes and parted lips are the only sign that he’s trying to process what he’s looking at. Bucky watches grimly.
Before them, hangs the body of one Tony Stark.
He’s dressed only in silk boxers, and his skin looks pale, far from the sun-kissed tan it used to be. His expressive brown eyes are blindfolded, and his mouth is tightly gagged. There are bruises littering his body, purples, and blacks and reds, some finger-shaped ones on his hips, some looking as if they were made by some kind of blunt object, all of them made more prominent by the deathly paleness of his skin. His arms are tied behind his back, and when the body turns in its casual swinging, it is the words WHORE and FAGGOT, carved into his skin, that make Steve snap back to the present with a sharp gasp.
There’s an ominous trail of blood running down the back of his thighs.
A metal fist clenches hard, blue eyes steeling and a jaw sets in barely contained ire. Steve huffs, teeth clenching in fury and want for reparations, and finally remembers to move. He wraps an arm on a waist, holding the body carefully against himself, left hand holding the rope as he glances up to where it’s hanging from, toying with the idea of yanking it loose.
It’s hanging from a beam high in the ceiling, going over it and tied to a wall.
Hoisted up, then, not hanged.
Bucky remembers himself, reaching for a knife as he steps towards his best friend to aid him, but in the moment it takes him to reach him, the rope snaps, and an arrow embeds itself on a wall. The body – Tony – falls limply on waiting, careful arms, and Steve holds him close. Glancing back, he notices Hawkeye, standing on a higher floor behind the rail, ready to cover them should there be danger. His face is somber, the same outrage and need for revenge for one of their own he’s feeling reflected on Clint’s furrowed brows and hard-set jaw. Turning back to Steve, Bucky takes the last steps to reach him and kneels down close to where Captain America is cradling his dead half-naked boyfriend. With the aid of his long knife, he carefully cuts the ropes tying his wrists together. Steve is already pushing the noose up and off his neck.
A large hand that can bend steel carefully works to undo the tight knot holding the gag in place. It comes loose after some time and he tosses it aside with disgust, noticing the way the jaw relaxes, the corners of his mouth made raw by the friction. The blindfold is next, and he carefully pushes it over his head, and if his hand is trembling a little, Bucky doesn’t comment on it. Tony’s eyes are closed, and he could be sleeping, but the cold on his skin and its paleness are enough reminders to the fact that he is not. He doesn’t feel a pulse when he goes to gingerly hold his nape and adjust his head on his arm to a more comfortable position, there’s no breath leaving parted lips or nose when he goes to lean his forehead against his in desperate grief.
A muted sob comes out as a harsh breath, and Steve shuts his eyes tightly as hot tears spill, falling on the cold body. He barely registers when Thor’s red cape is draped over Tony, just gathers it around him protectively, as if things like cold and modesty still matter to Tony Stark. The weight of a firm hand on his shoulder doesn’t offer him much comfort. Steve holds Tony closer, burying his face in dirty hair, and cries. Bucky watches his best friend fall apart holding the dead love of his life.