Work Text:
Steve considers himself a good man.
He tries to be, at the very least. He stands up for those that need it, always has even when he maybe wasn’t up to the challenge. He gives where he can, second chances included, and fights the good fight for all those unwilling or unable, and he doesn’t expect anything for it.
When he receives an encrypted message a few months after the helicarriers go down, he knows that today he will not be a good man.
The message is short and to the point. It reads COME WATCH with a GPS coordinate, which is obscure enough that Steve might’ve passed it along to Nat or even Tony for help. It’s the video that gets him, the short ten second clip of Bucky screaming around a gag and straining against bindings that firmly hold him in place and fuck. Fuck, he thought his heart had died in the Austrian Alps, but here it is getting ripped out of his chest in 2014.
There’s nothing else in the message. There are no threats, no warnings what will happen if he doesn’t come or worse, if he chooses not to come alone; there’s no point, the threat is there regardless of if it’s stated or not. They both know he’ll go and he won’t take backup, because he won’t risk Bucky.
He’ll risk himself in a heartbeat. They know that too.
It’s a long drive on his motorcycle. He could probably take the quinjet if he wanted to, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want the questioning looks, the thinly veiled concern, the offers for help. This is between him and Hydra, and he’ll handle it himself. It’s been a long time coming.
The building’s barely more than a shack with two men outside, looking like ratty mall security. They’re armed to the teeth, though, nothing but hidden guns.
“Password?” one drawls and then does a double take when he gets a good look at Steve’s red, white, and blue. “Oh shit.”
He reaches for a gun, but Steve holds up his arms in surrender. If he causes a fuss now, they’ll lock the place down and he won’t even get his foot in the door.
“I was invited,” Steve says. “Tell your boss I’m here.”
Both guards look at him skeptically. One keeps a gun trained on him while the other grabs a walkie talkie and radios it in.
“I got Captain America here,” the man says with clipped words and a pale face, like he’s worried at any second he’s going to die. He’s not wrong, even if his timeline’s probably measured more in minutes than seconds. Maybe even hours if it’s a big base. “Says he’s invited…?”
There’s a pause before the the air cackles with an answer.
“Escort him down. Put him in cuffs first. No weapons.”
Steve holds his arms up and allows himself to be pat down. They won’t find any weapons because he didn’t bring any, didn’t even bother with the shield because he knew they’d just take it. As if he’s ever needed weapons to be a threat.
“He’s clean,” one guard says, sounding relieved. The other looks even more scared, realizing with some sort of primitive fear that a man who’d come unarmed to an enemy’s home isn’t one to be trifled with.
“Cuff him,” he says and hands the familiar metal links to his friend, ignoring the sweat from his brow as he raises his gun up and aims right for Steve’s heart. Close range like this, it might even kill him.
When they first tried to use these cuffs on him in the elevator, Steve assumed they’d made them just for him. Who else would they need to hold?
They were never for me, he thinks numbly as he allows them to secure his arms. They were for Bucky.
The shack’s got a small desk with rickety old chairs next to it, and a broom closet door that’s actually an elevator. Because of course it is. Why have a base out in the open when you can bury one underground? Steve tries to figure out how far down it goes by how long the elevator ride is; after about twenty seconds, he curses under his breath because dammit, he’ll have to wait until he’s got Bucky out of here before he blows it up, they’re too far down to do it any other way.
Hydra never did make it easy, did they?
Steve’s surprised when it’s Rumlow that greets him when the elevator doors slide open. He’d gotten the impression from Sam that the guy was dead, and while he looks like shit, he is very much alive.
“Hey there Cap,” Rumlow says with as much of a smile as this new burned shell of a face. “Glad you got my message.”
He doesn’t answer, because fuck him. He’s not here for this, this weird power trip Rumlow’s on. He’s here for Bucky, and he doesn’t much appreciate
“Not up for talking? Don’t blame you, what with us scrambling the shit out of your buddy’s brain.” He claps Steve on the shoulder; it takes more willpower than he thought it would not to headbutt the asshole right then and there. “How many weapons you find on him? You got that shield of his? It’d make a nice trophy for my den,” he says to the guards.
They both look vaguely embarrassed.
“No shield, sir,” one says.
“No weapons at all, sir,” the other says.
Rumlow’s expression sours as he turns back to Steve.
“You think this is a fucking joke? You think I’m a joke?” He punches Steve as hard as he can in the gut. It’s not hard enough to do more than sting, but Steve leans into it and winces. Better to put on a show for people like this, make them giddy and drunk on power so they get stupid and careless.
Well, stupider. There’s nothing smart about Rumlow’s plan here, not if he hasn’t already put a bullet through Steve’s head.
“Bring him,” he says to his escort, an extra ten men armed to the teeth. It’s almost laughable, and Steve has to duck his face down to keep his amusement from showing.
How many men did he take out in the elevator? Rumlow was there , he should know better. Never mind how ridiculous it is that he thinks one punch and suddenly Steve can’t walk on his own.
He lets the men drag him along corridor after corridor, huffing and weaving like he used to when he was a kid. Maybe if he looks meek enough and drags his feet a bit, they won’t notice that he’s memorizing his way out, counting rooms, soldiers, cameras, all of it. It’s something he learned decades ago, to play the role people expected of him. If Captain America is brute force, then they expect him to be dumb, useless without his shield and orders whispered in his ears.
How many orders has Rumlow seem him follow? Enough that he probably doesn’t think too much of Captain America on his own. Can’t think for himself, right? Not without Shield whispering in his ear.
Rumlow always was a dumbass, even if Steve was forgiving enough he’d ignored it most of the time.
Not this time. No forgiveness in the cards today.
Rumlow’s talking. Steve’s at best half listening, but once he realizes it’s inane gloating, he tunes it out so he can focus on everything else. There’s still a bit filtering in, words like “pathetic” and “the glory of Hydra” and blah blah blah. He must sense Steve’s not paying attention, because more words start reaching Steve’s consciousness. Things like “you should hear him scream” and “he remembered you” and it’s honestly more of a challenge to ignore him then, if only because he wants to kick Rumlow’s kneecaps in and then crush his windpipe under his foot.
I need to find out where Bucky is first, he reminds himself. I need information. No use losing my temper.
Yet.
They end up at the end of a long hallway in a room filled with monitors. There are a handful of men and women working them, and shit, Steve recognizes some of them. That man over there helped brief him before he went to rescue some hostages in Sudan. That woman would smile when she offered him coffee after a long night. Those two over there, the pair of them were responsible for teaching him various skills like new languages and basic tech competence.
He liked these people, thought they were good people. After everything, after all the good they professed to do, here they are, choosing Hydra over basic human decency.
Here they are, helping hold Bucky captive.
It really is a shame he’ll have to kill them all.
“Got a nice chair for ya.” Rumlow beams as Steve’s manhandled into a metal chair. The cuffs dig into his back, the room clinging with a metallic ding as the magnets engage and lock him in place.
Great.
Oh well, he always liked a challenge.
The monitors, which display various corridors in the facility, suddenly change feed. Each and every one gives a view of Bucky, gagged and bound. He’s in a chair not unlike the one Steve’s stuck in, though there’s a device there’s a device around his head that looks ominous to say the least. He’s panting, his entire body a line of taut muscle.
He’s not in pain right now, but it’s obvious he’s been subjected to it recently, expects it again at any moment.
“What are you doing to him?”
Steve doesn’t mean to speak, hadn’t planned on it at all, but he can’t help himself. His voice is icy, but Rumlow laughs.
“Putting his brain through the blender. That thing…” He taps one of the screens, indicating the device on Bucky’s head. “That’ll fuck up anyone real good, but your pal? His head’s been through that thing so many times his brain is mush. Doesn’t take much to get him screaming. Wanna see?”
“You know I don’t.”
“You sure? ‘Cuz you’re here.”
“I’m here to rescue him,” Steve said. “And blow this place to hell with you inside it.”
Rumlow gives him an obvious once over. “Not sure if you know the score, Cap. You’re the one stuck in a chair, not me.”
Steve shrugs as best he can. It gives him a chance to test the strength of the cuffs; he could probably break out, but it would take time, more than enough for them to shoot him if they wanted to. Guess he’ll have to play along and wait for the right moment. “Not gonna change much.”
“Uh huh.” Rumlow scratches at the back of his neck, his usual tell that he’s annoyed and trying to rein it in. “Listen, you overconfident prick. This is how it’s gonna go. We’re gonna turn that device on, and we’re gonna watch as the last shreds of a human being get erased. I’m gonna make you watch as we kill of the last pieces of your friend there, and I’m gonna enjoy not being able to tell the difference between his screams and yours. And then, once there’s nothing left of him… I’m gonna put you in there and start all over again.”
Steve raises a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s been, what? Seventy years? Hydra’s best couldn’t erase Bucky. And you think you’re suddenly gonna do it? You ?”
The blow is completely expected, as is the taste of blood in his mouth.
“You’re such a prick,” Rumlow snarls.
“I try.”
“See if it works out for you in the end.” He turns his back to Steve, missing his eye roll. “Go!” he shouts. He motions one of the people in the room, the coffee woman, to the door. “Turn that thing on. You know the protocols for when to up it?”
“Yes, sir.” She catches Steve’s eye on her way out and goes pale at whatever she sees there; she practically flees the room.
Steve watches her go, silently counting. He needs to know how far away Bucky is. Now that he knows he’s here, in this same facility, he’s actually a little relieved.
By his count, it’s less than two minutes when the woman appears on the monitors. Close, very close. And as large as this facility seems, he hasn’t seen more than a dozen people. Rumlow didn’t have people already with Bucky, he didn’t radio in some new person or scientist or whatever, he sent someone from here. Steve’s sure there’s nothing more than a skeleton crew working this place, and very few of them are soldiers.
Good. More likely that he’ll get Bucky out of here without either of them getting shot.
“You ready for the good stuff?” Rumlow says as the woman fiddles with the equipment. Steve’s eyes are glued to the screen, watching as Bucky jerks and then pulls frantically at his bindings.
And then she turns the device on.
The screams are… unbearable. Steve remembers the train and the same look of terror on Bucky’s face, his lips contorted in a scream that the wind carried away and Steve never got to hear.
He’s pretty sure if he’d heard them, he’d have jumped off the train too, just to make them stop.
Steve lets himself get lost in it for a moment. For very personal, very nebulous reasons that he’s not sure even he understands just yet, he needs to hear this. He needs to wallow in Bucky’s misery. He needs to feel the depths of it, because if he’d been better, he could have prevented it all.
He could have prevented this if he’d done better on the helicarrier. Gotten through to Bucky before whatever it was that brought him back into Hydra’s arms.
It’s selfish and masochistic… but it’s also tactical. Even as he feels tears in his eyes watching them hurt Bucky like this, he can feel everyone’s eyes on him.
And when they stop looking—when they turn to watch the pain go up a notch, when Bucky goes limp seconds before jerking violently and pulling at his bindings like a rabid animal—Steve feels their attention turn away. They are engrossed in the pain, whatever it is inside them making them succumb to Hydra’s bullshit, it’s on full display as they lick their lips and smile at another human’s suffering.
The screams are too loud for them to hear Steve break the cuffs. Their focus is on Bucky, and they don’t realize something’s wrong until Steve’s got the first guard in a stranglehold and has his gun.
“Shit!” Rumlow says, unholstering his own gun and unloading into the poor guard Steve’s using as a shield.
Once his clip is out, Steve tosses the body at the other guard and uses his own gun to take out everyone else in the room, sprinting to Rumlow and knocking him on his ass while pointing the gun square at his head.
“What room’s he in?” Steve asks.
Rumlow glares murder at him. Even tries to get up, but Steve pushes the heel of his boot into his chest until he feels his ribs start to give.
“Fuck off,” Rumlow spits, barely able to get the air for his curse.
“Alright,” Steve agrees. He’s nice enough to use the gun, and then he’s off.
Once he’s out of the surveillance room, it’s actually pretty easy to find Bucky. The screams might echo off the walls, but they all come from the same direction.
When he busts the door off its hinges, it takes him 1.5 seconds to find and aim at the woman working the device. He’s got one bullet left and he’s going to put it to good use.
“Turn it off,” he says. She doesn’t know she’s dead either way.
She raises her hands in surrender. Her eyes are wide, she looks terrified as she trembles there.
“Turn. It Off! ” he screams, and this time she jerks into action. She presses a button and the room cackles with electricity shutting off. Bucky’s screams linger a moment before he goes limp in the chair.
He’s all for second chances. He knows people make mistakes. He’s made plenty himself, after all. Where would the world be without forgiveness?
“Thank you,” Steve says with a nod. She relaxes a moment, thinks she’s safe, and that’s when Steve fires.
Unfortunately for Hydra, Steve’s out of second chances for fascists and Nazis. There’s no forgiveness in him for the people who have done this to Bucky again and again for their own purposes, their own enjoyment .
It’ll be kind of cathartic burning this place to ash.
“Fuck Hydra.” He throws the gun aside and now his attention’s only for Bucky.
Bucky, who’s panting erratically and otherwise not moving, not looking, not there .
“Shit,” Steve says, because he has to say something. It’s either that or he’ll start screaming. He gets in close, sees the damage first hand. It’s with shaky fingers that he pulls out the gag, barely stops himself from caressing a cheek—
Bucky flinches away, a wild look in his eyes. He struggles to get away from Steve, but there’s nowhere to go and soon he gives up.
It hurts so bad to see the fear there, the mistrust. The resignation.
“Buck, it’s me,” Steve pleads. He reaches out, desperate to wipe away the years of pain, to show him that touch can still be gentle, loving. He holds back though, can’t bear doing anything that Bucky doesn’t want him to. “Can I touch you, please? Can I untie you?”
Bucky stares at him, eyes glassy from some combination of drugs and shock therapy. It reaffirms Steve’s purpose in life, his single resolution to destroy every last trace of Hydra. But no, that’s wrong, that’s just a secondary part of him now. That was the job he’d inherited when Bucky fell from the train and he had nothing else. His real purpose is helping Bucky regain control of his life, to feel like a person again when he’s been treated as nothing but a tool, an asset for so long.
“I want out,” Bucky admits, his voice raspy from screaming. It’s barely audible, and Steve wonders how raw his throat must be, how much it must pain him to say anything at all right now. “Get me out.”
There are bloody lines around the cuffs on his wrist and Steve can only imagine the bruises across his chest where tight cords hold him in place.
“Okay,” Steve says. He keeps his voice low, soothing, gentle. He very deliberately undoes every last binding, making sure to broadcast any movement and avoid any unnecessary contact between them. While he would love nothing more than to caress Bucky’s cheek and wrap him into a protective hug, that’s not what Bucky needs or wants right now.
As soon as the last binding is undone, Bucky hurls himself out of the chair and onto the ground, like he doesn’t trust that he won’t be tied back up again. He lays there, too spent to do more than gasp and shiver on the cold tile.
Steve kneels next to him. He bites the inside of his lip, wishing desperately he knew what to do or say to start making this right. Instead he waits patiently, hopes that Bucky will tell him what he needs.
Bucky eyes the dead woman warily.
“She’s dead, don’t worry,” Steve soothes. “She can’t hurt you.”
With monumental effort, Bucky gets to his feet. Steve tries not to crowd him, but he’s there in case Bucky stumbles or trips. He doesn’t, his steps getting more sure as he goes.
It’s not the woman he’s interested in. He steps over her body like it’s nothing, and keeps going until he gets to the control panel.
He stares at it long and hard for several minutes. Steve doesn’t rush him, doesn’t push; he watches and waits, lets Bucky process all of this.
“я не инструмент,” he says, the foreign words sounding beautiful on Bucky’s lips despite the rawness of his voice.
Honestly, there’s nothing about having Bucky back that isn’t beautiful, broken bits included.
Steve startles slightly when Bucky’s metal fist slams into the console. It’s not the destructive act that shocks him, it’s the speed of it. He’s not used to being taken by surprise like that, hasn’t fought many people faster than him. It’ll take some time to remember that it’s not just Bucky in there, it’s the Winter Soldier; as good a fighter as Bucky was, he’s now a hundred times better.
He steps back and watches Bucky tear the thing apart. It’s not until it’s broken long past repair that he stops.
“I want to get out of here,” he croaks. He runs a hand through his sweat slick hair to get it out of his eyes and looks to Steve.
“Of course, Buck. Where you wanna go?”
Shield’s gone, the Avengers aren’t doing much these days. Steve knows that wherever Bucky wants to go, he’ll follow so long as he’s allowed.
Bucky crosses the gap between them and practically collapses in Steve’s arms, spent. He buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, heaves a shaky sigh, and mutters, “Home. Take me home.”