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Steve had been working alongside Torres in overseeing Sam and Bucky’s missions for a few months when it happened.
While Steve didn’t want to fight anymore, being so far removed from the action was driving him crazy. He tried to distract himself in whatever way he could while Bucky and Sam were on missions, but often ended up pacing the apartment regardless.
One particular mission had seen Sam and Bucky facing off against a modest army of androids that had escaped from an experimental lab in one of New York’s lower boroughs. The fight had been broadcasted on all major news networks, thanks to the helicopters circling above, so Steve had been able to keep an eye on the action from home. Things had turned south pretty quickly; the androids’ programming had malfunctioned, and they’d become hostile. Bucky had been injured in the fray, and the news cameras just so happened to catch him getting tangled up beneath the androids’ feet. They weren’t exactly light, and the encounter had resulted in some nasty bruises – the worst of which was dark imprint of a foot that had lingered on Bucky’s torso for a few days.
Bucky had returned home afterwards to find Steve scrubbing at a huge blue stain on the floor. The man in question had looked up, eyes wide, and had dropped his cleaning tools in his haste to rush to Bucky’s side. After Steve had checked Bucky over, fingertips touching gently to a healing gash on his cheek, he’d explained the stain. Steve had been working on a painting to try and distract himself from the broadcasts – rather than just turning the television off altogether – and had knocked over a tub of paint when he’d seen Bucky trapped beneath the androids’ feet.
It was after that that Bucky and Sam decided to enlist Steve to work alongside Torres. They’d explained the situation to Joaquin, impressing the importance of his silence, and he had readily agreed to work with Steve. The pair bonded quickly, with Torres teaching Steve new pop-culture references that he would then relentlessly hound Bucky with. They got along extremely well and were able to transition into working with one another seamlessly. Bucky had been a bit apprehensive at first, concerned that Torres and Steve would clash on the other end of the comms. That was far from the case, however; they seemed to divide tasks between themselves easily, taking turns to give orders and suggestions.
Also, Steve was literally one of the world’s finest tactical minds. Having his input on missions proved invaluable, and their first few as a quartet were a huge success.
That was, until Dr Renee Rubinstein was taken hostage.
Rubinstein was one of the doctors working alongside the GRC to provide urgent medical care to those still residing in refugee camps. She didn’t venture out into the field too often due to her own health issues but worked tirelessly in an advisory capacity.
She had been taken a little past midnight, from right outside the GRC headquarters in New York. She’d been heading to her car when it had happened; the CCTV confirmed as much. A tall figure in a dark suit and cowl had snatched her, one hand clasped over her mouth to muffle her screams.
Sam and Bucky had been contacted immediately and had headed in to check the CCTV footage to see if they could make any connections. Nothing was immediately obvious beyond the fact that whoever had kidnapped her was a sick fuck, and that they were running out of time. Rubinstein had been diagnosed with a heart condition, and had already been overdue her medication at the time of her kidnapping.
Steve and Torres had been painstakingly combing through the CCTV footage when the GRC had received an email, attached to which had been a video file.
Rubinstein was sitting in a chair in the middle of a dark room, a spotlight above her head. She was bound, gagged, and trembling uncontrollably. Her gaze was aimed straight down the camera lens, desperate and pleading.
A laugh could be heard off-camera; loud, brash, and grating. The sound made Rubinstein flinch, and she closed her eyes.
“You’d better come and find her,” A voice said, dripping with condescension. “I don’t think she’s going to survive much longerrrrrrr!”
The voice was indistinguishable, laughing again as the video cut off. The final freeze-frame was of Rubinstein’s face; her skin was glistening with sweat beneath the harsh lamp, and she looked terrified.
Torres had been able to brighten the footage enough to discern some key details from the background. He’d managed to narrow the location down to one of two abandoned buildings; one was a factory, the other an apartment building. Sam and Bucky split up, each leading a team to one of the potential locations.
Bucky stopped at the end of the block the apartment building was located on, his team assembled in a semicircle before him. He’d worked with most of them already on various assignments and was familiar with their strengths; Alvarez was an incredible negotiator, Rossum was a crack-shot, and Lim was extremely adept at hand-to-hand combat.
“Our priority is getting Dr Rubinstein out,” Bucky explained, checking his thigh-holster and making sure it was secure. “If you encounter any hostiles, try and keep them alive. They’ll need to be taken in for questioning.”
The team nodded and set about giving their own weapons a perfunctory once over. Bucky turned away from them, pressing a metal finger to his earpiece.
“Stevie, you there?”
“I’ve got eyes on you, Buck,” Steve’s voice was warm and familiar as it came through the comm link. “Looking good.”
“God, shut up! You guys are disgusting.” Torres’s voice came through the comm, and Bucky grinned at the exasperated mirth he could sense there.
“Can you see what I’m seeing?” He asked, touching his fingertips to the camera embedded in the strap across the front of his suit.
“Sure can, Buck,” Steve confirmed. “You’re good to go. Nothing else from the kidnapper.”
“Roger that, Rogers,” Bucky grinned, delighting in the undignified snort from Steve’s end. He turned back to his team, who were waiting patiently for his next instruction. “Alright, let’s move.”
Tucking themselves close to the building, Bucky led the team towards the entrance to the apartment block. Luckily, the street had been cordoned off, so there were no civilians in range. They paused outside the doorway – a rusted old door that was almost hanging off its hinges – and Bucky counted down on his fingers before leading the way inside.
The building was dark, and smelled damp. Bucky strained his ears, listening beyond the drip of broken pipes and the squeak of street rats. He could hear the faint sounds of Rubinstein’s breath coming from a few floors up and signalled as such to his team.
“She’s here, Steve. We’ve got her a few floors up. Heading to her now.”
“Any hostiles?” Steve asked quietly.
“None,” Bucky shook his head, pressing his teeth against his bottom lip. “Strangely enough.”
They headed up, weapons drawn, and met no resistance. The same could be said for when they recovered Rubinstein, who was shaking and covered in a sheen of sweat, but otherwise outwardly unharmed – and, crucially, alone.
“I’m okay,” Rubinstein coughed as Lim removed the gag, cradling the back of her head carefully. “He didn’t hurt me.”
“Who’s he?” Bucky asked, and Rubinstein looked up at him before opening her mouth to respond.
She was cut off by the metallic sound of a grenade hitting the ground and rolling towards them. Bucky reacted as quickly as he could, kicking it across the room before turning to shield Rubinstein from the subsequent blast. They all were thrown off their feet, and Bucky did his best to protect Rubinstein from impact.
The room was slowly filling with thick smoke as a result of the grenade. Bucky grabbed Lim and pushed them towards the exit, Rubinstein in tow.
“Take her and get the fuck out of here!” Bucky instructed, and Lim nodded before half-lifting Rubinstein towards the stairwell. Bucky turned on his heel, scanning the room for the other members of his team. Alvarez and Rossum had been closer to the blast than himself, Rubinstein, and Lim, and were both sprawled unconscious on the floor.
Bucky coughed into his elbow as the smoke thickened, curling around him in viscous tendrils. He moved across the room towards Alvarez and Rossum, shaking them both to no avail.
“Shit, shit!” He snapped, pressing his fingers to his earpiece. “Steve? Yeah, I’m fine, but Alvarez and Rossum are down. Lim has Rubinstein, they’re on their way down.”
“Bucky, can you get them out?” Steve asked, fingers flying across his keyboard. “We’re trying to get eyes on you, but the smoke is too thick.”
“I can try,” Bucky replied, waving his arm through the smoke and trying to find a path to the stairwell. “Can’t see shit, though.”
Bucky leaned down to try and lift Alvarez onto his shoulder, pressing his teeth together against another cough. He had just hefted Alvarez’s body upwards when another grenade was thrown, landing directly at Bucky’s feet. He scrambled backwards, tripping over Rossum’s body as it detonated. Both he and Alvarez went flying as more smoke began to pour out into the room.
Bucky groaned, trying to pull himself to his feet. He had been thrown against the wall – although which wall, he couldn’t tell – and had felt it crack with the impact. He touched his flesh fingers to the back of his head and winced when they came away wet.
“Bucky? Bucky!” Steve barked through the comms, clearly trying to maintain professionalism in the face of mounting panic.
“I’m fine,” Bucky coughed again, leaning back against the wall as he tried to get his bearings. “I just – I don’t think I can get them out of here, Steve.”
“Can you get out of there?” Steve asked, and Bucky took a moment to process the question. “Buck?”
“I don’t know. Can’t see shit and-”
Bucky was cut off as something heavy slammed into his face. His head snapped back against the wall with a sickening crunch, and everything went black as he dropped to the ground.
Torres was hunched over his keyboard, fingers flying across the keys as he tried to find any information as to Bucky’s whereabouts. Once the smoke had cleared, Sam and his team had swept the building in search of Bucky, Alvarez, and Rossum. They’d found the latter two agents passed out on one of the upper floors, relatively unharmed save for a few scrapes and bruises.
There was, however, no sign of Bucky beyond a smear of blood across one of the walls.
Rubinstein hadn’t been able to give them any information as to who her kidnapper was, beyond the fact that they were male. They hadn’t been able to get any discernible DNA off the restraints that had been used on Rubinstein.
It had been twelve hours since Bucky had gone missing, and they had nothing. It was driving Steve crazy.
He was pacing the room, stopping to bend over Torres’s shoulder every so often. He was chewing on one of his thumbnails, tension wrought into every line of his body.
“Fuck,” Steve spat, kicking at the chair he had vacated not five minutes prior. “Fuck, Torres. Run it again.”
“Steve-” Torres sighed, glancing up at the man in question. Steve’s jaw was tight and he shook his head, pressing his hands against the desk and leaning in close to Torres’s computer screen.
“Again.”
Torres bit back another sigh, clicking through to the footage they’d pulled from Bucky’s chest-cam before it had shattered against the ground. It was difficult to see anything, given the sheer thickness of the smoke that had filled the room. Bucky’s groan was audible as he pulled himself to his feet, flesh hand coming into view. It was streaked with blood, and the desk creaked as Steve’s hands curled around the edge of it at the sight. Bucky’s side of his and Steve’s conversation came through the video feed before he was cut off by a dark shape slamming into his face. He dropped immediately and the camera smashed on impact, shorting out into static.
“Can’t you clean it up a bit?” Steve asked, his gaze fixed resolutely on the screen.
“I’ve tried, Steve. There’s nothing.” Torres replied, clicking out of the video and back to the first one they’d been sent; the one of Rubinstein, along with the kidnapper’s voice. He was in the middle of running the audio through a recognition system for a fifth time when the door to his and Steve’s underground office opened.
It was Sam, still in his Cap uniform with the shield nestled on his back. He’d been busy; he’d spent the last twelve hours sweeping the apartment block before talking with Rubinstein and the other agents. His expression was grave as he crossed the room, laying a gentle hand between Steve’s tense shoulder blades.
“We’ll find him,” Sam said softly. “I promise.”
“I know,” Steve said through gritted teeth, Sam’s words offering little comfort. “And I know he can handle himself. It’s just – the not knowing, the not being able to help. It’s fucking killing me.”
Steve let out a breath, running his hands through his hair and over his face. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes for a few long moments, fingers trembling slightly, and Sam moved away to give him some space.
“How are you doing?” Sam asked Torres in a low voice, squeezing his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” Torres shrugged, shooting Steve a look. “He’s been a nightmare, but that’s understandable. I’m not getting anywhere with anything, though. Whatever device this first video was sent from was blocking all signals so I can’t get a location or anything. I’ve run vocal recognition five times so far and nothing.”
“Why don’t you take a break?” Sam suggested, crouching next to Torres’s chair. “Me and Steve can keep an eye on things here. Go for a walk, grab a coffee, take a nap even. It’s late – or rather, early.”
“Are you sure?” Torres asked, his gaze flickering from Sam to Steve and back again. “I can keep running this, I don’t mind…”
“No, you should go,” Steve said, eyes red-rimmed as he removed his hands from his face. “I’ve been an asshole to you for the past however many hours. I’m sorry.”
Torres shook his head, pushing his chair back and standing. “You don’t have to apologise, Steve. You’re worried – we all are. But we’ll find him.” He reached out and placed a hand on Steve’s forearm, receiving a small smile in return.
Torres turned and pulled his jacket on, checking his pockets before leaving the room. His shoulders drooped as he stepped through the doorway before he was obscured from view, and Steve heard him sigh as the door clicked shut behind him.
“Fuck.” Steve swore again, dropping into the chair Torres had vacated and clicking through all of the open programs. The vocal recognition software that Torres had been running had returned nothing, yet again, and Steve slammed his hand against the keyboard.
“Steve, man, seriously,” Sam said firmly, stepping up to Steve’s side. “I understand your frustrations, but you’ve gotta calm down. Getting angry about it won’t help.”
“I know,” Steve said, staring down at the desk. He took a deep, shuddering breath before letting it out again. “I know. But Sam, I’ve lost him so many times already. I can’t lose him again.”
“You’re not going to,” Sam said resolutely, dragging over Steve’s abandoned chair and sitting on the edge of it. He pulled the shield off his back and set it against the side of the desk to allow himself to sit more comfortably. “Now, come on. Let’s try the CCTV footage from outside the apartment block.”
Steve and Sam scanned all of the CCTV footage from outside the building that they could access, to no avail. The kidnapper – or kidnappers – must have found a different way inside; one that wouldn’t be picked up by any of the surrounding cameras. Steve growled under his breath, pushing away from the desk and pacing again, no doubt wearing a track into the floor.
Sam concentrated on the screens in front of him, cross-referencing the footage from Bucky’s chest-cam with those of Alvarez, Lim, and Rossum. The low visibility in the room made it hard to glean anything worthwhile from the videos. He’d just got to the moment of the first grenade detonation when the door slammed open, cracking off the wall with a sharp clatter. Steve jumped, grabbing the shield on impulse and throwing it towards the doorway. It embedded itself in the wall on the right of the door, narrowly missing Torres who was standing just inside it, chest heaving.
“Oh my god,” Steve’s face fell as he realised what had happened. “I’m so fucking sorry, oh my god. That was – I was just – muscle memory-” He babbled, trailing off as Torres waved a hand through the air.
“It’s whatever, Steve,” He said hurriedly, striding across the room and shoving Sam out of the way. “Not important right now. The kidnapper has released a video.”
“A video?” Steve frowned, at the same time as Sam said, “Released?”
Torres nodded absently, opening Twitter and clicking through to the trending tab. Sam frowned at the screen; not only was ‘the White Wolf’ trending, so too was ‘John Walker’.
“Walker?” Sam asked warily, looking over at Torres. His mouth was set in a grim line as he gestured towards the screen.
Bucky was positioned in the middle of a dark room. Both of his arms were restrained, held out to the sides by a metal clamp system that fitted tightly around his wrists. The rest of his body was limp; his feet were tied together in a complex arrangement of chains, but they weren’t supporting him. He was practically hanging by his wrists.
While his clothes were intact, his metal arm appeared to have taken a considerable amount of damage. The metal was dull beneath the spotlight positioned above Bucky’s head, and there appeared to be a series of gouges along the joint of Bucky’s elbow. His face was obscured, given the fact that his head was hanging downwards, but it was unmistakeably him.
Steve made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.
Another figure entered the frame; this one made Sam’s blood boil, his hands curling into fists. It was John Walker, clad in a dark suit with red accents, a sickening slash of a grin on his face.
“Well, well, well, America,” He tutted, grasping the hair at the back of Bucky’s head and pulling upwards. The spotlight threw Bucky’s features into sharp relief; he was streaked with blood, one eye swollen shut. “Look what has become of your precious White Wolf.” Walker sighed, shaking his head.
Bucky’s lips pulled upwards into a snarl, and he bared his bloody teeth before spitting at the ground. “Fuck you.”
Walker paused, tilting his head to the side and eyeing Bucky for a moment. He sighed then, dropping Bucky’s head and reaching over his shoulder. He pulled from his back a shield that looked like a replica of Sam’s, just darker in colour and without the same neat finish that vibranium boasted. He fastened it onto his arm carefully, giving Bucky an evaluative look before drawing the shield back and slamming it into Bucky’s face.
Steve cried out as Bucky went limp, blood dripping from his mouth onto the floor. Walker shook his head, seeming almost disappointed as he turned towards the camera. “You really should’ve accepted me as Captain America,” Walker said, swinging his shield onto his back again. “Things would’ve been so different, if you had.”
The video ended there, cutting to a black screen. Sam and Steve both stared at the screen in silence, while Torres got to work using Steve’s computer.
“I’ll kill him,” Steve said after a few long moments, his voice shaking with pure, unadulterated rage. “I’ll fucking kill him.”
“Steve-” Sam began, but was cut off as Steve stood up straight, drawing himself to his full height.
“Where the fuck is he, Torres?” Steve snapped, stalking across the room towards where the shield was embedded in the wall and pulling it out smoothly. “Give me an address, now.”
“I’m working on it, Steve.” Torres said through gritted teeth, code flying across the screen as he tried to track the location of the post.
“Work faster.” Steve ground out, sweeping a hand over the face of the shield. He was staring down at it when Sam approached, flinching as Sam’s fingers closed around his wrist.
“Do you want to calm down and think about this?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. “You cannot go in there all guns blazing, Steve. Especially not with the shield. Have you forgotten that you’re meant to be dead?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Steve shrugged, pulling his wrist out of Sam’s grip. “He’ll be dead by the time I’m finished with him. He won’t be telling anyone anything.”
“Hey,” Sam said sternly, laying a hand on Steve’s chest and drawing his attention. “Slow down, Steve. I get it, okay? I know you want to go after him and believe me, we will. But please, think about it first.”
“There’s no fucking time to think about it, Sam,” Steve shouted, throwing an arm out in the direction of the computer screen. The video had started playing again, and the sound of Walker’s shield hitting Bucky’s face was sickeningly loud. “He might be a super-soldier, but he can’t hold out forever.”
Sam sighed, looking down at the shield. He gently wrestled it out of Steve’s grip, sliding it onto his back. “Fine. But at least put on some tac gear, man. Bucky’ll kill me if I let you storm in there without a disguise.”
Steve had, begrudgingly, located some tac gear and dressed perfunctorily. He looked lethal; he was all muscle, swathed in black with numerous weapons strapped to his body. He also had a helmet on with a dark visor, which was perfect for protecting his identity.
Despite the work that Captain America and the White Wolf were doing with the GRC, Sam and Bucky operated beyond the jurisdiction of any government body, thanks to their refusal to sign the Sokovia Accords. They’d collaborated with government agents on the Rubinstein retrieval, but they were essentially on their own now. Their independence was a blessing; it was how they had been able to bring Steve onto the team in the first place. Not only that, but in the current situation it meant that they didn’t have to wait for anyone’s approval before they headed for the location that Torres had pulled from the video.
It had taken him hardly any time, and he had sent Sam the location with a worried look on his face. “That was way too easy to pull, Sam,” He’d said, chewing on his bottom lip. “Be careful. He’s probably expecting you.”
Steve had insisted on taking his motorbike, while Sam flew overhead. The late hour meant that the roads were empty, save for a few taxi cabs ferrying passengers. Steve paid them no mind, driving quickly yet carefully through the city. Walker had Bucky at yet another abandoned location; this time it was an old container down at the docks in Brooklyn, the same place Bucky had worked before the war. Steve stopped the bike a block away, parking it on the kerb and walking the rest of the way. Walker may have been expecting them, but they wanted to at least get a little bit of a jump on him.
Sam was waiting for Steve at the edge of the docks when he walked up, wings folded neatly behind his back. He had pulled the shield onto his forearm, and it gleamed beneath the streetlamps overhead.
“You alright, man?” Sam asked, placing a hand on Steve’s elbow. His concern was audible and while Steve appreciated it, it also set his teeth on edge.
“I’m fine. Let’s move.” Steve said shortly, tapping the edge of his tac helmet and activating the comm link. It crackled to life, connecting him to both Sam and Torres. Sam did the same as they headed towards the building that they believed Walker – and Bucky – to be in.
“Sam? Steve?” Torres’s voice came through the comm link. He sounded shaky and unsure, which frankly terrified Steve.
“Talk to us, Torres.” Steve instructed, fingers curling inside his thick leather gloves.
“He’s-” Torres paused, swallowing loudly. “He’s just started a live video. You’d better hurry.”
As the sound of Bucky’s screams echoed through the comms, Steve started to run.
“How easy it is to bring you to pieces.” Walker sighed in his ear, running the tip of his knife along one of the golden cracks in Bucky’s arm.
“Because I can feel everything, you sick fuck.” Bucky spat, throwing his head backwards and narrowing missing Walker’s face.
“Wakandan technology,” Walker tutted, digging the knife in sharply and relishing in Bucky’s resounding cry. “So impressive.”
Bucky had to agree; it was extremely impressive. This version of the arm was far superior to the one HYDRA had given him; he could actually feel things with it now, register sensations and pressure, as well as pain. The gold lines that gleamed amidst polished the black metal acted as receptors. They weren’t designed for such targeted attention, however, and usually operated as a complex web that processed sensations and fed them back to his brain accordingly. The press of Walker’s knife against them was like fire crawling through Bucky’s veins; it was agony, something he’d never even thought to associate with an arm that wasn’t his own.
The joints were the most sensitive – elbow, wrist, fingers – and also happened to be the places that Walker had given the most attention to. Bucky’s elbow was still smarting with the way Walker had been sawing at it earlier, trying to literally carve it to pieces. Now, however, he went for Bucky’s fingers; specifically his ring finger, which had been modified to incorporate a thin gold band to represent his engagement ring.
Bucky had a physical ring, too, but he wore it around his neck on the same chain as Steve’s dog tags. Wearing it on his finger wasn’t practical, all things considered. But Bucky loved the way Steve’s hand looked every time his ring caught the light and wanted something similar for himself. So, they’d contacted T’Challa and had tentatively explained the situation along with Steve’s return. He and Nakia had been delighted and had invited the pair to stay in Wakanda while Shuri upgraded Bucky’s arm. They’d stayed for a week, during which time Bucky had been able to reconnect with his goats (who were now under the diligent care of one of the locals). Shuri had been able to complete the upgrade while the arm was still attached, after rerouting Bucky’s nerves so that it wouldn’t cause him any pain.
Walker eyed the band, letting out a sharp bark of laughter when he realised what it was.
“You’re engaged?” He asked, digging the point of the knife into the base of Bucky’s finger as he turned to the camera. “You hear that, America? Your White Wolf is engaged! I wonder what your fiancé is thinking right now, watching you like this. So weak and so helpless,” Walker’s mouth curled up into a sick slash of a grin, and he drove the knife downwards as if trying to saw Bucky’s finger off. “I love it, if I’m being honest. Not so sure she will, however.”
“He.” Bucky corrected through gritted teeth, letting out a sharp cry of pain when Walker’s grip slipped and the knife cut downwards, scoring the metal.
“What an interesting development,” Walker hummed, lips curling up into a maniacal grin. “And where is he now, I wonder?”
Suddenly, the warehouse doors slammed open, their ancient hinges rattling. Both Bucky and Walker turned to find two figures barrelling towards them. One was Sam, dressed in full Cap gear with his shield drawn, while the other was an unknown agent in tac gear. Bucky frowned as the agent stalked forward, seemingly focused on Walker.
“Seems we have company!” Walker sing-songed, tugging his shield off his back and dropping into a fighting stance. The agent, whose identity was obscured thanks to their dark helmet, batted Walker’s shield away easily, curling their hands around the front of his suit and throwing him across the room with staggering fluidity.
“The camera, Sam,” The agent called over their shoulder, standing above Walker with a heavy boot pressed against his chest. Sam nodded, hurrying past Bucky towards the camera that Walker had been livestreaming from. His hands hovered above it, and Bucky watched as he deliberated over which button to press to stop the stream. “Sam, seriously, stop the fucking stream!” The agent shouted, and Sam made a frustrated sound.
“Sorry, everyone.” Sam sighed into the lens, drawing the shield back and slamming it into the camera. It clattered to the ground, the light slowly draining out of it, and Walker yelped.
“That was expensive!” He scowled, and the agent pressed their boot harder against Walker’s chest.
“Shut the fuck up.” They spat, the unique cadence of their voice finally penetrating Bucky’s muddled brain.
“Steve?”
The agent – definitely Steve, Bucky surmised – sighed. Walker blinked up at him, his mouth pulling into a smile.
“Steve Rogers? It’s really you, huh?”
“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up?”
“Damn,” Walker laughed. “I thought you were supposed to be the nice guy, huh?”
“You’ve caught me on a bad day.”
Walker raised an eyebrow, throwing his body to the side suddenly and sweeping Steve’s feet out from underneath him. Steve, momentarily caught off guard, went down, his helmet thudding off the ground with a sharp crack. Walker climbed on top of Steve, digging his fingertips into the space beneath Steve’s helmet and trying to pull it off.
Had Walker not taken the serum, he likely wouldn’t have succeeded. But, he had, and the edges of the helmet gave way beneath his hands. He threw the ruined pieces aside, letting out a sharp, victorious sound when Steve’s face was revealed.
Steve gritted his teeth, taking advantage of Walker’s momentary glee and rolling them to the side. He managed to get on top of Walker and pressed one knee against his throat.
“Why’d you do it?” Steve asked, gesturing over towards Bucky. Sam was working at the restraints, doing his best to relieve the strain on Bucky’s arms.
Walker shrugged. “Why not? Saw the opportunity,” He turned his head slightly, his gaze flickering over Bucky and landing on Sam. He eyed the sharp lines of Sam’s suit and the way the shield gleamed on his back with crippling envy, the likes of which Bucky had never seen on anyone before. “I should’ve been Captain America. I was Captain America, for god’s sake.”
“No, you shouldn’t have, and no, you weren’t,” Steve corrected. “I was Captain America, and that title now belongs to Sam Wilson. As it should. You were never more than an imitation.”
Walker’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl, and he used all of his strength to throw Steve off him. He hovered over Steve, drawing his fist back and slamming it into Steve’s face. Bucky winced as Steve’s head cracked back against the concrete floor. “Fuck you,” Walker seethed, grabbing at the front of Steve’s uniform and pulling him up. “What would you know about it? You weren’t even here.”
Steve turned his head to the side, spitting out a glob of blood that had pooled in his mouth from Walker’s hit. “I didn’t have to be here. Hearing about what you did was enough.”
“What I did,” Walker spat, the veins on his neck standing out in sharp relief. “Was take out the fucking terrorist that killed my best friend.”
“You murdered a person in broad daylight, in front of the entire world.” Bucky called, swinging his right arm as Sam finally managed to release it. He’d already dealt with the chain around Bucky’s ankles, using the shield to batter it open.
“Like you didn’t do worse, Winter Soldier.” Walker shouted, his eyes wild as he looked over at Bucky. Steve took advantage of his distraction, grabbing for the gun that was holstered to his thigh and driving the butt into Walker’s temple. Walker crumpled, and Steve made short work of restraining him with a set of cuffs from his belt.
“These won’t hold him for long, Torres,” Steve said, pressing a finger to his earpiece. “Tell me backup is on the way?” Bucky heard Torres deliver an affirmative through Sam’s earpiece.
“Here, man,” Sam called to Steve, gesturing to the clamp around Bucky’s metal arm. “You take over. I’ll deliver Walker. Your helmet is pretty ruined, and we can’t risk anyone seeing you.”
Steve nodded, leaving Walker on the ground and swapping places with Sam. He managed to lift Walker with relative ease, taking him over to the entrance of the warehouse to await their backup. Steve’s hands were gentle, skimming along Bucky’s metal arm towards the vice clamped around his wrist. He tucked his fingers around the edges of the clamp and pulled it apart, allowing Bucky to slide his hand out through the gap.
“Fuck.” Bucky cursed under his breath, staggering a little before catching his balance. He swung his left arm, and it made a robotic sound as it recalibrated.
“Are you okay?” Steve asked softly. He was standing a few paces away with his arms outstretched, as though ready to catch Bucky should he fall.
“I, uh,” Bucky took a moment to take stock of his body. His shoulders ached, due to the position Walker had forced him into, and both his ankles and right wrist had been rubbed raw by the restraints. His lip was split, teeth streaked with blood, and there was a gash above his left eye, the one that had been swollen shut. It was less swollen now – he could open it at least – but still painful. His nose was still dripping sluggishly, thanks to taking a shield to the face a few times. Beyond the cuts and bruises, Bucky felt a bone-deep ache throughout his entire body; likely the result of being recklessly thrown around and beaten the way he had. “I’ve been better. But I’ve also been worse. So…”
“Oh, Buck,” Steve sighed, stepping close and reaching up to cup Bucky’s jaw. His touch was feather-light, and Bucky let his eyes flutter closed as he leaned into it. “I’m so sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologise for,” Bucky said quietly, turning his head to brush a kiss over Steve’s palm. “Thanks for coming for me.”
“That was non-negotiable,” Steve murmured, sweeping one of his thumbs over Bucky’s cheekbone. “The gear was Sam’s idea.”
“It was a good idea,” Bucky hummed, relishing in the way Steve’s touch spread across his bruised skin like a soothing balm. “Shame about the helmet, though.”
“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “Walker knows now, which is going to be a bitch.”
“I doubt anyone will listen to him,” Bucky said, lifting his hands and letting them settle on Steve’s waist. “But if they do…”
Steve shushed him gently, lips touching his forehead. “Let’s not think about that right now. We can cross that bridge when we come to it, if we even do. For now, I just want to get you home.”
Bucky slid his arms further around Steve, stepping close to him and pressing his cheek to Steve’s chest. Now that his adrenaline had lapsed, he just felt exhausted.
“Take me home, Stevie,” Bucky sighed, voice slightly muffled by Steve’s Kevlar vest. “Please.”
Steve pressed a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head in lieu of a response.
A trail of clothes, belonging to both Bucky and Steve, led through their loft apartment towards the bathroom. They’d stripped on their way to the shower; yearning, despite the early hour, to shroud themselves in lightly scented steam and forget the world for a while.
The sun was just starting to rise, throwing weak orange light through the bathroom window. It tumbled across Steve’s body, illuminating all of his sharp lines and curves. Walker’s punch had split his lip and caused Steve to bite down on his tongue. Both wounds had healed already, although his lip was a little swollen still. Bucky knew he was probably still nursing a headache considering the way his head had ricocheted off the concrete floor sans helmet. He didn’t seem bothered, however; he was more concerned with Bucky’s wellbeing, a notion that sent warmth curling through Bucky’s veins. He watched Steve breathlessly; the way he glowed in the light, skin damp where the shower’s spray touched him.
“Are you okay?” Steve asked gently, and Bucky blinked. He hadn’t even noticed Steve eyeing him expectantly, bottle of shampoo in his hand.
“I’m good,” Bucky nodded, ducking his head beneath the water and getting his hair wet. “Just lookin’ at you, that’s all.”
Steve’s responding chuckle was overwhelmingly fond. He stepped forward, squeezing a small amount of Bucky’s favourite shampoo – mango and coconut scented – into his palm.
“I meant more are you okay after tonight.” He clarified, reaching up to scrub the shampoo into Bucky’s hair.
“Oh,” Bucky said, closing his eyes and leaning into Steve’s hands. “Yeah, I’m okay. I knew I’d get out of there somehow.”
Steve hummed softly as he manoeuvred Bucky back underneath the spray, taking great care not to let the shampoo run into his eyes or any of the still-healing wounds on his face as he rinsed it off. He was quiet and contemplative as he did the same with the matching conditioner, before moving onto bodywash.
“Let me know if it hurts.” Steve instructed, squeezing a generous amount of vanilla scented bodywash onto a puff.
“S’okay, Stevie,” Bucky murmured, body lax and liquid beneath Steve’s ministrations. “M’mostly healed already.”
That wasn’t strictly true. The gash above Bucky’s eye hadn’t healed yet and would likely need stitches. The eye itself was still swollen, already purpling with an impressive bruise. The skin around his right wrist and ankles was an angry red where the restraints had chafed, stinging beneath the water.
Steve was mindful as he swept the puff over Bucky’s skin, soothing whatever marks remained with kisses that were so light and loving that Bucky could’ve cried. Steve was practically holding him up by the time he was done.
“Come on, baby,” Steve soothed softly, one arm around Bucky’s waist as he helped him out of the shower. He wrapped Bucky up in a soft towel, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bathroom counter. “Just wait here, okay? I won’t be a minute.”
Bucky nodded, leaning back against the wall and letting his eyes fall closed again. His hair was damp, curling onto his forehead and around his ears, dripping excess water onto his shoulders. He didn’t mind, though.
He heard Steve get back into the shower, perfunctorily washing himself. Normally Bucky would’ve liked to return the favour; he was never one to pass up the opportunity to run his hands all over every inch of Steve’s skin. However, Steve’s ministrations, coupled with the fragrant warmth of the bathroom, on top of his adrenaline crash, had him far too exhausted to reciprocate.
Steve finished up quickly, turning the water off before stepping out of the shower. He grabbed a towel for himself, wrapping it around his waist before he approached Bucky. “Still with me, Buck?” He asked quietly, tapping his fingertips to Bucky’s bare knee.
“Still here, Stevie.” Bucky replied around a jaw-splitting yawn, parting his legs so that Steve could stand between them.
“Sit up, love,” Steve encouraged, placing his palms on either side of Bucky’s ribcage and gently coaxing him upright. “Let me dry your hair.”
Bucky grumbled as he sat up, opening his eyes to find Steve watching him. His eyes – so fucking blue – were soaked in so much affection that Bucky found it hard to make eye-contact. Sunlight had continued to fill the room, and Steve was incandescent as he reached for a smaller towel for Bucky’s hair. The sun’s warm fingers slipped through Steve’s own hair, turning the damp strands golden. Even his eyelashes were tipped with gold.
Steve’s movements were slow and gentle as he dried Bucky’s hair, gently rubbing the towel through wet locks. Bucky’s fingertips skimmed Steve’s sides as he worked, and he relished in the light smattering of goosebumps that rose beneath his touch.
Steve went to move away once he was finished with Bucky’s hair, but Bucky made a small sound of disapproval and locked his shins around Steve’s thighs. “Not yet.” Bucky shook his head, tilting his head upwards and seeking out Steve’s mouth for a kiss.
They kissed like that for a while; soft, slow, and languid. Steve’s hands rested lightly on Bucky’s thighs, while Bucky’s moved upwards to cup Steve’s jaw and effectively hold him in place.
“I love you.” Steve said into Bucky’s mouth, and his words tasted like honeyed sunshine as they pooled sweet on Bucky’s tongue.
“I love you, too.” Bucky replied, pulling back ever so slightly and resting his forehead against Steve’s own. Steve brushed his nose against Bucky’s, and Bucky laughed softly at the saccharine gesture.
“Just let me stitch this up and put some ointment on,” Steve murmured, reaching up to touch his thumb to the gash that cut through Bucky’s eyebrow. “Then we’ll be done.”
Bucky knew better than to argue. He released Steve – albeit begrudgingly – and instead watched as he ducked beneath the sink for the first aid kit. He was back within moments, tucking himself into the vee of Bucky’s legs. He worked quickly and carefully, with his tongue caught between his teeth as he did so. Bucky was content enough just to look at him, hands resting lightly on the taper of Steve’s waist.
Once Steve had finished stitching, he leaned over to grab a tube of ointment from the first aid kit. It smelled faintly of antiseptic, but Bucky didn’t mind. He closed his eyes as Steve applied it to the various scrapes and cuts on his body with warm fingers. It wasn’t strictly necessary, given that the serum would protect him from any infection, but Steve was nothing if not careful.
“Do you need any?” Bucky asked quietly, running one hand up Steve’s chest towards his head. He ran his fingers through Steve’s hair and across the curve of his skull, feeling for any wounds that might’ve escaped notice.
“I’m good,” Steve shook his head, recapping the ointment. “Head’s a bit sore, but that’ll go.” He tidied the counter quickly, storing the first aid kit back beneath the sink. “Bed?” He asked to which Bucky nodded an affirmative.
He was hungry, and a little thirsty, but sleep won out. He hopped down off the counter, allowing Steve to dry him off with careful, sweeping motions. Throwing the used towels into the hamper, Steve took Bucky’s hand and led him through the apartment towards the bedroom. The curtains were open, and warm sunlight had spilled onto the mattress like a puddle of syrup. Bucky crawled beneath the covers, relishing in the slight warmth that the sun had imbued them with. He frowned slightly when he realised that Steve had left the room and listened to the pad of his feet across the floorboards as he headed for the kitchen.
He was about to shout when Steve popped back into the room, a glass of water in each hand. He set one on the bedside table on Bucky’s side, taking a sip of the other as he rounded the bed. Bucky fell in love with him just a little more as he leaned over to drain his glass.
“Feels weird to be going to sleep, huh?” Bucky said as he turned over, burrowing close to Steve beneath the covers. His body ached a little, but Steve’s proximity was soothing. “You’re usually just getting up for a run.”
“I’d rather be here with you.” Steve hummed, tucking Bucky beneath his arm. Bucky smiled, turning his face a little and pressing it into Steve’s chest, walking the fingers of his metal hand up and down his ribcage. Steve did the same, passing his palm over the notches in Bucky’s spine.
He lifted his other hand, gently brushing a stray lock of hair off Bucky’s forehead with his knuckles. “Feeling alright, sweetheart?” Steve asked, sweeping his thumb down the slope of Bucky’s nose. There had been a cut across the bridge of his nose, thanks to Walker’s shield, but it had since healed. The skin was just a little bit pink and slightly sensitive.
“I’m good, Stevie,” Bucky murmured, sliding one of his legs between both of Steve’s. Their skin was still slightly damp from the shower, but nonetheless warm. “Are you?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Steve replied, carding his fingers gently through Bucky’s hair. “Told ya, he didn’t get me too bad,” Steve was quiet for a moment, scratching his nails lightly against Bucky’s scalp. When he spoke again, his expression was a touch serious. “How are you doing mentally? I know Walker didn’t have you for too long, but…”
Bucky sighed, trailing abstract patterns across Steve’s skin. “I’m doing okay, I suppose. Walker’s a fucking maniac, though. All that shit he said about wanting to be Captain America… And the livestreaming, what the fuck was that about?” Bucky shook his head. “He’s going to be a pain in the ass, Stevie. Not just about the Cap thing but about you, too. About us.”
“I know,” Steve muttered, breathing out through his nose as he tipped his head back on the pillow. “When I saw that video he posted, Buck… I wanted to kill him. Maybe I should’ve.”
“Hey,” Bucky shook his head, tapping his metal forefinger against Steve’s ribcage. “That’s not you, Steve. I get your frustration, but-”
“It was more than frustration,” Steve interrupted quietly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I – I haven’t felt so scared or angry in so long. He was just – he was using you, to try and prove a point that didn’t even exist. He was beating you like it was his fucking right.”
“He probably thinks it was,” Bucky shrugged. “Is. Whatever. He’s determined to try and convince the world that Sam and I aren’t suitable for the job, and that he should replace us.”
“Wrong way to go about it, then,” Steve snorted, rolling his eyes. “I told you earlier, Buck. If he tries to say anything about me, or about us, then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Bucky hummed in response, mind flitting over the conversation he and Walker had been having when Steve and Sam had arrived. He let out a humourless chuckle when he remembered what had been said.
“Everyone knows I’m engaged, now,” Bucky pointed out, and Steve’s hand stilled in his hair. “He noticed my hand. Felt the need to tell his livestream, so. Those questions are going to be fun to answer, especially since I corrected him when he assumed I was with a woman. God, my head fucking hurts already.” Bucky groaned, reaching up to rub his forehead with his metal hand. It made a slightly strange sound as he did so, emitting a low, robotic hum that lasted for a few seconds before fading out.
Steve caught Bucky’s hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over the thicker gold band around the base of his ring finger. “Is your arm okay?” He asked, brow furrowing slightly.
Bucky sat up a little, right elbow pressed into the mattress and holding his body up. He laid his metal arm across Steve’s chest, turning it this way and that. Steve tutted under his breath as the sunlight illuminated the scoring in the metal.
“It doesn’t really hurt anymore,” Bucky shrugged, flexing his fingers a few times. “But it hurt like a bitch when he was trying to get it off.”
“No wonder,” Steve said, jaw tight as he ran his fingers over the scourges Walker’s knife had made in the gold veins. “How was he even able to mark it like this?”
“I dunno, baby,” Bucky tipped his head back as he yawned again. “Super-soldier strength? That combined with sheer willpower, perhaps.”
“I can get in touch with T’Challa,” Steve suggested, lightly curling his fingers around Bucky’s wrist and drawing his hand up to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s palm, letting his eyes flutter closed as Bucky’s fingers scratched gently through his beard. “Maybe we could go for a visit.”
“I’d like that,” Bucky nodded, sliding his palm down the line of Steve’s throat and letting it rest against his collarbone. He tucked himself against Steve’s side again, head pillowed on his chest. “Sam would be pissed if we went without him, though.”
“We can talk about it later. We can talk about everything later, preferably with Sam and maybe a publicist,” Steve said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of Bucky’s head. “Sleep, for now.”
And so he did.