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Peter woke up shivering and strapped to a chair. He wiped cold, clammy hands on his pants and fought to pull in an even breath. What's happening? Where am I? What…how…?
Black. Nothing but black…his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw that he was in a completely empty room—at least from what he could see in the miniscule amount of light that leaked in through a hole in the wall to his right.
"Hello, Spider-Man."
He jerked his head toward the voice, chest heaving, eyes frantically straining for a glimpse of the unseen enemy with a Russian accent. "Who are you? What do you want?" His voice was pitifully thin and weak, but at this moment, he didn't particularly care. "Wh-why am I here?"
A chuckle, then, "you'll find out soon enough."
***
Even through the grainy green footage, he could see the terror on the kid’s face. It was one he knew well.
One could put up a brave front for only so long before the fear took over for good.
“Bucky.”
His head swung up, and he realized that everyone was staring at him. “What?”
“You good?” Steve frowned.
“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine.”
Steve didn’t look convinced, but dropped the subject—probably because they sat at the table with half of the Avengers.
“This is the video they sent us. So…what do you think?” Tony sounded impatient, and it was obvious that he thought they’d wasted precious time in breaking Bucky out of ice.
“Why did you ask me to come?” He needed all ghosts out of the closet if he were to work with Tony Stark.
“Because they specifically asked for you. And we have no idea where he is.”
***
With that one pinhole of light—coming through a hole too small to be able to peek through—never waning, and the darkness never changing, Peter couldn’t tell how long he’d been there. He slept fitfully, but with no changes to his environment, he’d only been there for a couple of hours, for all he knew.
Yet the exhaustion that weighed him down told him differently.
Though tired, he was bored. Mr. Stark would say that it was just living proof that he was every bit still a kid, but honestly, he’d have given anything to hear it right then. He craned his neck, squinting, trying once again to catch a glimpse of something he knew wasn’t there.
So why did the sense of danger climb with every second?
***
“Why did they ask for me, when it’s one of their scientists they want you to release?” Everything had been explained as much as it could; yet he was still confused. Call it old age, call it mental incapacitation, but I still don’t see how it applies to me.
“We don’t know,” Steve finally confessed. “All we know is that they said that you specifically have to deliver the professor—or they kill Peter.”
Bucky sat in silence for several moments. It still didn’t make sense, unless these people wanted a weak, broken soldier to make the prisoner exchange just so that there wouldn’t be any attempt made at a rescue.
Though soldier was an awfully strong word for the pitiful creature he was now.
Bucky grunted and glared at Tony. “Smartest billionaire in the world, with the biggest tech lab known to man at your fingertips, and you still can’t find him?” He ignored the knock it off look Steve sent his way, then sighed. “Are you sure it’s safe? For me?”
He wasn’t concerned for his own physical safety, and everyone knew it.
Natasha met his eyes with an unwavering gaze. “Shuri says you’re good to go. And that’s good enough for us.”
***
What would Mr. Stark do, what would Mr. Stark do? his mind repeated, over and over, but all he could do was struggle with his bonds and try not to let panic get the best of him. But when his chair whirred and stuck some kind of a needle into his leg, he had to bite his lip to hold in a cry.
The panic was slowly winning.
“It’s time to let you know why you’re here, Spider-Man.” The voice chuckled, the sound echoing in the darkness and sending a shiver down Peter’s spine. “Also, I just wanted you to know that your precious Mr. Stark won’t be here to save you; your suit’s tracker has been inactivated, and the room you are in is undetectable.”
“That’s what you think.” Peter forced out a chuckle he thought Mr. Stark would be proud of.
“Ah, but you’re wrong; it’s what I know. ”
Peter’s throat constricted. If he was right, and Mr. Stark wasn’t coming…what was going to happen?
“You see, Spider-Man, you’re only part of the objective.”
***
“Thank you for being my chauffeur.”
Bucky really hated that scientist. “Don’t mention it.” Seriously. Stop rubbing it in.
They’d been sitting in the car at the rendezvous point for two hours; surely the trade would be made soon. He didn’t mind waiting; patience was a virtue he’d learned long ago as the Winter Soldier—ironic, he thought. But if he was supposed to sit for two more hours with his scientist friend, there wouldn’t be any prisoner to exchange.
“Is he planning to make an appearance any time soon?” Tony voiced Bucky’s own thoughts through his earpiece. The chill of the Siberian mountains brought back unwelcome memories, and he focused on the different ways to conveniently get rid of the professor as a distraction.
His phone rang. How in the world did he get my number? He hit the answer button and held it to his ear.
“See that sapling about one hundred yards in front of you? Take the professor out to it.”
They stood out in the cold for another good ten minutes, and Bucky’s temper was rapidly shortening.
“Bucky,” Steve’s voice crackled through the comms, “I don’t like this. I think we ought to—”
His voice was cut off when the ground beneath Bucky suddenly opened up and swallowed him and the professor.
***
“Longing.”
The word greeted Peter when he opened his eyes; it was still dark in the room, and he was still strapped to the chair, but somehow, it didn’t bother him like it had before.
“Rusted.”
What was going on? Why couldn’t he move? His senses became aware of some sort of metal surrounding his head. Confusion clouded his mind.
“Furnace.”
Where was that voice coming from? And what was he doing here again?
“Daybreak.”
Someone was going to come get him…right? Someone was waiting for him somewhere outside this door? Maybe?
“Seventeen.”
It didn’t matter. He was starting to get comfortable. The words somehow felt familiar, and his eyes narrowed in concentration. It felt right.
***
“Benign.”
Not a word that Bucky wanted to hear as soon as he woke up. The memories that haunted his nightmares always started with some such word. Was he still dreaming?
“Nine.”
It was dark. Really dark. The only light that drew his attention came through a tiny pinhole in the wall, but it caught on some kind of an unidentifiable blob in the middle of the room.
“Homecoming.”
The word did nothing to him, and a flood of relief washed over him at the realization. They wouldn’t get what they wanted. He slowly eased into a sitting position and inched toward the form in the middle of the room, readying for attack.
***
“One.”
Energy hummed in Peter’s veins, and he tensed his muscles, ready for action. Nothing else mattered, nothing distracted him. He was focused. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go…just give me the word…
“Freight car.”
The shackles that held him fell away with a clank, and he jumped out of the chair, pausing when he hit the floor. His senses hummed, and his eyes narrowed, scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary.
Something moved. He could hear it scuffling on the floor. He slowly, silently crept to the wall and paused. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he knew that he shouldn’t do anything yet. He had to wait for…something.
“Spider. Attack.”
There it was.
***
Bucky barely had time to register the words, before something plowed into his stomach, pinning him to the floor, knocking the air from his lungs. “Kid? Is that you?”
The only reply he received was a fist slammed into his face. Annoyance surged, and he frowned in confusion. He could’ve sworn he heard the word spider . But it didn’t make sense.
A punch to his stomach, another to his face. Thinking it was the kid, he’d held back his automatic fight response. But obviously it wasn’t, and—
His body went cold as understanding dawned. No. They wouldn’t have gotten it done that quickly…would they? A surge of adrenaline propelled him to action, and he flung the kid away. He winced when he heard the boy’s body slam into the wall, but steeled his mind. It wasn’t the kid. Not anymore.
What was he going to tell Tony?
***
The guy was strong; really strong. He’d have to be careful and watch his step around this one. Peter circled around until he was pretty sure that he was behind the intruder, and sprang forward again, jerking the man to a sitting position and latching an arm around his throat.
An elbow to his kidney made him grunt in pain, and he lost his grip, pressing a hand to his side. Ow.
Something hard connected with his ankles with a dull thud and sent him sprawling to the floor. His ankles throbbed—definitely bruised, possibly broken—and he crawled to the wall. He wouldn’t give up, couldn’t give up, but not being able to stand didn’t help matters any.
He was coming from the right—Peter could feel it. He shot a web and jerked, smirking when he heard the man hit the floor with a grunt. He pulled himself in that direction, shooting webs the whole way, and allowed himself a smug smile of satisfaction. He was finally going to win this fight.
An alarm buzzed in his head, but he didn’t have time to duck before something unseen slammed into his head, and pain blossomed before everything went black.
***
“Very good, Winter Soldier.” A slow clap, a sadistic chuckle. “As much as I’d hoped the outcome would be different, I can’t say I’m surprised—but I’m not disappointed, either.”
“Who are you?” Gotta get out of here. Gotta get Peter to Wakanda, gotta… he’d pretty much figured out that no one else was in the room, but the sounds bounced off the walls so much that he couldn’t tell where the speaker must be. He knew that he was being recorded, but it didn’t keep him from pacing the walls, searching for some kind of a door. His stress levels rose as he found nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He momentarily considered punching his way out, but doing anything to potentially blow the kid up would result in Tony Stark raising him from the dead and killing him all over again.
Peter started to stir, and Bucky was glad; though regretting that he’d had to put the kid back in the chair, at least it meant that he was awake—and that Bucky hadn’t done any permanent damage.
He hoped.
“Care to play a game?”
No. He didn’t want to play a game.
“It’s time for round two, Winter Soldier.”
***
His head pounded, and anger surged, spiking his pain into rage. He could feel it coursing through his veins, humming with an energy he’d never experienced before. A needle poked his thigh again, injected him with something— he didn’t know what, and he didn’t care—and he jerked against the restraints that pinned him to the chair again.
The chains fell.
“Spider. Attack.”
Somehow, his ankles didn’t hurt anymore. His headache slipped into oblivion, and all he felt, all he knew, was a laser-like focus. His eyes narrowed, and he peered into the darkness before launching himself at the enemy that was still in the room.
An enemy he had to neutralize, right here, right now . He didn’t know why; he just knew that it needed to be done.
A flurry of kicks, then dodging, and he had the man mummified in webs. He paused, breathing heavily, staring at the barely-perceptible form in front of him.
“Spider. Kill.”
***
The words sent a cold chill down Bucky’s spine, and he forced himself to take deep, steadying breaths. Simple webs shouldn’t keep him, a super soldier, immobilized like this. They must have done something to the chemical makeup of the formula.
How long had this kid been kidnapped?
He could hear the soft footsteps, sensing the boy’s body warmth as he moved closer. Bucky was utterly powerless, and his breath quickened. He flexed his metal hand and struggled against the webs, and gave a small sigh of relief when he felt one snap slightly. But it wasn’t fast enough. He licked his lips and whispered one word.
“Peter.”
The movement paused, and Bucky continued pulling at the ropes that bound him until he was free, then jumped to his feet. “Peter? It’s me. Bucky.”
“What?” The kid sounded so confused.
“You’re Peter Parker. Spider-Man.” C’mon, kid, don’t do this to me. You can’t be that far gone. Not yet. “You’re part of the Avengers.”
“I…” Peter hesitated.
"You live in Queens with your aunt May." Bucky raked his brain for any other facts he'd learned while debriefing with Stark. "You go to high school, and…you work for Tony Stark."
A pause, then, “Tony Stark?”
“Yes. He gave you your suit. You fought together at the airport. Think, Peter.”’
“Mr…Mr. Bucky?” The kid’s voice trembled.
Bucky could’ve melted in the relief that flooded him. “Yes. We have to get out of here.” Forget getting blown up; they were sitting ducks in this room. He stalked to the tiny prick of light, pulled back his metal fist, and sent it as hard as he could against the wall. Once, twice, three times.
Their world exploded into light.
***
A woman with round, wire-rimmed glasses. Blue-and-khaki school uniforms. Some kind of a mansion. All bits and pieces of memories that flashed through Peter’s mind.
He was so confused. Bucky looked so familiar, and the words he spoke struck a chord deep within Peter. He wasn’t sure how, but it felt… right.
For a moment, he was blinded by a light so bright, he thought they must have died after all.
Then his eyes adjusted, and his jaw dropped. They were…in the middle of nowhere? "Where are we?"
"I don't know." Bucky scanned their surroundings—though there wasn't much of anything to see when visibility was down to zero beyond the layer of trees that surrounded them. They'd come out of a small, one-room shack, and Peter turned his back on it with a shudder.
Bucky suddenly took off walking, and Peter trailed behind, limping as whatever they'd given him started wearing off and his ankle began to throb. Exhaustion weighed him down, adrenaline fading. He couldn't go much further.
Bucky turned again—for the tenth time, probably to make sure Peter wasn’t going to attack him from behind—and apparently saw that Peter was fading fast.
Peter grunted when he was heaved over the man's shoulder, wincing when the man set off at a rapid pace, his shoulder digging into Peter's abdomen with every jolt.
He didn't know where they were going, but Bucky seemed capable, and he was so, so tired…
***
He didn't know what their captors had done to the kid, but whatever it was, he felt some kind of kinship with the boy even as anxiety ate at his insides.
Where are you, Stark? The GPS tracker they'd hidden in Bucky's metal arm before he came should've been reactivated when they broke out of the building, though he still wasn't sure what it was about the room that could've blocked the signal in the first place.
Finally, they came to an open field just as Bucky heard the low rumble of a quinjet. When it landed, Bucky practically ran at the ramp that was let down. Stark was there, hovering so close that Bucky barely had room to lay Peter down on the cot that was readied.
"What's wrong with him?" Stark demanded.
"Physically, I don't know. But we have to get him to Shuri now. "
“Mentally?” Stark's wide-eyed stare held a vulnerability that caught Bucky off-guard. He gripped the front of Bucky’s shirt in his fist and pushed forward until his nose was only an inch away from Bucky’s. “What. happened. to him?”
“They…tried to recreate the Winter Soldier.” His mouth went dry, and his stomach churned at the thought.
Stark cursed and slammed a hand against the wall.
For all of his bluster and flippant exterior, Bucky saw the utter terror in Stark's eyes. It was a look he knew well, one he'd seen in the mirror countless times after so many sleepless nights. He'd never liked the man—his rivalry with Steve made him practically an enemy in Bucky's eyes—but something made him want to give Stark a shred of hope.
"If anyone can fix him, Shuri can." I should know.