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Yelena dragged herself back to awareness as a bangbangbang pierced the air.
She’d been gagged and forced to kneel. There was a hard surface beneath her knees and when she went to lift her hands, she couldn’t. Something metal dug painfully into bruised and blood-slicked wrists when she tried to stand.
Chains. She was in chains.
She wasn’t alone either. There were people around her, leering at her.
She wanted to shrink away. To break free, but she was trapped. Pinned.
A spider caught in its own web.
Yelena tried to remember where she was or how she’d gotten in this position, but any time a memory attempted to push to the front of her mind, it sank back into the foggy depths before she could reach it. She knew she should’ve been worried, but that emotion, among many, was too far away to matter.
Her braid was grabbed roughly, her head pulled back.
The memory of gentler hands, gentler fingers combing through her hair struck her then, vivid and clear; her own hands doing the same to brunette hair, then auburn, then black. It had been soothing, she thought, grounding.
The fingertips brushing against her cheek chased the memories away, replacing them with a dull pain as they dug into her jaw, turning her face this way and that before her head was dropped, the sound of tearing fabric followed.
Yelena felt the cold air on her bare back and the panic finally pierced the fog, her throat growing tight as she pulled frantically on the chains, but the struggle did little when a crack pierced the air and white-hot pain sliced across her shoulders.
Her body jerked and Yelena cried out more in surprise than pain.
Low laughter and jeering surrounded her at the muffled sound.
There was a voice in her head that wasn’t her own, telling Yelena to not give them what they wanted. To remain cool and composed, no matter how bad the pain got. Pain was manageable. Pain made you stronger.
Another crack . Another slash of heat.
Yelena wanted to detach from her body, to drift to that grey place where nothing hurt, but she could feel the fog dissipating more with every strike, her vision sharpening and her awareness returning; cursing the man when the welts finally split open, blood trickling down her back.
She’d been with Kate, the two intending to take down the newest gang (with rumored ties to the Kingpin) that had decided to traffic whatever they could through New York, but there’d been three times more men than expected and Yelena might’ve made it out if she hadn’t taken a bullet through her calf.
She hated that she hadn’t seen the trap, but was thankful that Kate had gotten out.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t be foolish enough to attempt a one-man rescue mission.
Her jaw clenched as the man pressed down on the bullet wound with his foot.
She knew then, that it would only be a matter of time before the shock and blood loss overrode everything else. How long her body would last before it collapsed? Five more lashes? Ten? Fifteen?
She shoved the thoughts aside.
It did no good to focus on those things.
She only needed to wait until Kate came back.
And she would come back.
The eighth one came down right as the gunfire started.
Her captor dropped the whip and withdrew a large knife, grabbing her braid and using it like a leash to yank her head back and expose her throat; the blade pressed against the fragile skin, but she could feel the way his hand trembled.
Yelena saw the shadow drop from somewhere above, their landing silent despite their stature and she knew who it was before she saw the dim light gleam off the vibranium hand, and she met those steel-blue eyes.
There was none of the Soldier’s emptiness in that stare.
Just a cold, burning protective rage that was all James.
“I’ll-I’ll kill her.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. “Will you?”
“There’s...there’s more coming.”
Now James grinned, “You’re not the only one who brought back-up.”
A low whistle sounded and blood sprayed her face as an arrow sliced the man’s cheek, the idiot releasing her (the only thing keeping them from a kill shot) and the blade in surprise, crying out as two arrows pierced his shoulders simultaneously, cords wrapping around his body like a cocoon.
Yelena bit back a sound as the rush of air brushed against every open wound.
James didn’t spare the man a second glance, the anger replaced by a gentleness that spoke of caring for younger sisters as he broke the chains without jostling her, wrapping her in his leather jacket and scooping her into his arms.
Yelena finally allowed herself to feel the extent of her injuries, turning her cheek into his chest as the silent tears spilled over. Her fingers curling into the straps of his vest as white-hot agony erupted throughout her body with every step he took, no matter how gentle.
It didn’t take long for her to pass out.
…
She watched as Yelena was gathered into Bucky’s arms, unable to look from the smeared pool of red where her friend had been forced to kneel, the whip and knife lying on the ground, or banish the sight of the bloodied mess of her back.
Kate nocked another arrow with steady hands and for the first time ever, contemplated a lethal shot as she aimed at the squirming man writhing on the ground, and even with the tears blurring her vision, she knew it would hit its intended target.
Clint, of course, noticed, “Kate.”
“He hurt her.” Her voice trembled, “He was going to kill her.”
“I know.” His hand was gentle on her arm, “But that’s not you.”
“She would do the same for me.”
“She would.” Clint agreed, “And I would be telling her the same thing.”
Kate’s hands shook and she released the tension after a long moment, her bow and lone arrow clattering the ground, and she followed; knees smacking painfully on the concrete. She felt familiar arms gathering her in a warm grounding hug.
He allowed her a minute to fall apart before squeezing gently.
“Let’s go, alright? Get her to Cap?”
She nodded and pulled back, returning the arrow to her quiver and picking up her bow, following Clint down the ladder and met Bucky at the car, sliding into the backseat without a word and was thankful when the man laid her gently across the seats, helping to get her settled against Kate’s side before shutting the door.
Kate barely recalled the drive, every bit of her focus on Yelena and faint warm puffs of breath against her neck, pressing her forehead to her friend’s hair and closing her eyes; counting them like they were precious things.
She only moved when the car finally came to a stop, reluctantly releasing her hold to Bucky as he lifted Yelena into his arms like it was nothing, sliding out of the backseat and following as close as she dared when Sam Wilson opened door, all business as he ushered them inside.
He motioned to a dining room table cushioned in blankets, “Lay her here, Buck.”
Clint caught her elbow, “Kate...”
She shook her head, “I’m not leaving her again.”
He nodded in understanding, dropping his hand, “Let him work.”
Kate swallowed, but she gave him a small nod.
She hung back as Yelena was gently laid onto her stomach, head turned to one side and hands at her sides, and Kate couldn’t ignore how wrong it was to see Yelena so...out of it. There was nothing of the assassin in the grey pallor of her skin or the drying tear tracks on her cheeks. She looked so small in that moment.
Sam cut away the leather jacket (and what remained of her top) without hesitation, revealing the full extent of her injuries: a mess of welts and bruises buried beneath the innumerable lacerations where the whip split open her skin.
Her fault. This was her fault.
If she’d gotten better intel, done better surveillance...
If she’d hadn’t run like a scared little girl...
Bile rose quickly in her throat and Kate found a garbage can in front of her right as she threw up, one hand holding back her hair while another rubbed soothing circles on her back; the warmth and timbre of the voice unfamiliar.
She looked up when she finally emptied her stomach, surprised to find not Clint but Bucky crouched next to her; watching her with that same intensity that Yelena always did and she wondered if that was an assassin thing. “Sorry.”
“S’alright kid.” His small smile was sympathetic, softening the hard lines of his face.
Kate hadn't really been sure what to make of the former Winter Soldier when she’d realized he would be the closest to her and Yelena’s location, remembering the information Clint had given her but little else as she was too focused on getting any help to really to process anything.
She’d vaguely remembered the damage that he’d caused in DC before Mom had hastily changed the channel and refused to turn the news on at all, yet she could recall the whole UN incident a little better. Kate hadn’t known what to expect.
Well, maybe she’d expected the gun being pointed on her when he’d swung open the door, but that was probably what one got when coming unannounced to someone who’d been both an assassin and an international fugitive from multiple international intelligence agencies, as well as a supersoldier to boot.
The man’s body language had changed immediately, sliding the gun into the waistband of his sleep pants and bringing her inside, helping her through her panic and guiding her to his couch and setting a small white cat into her lap before asking her to explain everything.
Despite his massive stature and freaking vibranium arm , Bucky Barnes was gentle and reminded Kate very much of Clint; a man who’d been made into a weapon for others but refused to be one any longer.
Even now, armed to the teeth with his metal arm on full display, she felt safe with him.
“This isn’t your fault, Kate.”
She wanted to snap back at him that he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about but then she saw his expression and stopped herself, realizing just how stupid that would’ve been, glancing over at Yelena. “I shouldn’t have left her.”
“If you hadn’t, you both would’ve been taken and you wouldn’t have been able to help her.”
“But...” Her throat tightened.
“I can tell you, from experience, that Yelena won’t blame you.” He glanced over at where Yelena lay, the worst of her injuries covered by Sam, a muscle in his jaw twitching before he let out a long breath, taking the trash can. “Let’s give Cap some space.”
…
Yelena awoke on an unfamiliar bed, head turned to one side and her entire back throbbing with only a dull ache when it had been fiery pain before and it took entirely too long to realize she was still stripped down to the waist. Exposed. Injured. Vulnerable.
But she was still so drowsy and everything felt so heavy .
“Yelena?”
With great difficulty, Yelena turned her head in the direction of the voice, “Kate?”
Kate’s dark eyes overflowed with tears, nearly falling from the chair she’d been slouched in an effort to grab the cup of water while brushing away the strands of hair sticking to her sweaty forehead and Yelena, surprisingly, didn’t feel the usual raising of her hackles at being seen in a such a state.
It was Kate, she realized, and Kate was safe.
Yelena sipped slowly, the water sliding down her parched throat.
Kate said nothing, fingers still running gently over Yelena’s scalp, a soothing repetitive motion, eyes heavy with guilt and Yelena to tell her that none of this was her fault. That she did the right thing. That there was nothing more she could’ve done for Yelena, but the drowsiness washed back over her like a wave and she found herself being dragged back under.
…
When she woke up again, it was James who sat next to her, book held in his right hand and a steaming mug of coffee in the other, pale gaze warm with relief as he sat up, already reaching for a cup with a straw on the bedside table. “Here.”
She took a drink before responding, “Thanks.”
“How ya feelin’?”
She huffed, “Been better.”
James hummed, setting the cup aside, “So have I. That’s a shit comparison.”
He raised a decent point but Yelena was not going to point that out. “Where’s Kate?”
“Clint finally forced to her go home to shower and change.” He jerked his head in the direction of the door, where the sound of pots and pans could be heard. “Sam is making something for you. Soup...mostly broth, I think.”
Yelena’s stomach growled and narrowed her eyes when Bucky chuckled.
“You’ve been in ‘n out for a few days. A few of the lashes got infected and you had a pretty bad fever that broke...” He flipped his phone open, “About six hours ago. Sam wanted me to keep an ear out for your heartbeat ‘n all that.”
Yelena knew he was trying to put levity into something that had no doubt been stressful for everyone around him (Kate and Clint, in particular) and she appreciated the attempt at humor, even if it was a bit morbid. “I never said thank you...for coming to get me.”
James’s small smile was genuine. “No problem.”