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Clint burst into the room — literally. Smoke and debris swirled around him as he strode through the remnants of the doorway, unconcerned that there could be enemies agents within.
A quick sweep of the room verified that Natasha’s intelligence, gained through the kind of “we’re just going to have a quick chat” session that Clint never wanted to be on the receiving end of, was correct.
The room was empty except for the one occupant, but it held enough horrors to make the space feel claustrophobic. Clint could count four cattle-prods propped haphazardly against the wall. A drain that sat beneath the electric-dental-chair monstrosity elegantly detailed the anticipated days of uninterrupted restraint. A forgotten black rubber mouth guard sat where it had fallen unheeded at the foot of the chair, dried blood flaking the surface.
Bucky continued to sit, immobile, in the center of the room, strapped to the grotesque piece of furniture. He only wore his tac pants and Clint could see liberal burns over his torso that proved the cattle-prods hadn’t only been dumped there as an intimidation tactic.
Clint knew his entrance had been loud and flashy, but Bucky hadn’t responded, didn’t seem to have registered it at all. Clint shot a brief message over the comms as he crossed to kneel in front of Bucky. One hand rested on Bucky’s knee while the other paused mid-reach for the restraints as Clint’s attention was caught by Bucky’s eyes. They didn’t have the empty, waiting for orders look he had equally expected and feared. Instead there were glazed wisps of tired confusion in Bucky’s gaze that seemed resigned more than anything. It was if he had already mentally checked out for the next round of torture.
“You in there, babe?” Clint asked, voice pitched low - a terrified parishioner begging for salvation. To not have been too late, for Bucky to not be gone. Hours ticked by in the next few moments, then a slow blink finally graced Bucky's slack-jawed face as he moved his head the barest fraction to meet Clint’s eyes. His mouth closed and this throat worked for several moments, needing time to build words.
“You came.”