He couldn't believe it.

Out of all the things in the world that could have taken him down. Out of men in robot suits, out of bug aliens from outer space, out of Norse alien-gods also from outer space. Even out of his brainwashed best friend who'd spent the last seventy years as a Hydra assassin. He couldn't believe he'd be taken down by something so mundane, something so coincidental.

The thing that took him down was human. And not an enhanced human like himself, but an ordinary human being, armed with an ordinary handgun and an ordinary belt-bomb.

Were there ordinary belt-bombs? Steve hadn't had the chance – nor the reason – to look that up since waking from the ice.

Shifting uncomfortably in the backseat, his arms bound behind his back with laughably fragile (to him) handcuffs, Steve Rogers watched as the bank robbers/kidnappers argued as they drove. If this situation had been normal, then he'd already have broken free of the handcuffs and beaten the criminals half to death with them, the threat they posed to him minimal if not laughable.

He was fast, twice as fast as an ordinary person, he could have taken two of the bank robbing trio down before the third even realized what was happening. And while he'd heal from a bullet wound in days if he got shot, the pregnant woman tied up beside him and her unborn child wouldn't.

That wasn't to say that he wasn't trying to come up with a plan that would end in the woman not even being touched. But short of sitting on her to keep her safe, he honestly couldn't come up with anything. It'd only take one bullet to end both of their lives, and not only was it Steve's duty as Captain America to die for the innocent, it was his duty to himself.

Hiding his eye roll as the three men argued in German, none of them realizing that Captain America would be fluent after spending years fighting Nazis, he sat patiently as they pulled over and brought out the blindfolds. At least these guys weren't entirely amateurs, they apparently had safe houses set up across the city and had three different vehicles to switch between to throw off the scent. Sure, they were stupid enough to take Captain America alive and to believe handcuffs would hold him, but they weren't improvising. That was at least worth something right?

Tensing for a moment, ready to pull the woman down and fight his way out, Steve froze as a pistol came up and aimed straight at the expectant mother.

Maybe they weren't as stupid as he first thought, they had something more ironclad than handcuffs.

A hostage.

Or two, in this case.

Allowing himself to be pulled from the van, the handgun not moving from the woman's head, Steve quickly took in the sights before a blindfold was being forced down over his head. The alleyway wasn't enough to be recognized, he probably hadn't been here before and so was totally lost in the dark now. Unless the thieves got sloppy and put away their pistols, he'd probably have to wait for SHIELD to rescue him, something Romanoff and Barton wouldn't let him hear the end of.

Then again, Romanoff and Barton were preferable to Stark any day.

Cracking his head again the door of their new van as he was shoved into it, stars swam behind Steve's eyes as a quiet thump sounded, two more echoing in quick succession before the woman was pushed into the van and fell onto him. Slowly shifting so she could lean against him, her trembling and near-silent sniffing indicating she was close to tears, Steve spread his senses as far as he could and focused.

Two left turns and one right. The sound of children screaming in laughter. The smell of smoke and bubblegum. Another two lefts before a long straight line. The weight of his watch on his wrist, the tracking device he'd noticed SHIELD had planted hopefully broadcasting his signal to them already. Traffic was lessening, judging by both the quieting noise and the lack of slowing for it. The woman beside him gasped as the van took a sharp turn, coming to a sudden stop with the screeching of brakes. Someone was climbing out of the van – just one of them – not bothering to shut the door behind them. He couldn't hear their breathing over the panicked breaths of the woman, who screamed as the side door was thrown open and she was pulled from Steve's side.

"Run," barked an emotionless voice, and for the first time since waking up from the ice, Steve relaxed fully.

Slumping down in the backseat as he flexed his arms, snapping the handcuffs with ease, he just placed his hands on his knees as the van door shut and they began to drive again.

Several turns and long streets later (Seven lefts that took them round in a circle multiple times before they turned right at the alleyway), and they were stopping once more. Letting himself be dragged from the van and through another alleyway – judging by the smell – he and his rescuer were rounding a corner onto the street, the hand grasping his shirt slipping to cup his elbow gently, where he had control without looking obvious in public.

He thinks he prefers being rescued like this, as opposed to Romanoff, Barton or Stark.

They headed up some stairs, old and wooden, before going down a long stretch of wood. Somewhere up ahead of them a door opened, and like they'd been talking the entire time the voice from before was flooded with excitement as it said "You're going to love your surprise, Steve."

He didn't care about his surprise; he was loving this already.

"This is our old apartment," the voice continued as they came to a stop. "Your old apartment?"

"Ours," Steve agreed. "You lived with your family until my Mom died, then you moved in with me so I wouldn't get thrown out for not making rent."

There was silence as the door was opened – the lock being jimmied instead of unlocked with a key – before Steve was being dragged inside.

"Bucky?"

"I'm not Bucky," came the immediate response, Steve reaching up cautiously to peel off the blindfold, moving with confidence when he wasn't stopped. His brother in all but blood looked terrible, pale and lifeless, scruffy like he'd never been before to Steve's conscious memory. "Not anymore," Bucky whispered, sounding haunted as he stared at the dusty wall like he was remembering things best left forgotten.

"You are where it matters," Steve argued, tapping himself on the chest over his heart, the skittish look Bucky sent him making said organ ache.

"I've changed."

"So have I," he countered.

"I can't be him again. I never will be," Bucky snapped, almost a promise.

Steve just shrugged, glancing around his old apartment turned storage room. "Fine by me."

And it was. He just wanted Bucky back, he'd take whatever was left of his old friend. And there was something of his old friend in there. If there hadn't been, Steve would have been killed by Bucky back on the helicarrier, instead of been rescued by him. He doubted Bucky would make a complete recovery, Steve hadn't and his own trauma had been a lot less than Bucky's. But at least they were together again.

"Where do I sleep?"

Bucky looked at him in disgust. "Not here. They'll be here soon."

What a difficult decision. Stay and wait for SHIELD to catch up with him, or go with Bucky and run away where they'd never find them.

Nodding in agreement, Steve unlatched his watch and set it down on top of a crate, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his keys (the Captain America shield keychain on it also bugged) before adding his wallet (possibly bugged, he wasn't willing to take the chance, although he did take a cash from it) to the pile. "Where to?"

A ghost of a smile flashed across Bucky's face, one quarter Bucky and three quarters not, one hundred percent good enough for him. "I've got a place not far from here. Think you can catch up?"

"I'm faster than you now, remember Jerk?"

Bucky smirked. "Whatever Punk."

KIDNAPPED

Might as well post this, wrote it on a whim. Not a big one, but meh ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I don't own Captain America or the Winter Soldier - as gorgeous as they both are - because that would be slavery.