Homecoming
All characters belong to Marvel Studios & Comics
I do not own anything
{Merry Christmas to everyone and all the fans of Captain Amercia ; this story is dedicated to: shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, JuliaAurelia, Bree Colbern, The Darkness Knight and Thalion Estel}
December 24th, 2016
A date that should have inspired jovial anticipation within Steve Rogers now only stirred remorse within him that threatened to devour every fiber of his being. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and he was inside of a holding cell aboard The Raft—an underwater maximum security prison used to incarcerate the Earth's most vile and dangerous criminals that were beyond normal capacity. Not the ideal containment facility for someone like Captain America. This was a place of defamation to those who were once renown as heroes—an insult to their name and legacies that they spent a lifetime building. The thought of going down in history as another Benedict Arnold didn't bother Steve so much as the knowledge that he might not see the outside world again…and the joyous memories that waited for him on Christmas Day.
Sitting in an orange prisoner uniform that tightly clung to his powerful athletic form, he stared at the floor absently from the small cot that barely fit a man of his size. Tiny glints of reflected light shimmered across the floor, their brilliance magnified by the reinforced crystal glass that served as his fourth wall inside of this containment cell. It had been a little over a few month since he'd been brought here.
He remained in a stance of unbidden defeat, wearing the semblance of a desolated man. If he glimpsed into the mirror hanging on his wall, all that reflected was a fading ghost–his unyielding visage was a memory; a mere thought of endless dreams of living in another time. The face he saw in the faintest second of halting in his strides, was youthful and chiseled, angled with sharpened curves that formed a square jaw. Blonde cropped hair tousled atop of his head, and piercing cerulean eyes were intense with the icy depth of crystal. He took a moment to stare deeper into his reflection. There was no surge of connection. His memory couldn't rejoin: his only remnant was the dog tags hanging around his broad neck. Everything had been stripped down and replaced with titanium reinforced shackles and an orange uniform with his prisoner number branded on the left side of his chest.
His uniform and shield that were a part of his identity had been taken from him. Cold and isolated, he was gripping against the edge of total defamation, but far removed from the one and only place he wanted to be. It was a necessary sacrifice he reminded himself, too many time for comfort. It was better that he remained in prison for his own actions that were in defiance of the Sokovia Accords. His loyal team members who had followed him were able to get away thanks to his sacrifice.
Since then, fleeting whispers had reached his ears of what occurred since. The team had located Zemo and the cryogenically frozen assassins in Siberia, where Bucky had said they would be. Their combined numbers were enough to bring the former Sokovian corporal to justice. …Tony had apparently followed them there and learned the grim and tragic truth about his parents that Steve had been afraid to believe. It was thanks to the combined effort of his team that they had managed to defeat Iron Man had stopped him from killing Bucky out of vengeance. All the while, Steve remained helpless inside of his cell, thousands of miles away, while his best friends in life were at each other's throats. Tony had come to see him of course, bloodied and bruised from the fight in his damaged armor. He had stood in front of the glass—the quietest Steve had ever seen him. "Did you know?" Were his only words.
"I'm sorry, Tony…" Was Steve's only response, meeting a lifeless pair of brown eyes. He could think of nothing else to say. As he felt the grief, rage and betrayal emanating off of Tony, he knew there was nothing he could say that would make it right to him. Tony had thrown a few colorful words in his direction before he turned and left the Raft. "You belong in here, and so does your friend." His last words, so filled with venom, still cut Steve deeply. That was the last he'd seen of Tony—that was the last guest Steve received at all in the months since he'd been here.
Ross had long since given up trying to coax an answer out of him with regards to the whereabouts of his teammates. As the months passed, with minimal activity within his containment wing, Steve endured his solitary with the gratifying knowledge that the other cells beside his own were empty—that his friends and teammates were still out there, free and fighting the good fight. However, he both dreaded and looked forward to the day he might see them again. Some things were inescapable, and for Steve that was the feeling of loneliness. Contrary to what some believed, he wasn't just a soldier, married to the theater of war—he was also a human being whose heart ached for the warm comfort of love and family.
It made his sacrifice all the more personal and heavy for him as his thoughts turned inward. He slowly fell onto the edge of his cot. The hollowness he felt within expanded greatly, threatening to devour his heart and soul. His nerves became shot until he could only feel ice moving through his veins; he shuddered at the sensation. Had things turned out the way he had hoped, he would be far from here—far from the military life and chaos of Captain America, and instead, sitting on a soft comfortable couch within the warm shelter of a modest living room, relaxing at the sight of a brightly decorated Christmas tree with that special someone at his side. It was the lingering dream of a man he thought went into the ice and never came back out.
Such dreams felt unattainable with the loss of his past and that special dance partner he had chosen. Her death months ago had shaken him, leaving a void within his being that was easily filled by the welcomed distraction of duty that came with being Captain America. It had worked for years since his awakening in this era, but now that he was forced to sit still without a war to fight, and only time and loneliness within his cell, latent emotions had begun to reemerge within him that he had ignored for so long. It was true what they said that men imprisoned had time to reflect on the choices they made in life, and what they would do differently should the day come that they would taste freedom again.
Steve wasn't so certain he would raise the shield again, even if it were possible. Life was too precious to be spent forever fighting a never-ending war. Peggy had wanted more for him this, so did Bucky. It was easy for Steve to mourn for a life he could never have, while it was painfully much harder to find a way forward with a life he had never envisioned. But now as he sat within the cold silence of his cell, uncertain of the future and what his fate might be, he wished he would have the chance to try. He owed it to himself, to Bucky…and to Peggy.
His thoughts were soon interrupted the instant his sharp hearing picked up a familiar noise of approaching footsteps, clicking along the metallic floors.
''Hey Cap, you've got a visitor," came a graveled resonance of a Raft sentry, a Brooklyn drawl wavered against blatant volume behind the chrome bars. Glints of light sketched the imposing and bulky shape edging near the cell door, garbed in full Kevlar black with a baseball cap shadowing his solid and ghostly visage. A pair of strapped tactical boots were delayed in methodical strides, as a quiescent chill rushed into the vacant detention block. Steve trained his hawkish gaze on a recharged taser gun that was holstered at the guard's armored waist.
There was a level of penetration in his immovable stance, restrictive and menacing. He advanced inches within the cell's proximity, exacting his measure of caution against the haze of bluish light that outlined the knife-edged contours of his heavy, stubbled jawline that locked into a taut clench, apparent to his furrowing brow. The distinctive features that Steve noticed in at first glance, was the cleft indent of his broader chin. "How long has it been for ya?"
Steve recognized the voice the instance he heard the familiar Brooklyn accent, accompanied by the softer pitch—almost weary in its Russian cadence. His heartbeat flared to an increased tempo as he neared the glass and stared at the guard with soft scrutiny. He swallowed, casting a furtive glance at the dozen security cameras that were pointed towards his cell before returning his gaze to the unmistakable figure that was Bucky Barnes, disguised as a security guard. "Not nearly long enough for me to wonder just what the heck you were thinking coming here, Buck," Steve responded with a low voice, keeping the edge out of his tone to not arouse suspicion, however inside he was vexed and worried. "They're watching me. It's not safe for you here." He warned, not daring to use Bucky's name should the surveillance pick it up.
"I wouldn't worry about that, punk..." Bucky drawled out a ghosting rasp, remorse was edging up his throat. His full lips curved into an evasive smirk, evident to the murderous gleam in his steel-blue eyes. Tresses of dark chestnut hung loosely over his bewhiskered and thickened cheeks as he stood inches from the cell, his impassive demeanor betraying with predatory resolve. The frosted and intense depths of his unwavering gaze reflected his calculating intent.
Sweeping a quick glance at the vacant cell blocks, he circled in front of Steve's, feeling inexplicitly drawn to the anchoring force pulling him closer to Steve. Why did he allow this good man to take the fall for him? He deserved no freedom-the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark were his ghosts to carry, not Steve Rogers. He needed to make things right."Surveillance has been down and that Maximoff dame as few of Ross's guards on the ropes...Besides, I didn't come here for a visit. My mission is to bust you out and bring ya home for Christmas, hell, if they come gunnin' for me, then so be it, but you're not spending another day in here, Steve."
Steve was speechless as he watched Bucky get to work, the revelation of his plan was enough to fill him with an abundance of questions and disapproving thoughts about the riskiness of this operation. But he held them at bay, knowing that deep within himself, he'd be doing the same thing for his friends if they were in his place. He couldn't be upset with Bucky; he just had to trust that both he, and apparently Wanda, knew exactly what they were doing. Seconds later, Steve watched as Bucky fiddled with the control station nearby where the holding cells could be manually unlocked. Apprehension settled inside of Steve, who dreaded the idea that at any minute now a slew of guards led by Ross would enter and foil this breakout.
"Somehow, this feels just like old times." Steve couldn't help but breathe out, a soft nostalgic smile gracing his chiseled features.
"Yeah, but wasn't I usually locked up?" Bucky rasped nonchalantly, twitching his lips into a cocky smirk, he remained undetectable in the shadows, training a penetrating gaze of icy azure over an array of monitor screens; one section displayed Wanda garbed in her crimson leather corset ensemble, subduing a slew of guards with tendrils of hex energy that dissembled their assault weapons into pieces. He gave Steve a silent nod and slip motorcycle glove off his metallic hand. "Y'know that a fight is comin'," he receded back, imposingly, clenching his fist as chrome rivets of his arm twisted in pulsating sync. "The kid won't hold em long..."
Steve felt unsettled by those words, the whites of his long digits unconsciously began to ball into fists at his sides. It was a battle instinct ingrained within him, hardened into habit by years of experience in the field of war. Something was wrong here, that they had not foreseen. He released a relieved breath as the reinforced glass to his containment cell opened and he was free to step out into the vast circular room.
"What's going on, Bucky?" Steve was at his friend's side in an instant to look over the security footage being displayed throughout the facility. He had hoped this would be a low-key incursion, with minimal risk to both his teammates and several of the guards here who were only following orders. But as it appeared, not all plans worked out smoothly.
Bucky clung onto the semblance of restraint, each volume of Steve's bare resonance awakened the brutal and unrivaled impulses of Zola's conditioned programming. His mind felt distorted as he steered the penetration of his glacial irises over Steve's prison garb; and the trimmed beard of blond over his square jaw; everything that led his redemption morphed into an unfurling prestige of HYDRA-it became inevitable to reveal the true and deceptive operation of the Raft. He couldn't muster up a justified answer that would obstruct Steve's unyielding resolve.
Raw pools of emotion stung in his eyes, as the gravity of the mission forced his head to lower, stray tresses shadowed his eyes as he bit tautly on his lip, dismissing a stalled breath. "Let's just say this place will become an execution cham-" He paused involutionairy, whipping his head to the direction of approaching footsteps breaching the hollowness of the air. "We've got one chance to save everybody from what's gonna be released in the air vents."
Bracing himself with instinctual reaction, Bucky crouched to his haunches, in slow ease that his quad muscles flexed, and removed a knife from his boot, clutching the hilt. He sensed the sordid calamity of the situation was reaching an urgent apex of falling into another pandemonium of HYDRA's instilled control.
Wearing a mask of resistance, Bucky gave a stern nod to the denoted First Avenger with his deadened eyes contrasting strikingly against the arcing halos of light, Bucky viciously shoved a loaded Glock into Steve's opened hand, the egress to fight hand-hand combat was limited; given that noxious gas would soon flood the entire prison. They were on the knife-edge of life and death once again- stuck in a moment of delayed heartbeats. "We gotta move, Steve...Now!"
Staving off the flow of questions, Steve allowed his instincts to take control and followed Bucky's lead. The anticipation he'd been feeling flowed through his veins like burning fuel the moment his sharp hearing picked up the noise of incoming tactical chatter, and then there was the stampede of bootsteps vibrating from the floor beneath his feet. Dread settled in along with the realization of what they were up against. The instant the doors to the chamber began to open, Steve had immediately thrown himself towards the nearest siding, taking cover as over a dozen armed soldiers made their way in. They were easily spotted and cornered.
"Targets have been located. Open fire!" The leader of the unit issued as the others assumed a flanking position. Not a moment later, Steve winced as the thundering roar of automatic fire erupted within the chamber, and the ledge behind him began to tremble under the lead-filled assault. It offered very minimal cover within the vast circular room that was barren save for the empty cells. Instinctively the thought of charging forward with a defensive onslaught came to Steve before the idea was plucked away by the naked feeling of being shield-less. He shrugged with dismay, not for the first time wishing to have his shield returned to him. Shifting a glance far to his right, he could see Bucky also taking cover with his weapon drawn.
They would need to improvise.
"Reload!" One of the soldiers had shouted amidst the hail of auto-fire. A tactical error, Steve would have said if not a deception. His gaze wandering, he searched for any means to provide an advantage in this fight.
Receding from the halogen glow of lights, Bucky hammer gripped his knife, his metallic knuckles rotated into a rigid fist; waiting for an opening to engage the first guard that entered his sniper sight. His expression morphed into ice, and steel-blue eyes locked onto the depths of shadow. He advanced with slow and enforcing steps; his shoulder blades recoiled into a predatory stance, presenting his untamed impulse to strike down a target that would become caught in his line of precision. In a fleeting glance, he gave Steve a ghost of a brotherly smirk, trying to define the infinite moment between them."You said before this is like old times, hell, if we're fallin' back in the past, you let me takes the hits."
Steve breathed a soft chuckle, "The only one taking hits tonight is them. No one else." The last operation they worked together as a solo unit didn't end very well. The memory of it had in fact haunted Steve with nightmares for many years since. Shield or no shield, Steve vowed this would go better than the last time. He felt little hesitation in dispatching these soldiers; something told Steve they weren't employed under the UN or any participating government agency assigned to keep The Raft secure. They were up against someone else.
Searching ceaselessly, Steve at last set his sights on the protective plating to an electrical grid. Not his best idea, but one that would have to suffice. Taking aim with his gun, Steve fires at the panel's edge to allow grabbing room. Bucky watches, understanding dawning as he proceeds to lay down cover fire. "Not if I have anything to say about it!" Steve grunts, using his superior strength, Steve rips the reinforced plating off the wall with a violent jerk. The titanium alloy measured 0.9 meters in its length, spanning almost the entire length of his torso. Though it wasn't the shield he was used to, it would still useful in this instance.
The soldiers continue their barrage of gunfire, keeping their targets pinned. Steve knew they needed to be quick. "Now!" He gives his signal. Bucky quickly lays down cover fire with his rifle; two powerful burst shots find their mark in the heads of two of the closest soldiers. A shower of blood and turmoil fills the airwaves. With a powerful swing, Steve sends the circular panel in the direction of the nearest hostiles. The titanium make-shift weapon collides with a violent thud across the torso of the two nearest Kevlar-vested soldiers. The impact was devastating as it sends them soaring back, their weapons going off wildly and disrupting the coordination of the rest of the hostiles. With the chaotic distraction, Steve and Bucky made their move.
What occurred next could only be described as a ballet of violence.
With the grace of a falcon and the deadly precision of a wolf, they converged on the group of hostiles. Steve fired the remaining shots in the Glock, hitting three soldiers while Bucky followed his lead from behind. With their way clear, Steve makes a beeline for the make-shift shield he had thrown, and picks it up off the ground. "Hope you remember this move!" He calls out, assuming a resting position on the floor with the titanium plate held above his torso in a boosting position. Bucky was quick to follow as he raced towards Steve. Shouldering his rifle, Bucky draws two 9mms and leaps onto the surface of the make-shift shield. Steve uses his strength to push and propelled Bucky ten feet into the air and over the bewildered group of attackers.
Bucky was a twirling comet of raining gunfire, his barrage killing more than half the allotted number of attackers while leaving the others scrambling to form a counter-offensive. "Cease-fire! Engage!" The hostile team leader ordered, the proximity of their targets heightening the risk of friendly-fire. Bucky landed gracefully on his feet between two soldiers then immediately resumed his assault with thundering elbows and haymakers to their sternums and heads. Steve ignored the chill he felt once he registered the noise of cracking bones and harrowing gasps of pain. Bucky wasn't pulling his punches and Steve knew it would be necessary if they planned to get out in one-piece. Discarding the dented panel he'd used as a make-shift shield, Steve entered the fray.
Assuming a boxing stance, the First Avenger dodged and weaves through the first vicious swings from a knife-wielding hostile. As he felt the brush of wind moving towards his face, he ducks and responds with a winding punch to the stomach. Despite the Kevlar vest, the hostile felt the force of the impact as if his chest were n***. A harsh cry ensued followed by crushing of a jaw derived from a leaping uppercut. Bucky was charged forwards on full momentum, his metal arm extended until he whipped it across the neck of another hostile, the lariat maneuver serving to send the soldier into a backwards landing onto his upper spine.
"How we doing?" Steve yelled out, kneeing another soldier in the stomach before following up with an elbow down across the back. The pulse of adrenaline surged through his veins, fueling his drive and determination.
"I'll tell ya in a minute," Bucky seethed a vicious response against gritted teeth, swooping behind a dazed sentry guard locked in his sight; utilizing his instrumental tactics of measured stealth to engage a unmerciful hold on the man's exposed windpipe as his metallic arm coiled over the neck. He registered the unmistakable sound of bones dislocating as he applied relentless, vicing pressure of chokehold directly around the vertebra, ignoring the breathless protests as the man gasped feverishly, clawing his fingers into Bucky's wrist.
Growling at the sudden onslaught ravaging from his bruised hand, Bucky reacted with no sentiment gleaming in his cold, hollow depths, thrusting the knife -surgical deep into the guard's calf, twisting the blade into a pulsing artery and nexus of veins, severed off blood flow. A blood erupted from the opened gash-a muffled scream ripped from the man's throat, as Bucky gripped a lashing hand, snapping the wrist back, quick enough that he didn't blink. His feral reflexes were instinctive and rapid, a devilish sneer twitched his lips as he drove the blade grinding force into a bone, as the man convulsing due to the flashing shock of icelike pain.
Then, Bucky released his grip, freeing the deadweight of his flailing victim while seizing a gas canister off his unconscious guard's belt. Smoke was a distraction to cover thermal heat of their bodies. They needed to become undetectable. Calculating his next tactic of assault, he pivoted on his boots, sinking deeper into shadow, and glared back at Steve."When this drops..." He yelled. "We gotta run to the elevator."
Steve softly nodded, the adrenaline from the fight kicking his train of thought into overdrive. His full lips hung open, his baleful gaze locked onto one of the dying soldiers with a knife lodged into his chest. Globs of blood poured from his mouth as he emitted choking gasps. "H-Hail…Hydra…" Steve felt a cold shudder wrack against his body, his stoic expression however, remained unmoved towards the ominous and familiar words. He watched as the soldier expelled his last breath before the silence of death took him. The other guards, too injured to mount an offense, laid in groaning heaps upon the ground.
The grim revelation of who they worked for unsettled Steve. How did Hydra infiltrate The Raft? How far did their corruption extend? What were they planning to do? He wanted answers, but knew now wasn't the time to ask around for then. He needed to follow Bucky's lead. "Lead the way, Buck."
Behind dark curtains of unkempt hair, Bucky gazed back at Steve, raw intensity of his blue eyes held a silent promise that ignited an upsurge of defiance within him. They were reemerging into the noxious realm of HYDRA, and every life of the detained Avengers was at stake. He needed to resurrect Sergeant Barnes again, the hellbent kid from Brooklyn, the one that always had Steve's back.
Without saying a word, Bucky lurched forward rapidly, using the tip of his boot and flipped up a paratrooper rifle from the dormant grasp of an unconscious HYDRA sentry he passed; he caught it fluidly within the clutch of his metallic hand. No more seconds needed to be wasted.
He spun methodically with balletic ease in his footing and leveled Steve with a deadened glare, penetration assailing as his full lips parted, dismissing out a low breath. He was fighting against two warring personalities, edges of darkness threatening to reel him back into the dominating mindset of the Winter Soldier. He needed to rise from that inevitable abyss-become a shield instead of a gun. Steve was always an echo of memory, even just a small piece of a boyish smile that invariably held unwavering hope or strips of newspaper stuffed in worn out shoes.
Those glimpses were real to fall back on. Irreplaceable. His heated steel-blue eyes connected back to his best friend who reminded adamant as ever, despite the chaotic fusillade of bullets they've fallen into. He resumed in his stalking paces, tactically keeping the rifle at shoulder level with his left eye staring into the intersecting lines of scope lens. He dropped the canister on the cement steps as they left the detention junction, and smoke fizzed out, clouding their bodies as a fleet of deployed HYDRA agents became engulfed in the choking haze. "Y'know it's been a while since you've followed me, Steve," Bucky drawled thickly, his eyes intently focused on the empty corridor as Steve traced his cautious strides. "Kinda makes me feel like 'M...um...doin' something right again."
A soft chuckle bubbled past Steve's lips, he couldn't help but feel a measure of pride and gratitude. Months alone in the containment cell had begun to stomp away the embers that remained of his warm memories. War, discord, and remorse left a hollowness within him that only grew the longer he remained without a warm distraction. He was grateful to say this felt like old times, even if the circumstances were extreme. "I never doubted your capacity to do the right thing, Buck. If I learned anything from you, it's that we don't give up on our friends. Ever." Steve punctuated with a pat to Bucky's shoulder, allowing his hand to linger a moment longer as to convey brotherly affection he still felt for his old friend and rescuer.
Bucky shrugged off that connective warmth, glaring at Steve with his unwavering, luminous blue depths, trying to make sense in those genuine-unfathomable words that he deflected. His heartbeat stilled into a becalming pulse when he gazed deeply into his Brooklyn brother's virtuous stare. Maybe ghosts of his redemption still existed. There was no clear recollection of trust to fall back on; he deserved no freedom, and if Steve and others got out because of his sacrifice—that would bring a sense of peace back into him. "Steve," he hitched out a weighted breath, his tortured eyes gleamed with cold destain. He lips quirked into a faint smile. "No matter what happens, I've got your back."
The moment was cut short as reality quickly encroached upon them. At the edge of the corridor, Steve detected the luminous glow of flashlights approaching on their location. Apprehension grew inside of him. "Bucky-!" He instinctively warned, the blue of his eyes wide and glaring at the unseen danger that slowly turned the corner. Two Hydra soldiers, disguised as Raft security guards, came into focus carrying what appeared to be stun-phasers that packed enough of an electrical charge to render them both into gibbering messes. It wouldn't kill them but it would render them incapacitated long enough to ruin their escape—plan. They were exposed in a narrow corridor where they couldn't take cover. The closest elevator was just ahead that would take them to the hanger. "Look out!" Steve urged his friend.
Bucky spun on his boots fluidly, not missing a beat, then fired two burst shots at the incoming guards, hitting them between the eyes. His expression remained immovable as they fell to the floor dead.
Suddenly a robotic voice crackled through the dense airwaves, sinister, and eerily haunting with infractions of failure. An acrid odor climbed out from the vents above, invading their nostrils. Bucky muzzled his gloved hand over his grimacing mouth, his blood ran cold as harrowing realization struck him. It was the same paralytic gas they used on him in cryofreeze. They would unconscious within seconds of inhalation. 'I wonder how much your dear Sergeant Barnes life is worth to you, Captian Rogers...''
"Steve don't listen to a damn word...It's Zola." Bucky seethed viciously, choking up his breath; he exposed the true identity of the voice. "You gotta go, Steve..." He squatted low, and recoiled the trigger of his rifle back, delivering two headshots. "I'll take care of em'..."
"Like hell you are," Steve challenged with a bite in his tone. His orbs of azure had become hard as steel at the mere realization of what Bucky was thinking of doing. Self-sacrifice for the sake of the greater good could be a noble quality in a soldier, it was after all, what Steve had done for the sake of his teammates at the airport months ago. But it was also what led to Bucky's pain and suffering for over 7 decades the last time they ran a mission together with Hydra involved. "No one gets left behind this time," Steve issued with a commanding edge in his tone, his firm posture demonstrating his resolve in this matter that he wouldn't be taking another step towards the elevator without Bucky at his side. "We're both getting out of here together, and there's—"
A sharp metallic sound erupted out of the wall, electric coils sprung out grappling Bucky in mid-air as he unleashed a blood-curling howl of pain. He was lifted from Steve's reach, the gun dropped to the floor as he lurched to tear himself free out of the constricting force of titanium alloy. Blue sparks charged from the coils, zapping the blood in his veins. He was subdued, emitting pained whimpers against the inducing torture of constant shockwaves funneling into his immobilized limbs. He threw his weight backward, thrashing wildly, as he gritted out, breathless and urgent. "S-Steve...Find your friends...Get the hell outta of here."
Steve had taken been taken by complete surprise the moment the walls seemed to come alive and unleashed a vicious assault on his friend and partner. It was like something out of a science-fiction movie that Sam would show him—chilling if not unbelievable. But with the amount of security installed in this underwater prison designed to hold the most powerful villains, Steve knew this shouldn't have come as a shock. Once his initial surprise worn off in the span of a second, he was at Bucky's side in an instant, using his strength in an effort strain to rip one of the coils away that were hurting his friend. "Not without you!" Steve gritted out defiantly, the anger to make Zola and all of Hydra pay was potent in his veins, but it was over saturated by the desire to save his best friend.
The electricity fueling the coils forced Steve to release his hold and rethink his plan. Bucky's agonizing screams, however, threatened to scratch away his focus. Gazing up at his friend with intense eyes, Steve issued out with an urging voice of encouragement. "I need you to fight, Bucky! Come on, don't let Zola put you on the ropes. Show him who's stronger here, and cut his strings!" An idea forming in his mind, Steve began to beat his fists into the reinforced wall with maddening speed and brutality. The surface was harder than steel, he could feel his knuckles begin to bleed but it didn't stop his onslaught until a sizeable hole had been punctured through, and circuit wires were exposed.
Bucky screamed voicelessly, his hands lashing out for anything he could grasp, his eyes swimming with pools of tears. There was nothing to grab onto; his legs hung lifelessly as he begun to convulse as his body lurched forward. The electronic currents-bolting shockwaves were absorbing into his flesh, searing into bones. He felt the rush flow of blood reaching his ears, deafening the volumes of Steve's voice. A spread of panic riptide through him, reaching the apex of unrelenting spasmatic pain. Cut the strings! He propelled his metal fisted hand backward slamming into the cement as white-hot pain flashed into his heaving chest. "Argh...Steve, rip the damn wires out...Rip em' out...Now!"
You cannot fight the inevitable, Captain!' Zola's voice echoed in taunting droves. 'Sergeant Barnes is, and will always, belong to Hydra!'
Ignoring the intruding AI, Steve gave no pause as he reached into the wall, latched onto the numerous tied circuits and began to tear them out. Electricity sparked and the lights within the corridor began to pulse and flicker. "Not if I have anything to say about it," The First Avenger defied with a low-pitched grunt. His instincts flared the moment he watched one of the coils wrapped around Bucky twitch, then violently swing in his direction. Steve ducks from the assault, reaching into the hole, he continues to rip and tear the circuits, his fingertips stung from the burning sparks resulted from his efforts, his knuckles bled from the onslaught he waged on the wall, Bucky's continues cries tore at his soul, but he wouldn't back down—not ever.
He watched as slowly but surely, the electricity powering the coils began to fizzle and recede, the coils themselves turning to lifeless husks. "You're not taking my friend from me, Zola. Never again." Tightening his jaw, Steve reaches in and grasps the last conduit, then tears it out of the wall with a violent tug.
'Hydra will pre—' Zola's voice dies out and the corridor is plunged into darkness as the power is severed. Steve shudders, falling to the floor on his knees at the same time the coils release Bucky, who crumples beside him. Silence deafened by the ringing in his ears, Steve coughed and trembled in the aftershocks that followed. "Y-You all right, Bucky?" He whispered.
Hearing the variants of Steve's grated timbre, Bucky's glacial eyes flashed manically with untamed rage as stillness overtook his stubbled features, breath swelled in his aching chest and his balance was unleveled when he attempted to ease his weight off the floor with effective precision in his footing. He felt an unhinged impulse to shoot every HYDRA agent in the crosshairs, the urges infused in his depths as he bit down on his lip and grabbed his weapon. His mind fully engaged to deliver another brutal attack; if Zola dispatched more agents to obstruct them, he would offer no mercy. "Let's give em', hell, Steve."
A curt nod from Steve had them both rising to their feet. "If Zola's still in the system, it won't be long until he sends more hostiles our way," Steve intoned with a shrug, reaching down to take one of the stun guns from the dead Hydra guards Bucky killed. A second realization dawned on him as he thought of The Raft's original director. "Or Ross…" Steve wondered how many more needed to die before they made it out. He secretly hoped this wouldn't escalate any further and that a certain Iron Knight wouldn't catch wind of this. "We need to get to the hanger. Do you have an exit in place?" The lighting in the corridor flickered as they made their way towards the adjacent elevator. A torrid sound of an alarm blared in the distance, setting the two soldiers on edge as the vacant corridor was bathed in crimson red lights—the result of the emergency power being activated.
A crescendo of amplified screams rattled through the junction, crimson flares of energy swirled against each distressed volume of masculine pitches, creating a hellish tempest of fear, ensnaring the false sense of defiance within the assemblage of HYDRA agents.
Metal contorted and reshaped over trembling bodies, weapons dismantled into pieces and whipped against the walls as lithe figure garbed in a scarlet leather with her mane of chocolate draped over her poised shoulders cut through levels of darkness orchestrating tendrils of energy to the blazing command of reawakened vengeance. Wanda approached them with caution measured in her strides, her eyes glowed luminous red and her pale elfin features ravaged by intrusive pain generated from a metal shard in her shoulder.
"Captain Rogers," she regarded him with her inborn accent, lowering down her hand, as she met his fierce blue irises. "It's good to see you again..."
"Wanda…" Despite the fact Bucky had alerted him to her presence here, Steve couldn't help but feel a measure of surprise, and also a glow of warmth that she had come to help free him. Though he should have felt the need to be stringent with her as he was with Bucky—the feeling derived from the innate kinship he felt with the young woman he looked out for as both a team leader and something akin to an older brother—he chose instead to greet her with a tight smile tugging at the edge of his soft lips. That was until he noticed her physical condition, and the gleaming shard imbedded into her shoulder. A sinking feeling of dread moved through him, and he was at her side in a heartbeat to assess her injury. "Are you all right? What happened?" His brow became pinched with worry.
As she listened to a desperate hitch ghosting from his lips, Wanda recoiled back, wearing a semblance of indifference. Her intent focus of grayish sage drove back to the orange uniform covering the broad definition of his muscles, she needed to see the patriotic colors of freedom again: the vibrant red, white and blue. It was vital for her; since she barely salvaged onto hope, but Steve's heart never yielded to defeat. Now, they were the last resistance that existed in the crosshairs; no longer bearing the symbol of the Avengers, just walking in the dark as survivors. In a cautious grace of her hand, she caressed the roughened edge of his set jaw; holding his trusting stare. "I'm alright, it's just a minor wound that will heal." She dipped her gaze dismally, fighting the potent urge to allow collecting tears fall. "I just want to escape from this place."
Steve wanted to convey words of reassurance to her, the instinctive feeling to protect her was still potent within him as it was months ago when the world—when Tony—made her feel like a danger that needed to be contained. But what she needed now was a leader that believed in her ability to overcome any frightening obstacle. Gingerly placing his hand on her uninjured shoulder, Steve gave it a soft squeeze while conveying a supportive smile. "We couldn't have managed this without you. We'll get out, and we won't be coming back." It wasn't a promise he could make, but it was a determination driven by his growing strength to protect those he cared about. Just as Wanda had protected Bucky from T'Challa, just as she had come here to rescue him, Steve would always look out for her—that much he could promise. "We good?" He asks, turning to Bucky who recollected himself from the prior assault by Zola.
His temples were pulsating, as Bucky rubbed his metallic digits over his clammy forehead, groaning under his fettered breath. Thralls of pain were fading out, but he still felt unbalanced as he leaned his back against the wall. "We gotta reach that elevator," he rasped throatily, a vexatious edge crept out his scowling lips. He steered a hawkish resolve of icy blue at the gated lift parallel to their position. Everything felt impending. They needed to dare the impossible. "I dunno how much time we've got left to make it out, Steve...Our main objective is reaching the hanger before Zola sets the gas loose."
"Take point, Buck. I'll follow," Steve encouraged with a nod. This was both his and Wanda's operation, and Steve needed them to know he trusted their plan. He fell into step behind Bucky as he led the way towards the elevator shaft at the end of the large corridor. The emergency lights remained a bright red, the security monitors flickered with static, the feed cut along with the main power. Along the way, Steve grimaced at the sight of several dead security guards locked in their booths. They weren't killed with bullets, but a toxic substance he gathered.
"None of this makes anything sense. How did Zola get into The Raft? Is Ross still in the facility?" Steve asked with measured caution. He didn't particularly agree with the man's history and his role in sponsoring the Accords that forced a division between the world's superheroes, but in the end he was still in as much danger as they three of them—and so where all the other security personnel who had nothing to do with Hydra and were solely here because this was where they were assigned.
Bucky furrowed his brow, guardedly, there was a devoid of prolonged compliance in his glacial eyes, shredding his impassive demeanor as he edged away a step back, staring at the questioning flex tracing over Steve's broad jawline. He was unresponsive; eliciting the prestige of such an infectious truth of General Thunderbolt Ross being a HYDRA pawn. A head that needed to be extracted. This attack was an interlude of new world order. If the gas was released, every Avenger under lockdown would be terminated—just before Christmas. It was futile; to keep Steve alive. He gazed unseeingly at Wanda pale visage as he found his words again. "They evacuated the people they wanted to keep alive...Ross isn't here."
"HYDRA will continue to rise as long fear exists in men, Captian Rogers," Wanda induced virulently, narrowing her grayish eyes at the lifeless corpses of the guards; they were test subjects, color in their bulging veins inky black and lips smeared with blood. It was the effective result of the toxin. She felt sick for a moment; she was losing strength, her wounded shoulder was caked with blood. Bucky slipped behind her, catching her balance with a gentle encompassing hold of his bionic arm bracing over her slender curves. She offered him a weak smile and then looked up at Steve. "The toxin poisons the mind and once it infects the blood, death comes quick."
The lurid details were enough to make Steve's stomach sink with revulsion. It was a familiar and dreadful feeling. Hydra's monstrous tactics were no different from what they were during the War—in some ways they were worst now and would only continue to be with one of their original benefactors in charge. Despite his inclination to follow through with the plan to get as far away from The Raft with his friends as possible, Steve felt the pull of duty and necessity begin to take hold. They couldn't leave this place to Zola's control, and condemn all the other prisoners to the AI's mercy. But at the same time, he didn't want to risk the safety of his friends, especially Wanda who was in need of medical attention. Tightening his jaw, Steve approached the elevator feet ahead of the, his steps driven with purpose.
"We need to get out of here, but we can't let Zola have The Raft either." Hitting the call-button to the elevator, an idea began to forge within Steve's tactical mind. The elevator doors opened, a bright light flooding the red corridors, slowly setting the group at ease. Shifting his gaze to Bucky and Wanda who stared openly at Steve, silently asking to be filled in on his plan. "I'm gonna need to make a call." Steve sighed.
Man with the plan, my ass... Bucky thought furiously, his metallic hand clenched into a restrictive fist, dredging up a sense of composure given that Zola's time clock of airborne execution was limiting by the passing seconds. He shifted unsteadily, gripping onto a connection of trust within his best friend's rash tactic to expose their location. His eyebrows pinched into a tensed furrow, as he leveled the feverish intensity of his glacial blue eyes on Steve's large hand, pressing the call button. "You can't be serious, Rogers, I know that back in Brooklyn I always told ya, not to do anythin' stupid...Well, you gotta take my word for it now."
Steve softly smiled at that, calmly setting himself beside Wanda and Bucky at the wall. With a glance to his best friend's direction, Steve's crystal azure orbs gleamed with a shimmer of reassurance, and levity all at once. "I learned from the best, Buck." The doors to the elevator shaft began to close, the gloomy abandon of the cellblock fading from the recesses of his mind.
It was time to go home.
Hours later...
The soaring ease of liberation seemed to become in sync with the heartbeats of the rescued Avengers. Without steering his glacial blue eyes away from the group whose bond was tested within the anchors of trust and faith, Bucky sat rigid in the eighth seat of the Quinjet across from Steve and Wanda, distant and vulnerable to disarm his rampant emotions. He couldn't banish the constant pulses of his other reflection-the Winter Soldier wasn't gone; just buried under the conscience of James Barnes and the belief of redemption. He saved his best friend; ended Zola's resurrection with a restored alliance of Tony Stark, and yet he remained in the darkness, feeling the urge to run. His mind was damaged and wired to obey commands if that red book was reopened. He could never be normal, maybe close, but not fully capable of living: he was a masterful assassin and a soldier. He wasn't the good Brooklyn kid anymore, just a surviving ghost who finally escaped from a frozen hell.
Leaning back against the seat with the buckled straps digging into his chest, Bucky faintly closed his eyes, listening to hums of the stealth turbines propelling them over the tumult icy waters of Atlantic. Where could they go to celebrate their Christmas, they were fugitives. He needed to believe that home wasn't lost. In a low part of his full lips, he released a shaky exhale and trained his dismal resolve of pale aquamarine back on Steve. The First Avenger's current ensemble had gained a stealth contrast of a black tactical sweater and faded jeans. He was a nomad."Where are we gonna go, Steve?" he rasped brokenly, a painful stab of uncertainty pierced through his chest. "We've got nothin' left...Home just can't be Brooklyn, not right now."
Some part of those words seemed unfathomable, the helm of Captain America belonged to the Accords, the family unit he fought to protect was divided because of past mistakes and hidden truths. Nothing felt stable to believe in; this would become another test for him to endure, but he wasn't alone.
Pulling his lips into a tight grimace, he glanced back at his friend—his Brooklyn brother and spoke with a stern cadence that still wavered hope. "A lot has changed, but it doesn't that we stop fightin'..." His azure eyes fell passively onto Clint apply a fresh layer of gauze over Wanda's bloodied shoulder; her exposed pain was evident to the fears she harbored, with Barton's hand encompassing her shaky hand, she managed to smile at his connective touch. Scott was knocked out cold sleeping in front of the weapon's stock. Sam Wilson was sitting in the co-pilot's chair, working his effortless charm with the stoic Maria Hill.
They were soldiers in arms and fugitives to the world below them. Even though he felt utterly dismantled, and his heart carried splinters of regret, Steve knew that he would rise above it with a flame of defiance wielding his hellbent spirit to charge through whatever HYDRA would throw at him next. The shield didn't make him that virtuous and indomitable soldier that Peggy always believed in, it was his heart and everlasting faith; that was his true strength. "What we have now is all I need, and home is closer than we think, Buck."
As the gravity of Steve's modest words breached the stockade of his mind, Bucky dipped his head down. Messy dark tresses whisked over his clenching jaw, as thoughts dwelled onto a distant time when he could pull up a smile and laugh without crippling regret and hatred tracing over his lips and gleaming in his eyes. He mustered out a shaky breath to deliver a genuine sense of brotherhood to encompass their hearts once again."Well, you've got me, punk, for how long my damn mind allows me to remember you..."
Steve's demeanor fractured and his stomach lurched fleetingly, he became conscious of the fated reality of HYDRA's incarnate will surging back into Bucky's uncontainable brutality if the red book was ever unearthed. Bucky was hostage—an eternal prisoner of war—who needed to be set free.
And by the hope that he still harbored, Steve unfastened his straps and bought himself down to a tentative level in front of Bucky's seat. His large hand ghosted cautiously over Bucky's armored knee,; trying sought a place to rest his palm, as he sensed his best friend edging back to isolation. "You've got me, Buck," He choked out a stifling breath, braving his unwavering stare to meet Bucky's frosted steel-blue eyes, never looking away. The strength of his heart would be an ineluctable force that he would use for the days to come. "...and this time 'M not leavin' you behind."
In that calming second, Bucky felt a flare of tension easing in his shoulders, his brow furrowed at the distinct cadence of Brooklyn, it sounded like home again. He darted a softened glance at Steve and felt warmth break the stiffness of his full lips, curving a boyish smirk, evident to the blur of unshed tears swelling in his eyes. The closeness of Steve graced him with an infuse of strength anew to carry on. His metallic hand glided over Steve's bruised knuckles, coldness and heat collided into brotherly-redeeming touch. An instinctive contact that soothed down his impulse to plunge back into a freefall where ghosts waited for him. "It's not gonna be easy for me," he drew up a ragged disgruntled breath as he drawled."'M too damaged, but I'll try to exist as Bucky for you."
"Buck, you're my friend no matter what, " Steve declared in a low timbre, achingly deep, righting his injured hand to Bucky's densely muscled shoulder; believing that his friend would evolve into an honorable man-an Avenger, instead of being a calculating and relentless killing machine. There would always be a fine line between the halves of brutality and decades Bucky had unwillingly served for HYDRA, pulled the trigger and slashed throats; he was condemned to remain the Siberian phantom, to walk among men and walk in the darkness.
Steve harbored that unsettled guilt, blaming himself for letting Bucky fall into the icy ravine -now he believed that the charming and good-hearted Irish kid he shared a childhood still existed in the listless shadow of the Winter Soldier. Tears were forced out his eyes, his hand weighted steadily on Bucky's shoulder, conveying an unbreakable promise."I'm not askin' you to force yourself to change for me, I know what have and right now, it's good enough for me..."
Bucky unclipped the straps that restrained him to the seat, and surprised Steve and the rest of the team; alarmingly falling to his knees in a frantic effort and captured the 6'2 super-soldier into a solid embrace, holding him close as unbidden tears washed down his throat.
"S'orry for everythin'..." Bucky hitched out a pained sob, resting his forehead over Steve's shoulder and gripped onto his dark shirt with a desperate clench. It tortured him so damn much that he couldn't return to Steve when his handlers unthawed him. "I'm so messed up, hell, but I've got you back...' His watery lips freely arched into a boyish smile that made the lines at his closed eyes crinkle against a glistening sheen, and he whispered against the material of Steve's broad shoulder. Rawness chased his untampered relief. "I got my little Stevie back."
"Midnight is closing fast, Cap," Maria echoed from the pilot's chair, her icy-grayish eyes swiftly glanced at the digital clock that read: 11:58. Christmas was almost present.
"Yeah, Buck," Steve wavered a soulful resonance, holding Bucky tight in his shielding arms as the hour of Christmas welcomed them into a joyful and forgiving moment. Wanda conjured up flares of hex energy and flowed whorls into the air, creating vivid shapes of stars and snowflakes around them. Clint stood up to his own resolve and opened Natasha's armory locker, pulling out a sealed bottle of vodka. They shared each a swig, while Steve held onto Bucky, and released his tearful words that evoked peace to rise inside of him. He was free. "You've got me back, we're home, Bucky...We're home."