"I need this – you know I wouldn't do this if I didn't need to. You know I'm not that kind of guy, right?"
And he does – he knows in his heart where only truth reigns, so that's how they ended up here in a place abandoned by man. Something about this place brings to mind the dark cold abyss he spent most of a century alone in and he would give anything to be away from here. Anything but Bucky's health, anything but Bucky's trust. Even so, sitting here watching the hard work of men slowly fall before nature's onslaught doesn't sit well with him…especially since this is just the result of a few years.
A few years without notice and grass grows through cracked asphalt while bugs lazily hum and buzz around a meadow that's sprung up in someone's living room. A rabbit glances around nervously as a pair of scrawny cats stalk it from the shadows. Thoughtlessly he picks up a plaster chip and throws it at the rabbit's hunch causing it to startle and run. The cats give chase, but they aren't likely to catch it. They'll probably starve but… better them than the bunny. Carefully Steve kneels resting his aching head on his folded arms as he tries to stay in the shadows.
All it would take is a moment of carelessness and Friday would know where they are – there's no real privacy anymore these days. Some joker from half-way across the world could watch your every move like his favorite television program and you'd never know. Shivering Steve spares a glance up to the sky knowing that it's foolish even as he does so. So instead he watches the day sullenly give way to a blessedly cool evening the shadows swallowing everything like an endless hungry sea.
Abruptly he's angry with himself – they can't afford him losing his head right now. The governments and the Stark Initiative are gonna be looking even harder for him and Bucky now. When it was just some girl or guy going missing every now and again that was one thing – but they have Stark now and that, of course, is something else. Because of course, one fat cat is worth more interest and concern than a couple of dozen normal people.
Not that it's anyone's fault that those dozen have gone missing. Bucky didn't mean to hurt anybody – he's not a monster. Hell neither of them are monsters. Alone in the dark drowning, but still his lungs contract and a long rough tongue drags over his right eye. A sharp crack like a glacier break or a gun fired has Steve blinking as he comes out of his daze.
He's broken the window still. Briefly, there is a burning itch and then tiny slivers of wood rain from his hands. It's fine, it's an accident and sometimes he doesn't know his own strength. Briefly, he recalls the strain around the billionaire's eyes as the bones of his wrist grind together. Just as quickly it's gone. He's not a bully and Stark is a fine one to talk. Thinking he can control everything and one because his father left him more money than sense.
Speak of the devil the sound of something solid meeting flesh crackles through the dim space behind him. He should probably go have a look. Stark can't fix Bucky's arm if he's too banged up, but Mr. Billionaire Playboy could do with a few licks. Honestly, Howard indulged him far too much - should have paddled him so he'd turn out decent. Standing he nearly hits his head but remembers just in time to stoop over in the tiny place.
While one of the more stable pickings this place is barely big enough to think in. It's also got more dirt than a pig sty, but it's a damn sight better than kipping on ground more mud than earth. Although if Stark drags his feet much longer they may have to switch to making due with grass and hoping it don't rain. Even stepping carefully the air is so dry and laden with dust Steve feels like he's suffocating. Without the serum he'd have probably already breathed his last in here.
A whistle and then another crack followed by a muffled sound of pain because Stark is a fucking idiot who can't just get with the program. Walking into what should have been the dining room and is now the bedroom Steve takes in the sight of Stark shirtless with a neat row of welts down his back. Thick black lines that bleed out into blue and purple and finally red. They look they hurt something awful, but they don't bleed and they won't prevent him working. Besides which he only has himself to blame – he knows what he needs to do.
Bucky meanwhile stands there silent holding what looks like copper piping in one hand as he studies Steve from the corner of his eye. That's something Steve still isn't used to – the Bucky of his memory is bigger than life even if he is a bit of a soft touch. It's easier to look over Stark who has lost weight in the past year or so. It's not a very good look especially as he's getting older all the time. He drenched in sweat and panting like a dog left out in the heat. But fuck if he isn't still glaring like he has any right to. Whatever.
"Good job Bucky. You did real good exercising restraint." Stark snorts because of course, he does. No respect, no consideration, no decency. But it's true, Bucky has a good hand for this, but then he always had a cleverness for anything he turned his hand to back in the day. The only difference is that he hadn't looked to Steve like some sort of mutt begging a treat. It's what he's doing now looking at him from beneath the shaggy mess he refuses to let be cut. And he can't say no to him because really it's not like… Honestly, if anyone had it coming it'd be Stark.
He unties Stark (and also has to backhand the idiot) and drags him over to the sorry excuse for a bed he's gotten together for Bucky. The stand has half its paint flaked off on the floor while the rest has gone an ugly mustard color. The springs shriek with the slightest movement and the mattress is probably crawling with an entire ecosystem of critters, but it'll have to do because he can't do any better right now. Maybe once Bucky has two arms to protect himself with it'll be okay, but for now, it's just a damn mess.
Turning his back he tries to ignore the brief if pointless struggle Stark puts up wishing that he could just leave them to it. Sadly they can't afford to kill Stark right now, so Bucky can't have the privacy he deserves. But yeah if Stark weren't their only real bargaining chip right now he'd let Bucky have his rightful vengeance. Besides it's not much different then when they were back in the tenements before the war.
Bucky never had much trouble finding partners – mostly dames, but sometimes he'd want to be a bit rougher and he'd find some soft-handed little pillow biter to ride. And if the little faggots left with a couple of bruises they hadn't had before or a fat lip who were they gonna tell? Bucky knew everyone that mattered and sometimes that was all that kept Steve in one piece when he got to stirring up another dust up with some pinhead or another. Besides the filthy little queers deserved it. Stark fucking deserves it.
Stark deserves whatever happens to him, but they still need him so Steve has to be here. Because Bucky… Bucky isn't well. He's getting better all the time but he's not well and sometimes he forgets. Except that's not his fault – it's fucking HYDRA's and why no one could understand that seriously bothers Steve. How the hell could you blame someone who'd been to hell and back? How the fuck was that fair? Even Clint wanted to act so high and mighty, but hadn't he helped Loki kill all those people? Hadn't it been his fault partly that Coulson died? But nobody held that against him… High handed bastards every one of them.
"You little bastard!" He doesn't bother holding back a groan; this would be over already if Stark would just stop being such a little rat. Why does he have to fight so much? It's not like he can take a hit and besides it's not like he doesn't deserve it. So what if he was born with a silver spoon in his fat yap? It's not like he ever did anything to earn his privilege. Not like Bucky – Bucky was a real stand up guy. The kind of guy who'd laugh off some punk getting puke on his twenty dollar boots and walk you home with an arm around your shoulder. The bed springs give a tentative wail before they rhythmically begin to squeak against the loud slap of skin on skin. Steve ignores the faint but growing scent of copper and salt.
There are terrible groans coming the pair behind him, but Steve is an old hand at ignoring this kind of thing. Less easy to ignore is when the bed stops moving and from the corner of his eye he can see one leg and then another as Bucky goes to get one of his 'tools'. He's gonna hurt Stark, but that's on Stark because Bucky is trying to get better. He just has to learn how to fight off the bad thoughts and he almost made it a whole week this time. If Sam were here he'd say that was progress.
Sam… Sam used to go on about how change comes through small consistent progress. That you couldn't expect Rome to be built in a day and you just had to go a step at a time. That's what Sam used to say before Bucky made a mistake. Honestly, it's more Sam's fault then Bucky's – the girl was one of those Undesirables T'Challa was trying to bring back into the fold. If she had gone missing no one would have actually minded, but Sam just had to stick his big nose into things and he got what was coming to him.
Why he had to make a big deal of it still boggles the mind. It wasn't a big deal, just a five-minute leg over. Besides, it doesn't take a blind man to see the way Sam moons over Steve. That sickly light that comes into his eyes like he wants to wrap himself around Steve forever. But that shit is for deviants and pederasts… why the hell he thought such an attitude was appropriate... Then again everyone seemed to be suffering from nymphomania and a lack of morals these days. Either way, Bucky was just giving him what Steve never could so it was okay.
And even if he felt there was something wrong he could have just talked it out with Steve. There was no reason to make a fuss, especially since he knew that they had nowhere else to go. That there wasn't any other safe harbor for the two of them what with the Accords head-hunting them. And T'Challa was a liar – he said Bucky would be safe in Wakanda but at the first sign of trouble he backtracked. It's not surprising because everyone knows you can't trust a nigger. Sam seemed like he was different, but he's just like Fury or War machine or Black Panther and his whole uppity family. They didn't understand how hard a man could try and still fail. They didn't understand how it was to set yourself against a world that hates you and succeed.
They were lazy and ignorant and selfish like the darkies Bucky would sometimes pass the time with if they happened to be on that side of town. And Bucky laughs as he throws her heels in after her, and no matter how many times they've gotten away with this Steve can never stop worrying. But then one of Bucky's long arms is pulling him close as the wind picks up. "Come on kid – why the long face? It's just a stupid ARF bitch. Not a damn body is gonna miss her except for the six or seven piccaninnies she's probably got." He laughs at whatever look Steve's wearing then gives that perfect smile of his – "Come on. I'll get you that paint kit you've been drooling after. It's nearly your birthday ain't it?"
No one understood then and they don't understand now that Bucky has his needs but he's a good guy besides that. He has needs that can go a bit far, but he knows how to control them or he did. And he's learning how to control them again if people would just give him some space, let him find somewhere to catch his breath. Stop hunting him like a damn animal.
And damn if the two behind him aren't going at it like animals. No normal man wants it up the ass – it ain't decent and it's a sinful perversion on top of that. So of course, Stark would be enjoying it – ain't a damn thing normal about Stark. Some of the things they said and actually showed about him online. All of fifteen and half-drunk with a grown man's cock in his mouth and that was one of the tamer things presented. There was also all those things Clint said and that Natasha wrote in that folder. Even Rhodes was quick to admit Stark was a sick little freak.
Besides even if Stark hates this he has to admit that he wouldn't even be here if he hadn't have taken Bucky's arm. You reap what you sow and the egotistical little asshole has certainly earned a little working over. It's not like it'll really hurt him 'cause he's certainly had worse – and the air is so cold it burns to breathe and the little coward is trying to cover his ugly little face. The taste of bile at the back of his throat is just… Whatever. Sam-Sam would say thinking about things he can't change isn't going to help anyone least of all poor Bucky.
That doesn't mean Steve isn't going to cover his ears as he sits with his back against the heaving mattress. Bucky deserves some measure of dignity even if right now this is more the Winter Soldier having his treat. It won't be long, it never is and then Tony will have a quick wash up and it'll – he'll get back to work, or rather he'll understand that as long as he works he ain't gonna... That the quicker he works the sooner he ain't gotta take it up the back door. Still, there are some downsides to being superhuman and super hearing is one of them.
So he tries focusing on the day he met Bucky – he'd been stupid and tried to ride the line even though it always made him sick as a dog. It seems stupid now but at the time it'd been the most important thing to make it to that picture across town. Because Benny had said the animation was a real beaut and it was a shame Steve wouldn't get to go on account of his weak constitution. It had been the principle of the thing really. Because he wasn't just some worthless gimp, if nothing else he had his honor and his fists.
Besides, it should have been okay. He went during the empty part of the day when everyone had better things to do – so there shouldn't have been a damn body on there besides him. Instead, there was some brown fella reeking of onions with his hair drenched with some sort of fruity smelling oil – and it's a day of record temperatures. Feels like his stomach is in his throat and the car is spinning out of control. And then they're stopping for intake but it's already seven kinds of too late. There goes this morning's eggs and last night's hash and maybe last week's end roast tearing up his throat.
"Would you look at this? You see this little fucker here?" And of course, his day gets that much worse. Everybody knows James "Houdini" Barnes – Boss Dan's kid with his chink pressed suits and his twenty dollar shoes. Twenty dollar shoes ruined by vomit. There's no hope for it, "Yeah, want to make something of it Bucky?" And Bucky had just smiled and then laughed so hard he cried while his cronies just looked confused.
"Look at you!" And one fine hand with perfect nails is clutching his bony shoulder hard enough to bruise. "Kid you gotta be some kind of stupid – and if you ain't careful you're gonna find yourself in a fresh pair of concrete boots with your balls shoved half-way down your throat in pieces. 'Cause that's the only way they're gonna fit punk."
Now the stooges are laughing, but James isn't – and his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. And then it does and it's like the sun rising out of the ocean. "You'd probably be healthier if most of your body mass wasn't balls. Ah well, I'll stick with you until we reach the end of the line – gotta know where you are kid so I know where to collect the funds to replace my shoes. Damn if some idiot punk ain't ruined them like some common chump."
And everybody knew Bucky – everyone knew he ain't never said what he didn't mean. Everyone knew he kept a tally and fuck you if you ain't got the difference, but he ain't never collect on Steve. Nah, he just kept giving and watching over that scrawny loser from Queens who couldn't stay out of trouble. So like Nat would say Steve's ledger is red and long overdue. He owes Bucky – and honestly Bucky is-was-is the best guy even if fucking HYDRA has done their best to ruin him.
The bed is moving harder now and the sounds Bucky is making are – it's too easy to fall into bad memories like.
"Bucky! Please, she ain't even sixteen!" But if ever Bucky listened to him it wasn't because he had to. So Steve lies under the bed with a pillow clutched to his chest like a teddy bear. Watching her feet hang over the edge of the bed kicking and squirming while she tries to escape. She has pretty feet, pretty legs, pretty everything – Bucky had made her do a show for Steve. Had told her if she did well enough he'd help get away from here to somewhere safe. But see it's a fix 'cause Lord knows ain't no place safer than the grave. Bucky swings legs off the bed and that's Steve's cue to crawl out.
She's real pretty even now all cream and sweetheart pink like a fancy cake. But the red under her and the ragged gash across her neck spoil it something awful. That's not important, what is important is where they're gonna weigh her down 'cause she ain't never going home now. And this is wrong isn't it – she's just a kid. Thankfully Bucky's hands are on his shoulders grounding him and driving away the panic. "Look at me sport. Her daddy used to bring her around the warehouse if we did good. I met her when she was all of nine – trust me when I say she ain't never had much of a chance kid. This was honestly a mercy." And Steve smiles because he should have known better – Bucky was the best guy he knew. Bucky would never – Bucky knew what was right and he always had a plan.
Briefly, Steve is safely wrapped tightly in Bucky's warm arms the strong beat of his heart lulling the smaller man into a momentary trance. "Wrap her up Steve or have a turn I know it's been awhile since you last had some."And even blushing head to toe Steve smiles because Bucky is always looking out for him. And that's why he has to look out for Bucky now. It's only fair.
It's quiet and the bed is still. Good. It's done then and everything can – white light across his vision and it's so still like when he hit the water. Lord don't let the water close over his head again. He can be better not bold as brass, but pure like silver and strong like steel, but - it's like looking up at a monstrous wave. And then the wave crashes overwhelming everything with pain. And for a time he knows nothing.
The world sways like the floral curtains over the sink as his mama sings something he can't quite catch. She's peeling potatoes and she looks up suddenly shaking loose the maggots where her face should be. A shock jumps through him like he's just hit the ground. Gasping he chokes on humid air so heavy with filth it's almost solid. Insects chirp and water splashes as a cool wind strokes his feverish face. He's outside and his head rings with pain like cathedral bells on Sunday. Something is wrong, but he can't tell what; can't even move his damn hands to check. There is a heaviness in his gut that feels like grave dirt in his mouth. The stars wink down at him and for a moment he's still as he wonders whether or not to just give up… but Bucky needs him.
Moving shakes loose a spike of pain so immediate the world splinters. A thousand separate moments caught in the wash of a hideous all-encompassing suffering. The splinters driving into his bleeding back. The steel wire binding him and sawing into his twitching flesh as he writhes. The unmistakable smell of a river low in its banks. The light winking off to the side of his face. Wait. It shouldn't be an impossible task to turn his head to the right, but it feels like it takes everything he has and then some. It's only when he's looking Stark grinning like a fox in the hen house that he realizes one of his eyes is swollen shut.
"Awake cap? You honestly sleep like the dead. Might want to have that looked at." This doesn't make sense and where the hell is Bucky? He wants to demand this information, he wants to – he wants- If he could just talk, but his throat feels like someone took a rusty saw to it. And there's only blood and ragged edges where his tongue should. "Oh, what's the matter? Does the big bad captain want to talk? Too bad. I decided to get a bit biblical here – your lying tongue offends me so I cut it out. Or rather my new pet did. Here James!"
And James staggers out of the shadows looking the worse for wear. Stark doesn't look too much better and he's leaning heavily against the crane that's holding the pallet he's attached to. "Pulling you from the ice was a mistake. A mistake I am going to rectify. Oh, I know you survived the shit in the Arctic but that's why I filled your gut full of stones and then both tied and staple gunned you to that pallet." And the venom in his voice is like nothing Steve ever thought he could manage. Even in Siberia, he hadn't been so…
Stark steps a bit closer to the bank and his eyes are like a hand clenched tight around a fist full of glass – they bleed a level of violence that is honestly terrifying. "I know there is something wrong with you. So I acknowledge that eventually, you're going to escape this little trap. Maybe the pallet will rot or you'll get loose, but in the meantime, I'll be training your precious Bucky to be my own personal attack dog." And here Stark's smile is more an act of violence than a gesture of amusement. "If you thought HYDRA had done something to him – oh Cap, I'm going to pry his worthless little mind apart and I'm going to enjoy every second of it." The only sound is the rope straining and the gentle rush of the water beneath him.
"Do you know… not even the Ten Rings used me like he did… A bunch of terrorists had more decency than the sick little fuck you almost killed me over. But that's okay – my father said Stark men are made of iron, but me I'm fucking golden. That said – you'd have done better to be Jimmy's personal shrink than his personal pimp because the code words still work fuckwit. Or they did… I decided to recode him while you got over your brain damage. Anyway! Good night Captain, try not to drown."
This time he's awake and screaming when the waters take him.