Chapter 3: Breaking Away~

The sun bled through the slits of their cages ,like the first rays of light slipping into the consciousness of the comatose coming awake.

They had conspired. Today was the day.

"Sergeant Barnes..." Sherlock gasped, voice now so hoarse from lack of water he could barely mutter.

Bucky sat up in his cage, and stretched a metallic hand through the bars.

"Well, Sherlock, it's like this...either we make a break for it today, or sit around and wait for them to kill us...Which wouldn't take much, at least not like this, ha ?

"No, Sergeant, but we haven't got much time. If what we have overheard our captors saying is true, then Captain Rogers and Doctor Watson are headed in this direction. That would prove to be lethal to everything we have attempted to secure, for years."

"For decades, kid! Yeah, I know I look pretty good for 95, but don't forget I outdate you by like 60 years. "Bucky teased, and swallowed, looking down into the Abyss.

"A'right, so just like we rehearsed. Old fashioned way!"

Sherlock swallowed. It had been a harrowing experience, climbing to the top of his cage, using a piece of the galvanized super metal from Bucky's false arm as a saw to rig the hook said cage hung from to where, tilted at a certain angel and given the right push, it would slide along the chain like a zipline. Tilt just a little too much to the left or right, and one dies the death of free-falling.

"Now remember, Sherlock, lean forward, and clench your knees. Be steady, kid, y'know 'cause "if the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, an' down will come baby cradle and all"blah, blah, blah, never mind. O-k, let's get this show on' da road! "

"Have you...ever done anything like this before?" Sherlock asked, swallowing, trying to resume his confident world's-smartest-sleuth attitude.

"Mmm...once,...twice? I forget. I'm old! You'll live, and if you don't, it sure beats bein' in a bird cage, right?"

"Wait!"

The antique American sniper was already in action though. 'No guts, no glory.' Of course, Sherlock should have expected an icon of American history to have a very American-spirited attitude about life and death, and crashing through the heights.

Bucky swung his cage into Sherlock's. Like pieces to a pin ball machine the two of them were shooting across the ravine, sickening-rapidly, headed straight for the rocks, and the brokeness that was become their salvation.

Sherlock's eyes were wide open ,and his nostrils burned with the rush of air.

"WOOOHOOOO!"shouted Bucky at the top of his lungs, not caring who heard.

The bright lights of Hydra's hideout lit up like lighting across the Styx, trying to beam them back into the Purgatory that was their dwelling, and so much worse than Hell.

But the cages had broken like eggs on the cold ,black stone, and the wind rolled them away, Bucky's arm casting off sparks, Sherlock making tiny little irritated sounds like a bird shot out of a cannon.

They landed in a heap ,deep in the forest of what was once the Soviet Union.

Bucky sat up, laughing like a jackal.

Sherlock lay on his belly, coughing and sputtering, almost delirous.

Bucky picked him up by the scruff of his collar, and hauled him to his feet.

"CONGRATULATIONS, KID, WE'RE OUT OF THAT HELL HOLE!" Bucky cried, with joy.

"John..."Sherlock gasped, skipping the emotional brevity of freedom entirely.

"Oh, right, we've got to radio Mycroft...Ok, next stop a village...somewhere...Else we can walk all the way to Kiev."

"I'll swim rivers of my own blood if need be." Sherlock growled, glaring angrily back at his prison.