Footsteps. Two sets. Approaching cautiously.
Training and instinct jolted him from the empty darkness. His eyes flickered open, but they were unfocused and bleary. He could make out two blurred shapes but they shifted and wavered before his eyes. Useless. He sensed more than heard them over the roaring in his ears.
Have to escape. Can't let them-
He tried feebly to crawl to his feet, and failed when his knees refused to support his weight. He collapsed painfully back to the hard ground with a whuff as the air slammed out of his lungs, biting back a scream when the impact jarred his still-injured ribs.
The voice was back. It was closer now. It was immediate and present and it was touching him.
"Bucky?... Buck... Can you hear me?" A hand very gingerly touched his shoulder and he recoiled weakly from it.
"Be careful, Cap." a new voice sounded from a few feet away. "He could still mess you up."
The Soldier took a clumsy swing at the new voice. He succeeded in making it leap back, but his arm barely cleared the ground. He groaned miserably, furious with himself. This was pathetic.
"Bucky, I'm here to help you, buddy. I'm gonna take care of you." The voice had dropped to its knees beside him.
The last time someone had found him this way, disoriented and helpless, he'd been turned into… something else. Whatever he'd been before had been taken from him. He panicked.
"F-fuck off…." he rasped, trying to move away from the voice. The effort sent fire coursing through his injured chest and he curled into a ball, trying to hold himself together; eyes squeezed shut, matted hair clinging to his sweat-soaked skin.
"Buck, I've got you. It's Steve. I've got you. You're going to be ok." Through the haze, he thought he heard familiar concern in the voice. He dismissed the idea. No one was concerned about the Soldier. He was just an asset. A weapon.
Someone was very gently lifting his head and he hissed in pain as a hand cautiously touched his side. The hand withdrew immediately.
He wanted to struggle, but his body was spent and no longer accepted his orders. He found himself lying limp and helpless instead, taking fast, shallow breaths, with his filthy, mangy head laying in someone's lap. The someone drew out a phone and started talking rapidly. Steve. His mind supplied helpfully. The call ended with a soft electronic beep.
"It's gonna be ok, Buck." Someone…. the blonde man - Steve -was very gingerly hoisting him up, bracing all of his weight against them, and something about the whole thing felt incredibly familiar. In spite of himself, he clung to them, metal arm draped heavily across their shoulders, feet dragging uselessly through the dirt. He snarled weakly when someone tried to brace his other shoulder. The other someone backed off.
He couldn't quite lift his head, but he felt the need to say it. His voice was rusty with disuse, but the managed to get the words out.
"Just… like…. old times..." The startled jolt that ran through the body supporting him convinced him that these words had been right. He swayed and felt himself falling away into the darkness again.