Bucky woke up slowly. He was cold and confused. His back was sore, like when he used to sleep on the sidewalk, and his wrist ached. And when he finally forced his eyes open he couldn't really see anything. Wherever he was there were no windows or lights. Underneath him was cold concrete. And when he shifted, trying to feel farther into the darkness, he realized there was something around his ankle.
A quick investigation with his fingers told him it was a metal cuff, attached to a chain that was attached to the wall. For a moment he was confused. The last thing he remembered was arguing with his father and trying to leave… His father! "Fuck." Bucky growled as it came back. The bastard had tricked and then sedated him.
Patting his pockets he realized his jacket, his favorite leather jacket he might add, was gone as was everything in his pockets. So were his shoes and even his socks. So he had no phone, no wallet, and no keys. Great. At least his father hadn't checked his underwear and so he still had his scrap of sheet music. The remnants of the first song he had written, the one his father had burned along with a number of other things (Bucky still had faint scars on his fingers from trying to save it). And he was still wearing his butt plug, the one he'd accidentally stolen from Steve two years ago and felt odd without wearing.
Rubbing his arms he tried to get comfortable. It was far too cold for his short sleeves and he tucked his legs into his chest for warmth. His mouth was dry and his stomach was gurgling slightly, which meant he had probably been out for at least the rest of the day and likely most of the night too. "It's okay. A few more hours and when you don't show up to your flight Tony, Bruce, and Steve will probably all come looking." He reminded himself.
He tried to relax, played a silent piano on his knees for a while when he got bored, until finally he heard a door open. Light spilled down the stairwell across the room, blinding him momentarily. It was took his eyes a bit to adjust to the sudden brightness and then he was able to take in the whole room. It was quite small, maybe ten by ten feet, empty aside from him, and all concrete. Even the ceiling. There was a small drainpipe in the middle of the room, out of his reach, and the floor had some suspicious shading especially around the grate.
Two sets of footsteps came down the stairs and Bucky tensed, bracing himself for whatever was coming. Chances were very high it wasn't going to be pleasant. Vincent stepped into view first. He looked surprisingly congenial and Bucky didn't trust that in the slightest. Behind him was a large man with thick muscular arms and several tattoos. Bucky had a good feeling he knew why the man was also here.
"You're awake, good." Vincent spoke first and Bucky just looked away. He didn't bow his head but he refused to meet his father's eyes. His father huffed a little at that. "James, you forced my hand. I didn't want to do this, but we need to merge Barns Corp with the Pierce Conglomerate. Now, you are going to stay imprisoned until you agree to sign the contract so make this easy on yourself and just sign it." He placed the paper contract, or a new version since this one wasn't crinkled, within arms reach.
Bucky stared at it for a while and he could feel his father staring at him. Finally he reached out and picked it up before slowly tearing it in half, and then tearing it again before throwing the pieces at Vincent. He tugged his knees in tighter and looked away.
"James, this is childish." Vincent declared and Bucky almost rolled his eyes. Almost. The urge was strong but it would only further prove his father's point. "Fine. You know what to do." Vincent said before he moved back and took up a place against the opposite wall.
Bucky glanced at the big tattooed man. "Well, if you're going to beat the shit out of me, do I at least get to know your name?" Bucky asked with a false smile. The man didn't answer and instead Bucky's nose met with the man's boot, which subsequently made his head hit the wall. He definitely gave a cry of surprise at the strike and followed it up with "fuck" as he clutched his nose. Already he could tell it was broken and it almost gushing blood all over his hand.
The man grabbed him by both wrists and yanked him up before hitting him in the stomach. It left him gasping for air and just as he thought he'd gotten it back the man punched him again. Then he was dropped and he crumpled like a rag doll. The man put his foot on Bucky chest, forcing him onto his back, and then pressed down. Bucky inhaled sharply and tried to push him off (with no success) and tried to keep his breathing shallow. It only helped so much.
Just as Bucky was starting to get used to the pressure, and dizzy from limited air, the man took his foot away. Bucky immediately gasped and after a few deep breaths curled onto his side protectively, facing away from the man. A hard kick to the back made him grunt, but he grit his teeth and curled more tightly into a ball as several more kicks followed. It was starting to become a struggle to breathe deeply, and even his shallow breaths hurt.
"Enough." The blows stopped immediately at his father's voice. Bucky didn't flip around to look, didn't dare because he did not want to get kicked in the chest or stomach. At least the man hadn't targeted his head. Footsteps approached him. "James, make this easy for both of us and just sign the contract." Vincent insisted.
Bucky was silent for a moment before he swallowed. Disconcertingly, it was more blood than saliva. And an idea came to him. "Well, unless you want me to sign it in blood, I'm going to need a pen." He informed them. He risked a glance over his shoulder to see his father standing still, blinking like an idiot. He raised an eyebrow and his father coughed.
"Of course." He stuttered. That was a nice anomaly. Vincent pulled out another, un-ripped piece of paper (it didn't surprise Bucky in the slightest his father had brought multiple copies). He set it down and slowly Bucky shifted, turning to face them. It was slow and he had to lean against the wall for a bit to keep himself from swaying. His chest hurt and his back was now appreciating the cold cement. And he was quite sure his nose was still bleeding as when he tried to wipe it away all he succeeded at doing was getting more blood on his arm.
Vincent set a pen down on the contract and Bucky nearly groaned at the thought of moving to grab it. But he leaned forward anyway. He scanned over the document again and noticed some of the details he had missed before (like how this was page number 10; he didn't want to think about what the other pages included). He set the pen to the paper, then had to pause as more blood seeped from his nose.
He carefully signed it very slowly, letter by letter. His hand shook slightly, but his lure worked. His father leaned in further and further with every letter and once he was in range Bucky reached out and jammed the pen into his knee. Vincent fell back with a pained cry of surprise and was caught by the larger man before he could fall. "You ungrateful bastard of a child!"
Bucky just spat blood onto the contract, effectively covering pretty much all of the signature he'd completed (only his first name and middle initial). Then he shoved it towards his father. "That's what I think of your contract." He snarled before he moved, pressing his side against the wall, holding his legs in close to his chest, and wiping away the blood from under his nose periodically until his hand, wrist, and forearm all had a layer of blood.
His father was on a tirade; cursing and threatening him in equal measure the whole way as he was carried up the steps. Bucky didn't bother to reply and the room was plunged back into darkness as the door slammed shut behind them. He finally let out the pained moan he'd been holding in and slumped, letting the wall take his weight. He couldn't decide what hurt worse: his chest or his back. It was about equal. The wrist his father had stepped on was hurting too and his nose just would not stop bleeding.
Finally Bucky sighed and, with some effort, managed to tear part of his shirt free. He used the strips of fabric to stop up his nose and it hurt. It was absolutely broken and as he ran light, quivering fingers over it he could feel how crooked it was. It wasn't terrible, but it certainly wasn't straight. He took a slow breath and tried to put it back.
There was a small crack and he jerked back with a cry. "Damn it." He muttered as he held it again. It was straighter and the pain has lessened a little so that was good. Now if only the rest of him would stop hurting so much he'd be in good shape.
Steve's skin was practically crawling by the time he called the airport. Neither Tony nor Bruce had heard from Bucky all night, but they agreed if Bucky missed his flight check-in then they would take action. The phone was answered quickly and he was greeted with a happy "Hi. Thank you for calling Northeast Airlines at the John. F. Kennedy Airport. How can I help you?"
"I have a question about one of your passengers for a 1 pm flight, direct to LA. His name is James Barnes and I just want to know if he checked in or not." Steve informed her.
"I'm not allowed to give out personal information about our passengers." She informed him.
"Please, I'm his boyfriend and I'm afraid something might have happened to him. I haven't heard from him since yesterday and I'm really worried. Can you please just tell me if he checked in or not?" Steve insisted, making sure to sound as concerned as he felt.
She sighed. "Let me find out." She finally said, which was followed by typing.
"Thank you." He insisted sincerely as he waited. It didn't take long.
"James Barnes, 1 pm flight, direct to LA you said?" She asked.
"Yes." He confirmed immediately. There was another few keyboard sounds and Steve's open hand was tapping impatiently on his thigh as he paced. He could not sit still right now.
"I'm sorry, but no. He never checked in and that flight left ten minutes ago." She finally said and Steve barely suppressed a curse.
"Thanks anyway." He managed to say before he hung up and chucked his phone against the couch. "Damn it." He practically shouted. Then he snatched his phone back up and called Stark.
It was answered almost immediately. "So?"
"He never checked in." Steve growled.
"Shit." He heard Tony say. "Okay, what do we do?" He asked.
Steve got up and headed into his bedroom. "We go get him, of course." He answered as he opened a hidden compartment. Inside were a dozen weapons of various degrees of damage. Steve pulled out two silenced handguns before he closed it.
"Alright. Do you need a ride or should we meet you there?" Tony asked.
"Meet me." He said before he hung up. He was down in the garage in minutes, guns now hidden but easily accessible. Clint and Natasha were both already there, waiting in a car next to his bike. He accepted the offered helmet and mounted easily. "You have the address?" He asked through the intercom in his helmet.
"Of course." Natasha answered and he nodded before he shot off. They followed, but Steve outpaced them easily. On his bike he didn't have to contend with traffic quite the way they did and it was a struggle not to go even faster. But he wouldn't risk getting pulled over, not with every frantic beat of his heart screaming 'BUCKY'.