Running To You

25. The Great Escape

"E.T.A. five minutes. Start transmitting the identification code."

Bucky reached out to the console and punched the code into the keypad. Then he hit the transmit button, and sat back in his chair. His valuable contribution to the mission was to be a glorified secretary.

"Code transmitting," he reported back dutifully.

To say the journey so far had been tense would have been a gross underestimation. Steve had barely said two words to him the entire trip, and Bucky knew that this time, he had nobody to blame for his mistake but himself. He'd crossed a line. Hurt his friend because it had been the only way to get his own way. He couldn't take back the lie he had told. He hated that he'd had to cross the line, but he wasn't gonna let Steve wrap him in swaddling and mother him. Just because he was down one arm—and he was already trying to think up 'unarmed' jokes to cover for that—didn't mean he was helpless. It just meant there were certain things he could no longer do. He'd spent most of the journey thinking of those things, and now he picked up where he'd left off.

Carry two cups of coffee. Fire a grenade launcher. Archery. Two-handed juggling. Plate-spinning. Left-jab, right-cross. It's gonna be more right-jab, right-cross now. Air-quotes. They just won't look the same with one hand. More like air-apostrophe. Tribal rhythm drumming. Driving a standard, non-adapted car. Gettin' handcuffed by cops. Heheh. Clapping. Jeez, I should'a thought of that one earlier.

"Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"What sound does a one-handed clap make?"

Steve finally looked up at him. "Cl—"

"That's right," he grinned. Because he'd learnt long ago that the sooner you got a sense of humour, the longer it took for you to be broken. He thought he was kinda broken enough for one lifetime. And maybe if he could find a way to laugh again, he could get Steve to laugh with him. Then everything would be alright between them.

"Maybe we could ask T'Challa if his doctors could whip something up for you."

"Steve. You whip up coffee. Icecream. Chocolate mousse. You don't 'whip up' cybernetic arms. Hydra spent years making that thing. I have no idea whether the schematics even exist anymore. If they do, they're probably in Siberia. Now in the hands of the CIA. Besides, T'Challa's done enough. You know how you feel about the shield you left behind?" Steve nodded. "Well, I feel the same way about my arm. Small price to pay. I'd rather have friends." Now, he gave his friend a grim smile. "Besides, imagine how many medals I'll win in the Paralympics. I figure I can probably beat everyone else at swimming, track and gymnastics. Archery might present a problem."

"You're insufferable," Steve sighed.

"Takes one to know one."

"We're also not twelve years old anymore."

"Speak for yourself. I don't remember what it was like to be twelve years old. Not yet. I suppose the one good thing about my memories being erased—if there even is a good thing about that—is that as they slowly come back, I get to live them again like it's the first time. The earliest one I have so far is, I think, you and I getting detention and scraping gum. Remember that one?"

"Yeah." Steve smiled, and began the descent procedure. "I remember."

The Raft was a floating monstrosity, a dark and foreboding behemoth that rose out of the ocean like some hungry leviathan of legend. Why did men always make their prisons to be hidden away in darkness? How many people locked away inside that floating cell were, like Sam and the others, undeserving of their incarceration?

He didn't get chance to ponder it for long. As the jet approached, the mouth of the prison opened, ready to receive the tiny morsel which flew willingly into its gaping maw. Bucky's stomach churned at his own macabre thoughts. Get a grip, he told himself. This isn't the time to let your imagination run away with you. It's not a monster, just a prison. And Steve's friends need you to keep a cool head.

"Once we land," said Steve, lowering the jet towards the waiting platform, "I'll have only thirty minutes to get to Sam and the others. Hopefully that resupply helicopter won't come early, otherwise…"

"Yeah, I know. I get the hell out," Bucky said. Of course, he would do no such thing. He'd find a way to force the helicopter down. Safely, of course, so that nobody was injured. Helicopters were not as resilient as quinjets. "You sure you'll be okay in there? I mean, you don't have your shield anymore."

"I'll adapt," Steve assured him. He pulled his mask over his head and made his way to the ramp. "On the count of five, lower the ramp for me."

"Shouldn't we synchronise our watches?" asked Bucky, looking down at his absent left wrist. "Oh wait. Damn."

Steve merely rolled his eyes, and when the ramp lowered to the floor, jogged down it and began the challenging task of breaking into yet another impenetrable fortress to rescue friends being held captive. It seemed to be one of the themes of Steve's life.

He tapped the 'transmit' button on his ear-piece. "Hey, on the way back, do you think we could stop off at a drive-thru and pick up some dinner?"

A pained grunt came down the line. Either Steve had just been punched in the stomach, or he didn't think much of Bucky's jokes.

"Buck, seriously, this isn't the time."

"Need a hand?" he offered. "I still have one to spare."

"Just stay in the—darn it!—stay in the jet, Bucky."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." He reached out to toy with one of the cockpit's control switches. Flipped it a few times. Watched the amber light blink on and off. "Hey, remember that time Dugan and I arm-wrestled in the Fiddle, and he threw me across the room?"

"Radio silence," Steve instructed.

Bucky sighed. He knew he should'a brought a book.

Some ten minutes later, whilst Bucky was entertaining himself counting the screws in the jet's floor plating, the receiver in his ear crackled, and Steve's voice came through all full of pent-up frustration.

"Buck, I've found Sam, Clint and Scott, but there's a problem."

He sat up immediately in his chair, his screw-count forgotten. "What problem?"

"They're behind bars and electric fields. I thought I'd disabled the cells from the control room, but I must've missed something. We're on the clock, and I don't have time to get back to the control room, figure out what I missed, get these guys out, and find Wanda. The control room's only one deck down from you. I need you to head there and see if you can get these locks open."

Bucky gasped in faux-shock as he pushed himself to his feet and slowly jogged down the ramp. "You mean… you want me to leave the jet?!" Jogging with only one arm was much more difficult than walking. He lurched from side to side like a New York drunk on a two-day bender.

"The path's clear, I've dealt with all the guards, I just need you to go there, do what I said, and please don't gloat."

"I'm already on my way," he assured his friend. "But I make no promises about the gloating." He would wait until they were back in Wakanda, to do that. Might even get Steve one of those printed t-shirts with 'I told you so' written on it.

Steve had done a decent job of clearing the way to the control room, but he'd aimed for speed, rather than finesse. Unconscious men lay sprawled on the floor where they'd fallen, so that Bucky had to run a gauntlet of them as he passed down the corridors. Conscious of the precious minutes ticking away, he hurried as best he could, but his impaired balance made for hard going. At one point, the toe of his boot caught the out-flung hand of a downed man, causing him to trip. A week ago, he could have compensated easily. Now he felt like a cat without its tail; instead of compensating, he went tumbling to the floor, rolling a couple of times before coming to a stop against another still body. His not-yet-mended ribs sent lightning bolts of pain flashing across his chest.

"Goddammit," he swore. The Wakandan doctors would not be please if he broke his ribs before they'd even fully mended.

"Everything okay?" Steve's voice came through full of worry and with just a hint of 'I told you so' in it.

"Fine," he said, biting back another curse. "Just remembered I left the lamp on beside my bed, back in Wakanda."

He regained his feet and his balance, and tried to ignore the way the corridor seemed to sway beneath him. He had to make it to the control room. Had to get those cell doors open. Had to prove to Steve that he was wrong, that Bucky could handle all of this and more.

When he found the elevator, he stepped inside and punched the button for the level below. It seemed to take forever. Thankfully, there was no music. Elevator music was so boring.

"How's it going, Buck?" Steve asked.

"Just waiting for the elevator to stop." When it did, there was no cheerful ding to announce the end of the descent; the door slid open silently to reveal a control room full of unconscious men. "Alright, I'm here. To save me time re-covering your tracks, talk me through what you've already done."

"See those cameras at the top left?"

Bucky looked, and found several monitors showing the inside of the cells. On one of them he spotted Steve, along with the three confined men. "Oh, there you are."

"I found the corresponding cell switched on the control panel below, and switched them to the 'off' position. There's a button down here to manually release the cells, but it's not working."

There was a man slumped over the control panel, so Bucky lowered him to the floor with a murmured apology and took the seat for himself. When he examined the control panel, he quickly discovered where Steve had gone wrong.

"There's an access key required to release the locks. Must be a fail-safe, to prevent accidental release. Lemme see if I can find it; one of these guys must have it on them."

Frisking people was much harder with only one hand. Bucky checked the pockets of every man in the room, and it was only as his panic was starting to rise that he thought of checking around their necks. He finally found the key on a chain around the neck of one of the unconscious guards. It slid into the slot on the control panel, and as soon as he turned it, there was a deep, ominous chime, and the words Emergency Code Transmitted appeared on the panel's monitor.

"Oops."

Bucky quickly turned the key the other way. Several lights on the control panel turned green. Green was good. Right?

"Oops?!"

"I think I turned the key the wrong way. It said something about an emergency code being transmitted." Probably some sort of code that translated to, Some idiots broke into The Raft and turned the key the wrong way. Send backup. "The doors should open, now."

And sure enough, they did. But Bucky didn't sit idle whilst Steve released his friends and checked they were unharmed. He found Wanda on another monitor, and then located The Raft's locker facilities, where a recent computer entry showed the guys' gear had been stored. Only problem was, the gear and Wanda were at two separate parts of The Raft, and time was running out.

"Steve, I found Wanda on level three, section A. Everyone's gear's on level twelve, section G." Movement on a camera caught his attention, and he saw a squad of armed men pile out of the guard quarters. "And it seems our activities have drawn attention. There's guards headed your way." Movement flashed across another camera. "And my way." This was not good. If the guards made it to the control room, they'd be able to lock everything down, including the hatch that needed to be opened to allow the team to escape.

"Barton, Lang, find Wanda and get her back to the control room." Bucky watched the camera and saw Steve hand another ear-piece over to Barton. "Bucky, talk them through this place. Sam and I will head down to the equipment lockers, and I'll deal with as many guards as I can."

"Alright. Barton, head out of that cell and take the corridor on your right. When you reach the elevator, let me know. Steve, go left. There are two flights of stairs you need to go down. Check back when you're there."

He wheeled himself in the chair to another part of the control panel; one which seemed to control the doors between corridors and the various different sections. Made sense. In the unlikely event of a breakout in one section, they'd need to find a way to contain the inmates. Experimentally, he flipped a few of the switches, watching as the doors closed in succession.

It took a few minutes of trial and error—during which time he gave further direction to both pairs of men—and finally managed to seal off a group of guards behind a heavy bulkhead. The doors seemed unnaturally thick… until he remembered that this prison spent most of its time beneath the surface. The doors weren't just to keep inmates in, but to keep water out.

Gotta be sturdier than the Monty.

"We've found Wanda," Barton said, "but her cell's locked."

"Working on it," said Bucky, sliding back to the cell controls. A flip of a switch later, and Wanda was free. But now, he had a new problem. One team of guards had made it to the control room, and were banging on one of the closed doors. When they realised the control centre had been compromised, they'd probably try something more drastic than banging. "Get back here ASAP. We don't have much time."

He watched their progress and tried to ignore the banging. Barton, Lang and Wanda weren't too far away now, but Steve and Sam had only just made it to the equipment storage bay. A quick glance at a clock on the wall told him that resupply helicopter would be along any minute now, and sure enough, mere seconds later, a message came into the control room; the single-use ID code, along with a landing request.

Shit.

He quickly tapped out a message and hit 'send.' Technical malfunction with landing platform. Please stand by. It would buy them a few minutes. Maybe. Or maybe the crew on the copter had already been alerted by the mainland about the security breach.

"We're almost at the control room… I think," said Barton. "But we've just hit a locked door."

Bucky glanced up at the cameras again, and saw Barton's team just a couple of corridors away, on the opposite side of the control room to the armed guards who were currently trying to cut their way through with a torch. Their progress wasn't swift, but it was definitely progress. Another ten minutes, and they might even make it through.

"Sorry, Barton," said Bucky, as he opened the doors for them. "Just trying to keep out unwanted guests. I've opened the doors for you. Come on in."

Thirty seconds later, three pairs of feet came clattering to a halt in the control room. Barton and Lang's faces were bruised, Wanda looked like she'd been to hell and back, and they all wore an unflattering prison jumpsuit ensemble. All eyes fell wide and on Bucky. For a moment, he wondered why. Then he remembered he didn't look human-being-shaped anymore.

"What happened to your arm?" Barton asked, eyes full of horror and sympathy.

"Tony Stark happened to it."

"Bastard," the man growled.

Bucky merely shrugged. "I deserved it."

"What'd you do, break one of his toys?"

What the hell. They were gonna find out sooner or later. Better they find out now, from him, than from someone else. "Killed his parents."

"There's a lot of that going around," Wanda said. She stopped to lay a hand on his shoulder, looking utterly miserable and exhausted, dark circles painted beneath her eyes. "Weapons can't choose where they're aimed. But the men who aimed them… the men who made them… that's another matter."

"Seen anything that might get this damn collar off Wanda?" Barton asked, gesturing to a metal circlet around the young woman's neck.

"No, but check the guards. They're full of useful things."

They checked, but couldn't find anything. Wanda sank down into a chair and looked like she might be sick. Bucky's heart went out to her; he knew just what it was like to be made helpless. To feel weak. To have what power you possessed taken away.

"Why don't you all get back to the jet?" he suggested, as the guards gained another few inches with their torch. "There's a helicopter waiting to land outside, those guards will get through in a few minutes, and Steve and Sam still have to get back here. It's gonna be a close call."

"I'll get the jet prepped for takeoff," Barton nodded. "Come on, Wanda, let's get you back there. There's nothing you can do with that collar on; we'll have to find a way to take it off later." He helped the young woman to her feet, and turned back to offer Bucky a grim smile. "I hope the story of how you managed to find us makes for an entertaining tale."

"It will. You should go, too," he told Lang, after the other two had left.

"I'll stick around for now. Three hands are better than one," Lang said.

"Heh. Alright."

"Hmm." The amazing shrinking growing man cast his blue eyes over the various monitors and screens set into the control panel. Bucky thought he could see the cogs turning inside his mind. "On a scale of one to ten, how waterproof would you say that jet is?"

"Uh… I dunno. Why?"

"Because I just had a crazy idea."

Bucky watched as Lang began flipping switches and pushing buttons. Without warning, a flashing red light came on in the control room, and some sort of general alarm sounded loud enough to make him jump. This could not be good. Green was good. Green. Red was bad. Everybody knew it.

"Buck, what's going on?" Steve asked. No doubt he'd experienced some red lights of his own.

Looking at the camera monitors, Bucky saw his friend and Sam making their way back, their arms full of gear. "Uh, I dunno. Lang, what's going on?"

"I'm submerging The Raft."

"Oh. Uh… Steve? You're probably not going to like the answer. Let's just say you should get back here, and fast." He stopped transmitting. "Lang, are you nuts? How are we gonna take off if we're underwater?"

"For the past four days, Barton's done nothing but tell me he's the best pilot S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ever had, and I got a look at that hatch on the way in. I think a jet could squeeze through the gap before the landing chamber's flooded."

"But the chamber's full of unconscious prison guards!"

"Oh. Umm… better ask Barton and Wanda to put them in one of the corridors."

Bucky relayed Lang's instructions, then watched as the guy started flipping different switches. "What are you doing now?"

"I'm flooding that corridor," said Lang, nodding to where the security guards had almost made a door with their torch. "Don't worry, I'm flooding it slowly. They'll have time to retreat to a different section."

"That door has been compromised. If you flood the corridor, the water will come busting in here pretty quick."

"I'll stop flooding it when they leave."

Lang slid over to a keyboard, and started typing out lines of unintelligible code.

"Now what are you doing?" Bucky demanded. Lang reminded him very much of Charlie; always running around, getting into all sorts of mischief. Was this how Steve always felt, around his Avenger friends?

"Writing a program to allow us to remotely access the hatch release from the jet." Lang looked up and grinned at him. "Otherwise, someone's gonna have to stay here to do it. I'm also configuring the bulkheads around the hatch corridors to lock into place as soon as the command's given. No point flooding the whole thing… though I don't mind telling you how much I'd like to see this place sink."

Scott Lang, Bucky realised, was a madman. An insane diabolical genius in the body of an unassuming computer geek. But despite his plan being completely crazy, it seemed to be working. When they realised the corridor was being flooded, the guards abandoned their attempt at getting into the control centre and fled to a drier area. A check on the cameras showed Steve and Sam on their way back to the jet, bypassing the control room completely.

"We should go," Bucky said. "Unless you have more computer geek things to do."

"My geeking is finished, for now. Let's go see how good a pilot Barton really is."

They got back to the jet just after Steve and Sam, and Bucky decided it was wiser to let Lang explain the plan and bear the brunt of Steve being pissed off. As predicted, Steve was not thrilled about the prospect of an under-water takeoff. Bucky hadn't seen him this displeased since… since… well, he couldn't remember. But one day, he would.

"And you're sure there's no chance of this going wrong, flooding The Raft, and killing everyone on it?"

"Absolutely sure," said Lang. "The Raft has safety protocols in place, to automatically rise if it detects a volume of water in the landing chamber. We'll be ascending while we take off, and hopefully the sight of this place taking on water will be enough to keep that helicopter busy."

"Barton?" Steve sighed. "Can you do it?"

"Dunno. Guess 'can' is sorta irrelevant, now. I have to. But it would help to have a flight-plan laid in, so I can enter stealth mode as soon as we're clear of the area. Where are we heading?"

"Wakanda," said Steve.

"Hah. Good one. No, seriously, where are we heading?"

It took three tries, and a lot of story-telling, before Barton finally believed them.