Hello ff
It's been a while
Summary: "Do I shoot him or HYDRA?"
"HYDRA until we know he won't come quietly." They had him. After all these months, they had him.
It has been six months since SHIELD fell, since project Insight came crashing down. The Avengers have an axe to grind with HYDRA, and so does The Winter Soldier. And at least some Avengers think that the mutilated killing machine can be brought home, somehow.
A Bucky Recovery fic that I'm seven years late to the party with. In my defence, I started this seven years ago and then discarded it. Falcon and The Winter Soldier woke it up again
Rating: Mostly, this is a T. There is violence, but it's Marvel-esque violence, it's quite whitewashed. If you hadn't guessed, there's also a spectre of horrendous systematic abuse in the background, but it's no more graphic than Falcon and The Winter Soldier. There is one incident of very racist language, when someone reads from a HYDRA document (they're Nazis. It feels disingenuous if HYDRA aren't amazingly racist). There is one incident of mildly implied sexual content. It's barely there.
CW: Nazi rhetoric originating from the bad guys. Moderately graphic description of physical injuries. Something that looks like a panic attack feels.
Ships: This is a landlocked state. No ships
Rogers jerked awake and rolled on to his front. His 'phone was ringing next to him. He propped himself up on one elbow and picked it up. 4:50. Something had blown up. Nobody would call him at this hour otherwise.
"Rogers." He said.
"Yeah, hey." Stark sounded as groggy as Rogers felt.
"What's happening?"
"Cops called us to say there's something pretty major going down on Hart Island. They're seeing explosions from City Island, called the cops, cops called us because the explosions look too big to be a gun fight, and nobody lives there, not officially anyway."
"You think it's-?"
"You said to call you if there's any suspicion of HYDRA, and I don't have any other ideas right now."
"OK. I'm coming in. Call the others. Except Wilson. He's in Louisiana for Christmas."
"Barton's already here. See you in fifteen."
.
Agent Hill was scrambling around the front of the helicopter, checking dials. Rogers pulled his cowl on as he got close.
"Anyone got eyes of the Asset?" Romanoff asked from behind them.
"No, but if this is a HYDRA base having a fight for no reason…" Stark tailed off. Rogers nodded. They'd found maybe six HYDRA bases stripped and burned, no survivors, in the first forty days or so after SHIELD fell, then nothing for six months, then ten days ago there'd been another one, in Port Deposit, then in Lancaster a week ago.
"So we're assuming he's there." O'Malley called from behind Romanoff. She and Banner were hurrying towards the helicopter, carrying something involving two gas cylinders and a lot of tubes between them. Rogers ran back to help.
"Why two medics?" Barton asked.
"I'm not coming." Banner replied. "O'Malley's safe under fire."
"I was a SHIELD medic for six years." O'Malley said, fastening the cylinders to the side of the helicopter. "I've worked in my fair share of fire fights." Barton sniggered. "You happy with the drugs?"
"Yeah, I've done this before."
"Good. He won't go down neatly, but he will go down." O'Malley replied. Rogers nodded. He'd been the guinea pig for the drugs. They'd knocked him out, or tried to, over and over again until they found a combination that worked. It had taken days. Some drugs had just made him feel odd, one he hadn't noticed at all, one had taken more than half an hour to work, a particularly nasty one had left him awake, but unable to move.
"Ready?" Stark asked. Nobody objected. "OK, command passes to Cap, off we go."
.
Even from the helicopter, the scale of the fight was clear. Flashes of light lit the skeletal forms of the buildings. A few things were on fire.
"Stark, drop Barton on that roof there, quietly, get a thermal scan, let's see how many people are in this. Hill, get back to a safe drop distance and put me and Romanoff down. O'Malley, stay here until we know we need you, and Hill, no heroics, keep this thing fit to fly."
"Yessir."
"Right Katniss, come on." Stark grabbed Barton by the harness, which he wore for exactly that reason, and flew out in to the night. Hill peeled away northeastwards, away from most of the sound and light. A couple of shots rattled off the underside of the helicopter, but HYDRA must have been too engaged in their own fight to make any serious attempt to bring them down. "Hey," Stark's voice crackled through the radio. "Jarvis has found their radio frequency. 20.6 MHz. Eavesdrop?"
"Yes." A pause.
"OK, they've seen us, they're less worried about us than whatever was attacking them already for the moment." So they were fighting something other than themselves, only one thing. Rogers felt his heart quicken. Bucky?
"How's it coming with the count?"
"Question, how cold can a person be and be alive? There's a dozen people prone."
Hill brought the aircraft down. Rogers jumped out and started running, Romanoff just behind him.
"Once you're below 90, you're in serious trouble. Once you're below, 80, you're probably dead, or Captain America."
"There's about twenty I can clearly see standing and normal temperature, probably the same again prone, not moving much, some of them cold. Mostly not 80-cold, but cold."
"Newly dead?" O'Malley suggested.
"What I can see looks like a defensive line just outside the main building, probably more under me, trading fire with a smaller number of aggressors." Barton said. "I have clear shots at the defenders. I can't see – no, scratch that. Smoke grenade, they flushed him. Metal arm." Rogers stopped dead. Romanoff nearly ran in to him.
"Barton,"
"Yes, I'm sure. It's him. Do I shoot him or HYDRA?"
"HYDRA until we know he won't come quietly." They had him. After all these months, they had him. Part of Rogers doubted that after this long, Bucky would have enough sense in his head to just come in, but Rogers had to give him the chance.
They went more carefully now, they were in reasonable killing range.
"They're falling back." Stark said over coms. "They've realised they're being killed from both sides, they're pulling back into the building, and they've gone to an oscillating frequency."
"The Soldier isn't chasing them up." Barton added. "Their suppressing fire's too good. Tell me when you want the mounted guns dead, and when you want me to shoot him." Romanoff and Rogers reached the first lines of cover and dropped behind it.
"Where is he?"
"On your left, forward fifteen yards." Rogers stayed where he was for a second, spotting where he could next run for cover, then vaulted, shield over his head. Bucky was there, crouching in cover, coming up every few seconds to fire. He looked round. He stared at Rogers as Rogers landed in cover. He didn't look angry, he didn't look happy, he looked… somewhere between scared and concentrating, and not on the HYDRA bullets flying overhead.
"Bucky." He held out a hand to him. Bucky tensed, but didn't attack, or back away. "Bucky you know me. This isn't you, this isn't right. Your name is James Buchannan Barnes. You were born in Brooklyn, 1916. You know there's more to you than this. You saved my life. You were sent to kill me and you saved my life." Bucky wrenched his head up as though out of someone's grip and vaulted cover, charging forward again, towards the HYDRA soldiers. Rogers hissed and turned round to follow him. His foot slid on something. A body, still warm, two neat bullet holes in its chest. He ran out after Bucky. Between that metal arm and the pistols in his hands, shooting, throwing, breaking necks… Rogers caught up and took the other side. These poor goons never had a hope.