TW: descriptions of torture aftermath, body fluids
AN: This is a prequel to the story Infallible (or not). Both can be read separately.
It takes five days to find Steve.
Bucky's nightmare begins when Steve doesn't respond to the scheduled check-in over the radio.
He and the rest of the Howling Commandos are out scouting an allegedly abandoned Hydra base in the depths of the Italian mountain side. Command had reported no internal activity for several weeks and their job is to confirm if it's actually abandoned and see if anything useful had been left behind.
It should have been an easy mission.
Bucky takes up a position outside the bunker, his rifle ready as he scans the treeline, guarding Steve and the others as they head inside. The base itself cozies up to a rocky mountain face on the right side, while the front and back of the base are open to dense forest. The ground is frozen—although free of snow, and his breath blows out in puffs of steam as he tries to ignore the cold November air.
He is good at focusing away from bodily discomforts. It is part of what makes him such a good sniper. He is good at tuning out the slow numbing of his toes and the way the chilly air tugs at the tips of his ears and tries to worm its way under the collar of his jacket. His eyes stay pinned on the dark trees and rocky mountain cliffs, scanning for any signs of life as he reaches for his radio.
"Status report, over," he calls, his voice loud in the stillness of the mountainside.
One by one the Commandos report back.
"All clear, over," Jones reports, and Bucky waits as he gets similar reports from the entire group…everyone but one. A conspicuous silence hangs in the air and his lips press together. He ignores the sharp twinge of fear he feels as he lifts the radio again.
"Captain, respond, over."
He waits, refusing to panic, no matter the cold sweat that makes his hands clammy in his gloves as he waits for Steve's voice to crackle through the speaker. The seconds beat like drums in his head and he sucks in another breath of cold air before he repeats himself.
"Captain. Respond, over."
Nothing.
He grits his teeth and clamps down on the surge of alarm that tries to claw its way up his throat. He needs to remain steady and level-headed. This is no time to lose his cool. He widens his stance and scans his surroundings again as he changes tactics.
"Anyone have eyes on Cap, over?"
The short answer is no, Steve isn't with anyone. "We split off," Morita reports. "I went left with Dernier and he went to scout the back, over."
Bucky breathes in, the cold air burning his lungs. He isn't surprised the group had split up. Steve had probably had everyone pair up except he hadn't had somebody to watch his back because Bucky had stayed outside. He closes his eyes and breathes out through his nose.
"Regroup," he orders, his fingers clenched around his radio. "Pull back to me, over."
It doesn't take long for the Commandos to regroup at the front of the base. Once they're together again and one hundred percent down one person Bucky divides them up so they can search for Steve.
"Falsworth and Dernier, stay out front and make sure no one can sneak up on us," he decides, setting his shoulders and trying not to let on how his heart flutters anxiously and his hands feel stiff around his gun. "Jones, Morita and I'll go and sweep the back rooms, see if we can find 'em."
The others nod, their expressions grim and solemn.
Bucky breathes in, his body on high alert as they head inside. As far as he can tell, his senses are not quite as amplified as Steve's (something he is eternally grateful for), but he strains them to their limit now. The base remains completely silent around them, only the dull buzzing of electric lights reaching his ears. The yellow lights of the ceiling cast unpleasant shadows on the walls. Bucky creeps forward cautiously with his team, his gun up as he scans for any movement.
They get to the junction where Morita had last seen Steve and continue onwards. There isn't much inside the base. It looks as though most of it had been cleared out when Hydra had abandoned ship, but the emptiness does nothing to settle his nerves. He knows all too well the horrors Hydra bases can hide and something had happened to Steve. He isn't sure he wants to find out what it is.
He lets out a breath and slowly reaches for his radio. "Cap, come in, over."
The radio call should be redundant at this point. If Steve were going to respond then he would have by now. But he has to check anyway. He doesn't expect anything, which is why his blood runs cold when he hears static crackle down the hall, the sound of his own voice echoing back at them.
Steve's radio. He'd just heard Steve's radio.
It is only his army training that keeps him from rushing in like an overexcited recruit. He can't afford to run around like a chicken with its head cut off. He needs to be calm. He needs to be careful. Something had happened to Steve and if he isn't careful, he could run headlong into the very same problem.
He swallows dryly and looks back to where Morita and Jones are waiting, watching his back. They'd heard the radio too and Morita gives him a sharp nod as Bucky motions for them to proceed with caution.
They ease forward. Near the end of the hall, a metal door stands open. The hall turns and continues left, but several of the lights are broken, leaving the hallway in darkness. Light spills out from the room itself, contrasting bright and sharp against the encroaching darkness. Bucky creeps forward, his boots silent on the metal floor as he listens for any sign of hostiles.
Steve's radio had come from that room but he doesn't hear anything else. All at once, part of him wishes his ears were enhanced enough to be able to hear Steve's heartbeat or breathing. That level of hearing had always seemed insane to him whenever Steve talked about it but right now he wouldn't mind a heads up for what he might find in the room.
As it turns out, he finds nothing.
Well, almost nothing. What he finds is worse than nothing actually.
They duck into the room, their shoulders tense as they sweep for enemy soldiers. Instead, they find no one. The room is practically empty.
The whole back wall is blank and eerily featureless. Everything had been pushed off to the side. An old rolling medical table sits by the far wall (which Bucky tries to ignore), and an empty desk and chair stand kitty-corner to it. A filing cabinet sits next to it, the top two drawers half-open to reveal nothing but dust and mouse droppings inside.
Jones steps forward to make sure no one is crouched behind the filing cabinet and he stops, his eyes trained on the floor. Bucky opens his mouth to ask what had stopped him but his words die in his throat as he sees him crouch down.
Next to the filing cabinet, almost hidden in the shadows, is Steve's radio.
Bucky's mouth goes dry, his body completely motionless as Jones' eyes flick up from the radio to his. "He must've been checking the cabinet," he says, voice hushed.
On the other side of him, Morita shifts nervously, his eyes darting around the room. "Yeah, but where's he now?"
Bucky bites his lip and marches to where Jones is standing, turning and trying to imagine himself as Steve. He'd been here, checking the cabinet, and something had happened to make him drop his radio—and disappear without a trace.
As he turns, his eye catches on an uneven patch on the wall behind him. His brow pulls together, and he walks closer. The wall is dented, the metal catching and reflecting the light. He runs his fingers over the curving horizontal line, and his head turns instinctively to the wall by the doorway. There, right next to Morita, is a matching dent.
"His shield," he breathes, the realisation running cold through him. "He threw his shield in here. Something came up behind him."
Except the shield isn't here. And neither is Steve. Something had snuck up on him, but Bucky knows no one had gotten past him into the base. Morita's eyes glance between the twin dents, coming to the same conclusion.
"We didn't hear it," he says, his hands tightening on his gun. "We must'a been too far away, and it must've been quick. We didn't hear anything."
Bucky's eyes jump to the abandoned radio still in Jones' hand. He can almost see the scene in his head. Steve had been caught off guard somehow and between throwing his shield and reaching for his radio to call for backup, he had been taken down.
But Morita's question still stands. Where is he now? Someone had taken Steve. That is clear. But how had they gotten him out without Bucky seeing them? Are they still in the base somewhere?
Just as Bucky is contemplating ordering them to sweep the base again, his ears pick up the faint sound of whistling wind. His head whips around and he stares at the wall next to him. The blank, conspicuously empty wall.
It is made up of several metal sections, the seams riveted from floor to ceiling. At first glance, he had assumed that was all it was, but now he steps closer, his heart pounding as he runs his hand along the seams.
Why would Hydra leave this wall completely featureless? Why is nothing leaning against this wall at all? No shelves or desks or anything.
His hand trails over the rivets and his fingers catch on a hidden release. He lets out a startled curse and jerks back as a whole section of the wall pushes outwards with hardly a sound. Cold wind beats at his cheeks and he stares with a sinking heart at the looming treeline outdoors.
"Convenient," he hears Jones mutter as he comes up behind him. "A secret exit. Must make transporting their 'patients' easier."
Bucky knows that Jones is probably referring to the disturbing medical bed that is still off to the side but he can't help thinking that Steve is probably one of those patients now. Hydra had snatched him right out from under their nose, and he hadn't been able to do anything about it.
As he is busy trying to shake off the thought, Falsworth calls in for a routine check-in. Bucky fills them in and he can hear the worry in Monty's voice as he responds.
"They can't have gotten far," he says, not quite able to cover the desperation in his voice. "They might still be nearby, see what you can find, over."
"Roger that, over," Bucky replies grimly, his eyes turning to the forest surrounding the base.
What they find is not promising.
"Tire tracks," he reports dejectedly, his eyes sweeping over the tell-tale marks in the half-frozen dirt. He follows the projected path, his stomach tangling into knots. "With the head start they have…they'll be in enemy territory before we can catch 'em."
Jones steps up and clasps his shoulders, his gaze solemn. "We have to report this in," he says, his fingers squeezing his shoulder. "We'll find him, Barnes, but we'll need backup."
Bucky grits his teeth, and his hands tighten around his gun.
A yell of frustration builds up in his throat but he doesn't argue. As much as everything in him is screaming to go and rescue Steve—as much as the very thought of Hydra getting their hands on Steve makes his skin crawl—he knows going in blindly won't help anything. They don't even know where Steve is right now. They need to find him first, and then they will get him back.
They have to.
oOo
Command is not pleased.
They get pulled back to base camp to start planning and tension sits heavy in the air as Bucky listens to the discussions around Steve's rescue. Colonel Phillips is on their side, but some of the people he reports to are more skeptical of success.
"He has to still be alive," Bucky argues, hunched over Morita's radio as he reports back to London.
It had already taken several hours to get back to base camp and explain what had happened and his patience is wearing thin. The longer they take to come up with a strategy the longer Steve is in Hydra's hands.
"The whole operation was most likely a trap," he continues. "They didn't try to engage with the rest of us and they only took Steve. If they wanted to kill him, they would have done it then. Takin' him alive would be more complicated and risky."
"But you weren't able to track him, correct Sergeant?."
Bucky grips the radio receiver and he jerks his hand through his hair, frustrated by the cold, clinical dissection of events. "We suspect he was taken into occupied territory," he spells out, working his jaw as he mentally pulls up a map of Italy.
The abandoned Hydra base had only just recently fallen into Allied hands. The occupied border is only a few miles away.
"The longer we wait the harder it will be to find him," he continues doggedly. "Right now we have a radius of potential activity. We know where they were, and we know how much time they've had to move. We just need to find out where they went."
There is an ominous silence over the radio before a reply crackles through. "We'll see what Intelligence finds."
It takes a day before the Intelligence division picks up the increased activity and radio chatter at a base a few miles away from where Steve had been captured. It takes another day and a half before the code breakers confirm what they suspect to be coded references to a super soldier prisoner.
Bucky spends the whole time anxious and on edge and finally finding Steve isn't the end of it. Now they have to plan the assault.
Bucky knows they can't go rushing in without a plan. He knows this, but he barely manages to keep his temper and patience as he sits shivering in base camp, going over maps with Colonel Phillips and waiting for recon reports.
By the end of the fourth day, they have a working plan. By then he is practically biting at the bit. Logically he knows that he should be grateful with how fast this is going. Objectively, they are extremely lucky. They have a lead on Steve in less than a week. They have a plan. If it gets approved they could be rescuing Steve as soon as tomorrow night.
It is all unimaginably fast, and yet, it is nowhere near fast enough.
He can't forget the prison cell he had spent three miserable weeks in at Azzano. He only has hazy memories of the later stages but he remembers the freezing cement and the endless days of waiting and not knowing, and then the worse days when Zola moved on from the prisoner who had expired before him.
He remembers the pain and the confusion and the fear and the overwhelming terror at the thought that this was it. He was never making it out. He would be stuck in the cycle of pain and horror until he died or became whatever gruesome project Zola was trying to create.
And then Steve had come and pulled him off that frozen table and dragged him through the fires and pulled him back into life again.
He can do the same thing for Steve. He has to. He cannot live with the idea of Steve in Hydra's hands. He feels sick to his stomach at the very thought. The longer it takes to get to him the worse it gets and the harder it is to sleep at night. He can feel the tension in the air with the Commandos as they sit with their meals and wait.
The approval comes through, and the plan is set to move forward the next day. The knowledge comes with no relief. He can see it in the Commandos' faces. This is only the beginning, they still have to get to Steve. He's still trapped by Hydra while they do who knows what to him.
Bucky drags a hand through his hair and forces himself to lay down in his tent. It's cold, and he sees the dingy ceiling of Zola's lab when he closes his eyes, but he sleeps anyway. He owes it to Steve.
oOo
They move out with Phillips' unit at the break of dawn.
They are lucky Steve isn't too far behind enemy lines. Phillips had already been planning an advance into this area before Steve had been captured and the base itself had already been on their radar.
The proximity is a blessing but it makes Bucky nervous. Hydra must have known they wouldn't have long with Steve. He doesn't want to imagine what that time limit had meant for Steve.
The covert nature of the Commandos' participation in this mission cannot be understated. Dum Dum drives them out in a covered truck, giving their allies no chance of catching a glimpse of them without their Captain. Nobody but Phillips knows the true reason for this attack. Command hadn't wanted it getting out that Captain America had been captured.
"That means it will be on you to get your man out," Phillips had told them, weary lines of worry on his face. "My boys will clear the way but they can't know what they're looking for."
Philips' troops start the attack and the Commandos hang back long enough that their entrance will go almost unnoticed—by enemy and ally alike. They split up to search quicker, shooting down any Hydra agents they come across. Most of the defence is concentrated on Phillips' attack, but Bucky neutralises several fleeing men holding stacks of paper and dressed in white lab coats.
The implications make him sick to his stomach.
Bucky can smell the nauseating familiar stench of sweat, blood, and excrement before he even gets to the room. He follows his nose to a gaping doorway, trepidation building in his chest.
The sound of gunfire is distant as he steps in, the rest of the battle feeling far away in the startling silence inside. The whitewashed cement walls press down on him and the dim grey light from the windows high in the ceiling give everything a washed out look.
He remains on edge, forcing himself to scan the room properly before he rushes inside. There are no Hydra soldiers in the room. Their attack had probably taken care of that. Instead, he sees two or three metal tables filling the space, their surfaces littered with test tubes, trays, and notepads.
One table has Steve's shield on it. A thin, dusty shaft of light from the bunker windows strikes it, the red and blue metal glinting at him. He can see wires and nodes stuck to it but he barely pays it any mind because there, on another table at the back of the room, is Steve.
Desperation, fear, and hope war in his chest and he pushes into the room, keeping his gun half-raised as he darts to the back table. As he nears, it becomes clear what they did to Steve and his steps falter.
The room had given him enough clues. He knew what to expect but he still freezes in shock when he sees the state he's in.
Steve is completely naked on the table, his eyes glazed and feverish. A metal IV pole with a clear plastic bag stands next to the table and a tube leads from it to Steve's nose. It is taped down—not that Steve could pull his head away if he wanted to.
Nearly every inch of his body is strapped down. Logically, Bucky knows that Hydra needed to pin Steve down to counteract his super strength, but there is even a strap around his neck and forehead. The straps look like they were spaced premeditatedly so that it would be impossible for Steve to get any leverage to pull against.
He had tried to pull anyway, that much is clear. Red sores peek out from under the multitude of straps and the leather is crusted with dried blood. That isn't the worst of it though. Not even close.
The rest of Steve is a bloody mess. It is so much that Bucky can barely take it in. Everywhere he looks there's a new injury. His legs and arms are mottled with bleeding burns. The ones on his legs grow steadily in size, going up one leg before starting again on the other. The burns are angry red and raw looking, his flesh blistered and black in places.
His arms aren't much better. The burns are different there, as if something else had been used to make them. His upper and lower arms are littered with worsening, irritated marks, the skin blistery and dry.
Bucky's eyes trail from his arms to his chest and his stomach clenches with nausea.
Steve's upper chest is occupied by four electric nodes spaced evenly apart. The wires trail down from his chest to a machine on a nearby table, the smell of electricity and burnt hair leaving little guessing room as to what it had been used for.
His abdomen hadn't been spared either. There too a twisted clinical torture had been preformed.
Fiery red cuts cover the expanse of his stomach, each cut larger than the last. The smallest cut starts at his sternum, while the largest cut spans the entire distance between his boney hip bones. The cuts aren't deep and most of them are scabbed over, but Bucky can see the traces of dried blood flaking off of Steve's skin and the table.
Bucky gags and forces himself to step closer.
There is more, but he doesn't have time to keep staring. He needs to get Steve out of here before reinforcements arrive. They don't have a lot of time.
He drags in a breath, trying to ignore the stench of five days of torture while reaching for his radio. "I found him," he rasps, his eyes trained on Steve's half-lidded bleary expression. He rattles off the location and Dernier reassures him he will be there soon.
Bucky grits his teeth as he puts his radio away and prepares himself for the task of freeing Steve from the table.
He isn't sure if Steve is aware or not since he has yet to react to his presence at all. His expression remains eerily empty, his dropping gaze trained somewhere near the ceiling.
Bucky bites his lip and moves to stand by his shoulder. "Steve," he calls quietly, pushing back his own memories of his experience on the other side of this as he reaches for the first node on Steve's chest.
Steve's eyes jerk wide open the second his fingers touch his chest and his entire body seizes, his breath stuttering painfully. His eyes dart around blindly and his wrists yank fruitlessly at his cuffs. He coughs as the strap around his neck strangles him and he goes limp on the table, panting raggedly before he manages to stutter a few words.
"Steve— Steven Rogers, Captain. Four...six... two, three, six, two."
Bucky's blood runs cold and his hand goes rigid.
He knows what that is. He knows exactly what that is. For a split second he is back in Azzano, strapped to a table, freezing cold and in pain, nothing to hold onto but the words and numbers because they don't even want any information, all they want is to poke him with needles and—
Steve's terrified voice brings him back and he shakes away the images. "Steve," he gasps, trying to break through. "Steve, it's okay, it's me."
Steve doesn't hear him, his eyes distant and unfocused as he stares up at the ceiling. His hands tremble as he continues to recite his name, rank, and number. His breath hitches, groups of muscles twitching uncontrollably in his shoulder.
Bucky swallows uneasily and grits his teeth, getting to work tugging the nodes off his chest. Each wire leaves behind a small red circle of burned skin and he winces as Steve's words cut off in a muffled whimper.
"It's okay," he rambles, pointless comforting phrases falling from his mouth as he pats his pockets for his knife.
The straps are buckled down but he doesn't want to waste time trying to fiddle with them. Instead he steels himself and begins cutting away the straps keeping Steve to the table. "You're alright, we'll get'chou out of here."
He starts with the straps on Steve's shoulders before working his way down one arm. He has to move Steve's left hand to get a better angle and Steve clenches his fist, his breath heaving and his hand shaking as he flinches away from him.
Bucky tries to ignore the bloody nail bed that is all that is left of his thumb nail.
His right hand isn't any better. They hadn't torn out any nails but his pinky and ring finger are crooked and swollen purple. He cringes as Steve tries to pull away from him, his broken fingers twitching painfully as his breath stutters.
"Steven— Rogers," he gasps, his voice hoarse. "Cap– Captain. Steven Rogers, Captain. Four, six, two, three, six, two."
Steve's head jerks spastically and Bucky forgoes the strap on his hips for the ones on his head and neck. He uses his fingers to tug on the buckles, wincing as the leather pulls at the sores underneath.
"Steve," he tries again, leaning in to catch his eye. "Steve, it's me. It's me."
Miraculously, something gets through to him and Steve's hazy gaze focuses on him. His mouth opens in shock and Bucky can see blood smeared on his teeth and chin.
"Bucky." Steve's lips are cracked and dry as he licks them, his voice desperate and unbelieving. His free hand fumbles towards him but falls short, and he gives a hacking cough, red spittle coating his tongue.
Bucky can only pray he doesn't have any internal injuries.
"Yes, it's me," he says breathlessly, shoving the distressing thought back. "We're going to get you out, Steve."
Steve doesn't respond, his eyes losing their focus and his gaze shifting to somewhere past his shoulder. Bucky bites his lip and grabs his knife again. He tries to move down to cut Steve's legs loose but Steve's breath hitches as he moves, his left hand jerking up to grab at him.
His aim is off and he misses, his fingers scrabbling at the air as he tries to find him. At first Bucky thinks he is scared of being left, but when Steve's eyes manage to find him he says something else.
"You hafta—" his eyes squeeze shut and he sucks in a breath, his voice raising with urgency. "You— you hafta… hafta destroy the results. Gotta… destroy the results."
Bile rises in Bucky's throat and he casts a quick glance around the lab. No doubt Hydra had been gathering a plethora of information on Steve and his serum. It makes sense that Steve wouldn't want them to keep it, but he has to marvel that even half out of his mind with pain, Steve had managed to remember that.
"We will," he tells him roughly, nodding determinately. "We're going to wipe out the base, don't worry."
Steve's glassy eyes don't make it clear whether he heard him or not, but he stops reaching for him, his hand falling back to the table with an exhausted thump. Bucky redoubles his efforts to cut away the remaining straps, doing his best to avoid stressing the angry burns on Steve's legs.
His skin is sticky with blood and sweat and Steve moans as a strap pulls on one of the nastier looking burns. His head thrashes weakly, his body starting to tremble. "Steven— Steven Rogers…" His voice wavers but he continues with his chant, the words intercut with gasps of pain and fear.
Bucky grimaces and tries to work faster. He gets to the straps on Steve's ankles and sees that, like with his hand, one of the toenails on Steve's big toe is missing. His stomach turns over, his hands cold. The wound looks to be a few days old, the blood brown and scabbed over.
At Azzano Zola hadn't done this sort of thing. He probably would have, but he hadn't gotten the chance to test his fake serum. If anything, he was waiting for it to heal Bucky from the spectacular beat down he'd survived prior before adding any more injuries.
Bucky doesn't want to imagine how much pain Steve must be in. The torn toenail alone would be excruciating.
The sound of distant gunfire reminds him of his time limit and he hurries to cut the last straps. He lets out a breath and steps back, wrinkling his nose at the smell of old blood and urine. He gets the feeling Hydra hadn't risked unstrapping Steve from the table for anything.
He wipes his hands on his pants and turns to Steve. He's still staring at the ceiling, his mouth moving silently as he, presumably, mouths his name and rank over and over.
Bucky's eyes trail up the tube that runs from Steve's nose to the stand by the bed and he bites the inside of his cheek. The bag is empty now, but he can't leave the line in. His hands shake as he comes closer and fumbles to check if the tube is closed off.
There shouldn't be...there shouldn't be anything sharp on the other end, right? His eyes drop to Steve's nose and the tube he can imagine going down to his stomach. He should just be able to pull it out, right?
An explosion shakes the ceiling and that makes his decision. He doesn't have time for doubt. He presses his lips into a grim line and reaches for Steve's shoulder, avoiding the flaking burn on his bicep.
"Steve, I gotta pull this out." He tugs at the tape on Steve's cheek and unsurprisingly, Steve flinches. His entire body jerks, but his hands don't come up more than a few inches off the table. A low moan catches in his throat and his mouth clamps shut, air rushing through his nose as he squeezes his eyes closed.
Bucky grimaces, trying to be careful but quick as he pulls at the tube. It is longer than he anticipated and he has to use his other hand to pull the end out. Steve gags, his head twitching to the side. He doesn't start up with his chant, but his neck flexes as he cringes away, his chest heaving.
At last, the tube comes free and Bucky brushes hastily at Steve's nose with his sleeve to catch the mucus that follows. Steve whines, his eyes cloudy as he tries to pull away. His breaths are rapid and shallow and when his mouth opens, Bucky knows he only has a few seconds to get a word in.
"Steve," he tries, touching his cheekbone gently with his fingertips. He has to be careful of the bruising on Steve's chin. He leans forward, trying to catch Steve's eyes as they dart around. "Steve, we're getting out. Can you stand?"
Steve pants open-mouthed, a confused light in his eyes. His hand reaches for the closest thing it can grab, which happens to be Bucky's belt. Steve winces as his bloody thumb catches on his suit but he clings with dogged determination, dragging his eyes up to him.
"The results," he gasps, blinking hard. "Gotta get the results. Hafta— hafta destroy—"
"I know," Bucky cuts in, his ears primed for the sounds of fighting outside. "We will. But we gotta go now."
A noise at the door makes him whirl around, his heart in his throat as he reaches for his gun. A familiar face and uniform makes him breathe out in relief. Dernier stands breathing heavily in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room as he searches for Steve.
"You got 'im?" he asks, his french accent colouring his words as he steps closer.
Bucky nods quickly, gesturing at Steve. "Help me get him up, we gotta get out of here."
Dernier's face pales and he lets out a litany of french curses as he catches sight of Steve. "Diables! What did they do?"
Bucky just shakes his head, his throat bobbing as he swallows against nausea. Dernier comes forward, his face grey as he scans Steve.
"Help me with him," Bucky orders tightly before Dernier can get lost in the horror of it.
Steve flinches away as they reach for him, his skin cold and his eyes wild as he chokes on a breath. Platitudes tumble out of Bucky's mouth as he and Dernier drag him to a sitting position, fully aware of how much pain this must be causing him. Steve makes a strangled grunt and Dernier's lips form a thin line, stress clear in his eyes as Steve sways between them.
A high keen leaves Steve lips and his hand jerks up to white-knuckle Bucky's sleeve, his feverish gaze landing on him. He pants heavily, his lips trembling as he tries to catch his breath. "The results—" he gasps, and Bucky nods sharply.
"Radio someone," he orders Dernier, slinging Steve's arm over his shoulders. "Tell 'em to blow this room—the whole base if we can. I don't want anything to survive."
Dernier nods determinedly, his eyes hard as he reaches for his radio. "You got 'im?" he asks roughly, his eyes on Steve's slumping form.
Bucky nods firmly, giving Dernier leave to take point and scout their exit. He can hear him rattle off their location and his orders into the radio but he focuses his attention on Steve.
Steve's feet dangle off the table, his limbs limp and his eyes distant as he leans heavily against his side. The smell of blood and filth is stronger now and Bucky can see that, while his back hadn't been subject to the same methodical torture as his front had been, it still hadn't been spared.
Bedsores and abrasions ooze painfully along his shoulder blades and hipbones. A line of red sores follows his spine, the sharp bones more prominent than before. There is a painful looking rash on his buttocks. Even the backs of his heels are reddened and irritated after days of straining against a metal bed.
He grinds his teeth and wraps his arm around Steve's waist, accepting the inevitability of pressing against some sort of wound. Steve shudders against him, his breaths ragged and strained as he tenses. The arm slung over Bucky's shoulder spasms and Steve's bloody thumb smeers against his jacket as he clutches at his sleeve.
Bucky sucks in a faint breath before bracing himself and tugging Steve off the table.
Steve's knees give out immediately and Bucky grunts as he is forced to take his weight. Steve chokes on a cry, his breath harsh as he sways. It is all Bucky can do to keep him from falling on his face, his heart pounding heavily as he tries to keep Steve up.
"C'mon," he grunts, his knuckles white around Steve's wrist on his shoulder. "C'mon Stevie. I can't carry you. You gotta get up."
Steve lets out a low, animal noise, his legs shaking as he straightens them. His chin hooks on Bucky's shoulder, his foul breath gasping against his neck in shaky bursts of air. His whole body leans into him and Bucky tightens his grip on his waist before dragging them forward.
Steve's feet stumble to follow him, rasping noises of pain falling from his mouth. Dernier glances back at them, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he tracks Steve's stuttered movements. Bucky hears distant shouting outside the hall and he winces as he is forced to hurry Steve along.
A tortured whine bursts from Steve's throat and his breath turned audible, a strained ah, ah, ah, that cements itself into Bucky's brain. His jaw aches with how tight he holds it, trying to steady himself.
He and Steve manage a few more steps before he spies his shield still laying on a table. He is loath to leave it for Hydra after everything they've done, but he doesn't dare let up on his hold of Steve.
"Dernier," he calls instead, nodding towards the shield.
Dernier understands instantly, his eyes brightening with sharp determination as he comes back for the shield. He has to yank off the wires that had been attached for whatever experiment Hydra had been running and the iconic paint is left burnt and chipped, a physical reflection of its owner.
Dernier slings it onto his arm before retaking point again and guiding them out.
"Call the others," Bucky tells him as he pulls Steve along, his eyes on the doorway. "Tell 'em to get back to the truck."
Dernier relays his orders and Bucky is left to follow and pray they won't run into trouble. Steve is in absolutely no shape to defend himself and Bucky can't do much with him slung over his shoulder. If they run into enemy soldiers and Dernier gets overwhelmed, they'll be toast.
It seems fate has a better idea because their way out remains relatively clear. Most of the soldiers on this side of the base had been killed on the way in. Bucky is left to help Steve navigate around the dead bodies while Dernier picks off the few Hydra agents who do stumble across them.
Steve remains out of it for most of the trip. His eyes stay fixed on some distant point up ahead while Bucky drags him forward. His breath hitches in pain with every step and it isn't long before his stuttered chant of name, rank, and number starts up again.
Bucky bites his tongue and tries to get out of there faster.
"We're at the truck, over," Dugan announces over the radio as they reach the last hallway. "You've got about five minutes before the rest of the troops pull out and light this place up."
"Understood," Dernier replies, glancing anxiously back at them before scanning the hall again. Bucky hefts Steve higher, taking more of his weight as Steve's knees sag and his head lolls against his shoulder.
"Almost there," Bucky breathes, his eyes on Dernier as they approach the door leading outside. It is still blackened and smoking from their earlier attack and Bucky can hear the running engine of their waiting truck.
Sharp winter wind bites at them as he drags Steve out the door and Steve's litany cuts off in a whimper. He shivers violently, panting harshly into Bucky's ear. Goosebumps litter his naked skin, his teeth starting to chatter.
Bucky remembers the bone-deep chill of Zola's metal tables and he sets his sights on the truck, determined to get Steve inside. The back of the truck is open and Dernier runs ahead, scouting their surroundings before tossing Steve's shield to the waiting Morita and whipping around to help Bucky load Steve inside.
The sound of fighting is still audible from the base but Bucky can hear Gabe radioing Phillips of their success. Monty and Morita take a listless Steve off his hands and he heaves himself into the truck.
"Aller!" Dernier shouts to Dugan at the wheel as he hoists himself inside. The engine revs and the truck bed lurches, the tarp roof fluttering as Dugan guns it. Bucky lets out a breath, slumping against the canvas lining, his heart a physical pulse in his mouth.
The truck bumps over a rock as Dugan races them to freedom and a choked cry fills the truck. Bucky looks to see Morita and Monty hovering uncertainly over Steve laid out on the floor.
Steve's breaths are choppy and irregular, his eyes frantic as he tries to cower away from them despite being too weak to move.
Monty curses, his face pale with horror as he takes in Steve's weeping wounds. He glances towards Bucky, his eyes wide.
"What did they do?"
AN: I hope you guy enjoyed this first chapter!
I really enjoyed the opportunity to show more of what Steve went through during his first capture. It was also interesting getting into Bucky's head during it.
Poor Steve, he's been through a lot.