A/N: Heads up: This is a short 'n not-so-sweet thing based on the idea that Hydra had no boundaries when it came to experimenting on kids. CW for past violence against children, mentions of child death, and some gore. It's grim but Bucky does his best to make that rescue notion happen.
He finds their bodies on the fifth sublevel.
They're so far down that the walls reek of damp mildew and infection. Cold seeps through the wet concrete and settles underneath his skin with a twinge of unsettling familiarity. Through the dim lighting he can see them splayed out over the filthy tables and chairs and flooring, curled up in corners with their heads knocked back against the walls like they would have slept for a thousand hungry years if allowed. His breath hollows out in his stomach. One scrawny thing has her arms crushed beneath her like broken wings. Another has dried blood smeared beneath sagging eyelids, and it's a sick sort of gratefulness in knowing they won't open in flushed horror. Barnes closes his own eyes and retches, hard. The sound echoes and rings in his ears.
He walks, so slow, so quiet, among them. Slaughtered things, some of them delicate and withered, others packed with rotting muscle and heavy jaws. He only makes it a few steps further into the room before the true horror hits.
They are still breathing.
Rattling lungs to his left. Another's eyes snap open wide. There is wheezing through teeth and stiff necks rolling in his direction, bodies paralyzed with wounds or fear as he jumps into action. Panic has reignited in his chest, hot and sharp. He doesn't know what to do. There's only one of him, they didn't think an extraction team would be necessary.
"Steve." He chokes into his comm. "They're–Steve, I need medical."
"On its way," And Steve's voice grounds him, just a little. "How bad are you hurt?"
"Not for me," Barnes says. He's already assessing the room in earnest, now, sorting out the casualties from the living. This boy shakes from his touch and he shushes him as he braces his broken leg.
He can hear the moment it clicks. "The kids–?"
"Alive," he grunts, rolling a lifeless body off of another. Anxious fingers wait for a pulse and find none. "Some, in the northwest corner. Rest of the building should be clear."
"We'll meet you there," Steve says. "How many?"
"At least four–fuck, five. Hi," he says, to a girl who is seemingly very conscious and very aware of who he used to be. "Shit day, I know. I'm gonna tourniquet your leg now, and it's not gonna feel good. Deep breath–" She screams. "Good job. Okay. Steve?"
"ETA five minutes."
"Tell Stark I know he can go faster, this isn't one of his kitschy tourist flights to the Bahamas." He ducks his head to another concave chest to listen for an exhale.
"They're dead." The girl with the shattered arms rasps.
He slowly sits up. "I know."
"We all died."
"Okay," he says, and crouches next to her. There's not much he can do without moving her upper body.
"Are you going to kill us?"
"No."
Her eyes well up with furious tears. He's surprised her body still has enough water to do that. She must not have been down here for long.
"You should," she whispers. "Why–why won't you–why–"
He doesn't have the words, but it doesn't matter because he can hear the med team charging down the hallway.
"Incoming," he says, and she squeezes her eyes shut.
"Do it now. Please, before they take us away again."
"I can't do that, doll. They're gonna help, okay? I promise–"
"No, no, no no no–"
"I'll stay with you," he says, half in desperation as he stops her from bashing her head back against the cement floor. "They won't try anything if I'm there, okay?"
She's losing consciousness. "Because…Солдат…"
"That's me." His lips thin as he brushes his metal hand over her forehead. "Stay awake."
"Зимний Солдат…"
"Don't wear it out."
It's strange, he thinks, that this comforts her so easily. He tries not to think about the implications as the medics flood in.
Thank you for reading, and feel free to yell at me in the reviews or on tumblr authorandartist13.
