~*~FINDING~*~
Day 2, 6am- New York
The call came as the light of dawn began to stretch across the sky. Brilliant shades of pink and orange grew brighter and the songs of early morning gained strength. The playful melody of Steve Rogers' ringtone halted his run around the new Avengers' compound. He could still feel the icy claws of his most recent nightmare despite his early start.
After a quick glance at the caller id- number unknown- Steve answered.
"Hello?" he asked, his voice joining the soft music of the waking day.
"Steve…" a weak voice answered, hoarse from little use.
"Buck? What-"
"Latitude, 42.380133. Longitude, -83.028633. Second floor. Don't know how much longer-"
"I'm on my way, Buck. Just hold on."
"Hurr-" the call dropped.
He quickly tried to redial, only -
"This is Thomas Beck; please a message after the beep."
Steve ended the call with a surprised frown.
Thomas Beck? He silently wondered how Bucky had gotten the phone and pulled up the internet on his own phone to search the coordinates before dashing back to the base.
There was no time to waste.
Day 2, 6:15am
Little was known about Steve's search for the Winter Soldier. The Soldier's real identity was still hidden in shadows while his part in Hydra's crimes was not. There were many who wanted to hold the assassin responsible. But the manhunt for the Soldier was mostly scattered attempts that only had reports that he was a sniper with a metal arm.
Steve walked calmly and directly to his quarters; along the way he grabbed water, food, a med pack here, and other things he might need there. He folded them away in his gym duffle.
He nodded his hellos, acted as normal as possible. No need to raise attention to an unplanned trip. No need for curious eyes to follow him. He would talk to Natasha before he left. She would understand.
Day 2, 6:45am
He found Natasha warming up in the gym. She must have sensed his unease since she frowned slightly and paused in her stretches.
"Rogers?" a mix of a greeting and a question. Calm, collected, curious. A few other agents were in the gym as well, some exercising, some practice fighting. But they pay no mind to the senior Avengers, this was a normal occurrence.
"He called. He needs me. I'm heading out after I pack the bike. Cover for me?" he kept his voice low and his posture relaxed.
"Of course but are you sure this isn't a trap?"
Steve sighed, "No."
He leaned back against the mirror, looking down at his feet. "This is the first time he's reached out and I can't do nothing."
Natasha joined his side, facing him with her arm resting on the rail along the mirror wall.
"And after you help him?" she asked after a moment.
Steve looked over at her, meeting her eyes.
"Offer my support even if it means I come back alone."
Day 2, 7am
It was much later that Natasha could be found atop the roof. She watched as the roar of his motorcycle faded into the distance. They had decided that if he was missed by anyone, the story would be that the Captain was checking out the recent incident in San Francisco even though that duty had been assigned to Sharon Carter.
"Удачи, Rogers." Good luck.
Day 2, 7:30am
He barely stopped as he travelled from upstate New York. His path long and winding, just another traveler headed west. He was barely able to keep to the speed limits, silently wishing he could've gotten a plane ride instead. But this would have to make do.
It was just before noon when he started to skirt around the southern end of Lake Erie.
"Almost there, Bucky," he murmured but his words were lost to the wind.
Day 2, 4pm
Steve hid his bike between the thickest vegetation and the abandoned building that the coordinates had directed him to.
The building was a multi-part structure. Walls that weren't covered with graffiti were covered in moss. It was a long place, taking up a few blocks. Walking bridges were still in place over a couple of roads. It had a multitude of shattered windows and frankly it didn't look like it would stay structurally sound in a few months' time. The fact that the roof was still there was a wonder in itself.
There wasn't even a fence to bypass. Finding armored cars with tinted windshields close by was troubling. They were hidden and recently abandoned, tracks in the mud fresh, untouched by vandals, even the keys still in the ignition of one even though the building hadn't been used in decades.
The concealed shield on his back comforted him as he quietly reached the second floor via a very rusty fire escape. He paused to listen every once in a while for the owners of the deserted cars. He could faintly smell the stench of death but who knew if it was just a dead animal or human. He bit his lip in worry for Bucky but travelled on. He was careful not to step in any broken glass and the litter that nearly covered every inch of the ground. It made for slow going but at least the element of surprise would stay on his side.
As he neared the exact point of the coordinates, he could hear ragged breathing and the faint scraping sound of machinery.
Someone was here, maybe Bucky?
He paused to slip the shield out of its cover. The weight of the hidden gun became more pronounced against his lower back. Just in case.
As he crept closer, the breathing quieted. So soft, it was barely a whisper.
Across the room and around a wall, Steve was met with a graphic sight.
Dead men littered the room like discarded ragdolls. The odor of mold, litter, and earth didn't do much to cover the smell of them. He looked for anyone that could be Bucky first before he faintly wondered if one of them was a Thomas Beck. The cool nights of spring may have helped some.
It could easily be said that they had been dead for a few days.
His eyes were drawn to the Hydra insignia upon their armbands.
Ready to use the shield at a moment's notice and his boots sending spent brass rounds clinking against broken glass, Steve weaved his way around the bodies to a small adjacent room where the breathing had become ragged and frantic. The scraping of metal was loud and piercing.
"Bucky?" he chanced calling out, forgoing the last of his stealth.
The noise stilled before…
"Steve?" it was so weak yet full of relief.
A spark of hope glittered within him as Steve quickened his pace.
And then there Bucky was with dried blood caked on his face, his metal arm was trapped in some kind of vise, and looking so worn out and exhausted.
He was half on his knees and half standing due to his trapped limb. He looked like he could pass out any minute. In his right hand was a silver revolver. It was held loose in his fingers until Steve tried to rush to his old friend's side. Three more bodies were toppled near him.
Steve stopped a couple feet away when Bucky wildly raised the gun at him. When Steve gently placed his shield and duffle bag full of supplies on the floor and raised his hands in surrender, Bucky removed his finger from the trigger and lowered it to point it at the ground.
The hard glare from the trapped man was unnerving.
Steve carefully disarmed his own handgun and set it by the shield before he walked forward and picked up an old wooden crate and placed it by Bucky for the trapped man to sit on. Wary, like a cautious injured animal, Bucky allowed it while he watched with a great intensity.
While he kept an eye on Bucky, Steve inspected the trapped limb and the machine that held it. The arm was dented and it creaked when it was moved. Some of the metal panels were cracked, missing, or chipped. It was marred with black and scratches but luckily it must be rust resistant despite its poor condition.
"Oh Buck," he murmured under his breath, shaking his head. He faced his old friend and shifted the bag closer to them.
"I didn't know what to bring… I have a first aid kit, some food and wat-."
Bucky suddenly dove towards the duffle bag after abruptly dropping the revolver, only to groan at the jarring of his arm. The angle prevented him from grabbing the bag.
Steve leaped back before moving forward again, worried.
"Easy Buck, until we can get you out of that thing, you're going need to be careful, okay?"
Bucky nodded weakly, winded, as Steve offered him an opened bottle of water.
As Bucky sipped at the water greedily, Steve picked up the discarded revolver, a Smith and Wesson 9mm, and checked the action of the handgun only to find it empty of any ammunition. He set it to the side and dug in his bag for some food. He produced a couple protein bars, a bit of fruit, and two MREs. He put them within easy reach so he could start with the first-aid.
"Are you hurt?" Steve asked as Bucky begun devouring the food.
The trapped man paused mid-chew and looked from the arm to the super soldier before he shook his head, waving his long brown locks as he did.
"Buck, you have blood on your face, you sure you're not hurt?"
"I'll live, Rogers," Bucky gruffed out, "most of it isn't mine." He finished with a meaningful look at the bodies out in the other room.
"Does that hurt?" Steve asked, eyeing the trapped prosthetic arm.
Bucky looked from the man before him to the metal arm. The fingers curled for a moment, creaking and shrieking in protest at the movement.
"Some," he answered before he finished the protein bars, no crumbs to be spared.
"Is there any more of Hydra around?"
"Tomorrow night."
Steve cursed under his breath and set the bag beside Bucky. He started to pull at the clamps, but the angle was bad and Steve couldn't get enough leverage to free the arm without getting in Bucky's space.
When Steve tried to use the shield to pry open the vise, the pain had Bucky screaming. And when he pulled the shield free again, the clamps dug deeper.
Destroying the vise was out of the question, the vibrations set off sensors in the arm and those sensors were somehow connected to Bucky's nervous system. Plus Steve could tell Bucky had already tried that with the pieces of the vise lying around him.
So much time was wasted on failed attempts to free Bucky. Steve was narrowly focused on his task to help his friend, only becoming more and more frustrated as hours ticked by.