{ 10. Stab it and Grab it }

"You don't know my mind,

You don't know my kind,

Dark necessities are part of my design,

Tell the world that I'm falling from the sky,

Dark necessities are part of my design"

-'Dark Necessities', Red Hot Chili Peppers

xXxXxXx

The crew shuffled places in the vehicle, Sam taking the wheel with Tony beside him, and Steve in back struggling to explain the situation to Bucky. Steve looked very sad and nervous. They all kind of did, Bucky observed.

"Bucky," began Steve. He already felt like he'd exhausted all the air in his lungs, but he continued, "I know you've already been through a lot here. I'm really sorry about that. But, um, t-there's a tracking device in your arm," he gently took Bucky's wrist in his hand, tapping on his forearm, "and we have to take it out. It's…It's probably going to hurt."

Bucky furrowed his brow. Yes, he gathered all that from the conversation earlier. Why was Steve wasting time telling him this? He should have a scalpel in his flesh by now. Steve continued after a pause, "Are you okay with that? We don't have much of a choice, but…I don't want to do anything until you feel ready." He owed Bucky that much, he felt.

The brunet looked at his wrist for a moment, then held it out towards Steve and said, "Cut." He swallowed, lurching as if each word was a struggle, "Get it out." A frown creasing his face, Steve reluctantly nodded.

"Okay. I promise, I'll be as careful as I can. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Pal."

Bucky sat cross-legged, resting his chin on his fist. Why did Steve care so much about his pain? No one else had in the past. They cared so little, he was punished for screaming in agony until he learned not to feel anymore. Now these handlers taught him to feel again, like a person, only to deliver pain. What bullshit. What incompetence.

Finding a place to stay was a new challenge in itself. There was going to be blood and probably screaming as well. People were nosy. They liked to call the cops about things like that. So after a couple hours of driving and arguing and searching for suitable motels, it was determined that a motel was out of the question anyway and they'd just have to make it work elsewhere.

Parking was another challenge. Where to park, where they wouldn't be seen or heard, that wasn't part of someone's property? Still, nothing but flat dirt and corn and sky all around. Wilting rows of dent corn sat neglected on the sides of the road, left to rot away on its own.

That was the best they could do when Tony's phone beeped again and notified him that the signal was successfully unscrambled. S.H.I.E.L.D had some chocolates up their sleeve, apparently.

"Ready or not, it's operation time," announced Tony. "Pull over. Right here is fine." Sam shot him a doubtful look from the driver's seat.

"Here?"

"This place is abandoned, look at it. It's the best we can ask for." Tony gestured out the window towards the corn field and the decrepit barn in the distance.

The van was parked on the shoulder once more in a place that looked exactly like the place they parked two hours ago, and if Steve didn't know better he'd say Kansas was some kind of infinitely looping limbo. The crew of four gathered their makeshift supplies and took a long, terrible walk through the corn stalks.

When the sound of traffic grew faint enough, Sam laid a couple towels down on the packed earth as Steve cleaned his hands with alcohol. Bucky laid across the towels, shirt and pants removed as not to get blood on them. "Looks like we're sacrificing him to the devil or something," mentioned Tony.

"You know, you're not making this any easier…" Steve sighed and tossed the used alcohol wipes to the ground. Tony held up his hands.

"Sorry," he apologized, then looked down at Bucky and said, "Alright, Buckaroo. I know you wouldn't hit Rogers on purpose. But just in case, we're gonna hold you steady. Good to go?"

Bucky swallowed and nodded, looking up all their noses. Then Tony sat on his legs and Sam laid with his arms across Bucky's torso, one hand planted on his bicep. Steve set out his box of supplies, kneeling beside Bucky's arm. He swabbed the skin with alcohol, washing away the star-tattoo but leaving the tiny "x" Tony marked; the exact location of the tracker, according to his chip-detector.

Steve rolled up a wash rag and Bucky bit it between his teeth. Bucky didn't know why he knew to do that—it was like muscle memory from a routine he couldn't recall. Nostalgic in a sick way. Then Steve pulled on the white disposable gloves and picked up the long-bladed X-Acto knife, because they didn't know where the hell to find a scalpel and didn't have time to get it even if they did.

Deep inhale, slow exhale. Steve steadied his hand with the tool, bracing his other on Bucky's wrist. "On three, Buck. Deep breaths, okay?" Bucky's fingers twitched. He wanted to slap Steve for dragging this out like he was. And God, was he ever hesitant. Steve seemed to freeze, staring down at Bucky's arm like he was staring into a vortex. Inhale, exhale.

"Just stab it 'n grab it, Rogers!" snapped Tony. Steve shot him a filthy look, then turned back to Bucky and took one more deep breath.

"Okay. Alright. One…" He licked his lips. "Two…"

Bucky closed his eyes, sucked in a breath through his nostrils and prepared to let it out on three. An eternity passed (or at least it felt that way) and three never came. He opened his eyes and saw Steve frozen before him, knife point trembling an inch from Bucky's skin. His face flushed pale as a corpse.

"Steve—" Sam began, but Steve dropped the knife on the towel and bolted upright as he muttered,

"I can't! I can't. I just…" He let out a frustrated growl and palmed at his face with both gloved hands. "Oooh, God…" If Tony weren't sitting on his legs, Bucky would've probably kicked Steve in the shin. Why must he suffer because of this incompetence? The anticipation was worse than the incision would ever be.

Sam lifted himself off of Bucky and approached Steve, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know it's hard," he said. "I know it's the last thing you want to do, but it's the lesser of two evils. If we don't get that chip out quick, we might—"

"Woah, woah, woah! Barnes! What the fuck—no!" Tony shouted, and Sam and Steve whipped around to see him roll off of Bucky's legs as Bucky bit into his own arm like a feral animal, snarling in pain while blood gushed around his lips. If these idiots were going to jeopardize the mission, it was up to Bucky to see it through.

Steve and Sam piled on him in a flurry of limbs. Sam planted both hands on Bucky's chest and pressed him back into the dirt while Steve seized his bloody arm and pulled, but the brunet's teeth were sunk deep into the skin and muscle, ripping and tearing as he shook his head. Wherever Steve pulled his arm, Bucky's head came with it.

"Bucky, stop! Let go! Let go!" Steve begged. Bucky knew he shouldn't disobey his handler, but god damn it, Steve was so stupid. He was starting to realize that Steve probably wouldn't punish him anyway and that gave him little incentive to obey, so he jammed his tongue deep into the split flesh and felt it—a hard bit of metal against his pallet.

"Please! Don't do this! Just let go!" The blond man grunted, pressing one hand to Bucky's forehead with the other on his arm, trying to separate the two. Bucky was screaming in agony and it was all muffled against his arm, sputtering through the bloody mess. Finally, he loosened his bite and his head was shoved against the towel, blood splattering on his face and hair and all over the white fabric below.

Steve's gloves were red and glistening as he kneeled there, panting and looking at Bucky like he'd turned into a werewolf. Bucky's arm looked like it was bitten by one, skin torn away from muscle in a 4-inch gash. Christ, the blood. The stench of it.

Bucky's blood didn't smell or even look normal. It was blackish, reeked of motor oil and metal. Steve figured the components of that metal shoulder probably extended well into his torso, might have even been rigged up to his circulatory system.

Bucky lie there on his back in a daze, eyes wide, forehead beaded with sweat. His mouth was slick with blood, smeared up his nose and dribbling down his neck. No one could find words or action. Steve held Bucky's forearm in his grip like he might snap it right off his elbow, staring at his friend in disbelief.

Maybe Bucky's operation hadn't gone as smoothly as they planned, but it wasn't a failure. Bucky worked his mouth for a second, then spit out a small glob of blood and meat beside him. Steve squinted. A yellow disk was embedded into it, about the size of a dime. He glanced at Tony and panted, "Is that it?"

Stepping over Sam, Tony dropped to his knees and examined the disc with his eyes for a moment, then he plucked the chip-detector out of his back pocket and passed it over the glob. It beeped, rapid and shrill. "That's it," he smirked, tucking the device away. He clapped his hands together and stood over Bucky. "Well done, Sergeant! Two for precision, but I'll give you a ten for determination."

xXxXxXx

Steve was a coward and this was all his fault.

That's what he told himself as he cleaned and dressed Bucky's wound with gauze. He could have spared his friend all this trauma if he just followed through, stabbed in and pried out on three like he was supposed to. If it were anyone else lying there, he wouldn't have thought twice.

But it was Bucky. The big jerk, his best friend, his brother from the past. He couldn't just jam a crappy blade in him willy-nilly! Not after all he's been through already. Steve was ashamed of himself. Utterly disgusted with his cowardice. How could he even call himself a hero?

Sam was at the wheel, glancing through the rear-view mirror at Steve's sullen, sulky face as he sat in the back corner of the van with Bucky and the crate of bananas. Bucky lay on his back with earbuds in his ears, the end plugged into Steve's phone. He was listening to 'The Best of Frank Sinatra', which Tony had downloaded for him while they were stopped at that fast food joint twenty miles back.

It was kind of a sorry-that-sucked present and about as soft-hearted as Tony was willing to be with him. Bucky's arm lay at his side, bandaged up and throbbing like hell. Steve determined it would heal quickly as long as they kept it clean. Leaning his head against the back window, Steve watched a big wooden sign shrink away in the distance. "Welcome to Colorful Colorado!" it said.

"More than half-way across the states now," mentioned Sam, if only to get Steve's mind off his guilt. Steve never actually mentioned his feelings, but Sam was a close friend and he knew what a terrible martyr he was. He could tell he felt terrible just by the look on his face.

"Manifest destiny! Woo!" Tony whooped from the passenger seat, raising his phone in the air. His knee was bouncing like a jackhammer and he may or may not have mixed Red Bull and booze earlier. "I'll attach pontoons to this baby and we can just keep going 'til we reach Japan."

Sam cracked a smile. "You speak Japanese, Stark?"

Tony replied, "Si," and popped open another energy drink. Steve shook his head, lips curling up ever so slightly. His gaze settled on Bucky, who was really enjoying Sinatra, if the serene look on his face was any indication. Now that was real music, Steve thought. Unlike Cannibal's Corpses and Radonna and the other noise they were playing on the radio this century.

Tony suggested they keep driving until they were west of the mountains, just to be on the safe side. Initially they were going to bury the chip until Tony got a mischievous look on his face and said, "Hey, you know how we can really fuck with S.H.I.E.L.D?"

So they ended up stuffing the chip into a piece of bread, tossed it in the road and waited until the crows came. Now it sat in the belly of a bird, flying off to God-only-knows-where and sure to give some agents a headache or two. It wasn't a permanent solution, but it bought them a little more time.

"Now we have to be more careful about covering our tracks and staying out of sight," Tony warned. "S.H.I.E.L.D's gonna go nuts and comb the whole country when they find their chip covered in bird shit. Probably Mexico and Canada too."

Sam suggested, "Maybe we should think about changing our methods then. If agents are gonna be scattered all over, then the more we travel, the more likely we are to bump heads with them. I say we should slow down. Find a secure location and lay low for a while."

"Where?" Steve queried doubtfully. "Are there any places left in this country that don't have cameras watching them?" Tony rolled his eyes and replied,

"Yes, Grandpa, there are. Now I'm not saying we hide out with the Amish or anything, but Wilson's got a point. We should find a location with forests, mountains, places like that to hide. These wide open fly-over states are bad news. I'm so god damn sick of corn…"

xXxXxXx

Western Colorado was a whole different animal from its eastern half. The rolling green hills and stony mountains were a majestic sight to behold, even under cloudy skies. It was late in the afternoon and the whole crew was restless with sore legs and asses. They were far enough from the bloody cornfield now, they decided, and Tony discovered a remote mountain lodge on his phone.

The mountain was stony and forested, not snowy, so the place wasn't bustling with prospective skiers. Less eyes to spy on them. It was meant for hiking enthusiasts, with access to long nature trails snaking around the mountain for miles. Tony forked over $550 in cash for a 2-bedroom luxury suite on the second floor.

The suite was decorated with mountain and nature-themed motifs. A fake but life-size deer head was mounted on the wall above the dining area, the couch patterned with little trees. Steve flicked a switch that he thought was for the lights and made an artificial fire roar in the fireplace.

Sam stepped into the middle of the living area and planted his hands on his hips. "Not too bad!" he grinned. Steve turned to Tony and tipped his head, humbling himself a little when he said,

"Thanks, Tony."

"Yeah, don't think I did it for you guys," Tony's mouth stretched into a half-smirk. "I'm just tired of sleeping on nasty, jizzy, weed-sheets."

Sam snorted with laughter, collapsing on the couch. Bucky sheepishly moved away from the door, each step careful and deliberate as he looked around the room. He didn't belong in here. This place was so clean and nice and he was so filthy and lowly. These quarters were fit for handlers and agents, not weapons. He felt like he was trespassing, but Steve was smiling at him, clamping a hand on his shoulder, leading him further inside.

A bottle of champagne was waiting for them on the dining table, chilling in a bucket of ice. Tony zoned in on it like a missile. Plucking it from the ice, he turned to Sam and said, "Oh look, Honey! For our romantic dinner later!" Sam's eyes rolled back, teeth flashing behind his lips. He replied,

"Great. Maybe you'll finally propose, put a nice rock on my finger."

Tony kissed the air in his direction, then uncorked the bottle and took a swig. Steve sat down next to Sam and stretched his legs out with a satisfied groan. He heard his knees pop and it was so, so good after being stuck in the van for half the day.

He hadn't been able to jog or do his exercise routine since they made criminals of themselves. There just wasn't enough room in the van or any of the crummy places they'd bunked in. Maybe here, he could shake some of the pent-up energy out.

Bucky was still standing awkwardly to the side. Steve patted the seat between himself and Sam. He said, "Sit down and stay a while, Buck. We can relax a little now."

"'Least until S.H.I.E.L.D catches that bird," muttered Tony, corking the bottle. He placed it back on the table and shook his head. "They're gonna be so pissed. Heh. Good idea, Stark." He gave himself a quiet applause, sinking into the padded dining chair.

Bucky shuffled to the couch, arm pulled in close to his belly to avoid bumping it against anything as he squeezed between Sam and Steve. Tony hadn't been wrong—It really did hurt like a bitch. The gauze was stained with blood and Steve would have to help him change it later.

Bucky wondered if he could do it himself using his teeth or his feet. Would Steve be impressed if he did? Would he stop treating Bucky like a helpless imbecile?

A little part of Bucky hoped not. He kind of liked Steve doting on him that way. He was a lowly asset and he wasn't supposed to like wasting his handler's time, he didn't want to like it, but there was no denying that he did.

He ate his banana-protein mixture as the others chowed on delivery from room service, which they claimed wasn't very good but he had a feeling they just said it to make him feel better. Bucky thought he used to eat stuff like that, food that he had to grind with his teeth. It was strange to eat from a bowl with a spoon. He was used to being fueled from a tube like a machine. This was better, he decided, because he could stop when he was full. Was never punished when it came back up.

He didn't feel like Hunger or dying anymore. Steve got his shit together and saved him just in time like some kind of great hero. Maybe he was more competent than Bucky gave him credit for.

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