Steve is painfully aware and conscious for every second of his jump. The brief flash of air is a relief as it rushes past him when he leaps, using his powerful legs to launch himself as far as he can manage. The heavy chains weigh him down and soon he's sinking towards the rocky dry ground.
His brain works fast enough to tell him that this is going to really really hurt.
Twisting, he hits the ground on his side. The awkward bulk of the chains wrapped around his arms crunch against him and he gasps out a shout of pain as he feels his bones crumble under the force of his landing. But there's nothing he can do to stop his momentum. The dirt and rocks are flying around him as he rolls, scraping against his skin and slicing at him. His eyes are scrunched closed but debris still gets underneath, making his eyes start to leak water. His slack broken jaw shoots jagged sharp spikes of pain that make him woozy and nauseous. His mouth fills with dust and blood.
And that's the last thing he remembers as his head hits something and the world goes to black.
Natasha stares at the words. We have a lead. They were trying to sell him to Raza. We're going to intercept the train, but we have to go tech dark because they hacked us last time and can trace us. I love you.
No promise of coming home or saving Steve. Just an I Love You.
It's too much to process in a way that seems normal. What a strange out of body experience to hear one of your closest friends is being shipped on a train to be sold to a terrorist who wants him dead, while the man she loves races to save him.
"We need to get to practice," Dottie calls, "come on." Her roommate had backed off after the whole incident and Natasha admitting Steve was taken. But Natasha hadn't even had time to really care.
When she'd called Peggy, Clint had already called her and it had been a strangely subdued conversation. "I'd told him he better come back to me." Peggy had said quietly. "He promised."
Natasha hadn't told Peggy that she'd made Steve promise that he would make sure Bucky came home. Hopefully it hadn't been at Bucky's defense that Steve had been taken.
"Coming," she calls back to Dottie. But she shoves her phone in her pocket instead of her dance bag so she can feel if it goes off.
Tony can't reconcile the kind voice and gentle hands with the absolutely murderous stabbing in his chest. He knows he's screaming, crying out for them to stop whatever torture they were doing, but it doesn't stop.
Then something's being poured down his throat and nose pinched so he has to swallow. "Sleep young Stark. Sleep. It will be better tomorrow."
And as consciousness fades, he can't understand how someone who sounds so kind can be tearing him apart.
Clint was sniping. He is the best shot in the group, and everyone knows it. It pissed him off that he wasn't going to be on the ground when the train rolled in, but Castle had rested a heavy hand on his shoulder and spoke firmly to him. "With your Hawkeyes up watching our backs, we have a better chance of bringing him home. Understood?"
So he'd given up arguing.
Bucky is tied to Castle's position, watching his back and the far roadway that led into the trainyard. Morita is monitoring the train's comms with an old school system and Blaze is his guard. Logan is manning the base.
They had another three hours before the train was set to arrive, but they'd wanted to be placed early to beat Raza's team. So far they'd seen no other movement. Clint checks his scope and shifts, getting more comfortable. "Hang in there, Steve. We're waiting for you."
Night has fallen by the time Steve regains consciousness. He's in a jumble of chains and brush and there's a long period of time where he doesn't move.
Tears and blood seep from his face, the pain almost crippling for a long time.
It's strangely familiar. Just over a year ago he was constantly sore and aching and miserable. Now he is sore and aching and miserable and it is almost a suffocating feeling to think it might be permanent. Maybe he's damaged himself permanently again.
But as time passes, the sharpness fades to aching and he reminds himself that he is going to be just fine. Or something along those lines. If he can survive being blasted and gassed then he can survive broken bones and dust in his eyes.
He just needs to get the hell up and start walking. He wasn't going to get home to Peggy and Sam and Bucky and Peter by just laying here.
His groans echo across the dry landscape as he manages to detangle his legs from the heavy chains and get to his knees. It takes more effort than he'd like to admit to use the one unbroken arm to push himself onto his feet. He's actively crying by the end of it. Sucking in painful breaths through his freshly wrecked jaw.
He hears the sobs exiting his own mouth and it makes him laugh pitifully at what a sight he must be.
Without thinking, he tries to shift his right arm to adjust the weight of the chains only to be violently reminded it's been shattered. "Gah-" his throat chokes out, muscle tensing at the pain which only hurts worse with the contraction.
Steve stumbles, nauseous rising again and he lands back on his knees, his good hand resting on the earth, head spinning.
His panting breaths shift the dusty ground underneath him and the darkness makes the blood and tears that fall from his face look equally dark.
Bucky registers the last shot, the man's blood spurting back at him and making him gag as it gets into his mouth. He coughs, shoving the now lifeless body from off top of him and rolling over, spitting onto the dirt.
The taste is still metallic and the thought of it makes his stomach heave, bile and water exiting his mouth.
"Barnes!" Castles' sharp voice comes closer, "are you hit?"
He shakes his head, wiping his mouth, "no." His voice is a pant and Castles' calloused hand appears in his vision. He grasps it and allows himself to be hauled up.
Narrowed eyes meet his, "that was reckless and stupid and I would fry you for that if we didn't have bigger fish."
Bucky glares back, "maybe if you weren't so busy trying to just capture-"
"BARNES!" Castles' tone is more harsh than he's ever heard it and it does make him pause. "Your vendetta in saving Steve does not equal you getting to murder them because you're angry!" Castle pokes his chest, "they could have had vital information about what they know about Steve, who we need to track down! Killing them all just lost us that opportunity!"
Bucky's anger is flaring, "I did what was necessary!"
"Bucky-" The soft surprised voice makes him turn. Clint is there, his rifle in his hand, eyes wide, "what the hell?"
It's like someone is crushing his lungs. His anger is so strong, so overwhelming. He shakes his head, trying to focus. "They deserved to die."
Castle tilts his head in disbelief, "that's up to ME, not you!"
"I don't give a shit!"
Clint yanks his shoulder, "Bucky-"
He shoves him off, "get off of me- Hey!"
Bucky's good. He's a really good soldier. But Clint has him twisted, up in the air and onto his back before he can stop it. The the blonde is leaning down and glaring at him, "I'm fucking trying to talk to you James, so LISTEN!"
His anger flares and he reaches up to grab the strap of Clint's rifle but he moves away too quickly. "Would you cool it?! You need to fight this! It's…." he growls out a frustrated sound and gestures to his chest, "you know why you're acting like this if you would just think."
That makes Bucky pause and furrow his brow, "what?"
"Remember? The Poison Ivy?" Slowly the realization hits. Steve's blood… He'd gone into combat mode and his anger had gotten the best of him. His eyes widen and Clint nods, "there it is."
Barton turns to Castle, "are they all dead?"
Castle gently pokes the body of the man Bucky had shot last with his boot. "Yep."
Clint's lips purse and he nods, "okay, well maybe there's people in the train car with Steve." It was due in a few minutes.
"Maybe," Blaze hisses out, holding a rag to his bleeding lip, "but they're not from Raza's camp. So they're going to be way less helpful."
Bucky tries to calm his breathing, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as his adrenaline starts to come down. He finally looks up to see Morita eyeing him too observantly.
He's about to try to explain or apologize or something when the train whistle blows.
Castle looks up, "get ready."
—-
Tony wakes up, grabbing at his chest and panic flooding him.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
He freezes, looking over to see a man washing his hands and adjusting his glasses. He has an accent that Tony can't place.
"Who are you?"
"You can call me Yinsen. I met you once. But you were very small. And your father was rather distracted."
"we've met?"
"At a conference in Bern. It's not relevant now. Don't pull on those wires."
Tony looks down, his panic ratchets higher as he sees wires emerging from a cloth covered something in the middle of his chest.
Gently his fingers tear away at the cloth to reveal a light, fluttery and rudimentary, sitting into the cavity of his chest. "What did you do to me?"
The man laughs, "what I did is save your life. That's a magnet. Hooked up to a car battery." He gestures to his chest. "The blast sent shrapnel through your body. Without that magnet, the slivers of metal would shred your system in a week and then rip into your heart. Trust me, I have seen it. Not something you want to experience."
He's about to ask more questions but a metal screech makes him wince and a door he hadn't noticed yet swings open.
Men with guns and angry faces come in and start shouting at him. Yinsen, now clearly a prisoner as well, tries to translate.
Tony stands and suddenly all muzzles swing towards him. He feels surprisingly fine for what he's been through and he raises his hands, "what's happening?"
But he doesn't get a chance to hear an answer as he's being yanked and dragged out of the room and down a dark set of tunnels.
—-
Sam and Howard sit quietly in the little kitchen.
Sam has seen Howard distraught, and angry. But he's never seen him like this.
He'd showed up at his doorstep looking manic and Sam had thought it was about Steve. And it was.
But also Tony.
Somehow within 48 hours of each other, they'd both gone missing.
They were on day 8 of Steve missing and day 7 of no word from Tony.
Howard had almost boarded a plane but he'd been restricted from doing so by the military. He was too big of a contract for them to have running around in dangerous territory. And the only reason Howard had agreed instead of saying "fuck you I'm going to find my son," was that Rhodey was out there and had convinced him that they actually were doing everything they could and that Howard would add another chess piece they couldn't risk losing. And earlier the day before they'd been told they had a lead on Steve.
So now they sat, quietly listening to the kids working on their homework and hanging out in the next room.
Sam hadn't told them anything. For most of the house, their weekly updates of Steve dictate the mood of the house. He's tried so hard to help them release some of the codependency. But it's like chipping away at a mountain with a nail file. They were making progress after the dumpster incident, but then Steve had started dying and it's like the regressed. He's been gone for months and the kids wait for the letters or the phone calls like their lives depend on it.
He's understanding. Steve was legitimately the only stable thing they had for almost 15 years and he was a source of consistency for the next 3 while Sam had taken over. It was like losing a parent almost.
Peter, who was struggling with bullies in school, would constantly use Steve as an example for why he could handle it himself.
Sam had had to put on his best lying poker face when Peter had asked for an update and Sam hadn't had one.
But now… he didn't know what they'd do. And he's pretty sure Howard's frayed nerves weren't going to last very long.
"Today," Sam asked for the thousandth time, "they're intercepting the train today?"
Howard nodded. That's what they said two nights ago when they contacted me. I haven't heard since."
"Well then we will know soon," his voice wavered at the last word and Howard looked up, eyes wide. Dam knew Howard was staying calm because he was. If he lost his cool then Howard would too. So he forced a smile and cleared his voice. "We will know soon. And they're going to find Tony. They very clearly wanted him alive."
Howard nods. He'd been agonizing over every detail of the ambush site that the military had sent over. The only thing that he couldn't figure out is how they figured out Tony's route. They always had three caravans and extra security. And Howard had made extra sure that details were taken care of since he couldn't be there and neither could Stane. Sam knew he'd barely been sleeping, trying to figure out how the hell this could have happened.
But Sam had his suspicions. If the leader of the Ten Rings had figured out Steve's identity… it was only a hop, skip, and a jump until they found his connection to Howard.
Steve would never forgive himself if he was the reason Tony got taken. So in his silent prayers he hoped that wasn't the reason.
Howard tapped his mug against the counter and sighed.
—
When Steve was finally able to stand without wanting to fall over and puke, he gripped the chain attached to his broken arm and wrapped it crossbody style, securing his arm into place. Then he would the long excess around his waist and used the tension to hold it there. It hurt, but it hurt less than when it was hanging freely.
He had no water, no liquid with which to rinse his face, mouth to jaw. So he swallowed against the horrible metallic dryness and ignored the dusty wind that snuck in and out of his gaping jaw.
Dawn was approaching and he had no idea where to go. He didn't want to follow the train tracks in either direction, so he looked at the empty landscape and took a deep breath. Either way was a gamble. So he mentally shrugged and started heading south. Eventually he should hit water. Which could lead to a port city. He hoped.
He had no idea where he'd been taken after the rooftop. Maybe he was an hour from there, maybe he was three days. He's had no concept of time at all and truthfully, he couldn't focus on that. If he was a thousand miles from the coast, then he had a thousand miles to go. So go he would.
—-
Clint sees it first. The gun muzzle poking out of the gaping hole in the train car with the matching serial numbers. He registers a shot and hears a cry of pain.
Castle, never one to back down, yanks open the door first which is barely secured and enters the shipping crate.
They hear another pistol shot and an identical cry of pain.
The team converges and Clint crowds in behind Bucky.
"Holy shit—" Castle breathes out.
Blood is pooled in the center, and on either side of the shipping crate, hanging from the ceiling, are the remnants of metal chains. Thick metal chains, clearly ripped from the wall.
"Holy shit—" he hears himself whisper. Steve escaped.
"Where is he?" Castle asks, clearly aware the man probably doesn't know.
The man spits at them, clutching the arm that had been shot.
Castle places the muzzle of his rifle against the man's chest. "I'm going to ask one more time. Either you're useful, and you live, or you're not, and you die. Your decision." The man glares at them for a long second until Castle flicks off the safety, "okay." His trigger finger starts to contract and the man squeaks out a sounds fear. Castle pauses, "yes?"
"I don't know." The man says, eyes on Castle's trigger finger, "he yank chains, knock me out. I wake and he is gone. Okay?"
It rings of truth. So Castle gestures to Blaze, "tie him up." Then he turns back to the man, "about how long ago?"
The man shrugs, "I don't know exact. A long while ago."
Something about that makes Clint sad. "If Steve had trusted they were coming for him… but no. He couldn't have known. So they just have to keep searching. Hopefully he was somewhere safe."
—
Natasha lays on her bed, staring out her window. The yellow city lights make her room glow and she feels entirely odd knowing she is safe in a bed when Steve had jumped out a train and was somewhere unknown, potentially injured.
Bucky had called her when they'd failed to save him from the train. The slight tone of awe in his voice was clear. Steve had ripped actual metal chains off walls and then pulled thick metal doors apart… it was wild to think about.
They were regrouping at base and then going out in a copter to search for him.
She twists in her bed and stares at the ceiling, wondering if Bucky had thought to call Tony.
Without thought about time, she reaches over and grabs her phone, clicking his contact. He didn't answer which made her frown. He said he was going to call but he hadn't. Especially with Steve missing she's surprised he hasn't checked in yet. She sends a quick text. How did your presentation go? Are you back home yet?
Then she turns over to try to sleep since they have a long day of rehearsals tomorrow.
—
Tony hissed as the heat singed his fingertips again.
"How the hell am I supposed to build anything with these shitty tools!" He grabs a wrench and chucks it. The clanging metal reverberating through the chamber before falling silent.
Yinsen looks up from his desk and raises an eyebrow.
"Sorry."
"Tell me more about your family?" Yinsen asks.
He's good at this. Trying to seem normal. Trying to pretend like they're not hostages in a who knows how buried base of monsters who somehow have an unlimited supply of Stark Tech and who have him working day and night to build them a Jericho by hand.
But they were idiots if they thought he was going to do that.
So he nods and allows the question to accomplish its purpose, distract him. "What do you want o know?"
"Well, I know about your parents. You said you had siblings?"
He shrugs, redrawing his sketch of his actual plan, "sort of. Not by blood but I've know them for like 5 years and they might as well be siblings."
"How'd you meet them?"
He slowly explains the Summer program and how they'd bonded over protecting Steve and as he shifts pieces of metal and screws and starts hammering away at heated metal, he keeps Yinsen busy helping when his still healing shaky hands can't handle the delicate processes.
Yinsen is looking at him in surprise, "and he was… in a dumpster?"
Tony sighs, "yeah, he was… it wasn't pretty. It he's alright now. He's actually in the military. We're—" he pauses, "from what I saw when they took me outside, we're probably closer to him now than when they captured me."
Yinsen nods, "it is nice to have family."
Tony nods, "yeah, for sure. What about you? You got family?"
Yinsen smiles, "yes," he looks back down at the desk, "and I will see them when I leave here."
Tony shakes his head up and down, "yeah you will. We're getting the hell out of here."
He shifts and shows him the final design. The potential solution for their escape plan.
"Impressive," Yinsen states, "so your plan is to escape, not wait for rescue?"
Tony shrugs, "whichever comes first. But I'm not waiting around."
—-
The lack of water, the lack of food, and the lack of rest make Steve half out of it. But he doesn't stop. There's the strange thrum of unending energy in him that allows him to keep going.
There were very few plants and nothing he trusted to eat. Days passed. He thinks. He's pretty sure… hard to keep track with the buzzing in his brain. It's gotten dark and cold a few times so that's definitely nighttime.
He's probably be more with it if he didn't have excruciating pain in his arm and jaw.
But it still goes ignored. Just keep walking. He had to keep walking z
Come home to me—
Her voice plays over and over in his head.
He will. He will.
Maybe the fourth day of walking, by his rattled mind's best guess, he sees a structure. His eyes widen, dry tongue scrapping as he attempts to swallow with no saliva with which to do so. But yes, he squints, it looks like some kind of residence.
He picks up speed, the chain in his good arm rattling behind him like a snake. His skin was burnt to a crisp, wrist bloody from being scraped by the cuff. But he didn't stop or slow down.
It took maybe an hour for him to reach it, and he was right. A tiny structure with some livestock and what was clearly a well stood in the middle of nowhere.
He couldn't even produce tears of relief he was so dry.
And if this didn't work out… there was probably a road somewhere.
As he gets closer, he slows, using his still thankfully perfect hearing to try to listen. The cow looking things low and goats bleat.
And— he tilts his head, there… in the house… little footsteps.
No one sees him on approach, so he finds the front door and gently knocks.
Then he steps a good five feet back. He knows he can't look very good right now.
It takes a few seconds but then a woman opens the door. She seems confused for a moment since no one is there, but then she glances up and sees him.
The shriek that exits her lips confirms his suspicion. He must look like a nightmare. The door slams in his face and he hears her running, calling for someone.
He doesn't move except to sink to his knees. He has to hope that they won't attack him, that they'll wait and see that he means no harm. He just needs a phone… or a glass of water. It doesn't matter. Either would help.
Three minutes later, the door opens again and she's there, a large kitchen knife in her hands. Again it takes her a second to locate him as she isn't expecting him to be kneeling.
Her hand and voice are shaking as she (probably) threatens him to get off her property. It's a language he doesn't recognize. Seems like a rural dialect as well. Even if he knew the base he wouldn't know how to converse with her.
She shouts again. Pointing ina. Direction and gesturing with the knife.
But all the energy it took for him to walk here for four days and without any sustenance flags.
He leans forward, good hand resting on the ground.
He tried to summon his rough and unused voice but it's too dry.
A smaller set of footsteps catch his hearing and he looks up.
A little girl hides halfway behind the door frame, staring at him with wide eyes.
He catches her gaze and she squeaks in fear. The mother, he assumes, sees her daughter and her panic ratchets higher, shouting at the little girl who disappears and then brandishing the knife at him again.
He doesn't move. He needs help and he will wait and be patient and convince them he's not a threat.
—
"You got to stop watching it."
Howard glares at him but says nothing.
Sam sighs, "they have him alive—"
"But his chest—"
"He was alive, Howard—" Sam grits out. "That's more than I have!"
Howard lets out a sound of grief and nods, "I know."
Clint had finally called. The train car had been empty, and Steve had jumped. Thankfully after searching for a day or so they'd found his crash site. Blood and ground ripped up from his landing. But then there had been a chain trail, as if Steve was dragging one of the chains behind him. But they'd only been able to follow it for an hour before it had disappeared. The winds and sand covering the tracks too quickly. After that they'd had to start guessing. They said Steve had clearly not been walking in a straight line. They weren't sure why yet… probably nothing good.
The kids were asleep and Howard was back sitting at his kitchen counter. Sam wouldn't accuse him openly but he knew the quietness of the house was making Howard antsy. Maria was off with her parents, trying to not panic about Tony either. Howard hadn't said as much but Sam's pretty sure they had a major argument once it was confirmed Tony had been taken hostage.
Howard was a guilt ridden mess.
"They've made it through everything already." Same said calmly, trying to believe what he was saying. "They'll make it through this too."
Howard looked ready to say something but then one of the kids walked in. The newer girl. The one who had taken over Steve's bed. She looked at them and she nervously swallowed. She was pretty good with technology so whenever Howard or Tony had visited she'd always looked at them in awe like they were aliens.
"Yeah?" Sam asked.
"Peter said there's someone on the phone? But they can't understand who? Said to tell you."
Sam frowned, "what?" He stood and headed out towards the hall phone, grabbing the receiver from Peter who just looked confused, "hello?"
—-
"We're making guesses about where he would go as if he has instruments to point him in the right direction—" Morita says with more annoyance than Bucky's ever heard, "he's lost in the fucking wasteland desert with nothing but himself. He won't even know what direction to head!"
"We trained about sun positioning and the stars," Castle argues, "he's far from an idiot."
"True—" Blaze says, "but we have no idea what condition he's in. Trained or not, being dehydrated, exhausted and injured could lead to major brain rot."
Bucky wants to punch him but he knows he's just stating facts.
"From the chain trial before it disappeared," Clint says quietly, "he was obviously not steady on his feet either."
"I say we go out again at night with the heat signature scanner. He puts off massive heat."
And Castle says words that chill him to the bone, "dead bodies don't put off much heat."
"Then it's a good thing he's not dead—" Clint grits out before he can. "Steve isn't going to quit. And you know his story, so don't even say that lil it's an option."
"He was given a second chance," Castle says, voice calm like he's trying to soften a blow, "he wasn't made immortal."
Bucky stands, "is the chapter refueled yet?"
Castle sighs, "20 more minutes."
Bucky sits back down, taking deep breaths to keep his anger from exploding.
—-
Even with her brandishing the knife, she never gets close. So Steve doesn't move. Finally she shouts at him one last time and then disappears inside, closing the door and locking it behind her.
When night falls, he sinks into his back and just sleeps. He'd probably wake up if she came out to attack him. So he adjusts his chain wrapped arm that hurts like hell since it's healing wrong and closes his eyes.
Maybe an hour or too after darkness has really kicked in, he feels light touch his face. Without moving he barely squints an eye open and sees a little face looking at him from behind a barely shifted curtain.
It disappears and he closes it back up.
Eventually the sound of the wind and the low of the cattle lull him to sleep.
—-
"Still no word?"
Natasha stares at the bowl of soup she should be eating. But she can't stomach it.
Steve and Tony were missing. And Tony was being held but the organization that was after Steve. Howard had refused to send her the video but it didn't matter. She knew off his voice alone he was worried.
Bucky and Clint still didn't know Tony was missing… he hadn't told them because he didn't want them distracted looking for Steve when a good portion of the military in their area were already searching for Tony.
She asked what he would do if they found Steve first and they tried to use Tony as a bargaining chip. Howard had cursed and then sounded manic when he'd responded, "Steve can't ever know. He'd give himself up."
"Still no word?"
She looks up to see Dottie studying her. It had been a strange dance the last over a week to see Dottie unsure how to address the fact that Natasha's mind and heart were clearly elsewhere.
She shakes her head and Dottie surprises her by resting a hand on her shoulder, "sorry."
"Thanks."
"But you should eat. You look like a street urchin."
Natasha huffs out a laugh, almost glad for the barb. "Yeah yeah." But she takes a bite and another.
—-
Something wakes him and he lifts his head, the pain in his jaw dizzying.
A small cup of water sits beside his head. His eyes widen in disbelief and he sits up to see if it was a trick of the moonlight. But it's there. It's real.
He ignores the dust layer on the top and tilts his head back so he can swallow it without wasting a drop through his wounds.
It's gone too soon.
But still. It was something. He wants to cry in relief but still there's not enough moisture in him.
Movement catches his peripheral vision and he looks up. The same small eyes study him from the edge of the window and he does the only thing he can think of to thank her that would cross a language barrier.
He rests the glass on the dirt path, gets to his knees, puts his hands flat together like he was going to pray, and he bows his head almost touching the ground.
When he looks up she's smiling at him and then she's gone with the flash of the curtain.
It's a small step. But he'll take it.
Closer to dawn, he wakes again to the door opening. The woman stands there, looking frazzled, like she's barely slept. He feels bad, knowing his presence is causing her this stress, but it's not something he can change. She asks him a question, and he shakes his head, "I'm sorry—" the words scrape out of his dry throat, and sound garbled because of his slack jaw, "I'm sorry. But I need help."
She pauses, listening, but she doesn't answer, clearly not understanding English just like he can't understand her.
She says something else and then gestures to the cup on the ground.
He's not sure what she says but he nods eagerly and carefully reaches out, placing it closer to her and leaning back into his heels. She shakes her finger like he didn't understand and then she gestures to the cup again and then towards the side of the house. He frowns, unsure of what she means. But she makes a drinking motion and points again, mimicking someone reeling something up.
The well.
He wants to slam a palm against his forehead. He was so stupid and tired he'd forgotten about the well.
He nods, thanking her and slowly standing. She backs away and he moves slower, walking around the corner and seeing the small stone well.
It takes a second to work it out, as he's only ever seen it done in movies but within a minute he's reeling the bucket up and downing its contents. After a bucket and a half, where he's drank so much that he feels like he could pop like a water ballon, he takes the next bucket and douses himself, bucket after bucket, trying to wash away the blood and the grime.
It's like an oasis in the desert, and he finally has enough moisture to cry.
He sits in the ground, back against the well and just cries for a few minutes. Letting the pain of his still messed up arm and the jaw that aches so bad he wants to rip it off to just overwhelm him.
Finally, he feels more relieved and he stands. Bow with some water and rest— he looks as the sun is starting to crest the horizon— he could probably start walking again…
Exhaustion at the thought makes him sag his head.
A throat clears and h looks up, water from his damp head dripping down his nose and into his gaping mouth.
The woman stands there, the little girl hiding behind her skirts, peeking out at him. She holds a plate of some kind and a well worn but clean looking towel.
He starts to cry again.
And something about that must make her abandon her fear because she walks over and sets the plate on the edge of the well. He can smell it. Some sort of rice and what he's guess is a naan type bread. It smells delicious but also makes his stomach roll because he's so empty of nutrients and full of water.
The little girl stares at his face and she's frowning. She points to his jaw quickly before shoving her hands behind her back.
He sighs, thinking that maybe it's too graphic, but he needs them to know how dire his situation is. So he points to himself, then makes a finger gun, mimicking being shot in the face and the bullet exiting out the other side.
Both of them look horrified and it makes him start to cry again. A little hand pants his damp knee in comfort and he sobs out a laugh that sounds almost manic with his open mouth.
The plate appears under his nose and the mother is gesturing for him to eat.
"Thank you," he says softly, trying to get the words out clear, "thank you."
—-
Tony sat, sweating, heart pounding as he down a cup of Luke warm water.
they had no concept of time, as the guards wouldn't tell them anything and there was no clocks anywhere. He slept when he got tired, ate when they randomly provided food, and worked when he could. It was hard pretending to be building an arc reactor when he was really building a gauntlet that would blast his way out of here and an new device for his chest. The idea came from a dream he'd had the second night, his dad showing him outdated tech in old warehouses. The giant glowing glass tubes had always fascinated him. And now he needed one. It would function as a safer alternative to the battery he was attached to, and also power something else.
The guards would yell and ask questions but he just pretends to answer in a way that usually confuses them until they left him alone.
Yinsen would translate when needed and was good at confusing them as well.
"When we get the hell out of here," Tony says quietly, "there's always going to be a room for you at my house, understood?"
Yinsen smiled, "I appreciate the offer. But let's focus on one thing at a time shall we? Explain your exit route."
"Twelve steps forward, take the second tunnel to the right, then twenty feet forward, first tunnel to the right, another—"
—
The little girl sits beside him as he eats. She would giggle if a piece of rice fell out of his mouth and her mother would chide her but it didn't bother Steve so he would just chuckle along with her.
He's now on his second helping and feeling like the world is tipping back on its axis.
The little girl points to the chain wrapped around his right arm.
He scrunches his nose then decides a way to explain. He clears his throat and makes a chop-choo sound. She nods eagerly, understanding then he mimics yanking something and then wrapping it around and then uses his free hand to mimic jumping and landing on the ground. Then he uses his pointer and middle finger to "walk" and then he curled his fist, pretending to knock and pointing to their house.
They shake their heads in disbelief and he isn't quite sure they believe him but that's not really an issue. They've given him water, food, and care. He could not ask for them to understand the insanity that is his life.
Eventually mid morning is upon them and the woman looks concerned. She gestures all around them and the to him. As if to ask where will you go?
He wants to ask if there is a city nearby, but doesn't know how, until— he snaps his fingers. Then pretends to hold a pencil and pretended to write, then gestures to them. The girl gets it first and jumps up, running inside.
Only a minute passes before she brings a piece of paper and pencil back. He could weep again but refrains, steady enough to feel liken it will be all right now. He draws a little village and they stare at it wide eyed, he points in a circle, asking if there's a village near.
She frowns and shakes her head no.
But something about it doesn't make sense. It was clear she didn't have running water or electricity, and she did just fine. But there wasn't a garden and she had to get food from somewhere. Goat and cow milk can only get you so far.
He frowns and points again, and she looks nervous.
He hands her the pen and paper, hoping she can draw a map but she hesitates. Crudely, she draws an American flag and he blinks. She points to him, eyebrows raised and he nods. She nods in agreement as if she'd expected it. But then she draws ten circles, each connecting to create a big ring of rings. And she looks up at him, gesturing to it. Then she puts her fists together twice to symbolize a clash. He shrugs, "what?"
She huffs, tapping the pencil against her lip before handing it to her daughter. Then she holds up 10 fingers. She mimics counting each one and he nods, "10." She says a word which he would assume is her languages equivalent to 10. Then points to were her finger meets her palm, circling it.
10… rings… he looks down at the circle and now it hits him where he's seen it. In Castle's reports. It's not super publicized but he had seen it in relation to Raza.
Shit. The village near here was either run by or had members of the 10 rings. And she knows they don't take kindly to Americans.
He sighs, tipping his head back against the stone then, knowing the answer was probably no, he gestured with a hand by his ear, "do you have a phone?"
She understands the gesture but shakes her head no. Then the little girl tugs on her skirts and says something fast.
The mom considers it and then nods. She gestures for Steve to stand and he does. Then she motions for him to follow her, and he does.
—-