Bucky scrambles up first onto the rooftop. His stomach drops at the sight. Blood is everywhere, Splattered and dropped and smudged against the filthy rooftop.

His hand trembles as it reaches out to grab the phone, coated in blood and screen still illuminated with the phone call he hasn't hung up yet.

He turns, eyeing Clint, "where is he?"

But Clint's expression is shuttered, staring at the blood.

"CLINT!"

The man sighs, sagging on the ledge of the rooftop, "they took him."

Bucky throws the phone, shattering it against the rooftop.

Natasha sighs again. Bucky was supposed to call hours ago and he still hasn't. She's not usually one to jump to conclusions, but knowing they were going on a mission and then not hearing from them… It drove a nervous edge into her gut.

A buzz drew her attention to her phone. Spoiled Rich Brat

She grins, "hello?"

"Hello, Tiny Dancer, how goes the great white North?"

"It's fine. How are things stateside?"

"I wouldn't know." His voice is a grin, "I'm in air right now, heading in your direction."

She blinks, "what? Really? You're coming to visit?"

"Sadly, no, I'mma be quite a bit short of you. Past the boys though. I'll be sort of in the middle."

"Perfect for the monkey that you are-"

"Hey!"

She laughs, "what brings you to a different continent?"

"Stark Business."

"Is your dad with you?"

"Nah, he's got stuff on his plate, so I'm doing this. It's my design anyhow."

Her eyebrows raise, "okay, look at you Mr. Bigshot."

He ignores her, "anyways, just wondering how you're doing and if you'd heard from the guys? They were supposed to call."

That brought everything back to the forefront. "No, I haven't heard from them yet. You think they're alright?"

He didn't sound super confident but she could tell he was trying, "I'm sure they are. Some things just take longer than expected."

"Of course…"

"NAT! We gotta go!"

"Your pleasant roommate?"

She sighs, "yeah, she's… she's something alright. Talk to you later? Call me if you get an update?"

"Will do, talk later Angelina Ballerina."

"I told you to stop calling me that!"

He laughs and hangs up and she pretends not to chuckle as she grabs her shoes and heads out towards her door.

It is dead silent in the room. Clint can hear the whooshing of his blood as it thunders through his head. He is trying to keep calm.

Bucky is completely disassociated. Silent. Eyes wide and unblinking.

This wasn't bullies or miscreants in New York… This is a violent and bloody organization, operating under no law.

Castle is on the phone, an earbud in his ear as he listens to whoever is on the other side.

Logan isn't present, Blaze is eerily quiet and Morita is holding the remnants of Steve's phone and twirling it quietly.

Four hours ago they'd had to drag Bucky off that roof top and back to their base. The women were still in custody but it didn't matter. Now they knew they didn't have the actual daughter.

And thankfully Castle hadn't been 'mission first, Steve second'. They'd pulled back and regrouped and he'd immediately started making phone calls.

He heard a sigh and looked up. Castle took the earbud out of his ear slowly. "No word, or sightings."

Clint leans over, trying to keep the sour twist in his gut from churning.

Bucky stands and goes to leave, heading towards his room. Clint stands to follow him but Blaze clears his throat.

"He's not dead." The room goes still. Bucky, near the door, turns slowly, and Blaze continues, "I mean. If he'd died they would have just left him on the rooftop, right?"

"Maybe…" Castle starts, "But Rosalia's father has undoubtedly heard about a blonde American who is wanted by the Ten Rings; he probably knows about the bounty on Steve's head. Depending on what the daughter knows or who collected them, they may have taken him to ensure we backed off, because of the bounty if they recognized him, or a myriad of other reasons." Castle's voice was calm, but there was a sharpness, like he didn't like what he was saying. "Nothing is for sure."

"The bounty was dead or alive," Morita's voice is quiet.

Bucky's face twists into a snarl and he jabs a finger at each one of them, "I'm going after him, and I don't give a shit if I have permission!"

Castle raises a hand, "calm down, you have permission. We need to gear up and then we're going after him. Okay?"

Bucky sags, relieved, "okay."

Steve comes to consciousness with little fanfare.

He is suspended from his wrists, knees scraping some type of concrete and shoulders positively killing.

He tries to look up and he gasps. His neck and jaw muscles spasming, causing him to arch in pain and then choke, gasping for air and relief.

"So you're alive," Rosalia states, appearing in the dim light. She is limping, leg in a splint that doesn't seem to be properly fitted. "I told them you'd live. They disbelieved. But I knew-" she points to him, "you do not die easily."

He couldn't speak if he wanted to. The right side of his jawbone hangs slack, shattered into pieces and painfully hanging down. His left side is slightly more intact, but he can feel the gaping exit wound through his cheek and the dried cool blood coating that whole side of his face. He must look like a halloween decoration right now.

"I wonder, who you are," she says slowly, eyeing him like a puzzle, "how you survive two tranquilizers, knock out gas, a poison blade, and now a bullet through your face."

He narrows his eyes but is unable to respond.

She looks around and then tilts her head, "what does an American with no identification on him want with my father's organization?"

He glances around the room. It's dimly lit but that doesn't matter, he can see the edges of the room… Except… it's not a room. He can sense the metal walls and the rectangular shape. He's in a shipping crate. She limps closer and her face is covered in bruises. Her neck and face have his handprints all over it, dark purple and blue.

Instead of being glad he'd harmed her, the rage has faded and guilt takes its place. He should never have let himself get that angry. It was just like with Hodge. He couldn't hold himself back and he'd actively harmed someone.

She struggles to bring a chair over but she manages. Then she sits in front of him, too close, leaning forward and her fingers reaching up, gently touching his jaw. He yanks his head away, the pain causing him to hiss air through his throat and out through whatever teeth he can manage to grit together against the agony.

"So you do feel pain," she says softly as if it intrigues her. "Fascinating."

He closes his eyes, trying to mentally take in his state. His face is definitely the worst. His jaw and cheek are a mess but his eyes and nose seem okay, the gas not having any permanent effect. His ribs, where she stabbed him, hurt a lot, like he'd taken a few bullets there. But if it hadn't killed him yet then it probably wasn't going too.

"Other than the blood," she says, her voice still low and amused, "you are dashingly handsome. I love a strong man," Rosalia says with a smirk, "perhaps I shall keep you as a pet."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can hear Peggy's voice say "this bitch!' with absolutely no hesitation.

All he needs is time and an opportunity. If she leaves, he can pull himself up, rip down these chains and fight his way out. But the jaw is a problem. He might need to bide his time until it was less unstable. The pain of her touching him was blinding enough that running and fighting would probably cause him to pass out.

She stands, wobbling slightly on her broken leg. Her hand slips into her pocket and she pulls out a little bottle. Her fingers hold it up in the dim light and her dark eyes flash, "just a little something to keep you calm, hmm?"

Steve tries to move away, avoiding it, but her hand grasps his jaw and clenches, making him groan and cry out in pain. Unbidden he feels moisture in his nose and eyes, the pain too sharp for his body to ignore. He is helpless for the first time in a long time and the anxiety of that washes over him. She tilts the bottle onto his tongue, the part of his jaw hanging down far enough to give her access. The cool liquid sinks to the back of his throat where his gag reflex activates. He has no choice but to swallow it.

"Sleep well, American dog."

"It's two sets," Morita whispers to Castle, "Steve's and Rosalia's, but significantly more of Steve's," then his voice gets quieter, "the spray pattern tells me he took a bullet."

"It had sounded like they'd been up there for a bit when he called you the first time, " Logan adds, "that's when I tried to send it to Jimmy here."

Morita nods, "that's when I started tracking his rooftop, but then they were using our satellite too, not sure how, that would be some complicated tech to hack into ours so easily."

Clint is quiet, just listening and Bucky is looking at the missed texts from Natasha. She'd called a time or two too, but he didn't know how to respond.

"It's better to let her know you're okay," Clint says quietly, "then make her wonder about all of us."

Bucky tips his head back, the sway of the vehicle making it rock against the interior, "I know, I just…" he frowns, "I want to wait until I know he's safe. What if she calls Peggy?"

Clint sighs, "it would probably be a good idea to call Peggy."

Bucky groans, "no way. I'm not calling. I had to call her last time-" his voice chokes off and he shakes his head.

Clint looks over, Bucky's face is drawn and tense. That's right… Bucky had called Peggy when they were all at St. Sebastians and they had just read their letters thinking that Steve was gone for good.

"I'll call," he offers. "Call Nat."

He selects her contact and waits as it rings.

"Clint?"

Her voice is already on alert. She's probably been waiting for contact from Steve and hasn't gotten it.

"Peggy," he starts, then sighs.

"What is it? What's happened? Why haven't I heard from him?"

"He was taken hostage-" Clint whispers out, "we don't know where he is right now-"

"WHAT!"

"We're out looking, we're not going to stop until we find him-"

"But he is alive, you're sure?"

He's quiet for too long and Peggy makes a distressed sound in her throat.

"We don't know yet," he answers honestly. We hope so…"

"Barnes, Barton, gear up!"

Castle is handing them pieces of paper with intel and he grabs it, "Peggy? I gotta go, I'll call when I can."

She hangs up first and he looks over at Bucky who is staring at the paper like it might have all the answers.

Natasha holds the phone, staring at it in silence.

"What," Dottie asks, "you look like someone died."

Her eyes trail up to her blonde roommate, Bucky's words still sharp in her memory, Steve's been taken, we don't know where or… then he'd been cut off by Castle calling him. But he'd managed out a quick, can you call Howard? Before he'd hung up.

Dottie crouches in front of where she's sitting, "no seriously, who died?"

And suddenly she hears herself reveal more than she ever would to Dottie, "one of my friends, who came to our show in London has been taken hostage. He's in the military."

Dottie's eyes widen and she is stunned into silence for a long while, before clearing her throat and standing, "oh… well… that's… not good. Sorry."

Natasha ignores the way Dottie can't seem to figure out how to act with that information and she opens her phone again, "I need to make some calls." Then she's dialing Sam's number first.

—-

Castle slaps a few photos down, and points at the, "we have a lead."

Bucky studies the grainy photos and squints, "what's wrong with his face?"

Castle looks reluctant, "I"m not sure, but…" he points to the chains attached to Steve's wrists, "he's alive and clearly at a decent health if they're chaining him up. They know he's still a threat."

"Okay, so then, why aren't we leaving right now!"

"These were taken three hours before this-" Castle drops a new photo. It's of a shipping crate on a train. Just a picture of the shipping crate.

Clint furrows his brow, "and this is?"

"A photo sent directly to the leader of the Ten Rings. Raza…" Castle says quietly, "with a date and time for pickup upon arrival."

Bucky gapes and he hears Clint swear.

"So they know," Blaze says with a sigh, "they figured out who he was."

Castle frowns, "seems that way. A money transfer was already sent to Rosalia's father. So there had to have been confirmation it was him between the two before money was sent. Perhaps photo proof of his face, or simply his show of resiliency. But Raza obviously trusted he was going to be receiving Steve."

Bucky stands, "then what are we waiting for? Let's go."

"We have to do it dark."

They turn to Morita who looks reluctant. "They hacked our tech way too easily. We can't have them tracing us before or after Steve's retrieval. So we go in with walkies to each other and no more. Not until I figure out how they hacked our Stark Tech."

Clint drops his phone on the table, "done."

Bucky sends a text to Natasha and then sets his next to Clint's. "Let's go."

The next time Steve is conscious, he makes no noise. He doesn't move except for the sway of whatever he's being transported in, and stays with his eyes closed and head hanging down.

He can hear another heartbeat in the crate with him but it's louder, heavier than Rosalia's. A guard of some sort.

With his head hanging low, he tries to move his jaw and almost throws up from the pain. It's healing wrong. The skin and bones are healing but in the position they're stuck in. Which means eventually they'll have to be reset. He internally groans, not looking forward to that at all.

His side doesn't hurt anymore and the rest of his body feels fine. Which means… he tilts his head, listening. He's for sure on a train, if he can rip these chains out and then knock out the guard, he can probably jump for it and escape.

He shifts his jaw again and scrunches his eyes closed. It's bad. Vomit inducing bad. But it's not pass-out bad. And so he can deal with that.

Steve takes the chance to lift his head oh so slightly to study the guard. Who is fast asleep. He can't grin, but if he could he would.

Slowly and silently he gets his feet under him and stands, his shoulders aching. He tests the chains, pulling slightly. It will hurt to yank them free. He may break his wrists… then another thought occurs to him. They know he's not easily killed, but that could be for any reason… ripping chains off of metal hooks in metal walls? That would make it clear he wasn't just lucky to have survived. He could never undo that knowledge they would gain…

But it's him now against one man, versus the future in a situation he has no foresight in. His odds are best now. He'll deal with the fallout when it comes.

With an almighty yank he rips the chain on his left hand free from the wall. A metal screech piercing his eardrums. The guard is startling awake but he doesn't wait, yanking his right one free and stumbling as the train hits a curve. He slams into the side of the crate and groans, ignoring the black spots of pain in his vision.

The guard is reaching for a gun and Steve can't have that. His mind replays those movies he watched as a kid with Pietro and Peter and Wanda, altogether in the living room when Mrs. Schmidt would give them a moment of peace, and he propels the whip forward, snapping it like a whip. The chain connects, immediately knocking the man to the ground unconscious.

He turns, finding the door and trying to open it. But it's clearly locked from the outside. He scrambles, tears leaking from his eyes from the sharpness of the pain, over to the guard. He snatches the gun and attempts to keep his balance as he walks back to the door. Careful to not jostle his jaw, he leans his head against the metal to hear where the lock is clicking against it.

And maybe it takes his pain-addled brain a second to catch up, but finally he realizes that if he shoots at the metal door, he's more likely to send the bullet whizzing back around inside the shipping crate than do any damage outside.

So strength it is.

The seam of the door is clear, even in the dim light of the battery lantern sitting by the guard. Steve sticks his fingers in between and begins to pull.

At first, nothing. The metal ignores his efforts and stays still. His eyes scan the crate and there's nothing for him to use as leverage.

So he grits his teeth, groaning at the pain of it, and tries again, willing his fingers to dig deeper, pry harder, and pull stronger.

The metal creaks and he doesn't quit, now practically shouting from the effort as he rips a basketball size space open.

He falls backwards, panting and gasping from the effort. A minute passes and he knows he can't wait. Steve sticks his arm out, feeling for the lock and locating it. Without the gift of sight, but relying on feel and hearing he sticks the gun out of the shipping crate, says a prayer, and shoots three times in quick succession.

Something clanks loudly to the ground and he sags in relief. The lever is easy to find and he yanks it, releasing the long bar that seals the crate shut and allowing Steve his first real gasp of fresh air in who knows how long.

The landscape is rushing past and he grimaces at just how fast the train is traveling. Landing on the ground is going to be… painful.

But there's no time to worry about that. He lived with pain for years, he can do it again.

Carefully, holding onto the open door he steps onto the train catch, holding the next car in place and then studying how far he'll have to jump to clear the next car. Then ever so carefully he wraps the long chains up around his arms. He'll have to figure out how to remove them later. Once they're secured he stares at the rushing scenery.

A minute passes as he works up the courage and energy to do what needs to be done.

Peggy's voice is clear in his mind, come home to me.

And there's no arguing with that. So he jumps.

—

Tony's not sure how it happens.

One minute he's giving a good presentation, clinking a glass with some high up general who had assured Tony that the military would be in contact to buy multiple, and the next he's being blown to bits. His escorts riddled with bullet holes and the humvee he's inside of rocked sideways.

He manages to scramble out, getting behind a large rock and pulling out his phone. He swipes to his dad's contact and hears a "hello?"

"Dad!" he hisses out, "I was ambushed-"

A thunk of something metal hitting stone beside him makes him glance down.

A thin missile stares back at him. The sleek Stark Logo like an accusation.

"Wha-" he scrambles back, trying to avoid the blast.

The last thing he remembers is intense heat and stabbing pain in his chest.