Blindfolded while you held my hand
Drag me through hell, all part of your plan
None of it matters, it's all over now
Say goodbye, you get the cold shoulder now
It's about time that I think for myself
Put my thoughts out of reach and on a shelf
Delusions of grandeur, illusions of better to my desire
But you're just a liar and I'm sick of it all
- "Uninstall" by Our Last Night
It was taking too long. They didn't know where Jake had gone, didn't know where Bucky had gone, didn't know where Zemo had gone. Even as fast as Steve could run, they still had to look into every room, every side hallway, just in case.
Anything could be happening right now. Zemo's words kept thundering through his head: I lost everyone. And so will you.
Zemo would stop at nothing. He'd proven that time and time again. Collateral damage didn't faze him, and he didn't blink an eye at killing innocent people who had nothing to do with his personal vendetta.
Steve couldn't let him do anything to Bucky or Jake. He had to get there first. He had to. If only he knew where there was.
The Hydra base was a labyrinth. They'd covered a lot of ground the last time they'd been here, but the hallway Jake had disappeared into led to a section of the base Steve hadn't seen before. In the back of his mind (the one part that wasn't screaming in barely-controlled panic), he wondered if Jake remembered this base. He would have been two years old when they moved to the base where they'd found him...but then, Jake had an enhanced memory. Was he returning to a part of the base that was more familiar?
Finally, Sam's goggles picked up three heat signatures. They weren't sure if it was because the walls were so thick, or if Hydra had somehow designed this place to make it harder for such technology to work, but Sam wasn't able to see anything until they were just a single room away.
Steve drew a deep breath when he reached for the door handle, and looked back to make sure the others were ready. Sam gave him a steady nod, pistol at the ready. Peter stood a little hunched to one side, and he seemed slightly out of breath, but he gave Steve a thumbs-up. So Steve opened the heavy steel door and cautiously walked into the next room.
The room was large, and like the rest of the base, mostly empty. Judging from the bullet holes riddling one wall and a few ripped mats left gathering dust in the corner, it looked like this had once been a training room. There was a wide, open space in the middle lined with thick pillars, and catwalks ran around the upper half of the room, allowing instructors to watch everything that happened.
Zemo stood on that catwalk, at the other end of the room close to a door that stood open, offering him an easy escape. Standing to his right, still and watchful, was the Winter Soldier. With his one hand, he held onto Jake's arm.
As Steve slowly, cautiously approached, Zemo muttered something to Jake, then took the pocketknife from him. When Steve had reached the middle of the room, Zemo pressed the knife to Jake's neck. Steve immediately froze, motioning for the others to do the same. Even from a distance, he could see Jake's eyes widen. Jake carefully turned his head, staring up at Zemo with shock. Apparently, Zemo hadn't told him this was part of the plan.
Steve's gut twisted. He could almost feel that cold, sharp blade pressing against his own throat. He wished it was.
"Please," Steve said, trying to keep his voice calm so as not to provoke Zemo. "Please, don't hurt my son."
Zemo's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You know, I had the very same thought that day. As did many other parents in Sokovia, I am sure."
Steve's stomach lurched as he thought once again of the broken bodies of all the people they hadn't been able to save that day. And many other days besides. "I'm sorry about your family," he said quietly. "They didn't deserve to die that day. But neither does Jake. He's done nothing to deserve this. He's innocent!"
Zemo's smile widened. "Oh, is he?"
With his free hand, Zemo reached into his pocket and pulled out a small device. At the same moment, a television screen mounted on the wall lit up. Steve hadn't really registered it before, because a large crack ran down one side, leaving a corner of the screen blank. Occasionally, the image would distort and the audio would fuzz out, but it was clear enough to tell what was happening.
Steve warily glanced between Zemo and the image on the screen, uneasy about what he would do while they were distracted, but Zemo seemed content to simply watch the video. Steve returned his attention to the screen, but he kept an eye on Zemo just in case.
The footage on the screen looked like it had been filmed on a handheld video camera. The person holding the camera fumbled with it, turning it around and offering them a brief glimpse of his face. A birthmark like a claw stretching up the side of his neck. Vino.
As the camera turned around, it was plain from the brief glimpse of catwalks and exercise mats that it had been filmed in this very same room. The camera finally settled in Vino's hands, and he directed it at a very small boy standing in front of him.
Steve's breath caught in his throat, and he couldn't help glancing up at Jake standing stock-still with the knife to his throat. The Jake on the screen was so much younger—he couldn't be any older than two. He looked exactly like he had in the records Tony had pulled from the data leak, but Steve would have recognized him regardless. Those round blue eyes were the same as ever, though they looked even bigger as he gazed up solemnly into the camera.
"All right, J01," Vino said. "Let's see what you've learned. Can you eliminate the target quickly and quietly, without raising the alarm? Vlad is in the room. If he sees or hears you, you fail. So you'll need to watch yourself. Remember your training."
Jake attentively listened to everything Vino said, with the same look of ferocious intensity Steve had seen so many times before.
"Are you ready to move on?"
Jake nodded once, clenching his fists at his sides.
"Good. Then show me. Today you will prove your worth to Hydra."
Nodding again, then glancing up at Vino for one final confirmation, Jake began tiptoeing away. Vino followed a few steps behind him, aiming the camera to catch everything that happened.
When they reached a door, Jake paused to slip out of his shoes, and it looked like Vino did the same. Then, moving slowly and carefully, Jake reached up over his head, turned the door handle, and pushed the door open. He crept into the room, looking around cautiously with every step. Vino followed silently behind, panning the camera across to show a man wearing a lab coat and round glasses slipping to the end of his nose, who sat at a table, nodding over a mug of something. Presumably, this was Vlad.
Various computers and esoteric machines littered the room, but Jake ignored all of these. He made a beeline for the corner opposite Vlad, where...was that a crib? There was a whole row of cribs, actually, though judging from the position of the bars, only two appeared to be occupied. Eve and Gabriel, Steve thought, doing a quick mental calculation.
Jake headed for the crib on the end. Peeking furtively over at Vlad, Jake slowly, quietly lowered the bars on the side of the crib. There wasn't enough light to make out much detail with the camera's poor resolution, but judging from the size of the baby peacefully sleeping in the crib, it had to be Gabriel. The one he'd never seen, because...
Wait.
Wait, no...
Nonono, please no...
Jake carefully pulled the light blanket away from the sleeping infant. He clumsily folded it over several times, checking to make sure that Vlad was still asleep. Then he turned back to the baby.
Gabriel. His little brother.
Jake pressed the blanket over Gabriel's face. Lightly at first, then more firmly. One hand pressed the fabric over the nose and mouth, the other hand slid down to clamp around the neck.
Gabriel couldn't cry out, but he was struggling. His arms and legs flailed around, desperate and furtive. Vlad snorted, and the camera turned to look at him, but he just rested his head on his hand and slept on.
When the camera turned back to the crib, it was clear that Gabriel was losing consciousness. Another kick. Futile, increasingly sluggish swings of his little fists.
He fell still.
Jake's expression was blank, almost detached. His lips were moving silently, counting. Second by agonizing second, Gabriel's life slipped steadily away.
Steve wanted to scream. He wanted to jump through the screen, jump through time, go back and pull them apart, get someone to stop this.
But he couldn't. It had all happened already, two years ago. It was over, and there was nothing he could do.
After what felt like a hundred years, Jake slowly straightened up and looked up at Vino expectantly. The exact same expression he'd given Steve when he'd killed Lucky. The video came to an abrupt halt.
Like a diver emerging from the ocean floor, Steve drew a deep breath and blinked, wrenching his eyes away from the screen. They immediately latched onto Jake—the four-year-old Jake who stood with a knife to his throat, the Winter Soldier still holding him in place.
Jake. His son. Who had killed his brother.
Hydra had trained him to kill. Not content to force him to kill dogs or train him to become an assassin when he grew up, they had made him suffocate his own brother. When he was two. And Jake hadn't known any better. He'd simply done what he was told, knowing that if he refused, or failed...
Steve could barely breathe. His heart was a screaming monster, trying to claw its way out of his chest. Slowly, his fist tightened around the strap of his shield, fingers shaking and cold. He wanted nothing more than to throw it straight at Zemo's triumphant smirk.
As if that would change anything. As if it could erase anything that had been done.
"Do you see now, Captain Rogers?" Zemo asked softly. "You have gone to such great lengths to rescue your loved ones. You have begged me to show them mercy. But look at how stained their hands are."
He pressed a button on the remote again, and the video rewound to the part where Jake pressed the blanket to Gabriel's face. It froze on the image of Jake's little hands snuffing out the baby's life.
Steve swallowed hard, eyes burning, stomach churning. He forced himself to turn away from the screen. As grainy as the footage was, it was too vivid to look at. He glanced over at the others. Peter's expression was impossible to see, of course. Sam had pushed his goggles up, giving Steve a clear view of his horror-struck expression.
"Your Bucky has killed dozens, if not hundreds," Zemo continued, drawing their attention again, "and your son—your 'J01'—is already well on his way to joining him. They call you a supersoldier. A hero. But I know the truth: You are a monster, the same as they are. The truly innocent die, and you do not care. But threaten one hair of this little murderer's head..." He pressed the knife harder against Jake's neck. Jake stiffened, his eyes wide with fear.
Steve tensed, but before he could even try to do anything, a web shot towards Zemo's hand. The sticky white strand yanked the knife away from Jake's neck, and Peter snagged it out of the air as it sailed back towards him.
Zemo flexed his hand, triumphant smile gone. He glanced between each of them, as if assessing the situation. "Very well," he finally said, slowly backing towards the open door behind him. "You truly care for your friend and your son above all else? You may have them."
"Hold it!" Sam cried, raising his gun and pointing it at Zemo now that the knife was gone. But he was still too close to the others, so Sam didn't fire. "Don't you move another step!"
But Zemo ignored this completely, instead leaning over the Soldier's shoulder to speak in his ear. But he kept his eyes on Steve, and his voice was loud enough for them all to hear every word. "Soldat. Break every bone in his body."
Steve gasped and took a step forward. "No—"
In one smooth motion, the Winter Soldier twisted Jake's arm behind his back.
A loud crack.
A high-pitched scream.
"Jake!"
Steve heard the sound of Sam's wings opening beside him, and the next thing he knew, he was soaring through the air, Sam gripping him by his shoulder straps just as they'd practiced months ago. As they neared the catwalk, Steve kicked at the Soldier, who had to let go of Jake to block him with his one arm. Sam dropped him onto the catwalk, where he immediately grabbed the Soldier's arm and tried to flip him onto his back, but the Soldier spun out of his grip.
"I got Zemo!" Sam yelled, his wings retracting as he ran through the door where Zemo had disappeared.
Steve had no attention to spare. He was locked in combat with the Winter Soldier, who was surprisingly adept at fending off his attacks even though he was down to one arm. Steve caught a fleeting glimpse of Jake crawling into the corner by the door, so he kept up a furious attack that forced the Soldier to back away, towards the stairs that led down to the training room.
"Uh—uh, Mr. Steve, sir, what should I—"
Before Peter could even finish his question, an explosion ripped through the room, throwing Steve violently against the catwalk railing. The Soldier stumbled, caught himself on the railing, started towards Steve again.
The nearest pillar toppled, crashing down on the catwalk mere feet behind the Soldier. The metal broke with a loud screech, and the next thing Steve knew, he was dangling by one hand from the railing as the broken catwalk slowly tipped downwards. Glancing down to make sure of a safe landing, Steve dropped down to the floor, shield first.
The Winter Soldier fell next to him, landing in a roll and immediately charging towards Steve. "C'mon, Buck," he muttered, catching the Soldier's punch on his shield. "You're going to hurt yourself."
But of course, the Soldier said nothing. He just continued to attack Steve with relentless vigor. He had a large knife out now, and Steve was hard-pressed to avoid its viciously serrated edge. He ducked, spun, kicked, tried to land a punch...
Another explosion. Steve tripped, but managed to keep his feet, while the Winter Soldier dropped to one knee. A huge chunk of the ceiling dropped towards them, and Steve barely had time to raise his shield before—
The heavy block of concrete dropped into an almost-invisible net of spiderwebs. Peter swung into view, desperately darting back and forth, shooting webs in all directions to hold up the ceiling and the pillars that were beginning to crumble. But they were running out of time.
All he saw was a dark blur out of the corner of his eye. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, the Winter Soldier darted in from his right side, slashing the knife towards Steve. He brought the shield down a moment too late, and fiery pain lanced across his arm. But Steve knocked the shield against the Soldier's wrist, and the knife clattered to the floor. The Soldier stepped towards it, but Steve threw the shield. The Soldier snatched his hand back a moment before the edge of the shield smashed into the floor where his fingers had been a moment before.
Now was his chance. Steve rushed forward, trying to push the Soldier's arm aside long enough to get a good grip on him. He had to knock him out, and soon. That was the only way to put a stop to this and get Bucky back. It wasn't safe here.
Another deafening crash as another explosion ripped through a pillar next to them. As Steve lost his footing, his vision went white for a second. It took him a moment to realize that the Soldier had punched him squarely on the cheek. He'd barely even registered the impact, it had come so suddenly. Steve reeled back, ears ringing, cheek smarting.
The Soldier charged forward to press the advantage, and Steve stepped back, trying to circle around to the Soldier's left side. Maybe he was dizzy from the blow he'd just received, maybe it was the uneasy footing as the room rocked with another explosion, but he lost his balance and began to fall. The Soldier's next punch whizzed right over his head.
Steve let himself fall to the ground, kicking the Soldier's legs out from under him as he went. The Soldier fell on top of him, and then there was nothing but a desperate tangle of limbs. They rolled over and over, both struggling to get free, to get on top, to stop the other...
But the Soldier had one less limb to fight with. Steve gradually managed to work himself into a position where he could pin the Soldier's arm to his side, and he locked his arms around the Soldier's neck. The Soldier struggled desperately, writhing and kicking his legs, but Steve hung on with all his strength. All he had to do was cut off the blood flow to Bucky's brain, just long enough for him to lose consciousness...
Suddenly, the Soldier stopped kicking, though he still struggled feebly in Steve's grasp. Steve glanced over and saw a thick spiderweb pinning his legs to the floor. That made his job infinitely easier. Watching the Soldier's face steadily growing redder and redder, Steve maintained the pressure as he watched those eyes slowly slide closed. Gradually, he stopped struggling. His muscles fell slack. His body went still.
As he carefully counted the seconds, Steve realized in the back of his mind that this was the closest he'd been to Bucky in almost four months. He held his best friend in his arms at last...in the worst possible situation.
Heart aching worse than any of his wounds, Steve carefully loosened his grip to allow the blood to flow again. He pressed a kiss to Bucky's cheek before gingerly sliding out from underneath him, laying him flat on his back.
Looking up, Steve spotted Peter leaning against a more-or-less intact pillar a short distance away, clutching his side and breathing hard. All around the room, spiderwebs held the rubble at bay, keeping the ceiling from collapsing on top of them. Steve wondered how long it would hold. He caught sight of the TV, lying on the floor in pieces, and whirled around to look up at the ruined catwalk.
"Jake!" he yelled. There was no sign of him on what remained of the catwalk, but he could have easily fallen...
"I...I saw him..." Peter panted, pointing a shaking finger up at the door where Zemo had gone. "Saw him...run through there..."
Steve nodded, glancing down at Bucky, who was beginning to stir again. He wanted to stay and see if Bucky was okay, but right now it was more important to make sure Jake was safe. "Watch over him for me," he said to Peter. "He'll probably be himself now, but be careful."
"Yeah," Peter said, standing up a little straighter, though he still kept a hand tightly clamped over his side. "Don't worry, Steve, I-I got this."
Steve nodded and walked over to pick up his shield again. "If you need help, you call me immediately, understand?"
"Got it."
Steve took one last look at Bucky, who let out a low groan that ended in a cough. Then Steve ran towards the door, using the piles of rubble to vault up towards the catwalk, pull himself over the railing, and hurry through the door.
The labyrinthine Hydra base stretched before him, filled with empty rooms whose purpose he could only guess at. As Steve jogged along, poking his head into every room and calling Jake's name, he felt an overpowering sense of deja vu.
He'd done this before: running desperately through a Hydra base, trying to find his son. Back then, he hadn't known Jake, hadn't known anything about him, hadn't even given him a name yet... Oh, right. He doesn't want me calling him Jake anymore.
Maybe it was because he was thinking of that day when he'd seen Jake for the first time, but Steve found himself pausing in the doorway of what looked like a small office. The desk was overturned, all the drawers of the filing cabinets hung open and empty, but there was an ugly plastic potted plant that looked an awful lot like that other one...
On a hunch, Steve stepped into the room and walked over to the far corner, where a filing cabinet had tipped over and leaned against the wall, creating a small, dark space. Sure enough, Jake crouched in that corner, hugging his left arm close to his chest. His head leaned back against the wall, and even in the dim light coming from the hallway, Steve could tell that his face was white as a sheet. He looked like he was about to pass out.
Steve slowly sank to his knees in front of him. "Hey, Ja...hey, buddy," he amended. "It's okay. Daddy's here now. You're safe."
Jake drew back slightly, eyes widening with fear. But as he shifted, his broken arm moved, and he let out a tiny whimper of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears rolling down his cheeks.
It was the first time Steve had seen him cry. Each tear felt like a drop of acid on his heart. This is my fault. It's my fault he ended up here.
Steve pressed a finger to his earpiece. "Sam." They needed to take care of that broken arm as soon as possible.
"Hey, Zemo's taken care of," Sam said. "And you'll never guess who showed up to help..."
"I need you, Sam," Steve interrupted, barely even hearing what he'd said. "I found him."
After a moment's pause, Sam said, "On my way."
Once Steve had explained where he could find them, he returned his attention to Jake. "Okay, buddy," he said gently, pushing the filing cabinet upright so he could reach Jake more easily. "Let's get you out of there."
"N—" Jake flinched away from Steve's reaching hands, gasping in pain as his left arm shifted again.
"Easy, easy..." Steve backed away, not wanting to frighten Jake any more. In a desperate attempt to put him more at his ease, Steve pulled off his helmet and shield, setting them aside. "It's just me, buddy. It's okay. I just want to help you."
Jake's eyes met his, filled with pain and fear. He let out a choked sob and dropped his head back against the wall, like he was finally giving up.
"That's it...you're fine...easy now..." Steve murmured phrases he hoped were comforting as he reached in again and gently eased Jake out of his hiding spot. But as carefully as he moved, he still ended up jostling the broken arm slightly as he tried to get a good grip.
Jake let out a pained cry that cut short with a gagging sound. Steve barely managed to help him turn to the side so he threw up on the floor, instead of all over both of them. The retching sounds soon dissolved into miserable sobs.
"Shhh..." Steve laid Jake down on the floor, well away from the puddle of sick. He pulled off his gloves, then gently wiped Jake's mouth with a corner of his sleeve and brushed dark strands of hair from his clammy forehead. He noticed a thin red line where the knife had been held to his throat.
Then he finally got a better look at Jake's left arm. Blood was smeared all over it, and there, just above the elbow, Steve could see...was that...bone? His stomach lurched, seeming to become lodged in his throat.
"It's okay, son, you're okay, we're okay..." He kept saying it, though he wasn't sure he believed it himself. Hurry, Sam. Please hurry.
Sam raced through the Hydra base, following the vague outline of the heat source that was Zemo. His wings were no use in the narrow hallways, and he wasn't anywhere near as fast as Steve, so he wasn't sure he would be able to catch up to Zemo—especially since he seemed to know his way around this place.
No matter how much he tried to just focus on chasing Zemo and trying to close the distance between them, Sam couldn't help worrying about what was happening in the room he'd just left. Would Steve be able to knock Bucky back into his right mind? Was Peter enough backup for such a fight? The last time Steve had fought the Winter Soldier, he'd ended up with a collapsed lung. If Sam hadn't been right there to give first aid...
But then Zemo disappeared up a flight of stairs, and Sam had to concentrate on what he was doing. He took the stairs two at a time, watching carefully just in case Zemo decided to turn back and shoot at him from above. But he got to the top of the stairs without incident, noticing as he reached the top that the quality of the light had changed from the sickly green of old fluorescent lights to the cold white of snow.
Sure enough, at the top of the stairs was a door standing open, leading out onto the snow-covered mountainside. Sam squinted in the sudden glare; the sky was overcast, but it was much brighter than it had been inside. Even so, it was easy to see the movement of dark shapes against the blinding white snow.
One was clearly Zemo, struggling through the deep snow drifts. The other ran swiftly to intercept him, feet moving lightly on top of the snow. He wore a black suit that covered him head to toe, and with the markings and those ridges on the helmet, it almost made him look like...a cat?
"Everybody's got a gimmick now," Sam muttered to himself, trying to catch his breath as he warily approached the other two. He kept his weapon trained on Zemo, but eyed the other one uncertainly. He could take to the sky if necessary, but first he wanted to see what the new guy would do...
Zemo seemed to have spotted the other man and realized he didn't stand a chance of escaping. He came to a stop, breathing hard, and sat down on a boulder the wind had cleared of snow, stuffing his hands into his pockets. The catsuit guy stopped a pace away from him. He didn't seem to have any weapons, unless you counted the sharp claws at the end of each finger. Talk about dedication to the theme, Sam thought.
"So who are you supposed to be?" Sam said, once he was close enough they wouldn't have to yell. "Cat Man?"
The man hesitated a moment, then pulled off his helmet to reveal a face Sam thought he recognized, though he couldn't quite place it at first. "T'Challa, king of Wakanda."
"Oh." What kind of punishment do you get for insulting a king? Sam wondered. At least he doesn't have jurisdiction in Siberia... Or does he? "Wait, so why are you here?"
T'Challa kept his attention directed at Zemo, who sat calmly as if he'd already accepted his fate. "When I received word that Steve Rogers had broken Bucky Barnes out of prison, I decided to investigate on my own. It seemed like the actions of a man who knew his friend was guilty, no matter what the courts may say. I thought to take them into my custody, question them, find out once and for all who killed my father. And once I learned the truth...I would see that the proper price was paid."
Sam swallowed nervously. The vengeful ruler of an entire country was not an enemy they needed right now.
"When my father died in my arms," T'Challa continued, his voice as hard as steel, "I vowed I would kill the one who had taken him from me. And thanks to you, Zemo, I almost killed the wrong man."
Zemo met his eyes unflinchingly. "Hardly an innocent one."
"Shut the hell up already," Sam growled, taking a step or two closer. "If you cared about justice, you wouldn't have busted him out of jail. You wouldn't be trying as hard as you can to ruin the lives of people who have nothing to do with you."
Zemo smiled mirthlessly, staring unseeing at the snowy ground. "My father lived outside the city," he said quietly. "I thought we would be safe there. My son was excited. He could see the Iron Man from the car window. I told my wife, Don't worry. They're fighting in the city. We are miles from harm." His jaw clenched as he relived the memories that must have haunted him every day since then. "When the dust cleared, and the screaming stopped, it took me two days until I found their bodies...my father still holding my wife and son in his arms. And the Avengers?" He shrugged, giving Sam a bitter smile. "They went home."
Sam hadn't been in Sokovia that day. He'd still been recovering from the fight with Crossbones, but he'd watched with the rest of the world as Ultron lifted Sokovia into the air. Admittedly, Sam's first concern had been for Steve and the other Avengers. But he also remembered talking with Steve after he'd come back. He remembered the look on Steve's face when he'd talked about the people they hadn't been able to save. He remembered meeting Wanda and noticing the grief screaming from every pore.
Zemo wasn't the only one who had lost everything that day, and he was wrong about none of them caring about the damage that had been done. But Zemo couldn't see beyond his own pain. He didn't even seem to care that his chances of walking away from this were practically zero now.
"I knew I couldn't kill them," Zemo continued calmly, more to himself than anyone else. "More powerful men than me have tried. But there are some things that are worse than death. And if I could give them just a small taste of the pain I live with every day..."
If he'd wanted to break Steve's heart, Zemo had certainly succeeded. It turned Sam's stomach, just thinking about the video he'd shown them...
Zemo took a breath, as if rousing himself from a reverie, and looked up at T'Challa again. "I'm sorry about your father. He seemed a good man, with a dutiful son."
At the mention of his father, anger flashed in T'Challa's eyes. But in a moment, the anger dissolved into a look of pity. "Vengeance has consumed you," he said, his claws retracting into his suit just like a real cat. "I am done letting it consume me. Justice will come soon enough."
Zemo's smile was cold, his eyes flat and emotionless. "Tell that to the dead."
Sam saw a flash of metal as Zemo pulled his hands out of his pockets, but before he could do anything, T'Challa was already there. He clasped his hand around the muzzle of Zemo's gun, not even flinching as it fired right in his palm. Then, in another moment, T'Challa knocked the gun from Zemo's hand and wrapped his arms around him in a firm headlock.
"The living are not done with you yet."
Sam kicked Zemo's gun a little farther away from him, just to be on the safe side. Just then, he heard Steve's voice in his ear. "Sam."
"Hey," Sam replied, his heart lifting with relief. If Steve was talking to him, that probably meant the fight was over now. And he probably wasn't as badly hurt this time. "Zemo's taken care of," Sam quickly assured him, looking over at T'Challa fitting some kind of shackles over Zemo's wrists. "And you'll never guess who showed up to help..."
"I need you, Sam." There was an urgency in Steve's voice that Sam hadn't noticed at first. "I found him."
Found who...? But after a moment's thought, Sam realized that it didn't matter. Whether it was Jake's broken arm or a new injury, he needed to take care of it. "On my way," he said.
He glanced back at T'Challa, who just nodded and waved him off, as if to say he could easily handle Zemo on his own. That was all the encouragement Sam needed. He snapped open his wings and soared back towards the door into the Hydra base, retracing his steps and following Steve's directions as fast as he could.
Though it probably only took a few minutes, Sam couldn't shake the worry that he was already too late. If he'd known that T'Challa would be there to head Zemo off, he would have stayed and been able to help subdue the Winter Soldier...
At last, Sam spotted Steve's shield, which he'd placed in the doorway to mark which room they were in. Sam paused in the doorway to catch his breath and take stock of the situation.
Jake lay on the floor, eyes screwed shut, breathing shallowly. His whole arm was covered in blood. Crap. It broke the skin. Complex fracture. Steve knelt at his side, murmuring soothing phrases. He'd stripped down to the waist, and it looked like he'd ripped up the T-shirt he'd worn under the uniform to make a bandage for Jake. Predictably, he'd completely ignored the nasty gash in his own arm. A lurid bruise was also forming on one cheek, besides smaller cuts and scrapes.
"Hey, kiddo," Sam said quietly, still breathing hard as he knelt on Jake's other side. "Let's take a quick look at your arm, okay?"
Jake peeked up at him, his eyes hazy with fear and pain, but he didn't move.
"That's it," Steve whispered, stroking Jake's sweaty forehead as Sam gently untied the bloody bit of cloth. "That's my brave little boy...everything's going to be okay now, see? Uncle Sam's here to take care of you..."
Jake's arm was bleeding, but not heavily, and his fingers weren't turning blue, so thankfully it wasn't as bad as it looked, with the bone sticking out and blood smeared everywhere. All the same, the best Sam could do was first aid. They needed X-rays and a doctor who could actually set the bone. "We have to take him to a hospital," he said, carefully tying the makeshift bandage back around the exposed bit of bone.
"I know." Steve's voice shook, but he cleared his throat and reached over to pick up a dusty clipboard. "I found this; I thought maybe...for the splint..."
"Yeah, that'll work. Gimme your belt too." Sam busied himself with fashioning a clumsy splint for Jake's arm, strapping it to the clipboard with both of their belts. As gentle as he tried to be, Jake still let out a few gasps and stifled whimpers. When Sam used his own undershirt to create a sling and hold Jake's arm safely against his chest, Jake looked like he was about to faint.
"Shhh...you're okay, you're okay, you're doing so good..." Steve whispered, kissing Jake on the forehead.
Before Steve pulled his uniform up again, Sam used the last of their torn shirts to make a hasty bandage for his arm. They had actual medical equipment on the Quinjet, so he could finish the job once they got on board.
"Hey, why don't you let me take him?" Sam suggested when Steve reached for Jake. "You should probably check on the others."
Steve started, as if suddenly remembering that it wasn't just the three of them. "Bucky! I left him with Peter..." He pressed a finger to his earpiece. "Peter! Peter, come in!"
There was a tense moment of complete silence, then Peter's voice sounded in Sam's ear. "Yeah, yeah...I'm here." His voice was labored, out of breath. "I'm here, I'm here, it's...it's fine. Just had to...oof, that was heavy... Um, it wasn't safe in there, so we had to get out. Sorry, kinda had to move fast... Man, that was a lot of rubble..."
"Bucky?" Steve asked impatiently. "Is he...?"
"Oh yeah, he's normal now! I mean, he kind of just looks angry all the time, but I think that's just his Resting Murder Face..."
Despite the dire situation, Sam couldn't keep back a small smile. Yeah, that sounded about right.
"Okay, stay where you are," Steve said, grabbing his helmet and slinging his shield onto his back. "We'll be there as soon as we can."
Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea.
- Matthew 18:6