The Dark Descent
Yeah, he’d come back for Sam.
Not in one piece though.
Another hit from the butt of the AR rifle finally broke skin, blood matting his hair over his eyes.
While he couldn’t hear Rumlow speak, he could tell the agent was yelling at him hard enough for his forehead veins to protrude hideously. Pain was slowly ebbing into a foreign concept as the STRIKE team continued their fun.
He hadn’t realized he closed his eyes, until he felt his head lifted from the concrete floor. Pierce tilted his face to inspect him, his ‘welcome back soldier’ inaudible from the ear plugs stuffed uncomfortably deep into his eardrum.
It'll be a painful hour of fishing those out later.
Already with his grubby hands violating his face, Bucky was glad he wouldn’t have to hear Pierce’s gritty voice. As the Director signaled for STRIKE to move the Asset into another holding cell, Bucky read something about the Avengers, Insight and preparations before they slammed the door closed.
The plan was working. Soon, they’d strap him up, prepare him for the confrontation.
He only hoped they wouldn’t bother to wipe his memory. Pierce's hand reminded Bucky of Zemo’s in Madripoor, of his past handlers.
Disgusting.
Bucky smeared the dirt of the cement floor on his face, hoping it’d make the stain under his skin go away.
It helped a little.
Once again alone with his thoughts, Bucky pondered Sam. The way his eyes fluttered open after Bucky gently slid his hand off his cheek, something swimming under his irises, something he'd only seen once before in spite of all the testy flirting, right before he got shot. He had a feeling they both liked it.
As always, Steve interrupted at the best possible timing, knocking at the makeshift barracks door before the two could talk some more. Bucky was already on borrowed time. He quickly gathered mission gear, reviewing the bullet points of the plan with Steve and Fury as the team walked him outside. They wished him luck, a question of how he’d prevent the words from working on everyone's mind. Bucky simply laughed, tapping his ears. Sam raised an eyebrow.
“You got a secret on and off device in there, Robocop?”
Bucky shook his head, a smile turning into a grimace at the impending discomfort he was going to subject himself to. “Don’t worry about it alright?”
Leaving Sam in a grouchy mood with worry on his brow wasn’t Bucky’s intention, nor his most favorite thing to do, especially after a moment like that. The feeling of his cheek, so soft, softer than Bucky expected, haunting his palm throughout the drive until now. And honestly? It felt good to touch Sam like that. The warmth radiated through Bucky's arm to his entire body like a secret power-up star in a hidden level from those Mario games AJ and Cass would play. Something he’d never dare dream of doing in the future. Which made him think…why? Why hadn’t Bucky taken the lunge when he had the chance?
When Sam cocked his head at whatever he’d said at the terrorist base? When Sam had some pasta sauce stuck in his beard in the kitchen the first week they moved in together? When Sam laughed at his antics in the security camera feed? When Sam taught him how to calm down the first night they moved in together? When Sam touched his metal hand that day on the couch? When Sam saw straight through him as he always had when he busted out Zemo? When he dropped off the Wakandan case at the boat? When Sam gave him ‘tough love’?
And now.
When Sam took an altruistic chance and believed him. When Sam listened to the Barnes horror show with the same empathy. When Sam quietly comforted him during bouts of insomnia in their week together. When Sam saw through his lies last night.
Yet, to be accepting of this Sam now , to pursue this Sam, if he was honest with himself, was it not oddly predatory ? The same way that Sam glowed without the pressure of the future, was the same way Bucky felt as if he was taking advantage of Sam’s ignorance. Of the lack of liability Bucky would have for his mistakes. His memories of both Sam’s mind blurred when their skin touched, and while Bucky can’t compel himself to regret it, the morality wasn’t lost on him.
What a mess.
His mind replayed this logic over and over like a broken record, reasoning why he could pursue his ‘crush’, and why he couldn’t. Before he knew it, his cell door opened again, blinding light disorienting him. Hands nabbed at his arms as STRIKE followed the same old dance they always did.
Except.
It quickly became clear where they were taking him.
Shit.
As Rumlow dragged him toward the chair, he calculated his chances of success. Four STRIKE agents, a scientist and Pierce. He’d have to severely debilitate or kill Pierce, and Bucky wasn’t sure how important it was for him to be alive.
The team wasn’t quite ready, but if he was discreet enough he could probably buy time before they arrived. Either way, while he would have a reasonable chance at remembering his real mission, there was no room for error. He couldn’t take the chance of forgetting the drives, along with being selfishly afraid of forgetting his Sam.
Pierce said something condescending, based on his posturing, before shoving Bucky into the chair.
Now .
Surprise was his greatest tool. Since they didn’t bother to undress him, likely assuming he was still in gear from Florida, Bucky utilized the same techniques from when he first woke up. Disarm, shield and shoot, before anyone could alert the cavalry. He deliberately sliced Pierce’s left infraspinatus tendon, instead of shooting him like Rumlow and the rest.
In less than a minute, all assailants were dead, with Pierce writhing on the floor in pain. Bucky palmed for the hidden pocket in his pants, taking out the hybrid ear communicator and clicker, activating it in his hand. He ensured the light was on before reporting in, “Change of plans, we have to move now. Four STRIKE are down, and Pierce is alive but unable to move. I'll leave him alive, in sub-basement level 3, the unmarked room at the end of hallway 4.” The director’s lips moved, saliva and blood mixing as his bruised lips started reading an awful lot like Longing, Rusted -
He wasn't going to test whether the words still worked from reading them or not, stomping on Pierce's face with his boot while he waited for the confirmation signal. The light blinked red, green, red, which meant the team would be moving in within the next hour. He could feel Pierce's jaw work from under his heel, removing his boot before yanking what little hair the man had left. He glared at the dirt smeared on his face, with blood stains from his nose seeping into his mouth.
He began making amends a long time ago, with the help of Doctor Raynor’s requirement of continuously repeating a frankly embarrassing sequence that didn't help much outside of a brief self satisfactory fuck you to remaining Hydra. It wasn’t until after the conversation with Sam, he realized it wasn't just about getting justice for himself, but for those he hurt working under the villains. And in the end, he'd never stop making amends, through constantly improving his skills, ensuring the safety of his team and being of service, he couldn't stop until the day he died.
Even understanding all of this, when would he get a selfish, second chance for justice like this? To confront one of the worst assholes Hydra had to offer? To utter the embarrassing but smug words to one of the worst of the entitled assholes who controlled the organization?
"I am no longer the Winter Soldier. My name is James Buchanan Barnes, and you're lucky I don't crush your skull." Bucky towed Pierce by his hair to the chair, strapping him securely before knocking him out with a rough punch.
The slack jaw stupid look complimented the man’s ego satisfactorily, and Bucky wished he could take a picture for shits and giggles. A sigh of relief escaped, and something slotted in his mind that felt right . He shook his head, focusing back on the mission at hand. Raiding the supplies and as many guns he could fit on his person from the unconscious STRIKE team, Bucky leaned against the front door, positioning his palm flat against the steel to feel for any vibrations indicating movement. When he didn’t feel any, he yanked the hinges off, clearing both sides of the hallway with a pistol heavy in his hand. From his memories at the headquarters and later the blueprints leaked online by Natasha, it should be fairly easy to navigate while avoiding wandering personnel. Navigating the winding and twisting hallways under rough green LED’s and arid wind drafts strained his eyeballs to the point he’d need eye drops, constantly rubbing while waiting at corners for any sign of life. There were none of course. At a sub-level of a sub-level of a sub-level of a hidden sub-level, this floor is only accessible to those who can control the Winter Soldier, not those who knew of the Asset.
Finally, after what felt like at least forty minutes from the mundane decorum, Bucky reached the elevator. He quickly glanced at the clicker for any change in color. Still green. A good sign. The vibrations of the clanking metal as the elevator sank lower to Bucky’s level raised his adrenaline in tandem. This wasn’t part of the plan because it is indeed strange for the Asset to be escorted without a handler, or STRIKE team member. It won’t raise suspicions right away, but Bucky estimated approximately thirty minutes before someone wondered where the handlers were. He reported his suspicions as such to the clicker once the metal gate creaked open, receiving the same confirmation signal. The elevator seemed dangerously out of date, the metal plating sinking under his weight. Steeling himself into stoicism once again, he mapped out the rest of the route in his mind.
This elevator would only take him to the last on-the-record basement level of SHIELD. From there, the hallway deviates into several bulk supply and file storage rooms. Most employees are simply admins or pickers, who wouldn’t bat an eye at the Asset. The problems would begin when he’d take the elevator on the other side to the fifth hanger. Walking into an open ‘field’ like that puts him at risk of not only detection, but getting shot. The observation deck and guards on the floor are likely crawling with Hydra guards, not instilling confidence that he could slip by completely undetected.
Either way, what choice did he have? Bucky wiped some crusted blood from his nose, and hoped the dirt on his face would appear as if they painted it intentionally for camouflage. The elevator doors visibly shuddered open, the metal so old it seemed if a screw came loose the whole thing would crumple. Dust filled his nostrils, the temptation to itch overwhelming. They never cleaned on this level, neglected over time like the elevator. Bucky stepped off, keeping his head down for his hair to act as a curtain. Immediately it was obvious he was the only one on the floor. He kept his footsteps as light as possible without hearing, yet dust particles still flurried like snow. Some doors were cracked open and others tightly shut.
It saved him the trouble of acting, relaxing by a grain, and adjusting his gaze to find the elevator. Two left turns later, the SHIELD logo brightly flashed on the elevator reader. Bucky fished out Rumlows key card, selecting H5. Hopefully, no one would be loitering in front of the elevators, preventing further unnecessary questions. This time, the elevator ride was smoother. Less painful LED’s painted the metal a bluish hue this time. It soothed his nerves by a fraction, yet the light fixtures still bludgeoned Bucky’s eyes. As eco-friendly as they tried to be, SHIELD’s ergonomics never really kept up.
The doors slid open. Stepping out robotically, Bucky marched through the hall while straining to see any indication of life. Oddly enough, he had yet to run into anyone. There was no one down the hall, or in any of the service offices. Some doors hung open, and others were locked tight, just like the archive floor.
He stopped in front of the hangar entrance, with the same tech pad awaiting a keycard to grant passage. Bucky hesitated, scanning the open floor through the glass sliding doors for any mechanics.
There weren’t any.
Oh fuck -
Suddenly, wisps of a greenish gas spilled through the air vent almost directly above him.
“Shit!” Bucky tried waving his hands to disperse the drug, quickly scanning Rumlows card, not even waiting for the doors to open all the way before sprinting to the nearest helicarrier. Even running at full speed, the sheer size of the room put it at least half a mile from where the entrance was. Bucky didn’t even make it to halfway before his legs crippled, inducing a coughing fit. He tried to get up, he really tried to work through the acute numbness, but his world was getting darker and swirlier by the second. Realizing he was caught, he slipped his hand into his pocket, sending a discrete signal in morse code to the team before all motor function failed.
Contingency plan.
There wasn’t time to even confirm if they received it, as an onslaught of STRIKE and Hydra guards ambushed Bucky, despite being unable to move at this point.
Goddammit!
He couldn’t move, could hardly blink, yet the gas was not potent enough to knock him out. Gloved hands aberrated his exposed skin, hauling him back down to the depths of hell. So close yet so far, he wondered how the fuck he managed to get caught at the most critical time. He couldn’t even get one chip in, how much of a critical failure is he? This one error couldn’t just cost hundreds of lives and the Avengers reputation…it would most likely, most definitely cost him his memories of Sam.
Bucky tried lashing, resulting in no more than a twitch under their grasp. What a fucking moron you are Barnes.
A familiar rattle told him they were already on the floor.
Please tell me they're already here.
An unreasonable hope, Fury wouldn’t risk coming for Pierce immediately. The team was probably already extracting the data they needed, working their way down to finish the job he couldn’t. Bucky realized, even as he could feel his ankles scrape against trekked-in gravel on the concrete, he’s not afraid of abandonment.
Huh.
If he would have been asked around the same time when they first went on the run together, yeah, Bucky would have been scared to be left behind. But knowing that Natasha, Steve and Sam, would protect him if needed didn't make him too worried in terms of being returned to Hydra, because he wouldn't stay for long due to his friends' stubbornness. But only if the team survived. Which he wouldn’t know. Because this isn’t what originally happened.
Bucky was seriously wishing time travel never existed. It would have been better to die in his Sams arms.
But then he’d never get to see where Sam originally lived before everything went to shit. He wouldn't see the weightlessness of his shoulders, the extra pep in his step, or hear stories of the VA clinic and the bits of the good times in Afghanistan. He has honestly felt like he’d caught a glimpse of something precious in his short time with Sam, something that has crawled into his heart and wants to persist no matter the consequence. He’d never get to wonder if maybe there was a better way to do things. A better way to pursue what he never felt like he could in the future.
Bucky wished he died in his Sam's arms, because he wouldn’t suddenly be questioning if maybe it'd be a good thing to forget his Sam.
The pukey hue of the room was rapidly approaching and Bucky became more and more afraid and confused. He tried thrashing again, and again, the men carrying him seeming to not even notice his escape attempts. Drool from his mouth splayed on the floor, and tears began forming at his eyes when the door opened.
No no no, Sam-
Fuck, fuck, don’t forget the mission Barnes-
He tried repeating what he needed to do, chips, hellicarrier, chips, hellicarrier, chips, hellicarrier-
He laughed wetly, which likely came out as garbled nonsense, as the STRIKE team strapped him to the chair Pierce once sat. Bucky caught a glimpse of something fall from Pierces limp hand - a goddamn panic button.
It was somehow even more amusing, the roller coaster of emotions he was experiencing, the projected triumph and how it all came crashing down due to basically a life alert.
The rough leather felt suffocating, but there was nothing to do. He was down and out. Could hardly make out the face of whoever was securing the cold unforgiving metal to his head, whoever was shoving the moldy mouthguard in his mouth.
Maybe he shouldn’t forget his Sam. But maybe it’d make things easier, when - if - the team brought him back.
Maybe he’d do something about how he feels about Sam then.
Maybe he’d be better off getting shot by Fury or Hill instead, end his suffering, since clearly the universe can’t get enough of it.
Or maybe he should just try to dream of Sam.
Maybe it’d help ease the pain, even a little.
Yeah, I think I’ll do that.
He shut his eyes tight, trying his damndest to experience Sam while the familiar burn began inseminating his brain. Future and Past. Brushing his sweaty hand while repairing the boat together, witnessing an angelic Sam catching the armored car, Sam’s rough gloved grip on his hands to save him from the mine pocket, Sam’s shoulder knocking into his while agreeing to being a ‘couple of guys’, the way water dripped down Sam’s adam apple as he drank a cup and a half of water last week to calm down, Sam’s chest tight from his crossed arms as he leant against the wall shirtless, Sam’s laughter while poking fun at the Mona Lisa in Madripoor, Sam’s intently hunched over the Revenant, Sam giving a staggering speech amidst sirens and cameras, Sam’s warm breath when Bucky touched his cheek, Sam’s unreadable gaze at the base, Sam, Sam , Sam , Sam , Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam , Sam.
Sam, Sam , Sam, Sam.
Sam, Sam, Sam-
Sa-