Chapter 7
It starts off like this: a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Stay tuned, as we continue to update you on the situation regarding former ‘Winter Soldier’ James Barnes-”
It continues, like this: gnawing at his insides, acid stripping away layer after layer.
“-Captain America has still refused to comment-”
And this: until everything is bleeding and raw.
-
Knock, knock.
Sam stares blankly at the tv, eyes trained on the screen but only catching fragments of sound.
Knock, knock, knock.
His hands shake from the caffeine now running through his system; a necessity. Thank god for the shitty Keurig in the corner of the room.
“Sam?”
He blinks as the new sound filters in. Someone’s knocking at the door.
“Sam!”
Right. Torres. Joaquin.
“Coming,” He says, the word feeling wrong in his mouth, like cotton between his lips.
Sam closes the laptop screen with a quiet snick, as if hiding it can keep the horrors at bay. Can bury them for as long as it takes to fix this, whatever this is.
A lot can happen in three days.
He gets up, shakes the tension from his body as best he can, and empties his mind of everything bar what he needs to do right now.
“Coming,” He says again.
Joaquin jumps a little when he opens the door, a nervous smile on his face, and a laptop bag across his chest. “Hey,” He breathes out.
All Sam can do is say, “Come in.”
“Uh, so. Why’d you…” Joaquin seems to stumble over his words, and takes a long look at Sam that makes him feel scrutinized, like an insect under a microscope. Like an experiment strapped to a table. “Are you good?”
He almost laughs. Almost.
Instead, he ignores the question. Instead, he sits back down at his closed laptop, and stares at the logo on the cover.
“So. Um. Sam. Why’d you call me here?” A quick inhale, and then, “I saw- well more like heard, ‘cause I was listening to the morning news on the radio the way over here and- anyway. Did something… Is Sergeant Barnes okay?” A pause. “Because they’ve been talking about him on the news and-”
Sam cuts him off before Joaquin can go down that train of thought. “He’s fine.” Which is a complete lie. “But, yeah. It’s…”
He takes a moment to phrase his words. To figure out just how much he’ll be telling Joaquin, how much the kid needs to know. Because he certainly doesn’t need to know everything, the everything that Sam just-
“Bucky. He left the hospital. Ran away.”
And bless Torres, because his eyes widen with panic but also compassion, not out of fear of the Winter Soldier, but out of fear for Bucky’s safety.
“Oh no, is he…? Here, I’ll start checking all the databases I have access to, although I’m not sure how-”
“Torres. He’s… fine.” Sam says again, another lie. And the twitch that crosses his lips as the word ‘fine’ leaves his mouth gives it away. “He’s fine,” Sam repeats, as if saying it can will it into existence.
Lie, lie, lie. Bucky’s not fine. Is he? Sam saw what they did on those tapes, what they-
“He’s… I’m just worried,” He admits, although worried is a bit of an understatement, now. “They didn’t get to check him out, so I don’t know the extent of his injuries. And now he’s off rattling around in New York City somewhere. At least I think.” Hope.
Joaquin’s face twists into a small frown. “That kinda sounds like the opposite of what you’ve been saying, then. Didn’t Bucky pass out before he got to the hospital? He shouldn’t be walking around.”
He purses his lips. “No. He shouldn’t,” Sam agrees.
“I would ask how, but super soldiers, huh?” Joaquin jokes, and Sam tries to hide his deepening frown. “Sam?”
“Okay, so here’s what we need to do,” Sam starts, cutting off Torres’ questioning glance- there’s no time to worry about anything else right now. “I need help getting the CCTV footage from around the hospital, and hopefully find where Bucky’s head off to. At least what direction.” And more to himself, he adds, “He’s had experience doging cameras before…but…”
“Alright, yeah, I can handle that,” Torres adds, before Sam can continue voicing his train of thought. “Anything else?”
“Maybe… Keep the guys in charge out of the loop for this one?” Torres is still technically government-affiliated, as is Rhodey, so that could hurt them more than it could help. It’s just probably not a good idea to have the government investigating so closely in this. God knows Bucky has had too much experience with that already.
It’s not going to stop them of course. An assassin and known terrorist threat escaped from the hosipal after no sign of life for three days. It doesn't matter that Bucky’s pardoned at this point. Not like the pardon was ever a true pardon, what with all the requirements and conditions attached. But whatever. It’s a moot point to argue when he doesn’t even know where Bucky is.
(Don’t think about what they did, don’t think about it don’t think about it don't think about it-)
Focus. Focus on getting Bucky somewhere safe, and making sure his injuries heal up nicely. It’s the least he can do. The least. Three days. Three days. A lot can happen in three-
“Alright. You got it, Cap.”
Torres has this sort of determined look on his face, and it makes Sam feel nauseous. Or maybe that’s everything else. He swallows.
Belatedly, he says, “Of course, only if you’re okay with doing this. I’m not going to make you join me if you don’t want to,” He adds, although he’s not sure what he would even do if he was left by himself on this. So he’s really betting on Joaquin helping.
“Yeah, Sam. Of course,” Joaquin replies, and he has this honest-to-god, earnest look on his face that Sam has to avert his gaze from. “Is there…” He fumbles his words, looking at Sam. “Is there anything else? Are you okay? Have you slept at all?”
It’s a clear invitation to talk, if Sam’s ever seen one. It’s just too bad he’ll be outright ignoring it. There’s no time to think about how Sam’s feeling right now. Not when Bucky, when Bucky…
No. He needs to do this. Needs to find Bucky and make sure he’s okay. As okay as he can be, considering. And to do that, Sam needs to focus. Chin up, shoulders back. Focus. On what he can do. Not on what he failed to stop.
A lot can happen in-
“I’m fine. We need to get to work.”
-
Sam ends up giving Torres Rhodey’s number, and his reaction is a brief second of air where Sam finds himself genuinely smiling, able to breathe again. “The Colonel Rhodes?” He also turns his own phone back on, in case of any important updates.
He sends Joaquin off on his merry way, digitally speaking; he quite literally tells the kid to park himself at the desk and mooch off the 5G wifi of the Avenger’s-dedicated airport hanger. As for himself, well. He has things he needs to do.
He starts by heading to get his suit. It sits in the large briefcase Bucky had brought over, way back when, although not as neatly folded.
He unbuckles the latches. Stares at the star on the chest for way too long. There’s still a smear of blood across the front, from where he had wiped Bucky’s knife. Said knife is resting on the table with the rest of the equipment they’ve got stashed here. It has yet to be cleaned, too. Sam can see himself in the crimson reflection.
He closes his eyes. Breathes. Empties his mind. Completely.
And he grabs the suit. And the shield. Tries to wipe the blood off, semi-successfully. It leaves a brownish-pink stain that’s not too noticeable, but still there.
He also grabs Bucky’s knife. Then immediately puts it back down.
Time to head out.
He first heads to the hospital, New York Presbyterian. He chats up the people inside a little bit, trying to be at least somewhat inconspicuous, but that’s hard in a fully vibranium suit, even with the wings retracted. At least seeing Captain America seems to loosen some of the nurses’ lips. He finds the receptionist particularly helpful.
“Oh, yeah. Um, Sergeant Barnes, correct?” Sam nods. “Yeah, he made quite the ruckus trying to get out of here. Scared a lot of the patients.” And before he can shoot her a look for that comment she adds, “But honestly he looked a lot more scared himself. A lot of the other nurses were trying to calm him down, but then security came in, too, and…” She trails off.
Pushing away the awful feeling bubbling within him, Sam responds. “Thank you. Did you happen to see where he went?”
The receptionist thinks for a moment, drumming her manicured nails on the counter. “After he left, I saw a few of the guards run out to the right, after him. Came back in pretty soon after, though. Sergeant Barnes must’ve slipped them pretty easily.” Sam’s unsure whether or not to be grateful for that fact.
Regardless, he thanks the woman again. “I appreciate it, really.”
He’s starting to draw some looks from outside now, too, so it’s about time to head out. The receptionist leaves him with a parting promise. “If you stop by here again, I’ll let you know if I find anything else out. Or if he’s come back here.”
Neither of those things will happen, but Sam’s gracious for the offer anyhow.
He continues outside, where there’s the remnants of a poor power washing job on the sidewalk. Sam walks somewhat hurriedly down the steps, following the tiles that have been wet, while simultaneously trying to flee the onlookers. Most people have dispersed, thankfully, realizing Sam’s not doing much right now, and there doesn’t seem to be an imminent threat in the area. That’s New York for you, huh?
Sam spots a few drops of blood that whoever cleaning the walkway missed, nearer to the street. They trail off to the right, lining up with the information the receptionist had given. It cuts off fairly quickly, though, likely because of the foot traffic on this street. And also because Bucky was probably moving quickly, trying to get away. (Sam tries to keep the image of Bucky hobbling along the sidewalk, injured and scared out of his mind after waking up surrounded by doctors out of his mind. He fails.)
He continues a few blocks down, before he spots a secluded alley covered by scaffolding. He pauses, and huffs. God, there’s scaffolding everywhere in this city. Are they always building something? Is it never finished? Bucky would say something stupid like, ‘Back in my day, we built things to last. None of this temporary shit.’ And Sam would say, ‘Yeah, well, looks like this scaffolding’s as old as you. Seems like stubbornness and sticking around way past your time are just traits from ye olden days, huh?’ But Bucky’s not here. And so Sam stays quiet.
He heads deeper into the shadows. As suspected, the blood trail picks up here. Not super noticeable unless you’re looking for it- again, New York City is a damn trip, there’s crazier shit everywhere- but there’s dried blood smeared against the brick wall, about shoulder level. A good sign.
Well, not a good sign in the everything-other-than-tracking department. Because it means that Bucky was still bleeding, even after all the commotion at the hospital, and before that, the HYDRA base. It’s been a while. A lot can-
A sudden ringing interrupts his thoughts. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and frowns at the screen. Rhodey.
“Hey.”
A pause.
“Sam.” Anger tinges Rhodey’s voice- with no subtlety.
Sam breathes in. “Okay listen, I know you’re mad-”
Rhodey barges forward. “Three days with no contact, Sam. Three days!” Like he has to remind him. “Then Barnes runs away from the hospital and injures a nurse? This is not looking good for him or you.”
“Rhodey-”
“And now you’ve gotten Lieutenant Torres involved in this mess?”
“Rhodey-”
“Sam, you sure as hell better have a good explanation for this.”
“I… Bucky…” He stutters.
And something in his voice must give it away, even over the phone, because suddenly Rhodey’s tone shifts to concern, if a bit exasperated.
“Sam, c’mon man. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s happening. Tell me what’s up.”
Sam swallows. Blinks a few times. Runs his hand along the bloodstained bricks, and then closes it into a fist. “I’m sure you heard.” Even though he’s been avoiding it, it’s pretty clear that Bucky’s been all over the news.
“I have heard. I’ve heard what the media has to say. Not from you.”
“Right.”
“Tell me like I have no idea what’s happening,” Rhodey says.
So, Sam does.
“Bucky went missing four days ago. Almost five, now.” Or six? How long has he been at this again? “Kidnapped. And Torres and I planned an op to rescue him, as soon as we found out where he was being held.” Sam takes a moment. “But I get there, and he’s already taken out every last person in that base. And I yell at him for a little bit, trying to figure out what happened. But he… he…” Not important right now. Not important. Focus. “He passes out.”
Rhodey seems to still be listening, so Sam continues. “So we take him to the hospital. And then I have to do a press conference- which you know- so I leave him there. Alone.” Rhodey hums at that but doesn’t interrupt. “And then I get a call saying the super soldier I deposited has escaped, before the doctors could even touch him.”
“So you abandon the press conference.”
“Yeah.”
At least Rhodey doesn’t sound as pissed off right now, but who knows how long that’ll last.
“And?” Rhodey prompts.
“And… And so I leave so I can try and find Bucky. And enlist Torres for an extra set of eyes.” Sam pauses. “Look Rhodey, I’m sorry for ditching the conference, and I know I still have to write up a mission report- I know. I know. I’ll get on it.” Eventually. Once he knows Bucky is somewhere safe. Somewhere where no one can-
“You’re worried,” Rhodey surmises. And well, it’s not wrong.
“Well, yeah. My partner- who has a history of being imprisoned by a very specific Nazi organization- just got kidnapped and ended up killing a lot of people to get out. Of course I’m worried.”
“You think it’s HYDRA?”
“Yeah, it’s-” He flashes back to the laughably obvious desktop background, housing the video files Bucky so desperately wanted deleted. The video files Sam watched regardless. The nausea churning in his gut only strengthens. “It’s HYDRA.”
There’s silence for a moment over the line before Rhodey speaks again. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling me.”
“Hm.” Sam hums in lieu of a response, because he’s not going to outright lie to one of the only people in his corner right now.
“Sam,” Rhodey says dangerously, a warning in his voice.
“I just-” Just what? “I just… I can’t tell you right now.”
(Sam tells himself it’s for Bucky, to keep the information hidden, private, but deep down he knows he’s just a coward who can’t face the truth.)
Rhodey sighs, but acquiesces. “Fine. Do what you need to.” And in a lighter tone, “I expect a top-quality mission report after this, though, at least A, if not A plus caliber. I’ll be using a rubric.”
“Who are you, my seventh grade English teacher? Next thing I know you’ll be telling me to use Times New Roman and size twelve font.” Sam jokes back, but his tone falls flat. Rhodey thankfully doesn’t comment on it.
“Yeah, yeah. Make sure you double space it, too.”
Sam breathes out a laugh that feels wrong in his mouth, and another brief moment of silence falls before Rhodey speaks again.
“Sam, you know this doesn’t look good for you.”
“I know,” He replies, because he does. Even Steve Rogers, America’s golden boy, caught flak from the public for all the illegal shit he did. Of course Sam is going to. Even if it’s technically not illegal. Yet. “But I need to figure this out first before we do any PR. Please.”
Rhodey gives the sigh of a man who’s done this many, many times before. “Fine. I’ll do what I can to get the suits off your back. But you owe me.”
“Got any friends that’d appreciate a fly-by from Captain America?”
“Funny man, Sam,” Rhodey states dryly. Then, “I’ll keep that in mind. I have a cousin who- anyway. Keep me updated. For real.”
“Of course,” Sam replies easily, not knowing how much truth is actually in the statement. “I will.”
Sam ends the call there, pocketing his phone and taking a deep breath in. He exhales. Looks at the splattered blood for the upteenth time since he’s walked into the alley. The trail seems to end here. Thankfully, he's had experience tracking Bucky before. Granted, completely different circumstances (though Sam’s unsure which he’d prefer right now), but experience is experience. It helps, too, that he knows how Bucky thinks.
He steps out into an opening where the sun peeks through the shadows of the buildings, squints up at the sky. And takes off.
-
Sam scours the city for a bit, mainly around the hospital before expanding his search further into Lower Manhattan. He’s not necessarily looking for Bucky, per say. He knows that Bucky’s smarter than hiding in plain sight during daylight hours, especially when he doesn’t want to be found. Which Sam is assuming, based on the fact no one’s caught hide nor hair of him since his little escapade. It would have been all over the internet by now, if so.
Regardless, he continues looking for places he could see Bucky going. Getting inside his mind, so to speak (although perhaps that’s an ironic expression to use, given the person he’s talking about). Bucky couldn’t have gotten very far in the condition he was in. Or maybe that’s just hopeful thinking. There’s not much that’ll stop the man when he sets his mind to something. For better or for worse.
Deciding to take a break and realizing that he’s not going to get far just looking from above, Sam lands on another relatively empty street. He leans against the cement walls of one of the buildings, and pulls his phone out, checking to see if Joaquin or anyone else has called.
Nope. Nada.
He’s about to head out and meet up with Torres again, when he’s struck with a morbid need to check the security footage of the HYDRA base again. Not for… that… but the aftermath. Right before Sam had gotten there.
(There’s no need to review the other footage. He’s already watched it all, eyes glued to the screen as he could do nothing but let it play out. With every scream, every moan of pain, knowing that is was happening to Bucky, his friend, his- with nothing he could do. His mind whispering your fault, your fault, your fault, until it turned into a shout-)
Unconsciously, Sam opens the files that have been transferred to his phone, ignoring the thumbnail images this time. (He doesn’t need a preview of what’s in them. He knows.)
He taps on the very last one, the one that goes black at the end as Sam hacked into the other computer, pulling out the data that Bucky had said to delete. He looks at the image with the play button over it. A lab, a man on a table with his left arm dark and hanging limply to the side. No clothes on.
He’s about to hit play, desperate for any sort of clue that it could give on rewatch as to where Bucky would head, but then a ding interrupts his movements and Sam pauses.
It’s a single text from Torres.
Found Sergeant Barnes on cams. I think he spent the night in an abandoned building.
Not sure where he went after that.
Then:
He looks like he’s in bad shape.
As the sun sets over the horizon, Sam quickly heads back to the airport hanger to meet Torres. There’s no time to waste.