Sam and Bucky Learn Hostage Negotiation
Bucky had wanted to come along with everyone else on the mission, but Sam insisted that he stay home and rest. Bucky had carried most of the responsibility and stress the past few weeks, with Sam injured and getting back to a healthy place, along with taking care of two teenagers. He only protested a little when Sam made him promise to sleep.
“At least take Maggie and Peter along with you for backup. I want you to be careful. Don’t get stabbed again, and try not to die. It would be super annoying if you did,” said Bucky with a tired smile. Sam and the kids were all ready to go , and halfway out the door.
“We’ll be careful. Now you stay here and be careful too.”
“When am I not careful, Samuel?”
Sam scoffed. “You’ve got, like, a death wish, man.” He and Bucky held eye contact for a second longer before it was time to go.
Sharon Carter finished her glass of wine. It had been a long day at work. She was tired. There was an early-morning meeting tomorrow that she was not looking forward to. Sharon set down the empty glass in the sink and looked around the apartment. It was classy and large, with marble countertops and sleek leather sofas. It was also rather impersonal; from the artwork on the walls to the lack of personal effects, it didn’t seem like Sharon was all that attached.
She went into the bedroom and began taking off her makeup. She had just changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants, though, when she felt it. She wasn’t sure how she didn’t sense it before. In fact, she was typically pretty hyper-aware of her surroundings, but perhaps she had allowed herself to slack off tonight.
That was a mistake.
Her eyes darted around the room, and she was about to turn around when something cold pressed against her back.
“Don’t even think about turning around too fast, Ms. Carter. Please put your hands up, no sudden movements, thank you very much.”
Sharon turned slowly, hands raised, and found that the person holding a gun to her head was a sixteen-year old boy. She concealed her surprise.
“Who are you?” she asked calmly. She didn’t seem worried.
In lieu of a reply, the kid gestured over his shoulder. “Er- Mr. Wilson? I think you should take it from here.”
That really threw Sharon off guard. She could hardly contain her shock as Sam Wilson stepped from the shadows, holding a gun. There was another kid next to him; she looked young, younger than the boy. “Sam? What is this? Who the hell are these children?”
“Okay, first of all,” butted in the girl, “we’re not children. Also, I don’t think you’re in much of a position to insult us.” The boy nodded in agreement, and Sharon shut up about it accordingly.
Sam gestured that she should sit down in one of her dining table chairs. She did so, and as soon as she had sat down, the boy reached out with a flick of his wrist, and something sticky shot at her, holding her down to the chair. She flinched, but it didn’t hurt. Ok, fine. This was fine. Sam wouldn’t hurt her, not after everything she’d done for him.
“Sharon,” began Sam tensely, “we know about the Power Broker.”
“What do you mean?” Sharon knew exactly what he meant, but she played dumb anyways.
“We know you’re working for him.”
Sharon’s relief was short-lived. Just because they didn’t know that she was the Power Broker didn’t mean that this still wasn’t bad. She decided to play along because she knew Sam was smart, and drawing this out would only result in more difficulty for her.
Sam watched closely as her frown slacked into a knowing grin.
“How’d you guess? I’m sure my boss would love to know.”
He didn’t react to the comment, but handed the gun to the girl. “Maggie, do your thing.” The girl held up the gun so it was level with Sharon’s temple. Sam continued: “I’m gonna ask you a few questions, and you better answer them correctly or else my friend Maggie will put a bullet through your foot.” Sharon nodded her understanding.
“Who is the Power Broker?”
Sharon winced and shook her head. There was a horrible bang next to her ear and she would’ve jumped three feet in the air if she wasn’t webbed to the chair. The girl was firing blanks at her, but Sharon didn’t want to test how much it would take for the girl to use real bullets. Damn it, why weren’t her security measures working yet? She was sure her people would’ve done something by then.
Suddenly, there was a quiet ding from Sam’s jacket pocket. He ignored it, but Sharon smiled. “You might wanna answer that,” she said.
Sam pulled out his phone and turned it on. The expression on his face upon seeing the notification was… well… priceless.
Bucky Barnes had had a nice night. It was a much needed break from the craziness of the past few weeks. He’d bought a strawberry milkshake from a diner and drank it on his way back to the warehouse, and then promptly fallen asleep after changing into a clean set of clothes. The night went downhill from there.
He woke up because he heard a sound. The watch on his wrist told him that he’d been asleep for a few hours, and he looked around groggily in the darkness. Nothing seemed out of place. He was about to fall back asleep when, all of a sudden, there were a dozen men on top of him, punching and kicking.
Bucky was, naturally, a bit terrified at first. He went into full combat, “instant kill mode”, and reached for the knife kept beneath his pillow.
The attackers were faster. They pinned down his arms and legs, and someone stuffed a nasty-smelling rag in his mouth. Then, like a cherry on top, someone was holding his own knife to his throat! Lovely!
“Stop struggling, or I’ll cut,” growled a voice in his ear, and he stopped.
They dragged him through the warehouse to a chair and fastened his arms behind him with vibranium. So, he deduced, they were powerful people. Well funded. Well connected. You had to be those things to get your hands on vibranium.
He squirmed in the hard chair. This stupid rag tasted like shit, and he wasn’t enjoying any of this. Maybe he could pretend not to understand English? Yes, that was a good plan. Incoherent mumbling always deterred kidnappers.
A person, face hidden in the darkness, began speaking. “Good to see you again. How’s your boyfriend doing? Last I saw him, he was rather… gutted.” The man chuckled cruelly, and Bucky recognized the voice.
The Tall Man stepped forward into the light. He had a nasty scar on his forehead where Bucky had cut him, back at the fight in the vacant lot.
In reply, Bucky mumbled through the gag. He determinedly continued to monologue in Romanian when the Tall Man took the gag out. He wasn’t saying anything of use, anyways; he mumbled the lyrics to a song tunelessly, and suppressed a smirk. Maggie would be happy to know that he’d listened to One Direction enough to know every word of “What Makes You Beautiful” by heart, and he could even do it in another language.
The Tall Man smirked, too. He turned around and took Bucky’s knife from one of the other men who’d attacked him. He suppressed a flinch at the sight of it, but he didn’t react otherwise as the Tall Man waved the knife in his face,
“I don’t think we’re supposed to hurt him that badly,” said one of the henchmen.
“Yeah, well, I don’t care,” said the Tall Man, and in one fluid motion he slashed the knife across Bucky’s forehead, above the eyebrow.
He winced and cursed angrily. “Scheiße!” Woops. That was German. The cut leaked blood into his eye, and he blinked the blood away. It wasn’t that bad. It was fine. He plunged into a Russian rendition of “Night Changes” without skipping a beat.
All this tuneless mumbling was pissing off the Tall Man. He pulled out his cell phone and muttered something to one of his lackeys, who promptly went around the chair and stood behind Bucky. The henchman tugged boredly at his hair, and held a gun up against his head. Bucky winced, the Tall Man snapped a picture, and bent over the phone again. He hit send. Shit. They were using him for leverage, probably against Sam. He wondered briefly if Sam would let him die. Hopefully not.
Back at Sharon’s apartment, Sam was rooted to the spot, clutching the cellphone and horrified. The picture on the screen was horrible: his best friend, beaten up and bruised and tied to a chair with a gun to his head, squinting into the camera. Blood trickled from a cut above his eyebrow. Sam kicked himself internally for letting this happen. How could he have let Bucky be so vulnerable? The dude had been a sitting duck, just waiting to be discovered, and he had been. It was all Sam’s fault.
He called the number that had texted him the picture, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away, unwilling to cry in front of others. The other end answered after the second ring. Sam ran a hand over his head with a touch of relief, but the worry in his chest didn’t dissipate yet.
In a strained voice, he spoke. “Hello? Who is this, and why do you have my partner?”
There was some shuffling on the other end, and a brief pause before a familiar - and urgent - voice whispered through the phone. “Sam? Sam. Listen to me- don’t do what they say! Don’t cooperate, please, I don’t care if I die if it means saving you-” Bucky’s desperate voice was cut off abruptly. There was a muffled shout, and a different voice replaced Bucky.
“Give us back our guy, and we’ll give back yours. His life is in your hands.” The call ended.
Bucky’s life was in his hands, and Sam hated the feeling. He glanced back at Sharon who was still webbed to the chair. They’d treated her considerably better than the enemies were treating Bucky. It was all so unfair. So goddamn unfair.
Bucky blinked slowly. He was exhausted, still cuffed to the chair, and bored out of his mind. He’d gone through most of the One Direction discography and was running out of songs. He’d been sitting like this for a while.
“Hey, quick question: how’d you all find me?” His voice was husky from sleep.
The Tall Man raised his eyebrows. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. That boy who tags along with you all - the Spider Child. He is shockingly easy to tail. We followed him back here and waited for the perfect opportunity to strike, and it was just our luck that your friends left you all alone tonight.”
Bucky let out an angry sigh. He should have taught the kid better. He should have taught how to not be followed. Stupid. He glanced around the room again, inspecting the security. There were eight men, all with guns, and they’d been able to take him before. But he had been sleepy, not alert, and on the verge of puking up his milkshake (Bucky was starting to get the sense that he was lactose intolerant).
He tested the strength of the chair. Even though he couldn’t break out of the vibranium cuffs, getting out of the chair would be helpful. He could fight with his hands behind him. Against less people. It would also help if they didn’t have guns. So… this wasn’t gonna work out that way. Damn it.
Sam paced back and forth in Sharon’s apartment. Peter watched him innocently, wondering what the hero’s plan was. Finally, Sam stopped pacing and turned back to look at all of them.
“We’ll give back Sharon in exchange for our friend. I hate to say it but it’s our only option,” said Sam. Maggie looked stunned; Peter frowned with worry and looked back at Sharon.
“Are you sure?” he wondered. “We’re still on the run. She could rat us out to the cops.”
“And risk exposing herself and the operation? It won’t happen,” reciprocated Sam, with certainty. He reached for his phone and slid open the home screen. He dialed the number. A rough voice on the other end answered after three rings.
“Hello? Sam?” It was Bucky. He sounded as if he were in pain.
“Bucky- who did this to you? Please, just hang in there, okay? I’m gonna need you to put me on with the other guys in there.” There was a shuffling sound, a grunt, and a few unintelligible whispers on the other end before another voice came on the phone.
“Hey there, Mr. Wilson. Come to a decision yet?” It was the Tall Man.
“Yes. We’ll let Sharon go in exchange for our friend. Don’t hurt him, just return him to us, and we’ll do the same.”
There was a chuckle on the other end. “Come back to your place. You’ll find him there, alive. The Power Broker is nothing if not generous.”
***********
The men started toward Bucky again, this time holding a needle. This was where he drew the line; needles were a big no-no. He squirmed in the chair, testing its strength again, but he didn’t have enough leverage to break out. His breath started coming in short gasps, and he could feel a panic attack tightening in his chest. His eyes darted around frantically, searching for anything. Any way out of this situation was welcome.
A horrible, startling chill overcame him as the men drew closer, and the sound of blood pounding in his head drowned out everything else, even when he started to scream. There was a terrifying prick in his neck, and again in his arm, and the whole world turned black before his eyes.