Chapter Text
Steve was going to kill him.
After all this time, he’d thought that the real enemy were the ones outside the gates-- but oh how wrong he’d been. How wrong they had all been.
Bucky bolted across the cement floors with all the force he could muster, willing his body to move, to help him, to save him. He didn’t even spare Steve a second glance as he took off down the dim-lit hall as fast as his legs would carry him. A loud shout rang out behind him, but the ringing in his ears drowned out everything as he squinted into the darkness, desperately trying to see where the hell the exit was.
He could hear footsteps running after him and more shouting, but he refused to stop running. All he needed to do was get to an opening, to find their people, and tell them all the truth. He needed to scream it at the top of his lungs. To get it all out. He almost did it then, just for the sake of it, and maybe for someone else to hear and help him, but that was more difficult to do when his heart was pounding so fast that he could hardly breathe.
“Bucky!” Steve’s shout boomed down the abandoned hall just as Bucky slid around a sharp corner and into yet another dark hallway. He scanned for a way out, desperate now, and just kept running.
Don’t stop…
Can’t stop…
If Steve gets his hands on me, he will kill me.
Those words were on constant replay inside Bucky’s head as he sprinted further into the maze of the damned building. The thought of hiding somewhere came to mind, but as he tested one of the doorknobs, then the next, it wasn’t much of a shock to find them all locked. He didn’t need to wonder why, not anymore, but he refused to let his mind think about the horrors that were behind those doors.
Bucky shoved his way through a set of double doors and as his frantic gaze found the next clear path, he took off again, willing himself to go faster. But as his sneakers screeched against the new surface-- tile -- it was then that he began to recognize his surroundings from the way he’d come in.
He turned more frantic. The door, the door, I need the fucking door. He tried one set, then another but to no surprise, those were all locked as well. It felt hopeless, like there was no way out of this hell and Steve was sure to catch him at any minute-- but then he spotted it. The shimmer of sunlight that peaked through beneath the bottom of one of the double doors on the opposite wall. That has to be it, he thought, and ran toward it.
He pushed through it with more force than necessary, but it didn’t matter. As soon as he fell outside onto a familiar stretch of sidewalk, he almost burst into tears. The sunlight against his skin practically burned.
Bucky had done it. He’d actually gotten away and now he had to tell-- the thought fluttered from his mind as an arm grabbed at him from behind.
Fuck. No. Steve?
He gasped and immediately reached for the arm crushing his waist, then tugged on it in an attempt to free himself. The feel of it was all wrong and he knew instantly that the appendage didn’t belong to Steve. Either way, he needed to get free.
But then he was being whirled around and he was met with the wide, frantic eyes of someone familiar.
Brock .
“Did you see?” Brock rushed out in a gasp of air. “Did you see what they’re doing?”
He had seen it all . Just remembering a glimpse of what he’d witnessed in that laboratory made Bucky’s hair stand on end. He wanted answers. From Steve. From the others. But the value of his life outweighed all of that by tenfold. Now, all he needed was to get away. He needed to keep running.
Bucky nodded his head and tried to put his legs back into motion, clawing at Brock in desperation, but the man held on. “We need to go! Now ,” he told Brock, but Brock still seemed to be a beat behind.
“We need to tell the rest of the community. They have to know. This place is no longer safe,” Brock said, “It’s either we all leave or we get Steve and the others and-- Fuck!”
A loud whacking sound cracked against the still air. Brock tumbled forward, releasing Bucky, and he spun around in time to see Steve with a baton in his hand and Brock gripping his head.
“Sorry to interrupt your plans, but I’m afraid I’ll be taking back what you just took,” Steve said in a voice so eerily calm that it made Bucky’s entire body tremble.
“I didn’t take anything,” Brock spat. “He was running. From you. And the rest of your people. He knows the truth now.”
Bucky sucked in a breath as Steve’s eyes flicked to him.
“Even if that’s the case, I’m afraid I won’t allow you to take him,” Steve said. “I’ve made it quite clear how things will be running around here and Bucky is mine. My responsibility. He will be going nowhere with you and he will not be telling anyone anything.”
“This is all wrong,” Brock glared at Steve. “People deserve to know what you’ve done! What you’re still doing!”
Steve gave the man a look of false pity, but there was no mistaking how eagle-sharp his eyes were. Calculating. “Is that really what you want to do? The work you’ve already done… don’t let it go to waste. And for what? Jealousy? I thought you would be above that.”
“Over my dead body will I let this go on. I won’t be silenced this time. I refuse to be.”
Steve tucked the baton into the holster at his waist, and quick as a flash replaced it with a gun. “If that’s your wish, I’d be happy to follow that through. Think people would still call me cruel if I did?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. This had all spiraled out of control so fast and they both knew they were playing a dying game. He could see the defeat in Brock’s eyes, just as he could see the faint, barely-there way those dark eyes jerked to the side and pleaded for Bucky to go on. To run. To get out of there before he too was out.
Bucky slowly began to walk back a couple steps, not wanting to be anywhere near this, and bumped into--
“Hello James, going somewhere?”
-- Natasha. And behind her, Clint.
Bucky froze as the two people he’d once considered friends regarded him like there was nothing wrong. Nat flashed a maniacal grin and strolled past him, giving him a pat on the shoulder. She had a dagger in her hand.
“We got this, Steve.” The look that she gave Rumlow hid nothing about how she felt. Hatred. Disappointment. Glee. “You take Bucky back inside. Talk some things out.”
Throughout it all, never once did Steve look away from him. He didn’t glance towards Nat, or Clint, or even Brock bleeding on the ground. Blood was now trickling down his neck and soaking the collar of his shirt. Brock's eyes looked too unfocused to prove to be a threat.
Steve’s jaw clenched and he held out his hand expectantly toward Bucky. “Come to me.”
Even if he did run for it, there was a reason why Clint stayed separated from Nat. He’d been surrounded and for a purpose. The small ounce of freedom that he’d been given was now well and truly over. Lost in his racing thoughts, he unconsciously took a step backward. Steve took two forward. His arm was still outstretched and he was still looking . “Bucky. Now.”
The command made Bucky’s feet still. He had no other options. Lowering his gaze, he did as he was told.
“Bucky-- no ,” Brock hissed. “Fucking run. Get away from here!” His voice was cut off by a pained moan and something that sounded like a chuckle from Natasha.
He couldn’t bring himself to look. If he did, he didn’t know if he could stomach what would come next for Brock.
As soon as Bucky was in reach, Steve grabbed his arm and pulled him flush into his chest. Those piercing blue eyes scoured over his face, going soft, before Steve’s hands came up to frame Bucky’s head. Gently, one of Steve’s thumbs rubbed beneath Bucky’s cheekbone. He winced. The touch stung.
“You’ve gone and hurt yourself,” Steve murmured.
Had he? He couldn’t remember that part. He just remembered the bodies. The stink. The blood. The sounds.
Steve’s hold lowered and he started to inspect Bucky’s arms, shaking his head at the bruising that was already starting to bloom.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Steve exhaled, “you’ve made a mess. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”
Without choice, Bucky was hauled back toward the door he’d just escaped through. He felt himself start to tremble, his bottom lip quivering as he bit into it. “Steve--”
“Ssh,” Steve shook his head. “Not right now. We’ll talk about this later.” He had Bucky tucked right beneath his arm. He would never be able to fight against Steve. The blond was too big, too strong.
A sob escaped Bucky’s throat before he could stop it. “ Steve --”
Steve stopped them and before Bucky could do anything more, he was being crushed in a hug against Steve’s chest. Hands rubbed soothingly against Bucky’s back and there was no denying that just as much as Bucky was shaking, so was Steve.
“You know I would never hurt you,” Steve said against Bucky’s ear. “Never. I’d burn this dead fucking world to the ground before I ever did that.”
When Steve kissed him, Bucky knew that the man was telling the truth. He could feel it in his bones, could feel it thriving in the blood running in veins. It was comfort. A need.
It hit him them... the realization of Steve's words. If the world was already dead, would it really matter if it burned, too?
As far as Bucky knew, everyone was already on borrowed time.