#whump sam wilson

[creative-caramel-coffee]

The Spiders Sister - Chapter 3

Summary: Reader meets the team.

Tw: mentions of sickness, teasing

Words: 2.8K

A/n: Thanks for all the support this series has been getting :) If anyone has any suggestions for things that could happen in this series lemme know and I’ll see what I think. No smut though I don’t write that here.

The next day you woke to knocking on the bedroom door. Sitting up in bed you quietly called for whoever it was to enter.

A moment later Wanda poked her head through the door. Seeing you awake or at least semi-awake she slipped through the small space she had created.

“Good morning.” She smiled coming to sit beside you on the bed. “Did you sleep well?” She asked pressed her hand to your forehead.

“Mmm.” You hummed still half asleep.

“You don’t feel warm anymore.” She smiled at this achievement as if she was proud of you. “How are you feeling today?” She asked moving her hands to rest in her lap again.

“Tired, but that’s probably because I just woke up.” You smiled.

“Nat sent me to wake you up. She wanted to know if your well enough to meet the others today.” Wanda explained looking slightly guilty.

“I mean, I’m game if you are. Where’s Nat?” You asked coving a yawn.

“Nat’s training with steve. And not so fast, I want to know more about how you're feeling. No more headache? Cough? Wheezing? Give me something.” She grinned.

“My headaches gone, no more cough, maybe a slight wheeze I’m not too sure.” You begun and Wanda’s brow furrowed slightly at the mention of your wheezing. “I’m like ninety-nine percent sure my fever is gone, and I feel pretty good all things aside.” You finished.

“That’s good. Maybe keep your inhaler on you today just in case. And after the meeting I’ll see if I can get Bruce to give us a few spares, just in case.” Wanda said softly.

“You really don’t have to.” You said shyly toying with a loose thread on the sheets.

“Its no problem. I would make me feel better. Breathing is important.” Wanda teased easing your concerns.

“So, when’s the meeting?” You asked.

“Well, I think Nat wanted to do it as soon as possible. Like straight after training and then I’m going to make you some pancakes for brunch.” Wanda said poking your side. “But for now, hop up, get dressed and I’ll be back soon to show you where the meeting room is.” Wanda said, standing up and heading for the door.

Once wanda had left, probably to go and find Nat to call the meeting, you crawled out of bed. Rifling through your backpack you changed out your sleepshirt and shorts for a pair of black track pants and a pale-yellow t-shirt. Throwing on some goofy socks and lacing up your black converse high tops you braided your hair sat in front of the mirror and threw on some deodorant.

Once you were ready and had been to the bathroom to wash your face and go through your morning routine, you sat at peters desk.

Picking up your backpack you went through it until finding what you were looking for.

Pulling out the black sketchbook you opened it to a fresh page and began mindlessly doodling things you could see around peters room and the cityscape beyond the open curtains.

Just as you were getting into the details of the New York skyline you heard a knock on the door.

Lowering your pencil, you sat a little straighter.

“Come in.” You called your voice sounding better than it had in days. And surprisingly good for someone who had spent hours coughing and wheezing for days on end.

Wanda opened the door and smiled seeing you up and about for the first time.

“You look much better.” She commented coming to stand by your shoulder. “Wow, you’re an amazing artist.” She smiled looking at your drawings.

“Oh, um … thanks.” You smiled still a little awkward when it came to compliments. “So, what’s the news?” You asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” Wanda said looking up from where she had been inspecting your sketchbook. “Nat called Fury. He’s kinda the boss. He’s given the go ahead if steve and tony sign off on it. Nat then called a meeting and I’m going to bring you to the room where you're going to meet the team.” She explained.

“I have two questions.” You said.

“Shoot.” Wanda said pulling you up and gesturing to follow her out the door.

“One, is peter going to be at this meeting?” You asked as Wanda lead you down some seemingly endless corridors.

“Yes.” Wanda nodded, pressing the button to call the lift.

“And two, this Fury guy said yes? Just like that?” You asked sounding slightly confused.

“Yes and no.” Wanda begun, stepping onto the lift with you beside her. “Nat asked Jarvis, Tony’s AI assistant to pull up all CCTV footage of spider-man and separate footage based on bio-signatures. So, she could differentiate between when it was peter and when it was you in the suit. She sent Fury the files and after he reviewed them, he approved you a place on the team. If you want it and the others agree.” Wanda explained.

“Okay.” You said slowly. “Seems like a good plan.” You smiled.

And the lift dinged softly as it slowed to a stop.

“This is us.” Wanda said and you followed her out of the open doors. Walking beside her down a hallway she stopped in front of a door and paused to look at you. “You ready?” She asked, her hand on the door handle.

“Yep.” You nodded swollowing down your nerves. “Ready as I’ll even be.”

“You’ll be great. Just be yourself and they’ll love you.” Wanda said and pushed the door open.

Nat was stood at the head of the table, a screen behind her queued up with spider-man videos. She smiled at you and wanda as the rest of the people turned to face you.

Seeing the people you had only ever seen on Tv in real life was a little overwhelming at first but wanda squeezed your hand and lead you into the room to stand at the front with her and Nat.

Peter smiled at you from where he was sat beside Tony. Looking proud of you just for standing in front of the avengers.

You stood there silent for a second simply making eye contact with your shoes before Natasha spoke up.

“This is Y/n.” Nat begun, and you gave a small half wave with an awkward smile. Tony was staring you down with an unreadable expression. He looked like he was analysing your face mentally. Most likely already having connected you to Peter.

“Hi I’m Y/n Parker.” You said lifting your eyes to meet a few smiling faces around the room a fair few of them sporting shocked looks.

“Parker?” Tony echoed sounding smaller than you had ever heard from his times on Tv.

“Y/n Parker is Peters sister.” Wanda explained.

“Kid?” Tony looked hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me there were two of you?” He asked looking sad.

Peter looked slightly sick at the open disappointment his mentor was showing right now and so you stepped in before peter had a panic attack.

“Mr Stark, Sir, it was my decision to keep myself out of the spotlight. And to do that I needed to maintain a low profile. Which is harder to do when the avengers know of your existence. No offence.” You explained. And the team exchanged a few glances as they noted how you had come to Peter’s aid almost immediately.

“That’s alright, I’m sure Pete will open up now you’re here.” Tony said with a grin as he ruffled Peters hair, “Won’t-cha kiddo?” He asked with his usual charismatic charm and Peter gave a small nod and smile while he ducked his head not liking the attention.

“So, anyone have anymore questions?” You asked drawing the attention off of Peter once more much to your brothers' relief.

Looking away from the small smile he sent you as thanks you laughed, seeing every hand in the room up with a question for you, bar Nat, Peter and Wanda of course.

You looked to your left and nodded to Steve.

“Hi, nice to meet you kid.” Steve said. “I have a question though, if Peter’s identity is secret, why did you need to stay away from us?” He asked looking confused, and his statement drew a few nods around the room.

“If Tony scares you honey, I can assure you that the man would forget his own shoes without me.” Someone you recognised as Pepper Potts said with a smile causing Tony to grumble to himself. How Nat had managed to wrangle the CEO of Stark industries into this meeting you didn’t know.

Little did you know that all it took was ‘There’s something you should know, it has to do with Peter’ and she was on her way.

“Actually,” Wanda said drawing the gaze of the room to her, “This should explain it. Jarvis play the video.” She said and the lights dimmed as the Tv showed a compilation of some of your best moves in the spider-suit.

When the video ended the lights retuned to their normal brightness and everyone still looked confused.

“How exactly does a compilation of Peter doing tricks explain that?” Bruce asked.

“Um…” You said looking slightly nervous. “That was me.” You said in a small voice and the room was silent for a second.

“Sick moves kid. Peter your sister’s awesome.” Sam said and a few people laughed at his perfect comedic timing.

“Prove it.” Tony said and you paled slightly.

“Tony.” Pepper said placing her hand on his arm and shooting him a look.

“No, its ok pepper.” Nat said. “Jarvis?” Nat called to the ceiling. “Was that peter in the suit for those videos?” She asked.

“The height and weight as well as body stature and proportions do not match Master Parker.” Jarvis said.

“Ok,” Nat continued, “Who do those body descriptors match in this room?” She asked.

“The person in the suit does match the body of Miss Parker.” Jarvis said and Tony frowned.

“Do the sticky thing.” Bucky called drawing a few smiles. You rolled your eyes and put a hand up, splaying your fingers before jumping in the air and touching the ceiling where you stayed stuck.

“Crawl around.” Sam said and you glared at his heckling.

“No.” You said and you saw Peter doing his puppy eyes at you. “Fine.” You sighed.

Jumping up you did a flip and stuck your legs out, now standing on the ceiling upside down and making eye contact with Sam before looking to Bucky.

“Better?” You asked sarcastically.

“Much.” Sam grinned and you rolled your eyes again.

“Ok. Get down Y/n.” Nat said sounding part annoyed part amused at the display.

“Yes ma’am.” You said before detaching from the roof and doing a flip to landing back where you were before.

“Show off.” Peter murmured under his breath and you huffed a small laugh as his ears went red, not having expected you to hear him. Dumb super-hearing.

“Well, now we’re done with the party tricks. What are we thinking?” You asked brushing off invisible dirt from your clothes.

“Well…” Tony said. “I think its time you got your own suit.” He grinned and you smiled back. “What colours do you want kiddo?” He asked.

“Um… maybe something like purple, white and red?” You said and he nodded already sketching down ideas on a pad of paper pepper had brought with her from a meeting.

“You’re also getting an AI.” Tony added and you looked a peter who simply smiled proudly of you.

“Well, if that’s everything Y/n’s also gonna need a room.” Wanda said and Tony nodded.

“There’s a spare room on Natasha and Wanda’s floor if you want to move in with the girls. Do I need to send some movers to grab your things?” Tony asked and you looked at your shoes and shook your head.

“Not much to move.” You mumbled.

“Y/n’s apartment was taken out in the last battle. She’s been hiding out in Peter’s room for now. That’s how we met actually.” Natasha said shooting you a reassuring smile.

“Well, it sounds like I’m going to be funding yet another shopping trip.” Tony sighed and Wanda grinned at you mischievously.

“We’ll make it a girl's day.” Wanda said shooting a look at pepper.

“I’d love to.” Pepper agreed and Nat clapped her hands together.

“Alright then.” The assassin said. “I should probably tell Fury we have another spider on the team.” Nat grinned and you smiled at her.

“Great, now we have three spiders.” Tony said rolling his eyes and ducking as Pepper aimed a pretty good swing to the back of his head.

“Knock it off Tony, don’t act like you're not secretly overjoyed to have another Parker around.” Pepper said.

“Just wondering,” Bruce said looking mildly nervous as the room turned to look at him.

“Yes?” You prompted him to continue.

“Are you…” He begun before pausing, “I guess theres no real nice way to put it.” Bruce said and Tony jumped in.

“I think Brucie-bear wants to know if you come with the Parker Brain Package.” Tony said and Pepper glared at him.

“Tony.” She warned, glaring at him while you cleared your throat.

“If you’re asking about how smart I am, let’s just say I designed the original prototype for the web-shooters and chemical makeup of the fluid.” You said and Tony nodded seemingly satisfied with that small tidbit of information for now.

“Well, if nobody had anything else to say, Wanda and I are going to take Y/n for a tour of the compound.” Nat said before turning to look at Clint. “And you, have to make dinner. You lost our bet.” Nat said and then dragged you and Wanda out of the room by your sleeves.

After a very long and very comprehensive tour by Natasha and Wanda, you were shown back to the communal kitchen where most of the team ate together when they weren’t on missions.

You walked into the dining room attached to the kitchen to be hit with the smell of burnt food pungent in the air.

You looked at Nat confused, and she grinned as she heard cursing coming from the kitchen. Wanda looked like she was itching to go help but sad she pulled away Nat grabbed her sleeve at the very last second to hold her back.

“Can someone explain whats going on for me?” You asked.

“Well, Clint and Natasha can’t cook if their lives depended on it.” Wanda begun, only to shush Nat when she went to speak up. “So naturally they made a bet, loser had to cook the team dinner, naturally Clint lost so Nat is enjoying his public humiliation. And I normally cook if we aren’t getting takeout so it's causing me pain to hear whats going on in there.”

“Oh, calm down. Clints not blowing anything up.” Nat said rolling her eyes as Wanda shot her a look. “Ok that was one time.” Nat amended.

Not twenty minutes later you were sat at a table with the avengers with a plate of very burnt stake and watery mash potatoes.

“What is it?” Tony asked poking his steak.

Clint grinned. “A masterpiece.” He said.

“More like a mistake.” Nat muttered judging her steak while poking it with her knife as if she was expecting it to start moving of its own accord.

“I say we have newbie try it.” Tony posed and you rolled your eyes.

Cutting off a piece of the very tough steak with your knife you raised it to your lips and put it in your mouth.

It was tough and kind of disgusting. But you smiled anyway.

Finding the meat tougher than you had been expecting, you made the switch as you called you fangs up. Your canines sharpened as you chewed managing to decimate the meat. Swallowing you looked at Clint.

“Not the worst thing I’ve every eaten.” You said with a smirk and Tony who had been watching you closely squeaked.

“Jeez kid you didn’t tell me your sister was a vampire.” Tony said turning to Peter.

By this point most of they eyes were on you, so you hid your teeth and retracted the fangs out of embarrassment.

“She’s not. It’s a spider thing she got.” Peter said coming yo your defence.

“Either way her new name is fangs.” Tony said with a grin.

This time you glared at him.

“For the record i think they’re awesome.” Wanda said sensing your embarrassment.

“Seconded.” Nat said her spy training honing in on your body language to see you were insecure about it.

“I gotta admit it’s a cool trick doll.” Bucky said.

“Pretty neat.” Steve agreed with a smile.

“Badass.” Sam nodded flicking a still frozen pea at Bucky. “Alright, now that y/n probably has food poisoning, who wants pizza?” Nat asked with a grin. Cheers came from all sides of the table as Clint slumped dejectedly in his seat.

PART 4

#wandanat x r #sicfic #whump #fluff #comfort #marvel #wanda maximoff #wandanat #fanfic #wandanat x reader #wandanat comfort #avengers reader #avengers compound #tony stark #Bruce banner #peter parker #reader #y/n #avengers #pepper potts #sam wilson #Bucky Barnes #steve rogers #spiders sister #spider reader #fangs #spider!reader #clint barton #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff

[whatthetumblfck]

I Was Born Ready

Summary: You're kidnapped on a mission gone wrong and it only gets worse. You eventually escape, but will Bucky and the team see you the same way?

Word Count: 6517

Warnings: swearing, some injuries, angst, whump

Content: Bucky x reader, Y/N, Avengers, whump, kidnapping. All of my fics are self-indulgent.

Please don't claim my work as your own, but feel free to reblog.

You wiped the sweat from your brow.  As far as you could tell, it had been 5, maybe 6, days since you were taken. You knew what HYDRA were doing. They were trying to break you. You adjusted your legs and shifted your weight in the dark, cramped space.  For the last several hours, you had been locked in some sort of box, just big enough to crouch or sit with crossed legs. It was hot as hell and you’d been sweating profusely, wondering how much longer you would last before passing out from dehydration or dying from heat stroke. But you tried not to worry about it. They will come for you soon. He will come for you. You just need to hang on a little while longer.

               A few more hours had passed, and the heat was suffocating. What little strength you had left was dwindling. You rested your head against the wall of the enclosure and closed your eyes, fighting the nauseating dizziness that threatened to overcome you.  The rattling of chains caught your attention. It seemed like the sound was getting closer. It was then you realized you had drifted- asleep? Unconscious? You weren’t sure, but you fought like hell to focus your attention on what was happening right outside your tiny prison. Suddenly, there was a sharp creak of metal and cool light flooded the box. You squinted your eyes, desperate to see what was going on.

“Get up!” a harsh voice demanded.

Your body shook as you tried to stand, but it was no use. You were too weak and dehydrated.

“GET UP!” they shouted angrily, as if that would provide the strength needed to undo the last several hours of torture.

Instead, your body gave up completely and you slumped inside the box. The next thing you registered was the sensation of a cool breeze on your face and the tops of your feet scraping along concrete as they dragged you by your arms back to your cell.

ONE WEEK EARLIER

“The fuck you mean it’s abandoned?” you whispered.

“I mean, I’m not picking up any heat signatures inside the building,” Sam clarified, adjusting Redwing’s controls just to be sure.

Bucky lowered his chin, smiling to himself. He knew you were always looking forward to a fight.

“All right, until we clear it, we’re going to proceed with caution,” Steve began, “Y/N and Bucky, you’re going to enter the south side of the building. Sam and I will cover the north entrance. Position Redwing on the east to detect movement from the access road. Once it’s clear, we set the charges and evacuate.”

You stole a sideways glance at Bucky and tried to hide your excited smile. You loved working with Bucky; you consider him to be your best friend. You felt like there might even be more there too. But you never pushed him. If being friends was all he wanted, then you would be happy with that.  Bucky was mostly quiet and reserved, but sometimes he would open up to you, tell you about his life before the war. Sometimes, but very rarely, he would reveal the horrors HYDRA inflicted upon him. You couldn’t respond; only listen in sickened contempt. Your hatred for them became personal because of what they put him through, but you also began to piece together how they operate, their torture methods, and their twisted thought processes. You filed away this information little by little, to use against them and one day, take them down. It became your personal mission, why you were so eager to take on HYDRA related missions, and so disappointed when they turned out to be flops.

Your thoughts were interrupted by an elbow gently nudging your arm. “You ready?” Bucky said as your eyes met his.

“I was born ready,” you replied, smugly.

Bucky smiled at your enthusiasm, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was tired of fighting, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to watch HYDRA burn to the ground. Having you fight beside him, though, was a double-edged sword. He enjoyed your company more than he let on, but he also worried for your safety.  He always asked Steve to pair you two together as much as possible on missions (so he could keep an eye on you), and he always received a knowing look in return. You were one of the best fighters Bucky had ever seen, but you could also be impulsive. Most of the time, you managed to compensate for this flaw and come out on top in the fight, but there have been quite a few close calls. Too close for Bucky’s comfort, even if you insisted you had everything under control.

“After you then,” Bucky said, gesturing to the south entrance.

“Such a gentleman,” you flirted, even though your tone was a bit condescending. You didn’t miss the fact that Bucky liked to keep an eye on you. It was obvious, the way he stuck by your side for every mission. It was sweet, but completely unnecessary.

Entering the building was uneventful. As you looked around, you took note of all the dust and debris, the result of what must have been years of no use. Maybe Sam was right, it must be abandoned. What a waste of time. You continued your sweep, clearing each derelict room.

“Second and third floors are clear,” Sam’s voice sounded in your comm.

“Well, aren’t you an over-achiever?” you responded mockingly.

“Y/N, Buck. What’s your status?” Steve asked, attempting to maintain professionalism on the mission. Captain Steve didn’t know how to have fun. Killjoy.

“First floor is clear, heading to the basement now,” Bucky reported, shooting you a ‘behave yourself’ look. You stuck your tongue out at him and ran for the stairwell.

“Y/N, wait!”

“Come on! There’s nothing here. Let’s clear this moldy-ass basement so we can blow it up and get home. I’m starving!” you announced.

Bucky caught up with you and roughly grabbed your elbow to pull you back.

“We need to be careful. This is HYDRA we’re dealing with. You need to take this seriously.”

You ripped your arm from his grasp, offended he would be so rough with you. “This isn’t HYDRA. This isn’t anything. There’s literally nothing here.”

Bucky schooled his expression. He didn’t want to be angry with you, but your recklessness could put everyone in danger. He let out a frustrated sigh, putting his hands on your shoulders and lowering his head to look into your eyes.

“Will you please be more careful? For me?”

You were momentarily stunned by the soft cadence of his voice. But quickly regathered your thoughts.

“Bucky, I am being careful. You need to lighten up.” You shrugged out of his grasp and turned back to the stairwell.

What is with everyone today? The super-soldiers are being super-serious. Even Sam seems like a stick in the mud, definitely not his usual, talkative self. Did you do something to offend them? You thought about the events of the last few days and couldn’t think of anything out of the ordinary. Definitely nothing that would explain what everyone’s problem is.

You glanced over your shoulder to see Bucky a few paces behind you as you descended the last of the stairs and reached the basement.

“Well, I didn’t think it was possible, but this looks even more abandoned than the first floor,” you said giving Bucky a pointed look.

“Just keep your eyes open for anything suspicious.” Bucky gently brushed past you to take the lead, advancing down the corridor. He had an uneasy feeling he just couldn’t shake.

“Suspicious?” you remarked sarcastically. “This whole mission is suspicious. What are we fighting here? The cobwebs? The ridiculous amount of dust?” You pushed past Bucky to take the lead again, but when you glanced back, you realized he had stopped. He was looking at you with wide eyes; his expression, one you didn’t recognize.  

“What? What is it?” you asked, concern growing in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re right. Nothing about this is right. There’s too much dust. Our source indicated there was activity here less than a year ago. It shouldn’t look like this.”

You looked around nervously. “Maybe the source was wrong.”

“Not likely…”

Unexpected static in the comms made you jump. You could hear Steve’s voice, but it kept breaking up and you couldn’t understand what he was saying until you made something out very clearly that made your blood run cold.

Pull back……’s a trap…--t out…ABORT!

Your eyes locked with Bucky’s. You froze. He was standing about 10 feet from you when you both registered a rapid clicking noise, like a sped-up clock.

“RUN!!” You heard him yell just before the explosion.

The wall behind you erupted, sending you several yards through the air until you collided with the ground. You could feel the heat and unbearable pressure on your back as you lay prone in the ruins. Dust swirled around you. After several moments of trying to remember how to breathe again and process what the hell had just happened, you remembered that Bucky was with you. You glanced over in his direction, but all you could see was a literal wall of rubble, fire, and smoke. You struggled to focus your eyes, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that were forming. Damn, that hurt.

Distantly, you could hear someone calling your name.

“Buck--,” your voice was cut off by a coughing fit as the dust invaded your lungs. “Bucky…” you tried again.

“Y/N?” he sounded closer. You could hear movement, crumbling concrete. “Are you hurt?”

It was at this point, you realized you should probably take a moment to figure out the damage.

“Y/N??” his voice sounded more concerned, more urgent. You weren’t sure how long you had taken to respond.

“Uhh…I….I think I’m okay……I can’t move. I think…ahh…there’s something on my back,” you choked out.

“You’re gonna be okay. We’re coming to get you. Just..hang on, okay? Hang on.”

Hearing this made you relax. Getting blown up was exhausting. You were certain you were going to hear about this later. About how you should have listened to Bucky, been more careful, taken the mission more seriously. You closed your eyes, trying to reserve your strength. You would need it to climb out of this burning hole in the ground.

After a few minutes, you felt the pressure on your back lessen. That was fast. You opened your eyes and tried to focus on Bucky’s face, but then you heard his voice from behind the burning wall of concrete. Confused, you concentrated your attention on the blurry figure standing before you. HYDRA. You gathered all your strength, trying to fight, but you couldn’t get a single hit in before a blow to your face rendered you unconscious.

Bucky heard footsteps and scraping rocks on the other side of the barrier. He had finally managed to make a dent in the rubble just large enough to see through. To see you being dragged away by HYDRA.

“NOOOO!” Bucky frantically slammed his metal fist into the rubble, trying to break through, but it was no use. He couldn’t get to you in time. He watched as you disappeared into the dust and smoke.

You were freezing. Another week had passed, maybe two. You weren’t sure. It was the same thing. Over and over.  Freezing to the point you couldn’t move or think. Then they would throw you in the box again until you passed out from the heat. You didn’t even know what they wanted. They didn’t ask you anything, barely said three words to you. Wouldn’t answer any of your questions. How the hell did they expect to get information out of you if they didn’t fucking ask you anything? Idiots. You’d be glad to give them as much false information as you could muster.

You were frustrated. Frustrated with this pointless torture and frustrated that no one had broken you out of this shithole yet. What was taking so long?

The next day was new. This time a man in a lab coat came into your cell. Based on the history of everything you have come to know about HYDRA, the lab coat is not a good sign.  He peered down at you where you sat against the cold, concrete wall.

“She’s ready,” he practically drooled with excitement. Disgusting.

Two oversized goons entered your cell and brought you to your feet as another ganglier looking goon wheeled in a stretcher. Your stomach dropped. Not good. This is not good. You tried not to let anxiety and fear get the best of you. You’ve endured the heat, the cold, the physical pain and the repulsive goop they fed you, but this was new, and you had no idea what they had planned.

“No. No no no. What are you doing?” You kicked and fought weakly as they strapped you down. You were unable to move.

Lab coat leaned in close to your face. You could smell the wicked stench rolling out of his mouth.

He simply answered, “Phase two.”

……..

“What do you want? You’ve been torturing me for weeks and haven’t asked me a damn thing! Do you even know how this works? No? Must have missed that day in torture 101.”

The lab coat stopped what he was doing and turned to face you. Amusement and almost pity plastered on his face.

“My dear. I haven’t been torturing you. I’ve been preparing you.”

…………

The first injection must have been a sedative and, for that, you were thankful. Your vision became blurry and all your muscles relaxed at once. You could’ve almost fallen asleep. Until the second injection. At first, it was cold, like ice running through your veins. Starting in your arm and flowing through your chest before settling in the rest of your limbs. It was enough to make you shiver and shake uncontrollably. With the last injection came the unbearable heat. It spread through you like wildfire, burning through the sedative and blistering your nerves. It coursed through your body, the agonizing flames filling your skull, threatening to split it open. It was too much. Unbearable. You thrashed your arms and legs beneath the restraints, screaming until you went hoarse. Nothing you did relieved the pain, the burning.  You were left alone in your misery, knowing nothing but the searing pain in your head, threatening to end your life. You hoped it would.

Then, it stopped. You thought maybe death had finally taken you and you felt sadness, for Bucky. For the team. But you were back in your cell. This couldn’t be death. Death isn’t this cruel.

You rolled on your side and slowly sat upright, fighting off the dizziness. You felt horrible, like you should be dead, but at least the pain had subsided. You experimentally staggered to the door of your cell and peered through the slot. It was eerily silent. Still, you waited to see if anyone approached. They almost always did when you awoke to send you for another round of torture…or wait. What did he say? They were preparing you..for what? The injections, ice and fire, the pain, all came flooding back to you. What did they do? Your breaths came faster. You had to get out of there. Fear and panic were in control now. You pushed and pulled at the door feverishly, and to your surprise, the door opened. Worried this was another trap, you stepped back, but no one came. What the fuck?

You left your cell and made your way down the hallway, searching for the exit or at the very least, a weapon. The building was completely cleaned out. They left you there, their experiment. Did they think you were dead? Or just a failure? You didn’t feel any different. Those HYDRA morons must have been bigger fucking idiots than you gave them credit for. Still, you weren’t going to stick around. When you finally made it out of the building, you realized you actually recognized the area. You weren’t that far from the compound. It made you sick to think you were only 10 or so miles from home this whole time, and still, they couldn’t find you. HYDRA could have practically walked up and rang the front doorbell, and the team would have had no idea.

It was cold outside and you were dressed only in a thin gown. You walked for hours, determined to make it home. You had no way of contacting anyone. You were surrounded by a few trees and fields of nothing. The final yards leading up to the compound were grueling. You were exhausted. Your feet bled and your legs shook with the effort.

It was early evening, you guessed, when you painfully stumbled into the common room, where Steve, Bucky and Sam all sat, attention focused on various maps and blueprints laid out before them. Steve saw you first, eyes staring and mouth hanging open. It would have been humorous had you not just been through hell and back. Bucky stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Steve’s expression and turned his head to see what Steve was staring at.

“Y/N??” Bucky couldn’t believe it. His eyes ran over your battered form, watching your whole body shake with fatigue.

You didn’t know what to say. You tried to choke back the tears that were now streaming down your face.

But this was all you could handle. You were suddenly dizzy, the room had started to spin and you dropped to your knees as Bucky ran towards you.

“Oh God! Call Dr. Cho!” Bucky ordered, but Sam was already on it.

You collapsed into Bucky’s arms and saw Steve running toward you. Bucky’s alarmed face was the last thing you saw before your eyes involuntarily closed.

When you awoke the next day, you were alone in the med bay. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, trying to force out the lingering headache. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and were about to remove your IV when Bucky walked into your room.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he said as he approached you cautiously. “How are you feeling?”

“Um..really..hungover,” you cracked a smile trying to break the tension. “How long was I out?”

Bucky looked at his watch before responding, “About 23 hours.”

“Oh shit. New record.”

Bucky looked nervous. “We looked everywhere..”

“Not everywhere,” you retorted, sounding more bitter than you intended.

“I didn’t think I was going to see you again.”

“Well…that makes two of us.” Your eyes stayed trained on the floor. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. You spent weeks dreaming about seeing him again, and now you couldn’t even look at him. Why? Were you that angry that they couldn’t find you? They were obviously looking.

Bucky sensed that maybe this wasn’t the best time to broach the subject, so he changed it.

“So..uh…they want to do a debriefing on what happened as soon as you’re feeling well enough.”

You faltered. You didn’t want to talk about it, relive it. Especially so soon. But you’d rather get it over with so you can move on with your life. Put the whole ordeal behind you.

You looked down at the IV in your arm before ripping it out, the blood beginning to trickle down to your palm.

“Doll—what are you doing?” Bucky lunged toward you, grabbing gauze off the bedside table to apply pressure to the site.

You grabbed the gauze and took over applying pressure.

“I’m about to change my clothes,” you began glancing around the room before finding some in a bag below the bed, “so unless you want to see me naked, you can turn around.”

Bucky paused, mouth opening slightly before regaining his composure and turning to face away from you. You caught him off guard, which is honestly, something you’ve never seen happen.

You were a little disappointed. Maybe you’d been reading him wrong, and he doesn’t see you that way. Or maybe he’s just being a gentleman. This isn’t exactly the best time to explore your feelings for one another. Still, it stung.

………………………..

You sat at the table, nervously glancing at all the faces in the room. Fury, Tony, Steve, and Sam all had their eyes on you. Everyone except Bucky. He stood in the corner, holding his gaze to the floor.  He looked more nervous than you felt. Weird.

They asked their usual questions, and you answered as best you could. But you didn’t feel comfortable enough to go into extensive detail. You trusted these men with your life, but it was starting to feel less like a debriefing and more like an interrogation.

“…and you’re sure that’s all you remember?” Fury asked again.

You looked around the room again, each set of eyes seeming frustrated. Expecting more information than what you’ve provided for the last 2 hours. This was exhausting. A familiar headache was building behind your eyes, and you were beyond done with this.

When you didn’t answer right away, Tony asked another question. “They just let you walk away?” You could hear the blatant skepticism.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Tears were starting to fill your eyes. Damnit! This is not how you thought this would go, but you were feeling pressured, overwhelmed. “They tortured me! For weeks! The same damn thing. Over and over and over again! And I don’t know---maybe they thought I was DEAD!” You choked on a sob; tears streaming down your face now.

“Okay! That’s enough!” Bucky interjected, seemingly ending the questioning.

You quickly stood from your seat and rushed out of the room.

They all exchanged glances and Bucky lingered there silently for a moment before following you.

When he reached your room in the compound, he knocked, but you didn’t answer.

“Doll. It’s me. Can I come in?”

Again, you didn’t answer. He could hear your quiet cries. He tried the handle, but you had locked the door.

“Can you unlock the door, please?”

“Go away, Bucky,” you said, softly. You didn’t need to yell. You knew he could hear you.

“Come on. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” With that, he could hear you moving towards the door.

You angrily flung the door open, surprising Bucky and forcing him to take a step back. Your hair was disheveled, eyes red and still wet with tears.

“Do I look fucking okay to you!?!?” Bucky looked into your eyes, not knowing what to say.

“HYDRA imprisoned me, practically in our own fucking backyard and still no one came for me!”

“Y/N, I swear to you, we never stopped looking—”

“And as soon as I fight my way back here, you all grill me for information, like it was my fucking idea to get captured?”

“Doll, no one thinks this was—”

“I waited for—aagh—” the pain in your head suddenly flared. You squeezed your eyes shut and pinched the skin between them. Your discomfort was evident.

“Hey, hey. What is it? What’s wrong?” Bucky’s worried eyes searched your face for answers.

You tried to recover, to push the pain aside.

“I waited for you—AAGH” the pain peaked. The same blistering heat threatening to end you, keeled you over.

With your shaking hands on your knees, you could feel Bucky move to your side. His arms wrapped around your waist to support you.

“Doll, what’s going on? Answer me. Please!”

But you couldn’t answer him. You were back on that stretcher. A prisoner, again. All you knew was the burning pain. Maybe this time, it would spare you the torment and claim your life.

“SOMEBODY HELP! I NEED HELP!” Bucky’s voice sounded far away.

The fire swirled in your skull and bile burned the back of your throat. You lurched forward, fell to your knees, and vomited on the floor. Everything was suddenly black, then nothing.

You awoke once more, alone, in the med bay.  Well, not completely alone. You could hear talking, whispers. Just outside your door.

There’s something she’s not telling me. But I’m not going to try to force answers out of her. She’ll come to me when she’s ready. I’m just going to be her friend. That’s what she really needs right now.

Just a friend? You felt the blanket of disappointment weigh on you again. You were pulled from your thoughts when Bucky opened the door.

You kept your eyes on him as he carefully entered the room.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Huh?”

“Who were you talking to just now?” You tried not to sound like you were accusing him, but you didn’t like being talked about behind your back.

“I wasn’t talking to anyone,” Bucky shook his head, seeming to be genuinely confused.

Great. Now Bucky was lying to you. Some friend he’s trying to be. Even with him literally by your side, you were suddenly feeling very alone. No one trusted you. They think you’re hiding something. Truth be told, you are hiding something. You never told them about the injections, how the torture was actually “preparations”. You even left out the creepy lab guy coat because you were afraid. Afraid if they found out what really happened, that you were an experiment, they wouldn’t look at you the same way. You were afraid you would lose their hard-earned respect, your place on the team. You couldn’t risk it.

“So what happened?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The pain? Passing out?” Bucky pressed, becoming serious. This felt like an interrogation again.

“Oh…it was just a headache,” you offered. Were you honestly expecting them not to ask?

“That’s bullshit. What happened to you? What did they do?” He seemed desperate and angry and you were becoming more and more guarded.

“I thought you weren’t going to force answers out of me.” You threw his words back in his face.

“What?”

“Nothing”

“What did you say just now?”

You were out of patience and just wanted to be alone. “Nothing. Please leave.”

Bucky stared at you, disbelieving, before turning his back on you and walking out the door.

A single tear slipped down your cheek. What the hell happened? Everything was fine. You were on a mission, business as usual, and then you were captured and tortured. You miraculously make it back home and suddenly, everyone is against you? You didn’t do anything wrong. Why is everyone acting like you’re at fault?  Your thoughts are becoming louder in your head, circling frantically and building tension. You clench your teeth, trying to hold in a scream, but you can feel an energy building inside you. You pull your knees to your chest, struggling to contain it. Your clenched fists pound at your temples. You don’t know what’s happening; you feel out of control, about to spill over. Explode.

Suddenly, you lose control, letting out an ear-piercing scream, releasing a force you had never felt before. All at once, glass bottles and cabinets shatter, the reinforced windows in your room crack. Furniture is thrown chaotically. Everything is broken, in a frightening disarray, and you’re left sitting in the ruins of what once felt like a safe place.

You tried to catch your breath, eyes darting around the room, attempting to make sense of what just happened.

Oh, God. Oh, God.  What did HYDRA do to you? What have you done? You needed to get out of there. Now. You jump to your feet, grab your clothes, and run. You shove past S.H.I.E.L.D. employees in the hallways, their thoughts intruding and overlapping with your own.  It took you a moment to realize what it was, what you were doing: unintentionally hearing their thoughts. You have to get away, get out. It’s too loud. You’re still running when you hear more familiar voices, but these aren’t in your head.

You can hear Bucky, Steve and Sam talking about what they found at the base where you were kept. Empty syringes. Medical equipment. Partially encrypted files describing some kind of experiment. They know—how could they not? Have they known this whole time?

“I don’t know what they did to her. She won’t tell me, but…she’s different.” Bucky spoke quietly.

Different? Is that how he saw you now? Is that why he’d been acting so strangely since you got back?

“Look man,” Sam reasoned, “she’s been through a lot. It would be weird if she wasn’t acting differently.”

“Still, if they did do whatever this experiment is on her, we don’t know what the outcome is…If she’s still herself, or even on our side,” Steve added.

Your heart dropped. You already felt like they didn’t trust you, which was bad enough, but now they’re against you? You waited for Bucky to defend you. He knows you better than anyone, but his silence spoke volumes. You thought Bucky, of all people, would understand what you’d been through. That you would never turn on them. You really were all alone in this. You felt the fear and uncertainty pouring out of the room.

Then, an unfamiliar voice on the intercom startled you.

Code Gray- Med Room 4. Code Gray- Med Room 4.

Shit. That was your room. Then the alarm started blaring and you ran. When did you become the enemy? How did this happen? You’re not part of HYDRA. You’re the victim. You managed to get out of the compound without anyone else seeing you. But you had no idea where to go from there.

Bucky, Steve, and Sam rushed to your med room. They stood there in disbelief, taking in the scene. It looks like a bomb went off.

“What the hell happened?” Sam asked.

“We’re not sure, sir. We, uh, heard a scream and when we got here, the room was empty,” a nurse answered.

“Where is she?” Bucky asked, growing impatient.

“We don’t know, I’m sorry,” the nurse responded before quicky leaving the room.

Steve and Sam exchanged looks. Bucky ran his fingers through his hair.

“Buck….”

“No.”

“We need to consider all the facts, here.”

“No, Steve! She wouldn’t do this. She’s not HYDRA.”

“Dude, she was missing for weeks and then just waltzed through the front door? That doesn’t seem odd to you?” Sam added.

“She didn’t waltz, Sam. She could barely walk, then she collapsed,” Bucky defended.

“So you think they just let her go? When the hell has HYDRA ever just let anybody go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Her story isn’t adding up, Buck.”

“They did something to her, she’s different. I just don’t know why she’d hiding it.”

“What do you mean? What aren’t you telling us?” Steve questioned.

“I think….whatever they did to her, worked. I thought it was a coincidence, at first, but then…this,” he motioned around the room. “I think she could hear what I was thinking earlier, and I think this is part of whatever she’s going through. I think she’s enhanced.”

They all looked around the room, letting Bucky’s theory sink it.

Steve broke the silence. “We need to find her before she hurts someone.”

You were walking against the cold wind and found yourself back at the shithole. You weren’t sure what you were doing there. Looking for answers, maybe? Waiting for them to find you? Like they were supposed to do. Before the injections, before they turned on you, before you lost control. What did they think of you now? You’re certain they must think you’re HYDRA. Fear and despair surged through you, and you started to lose control again. Objects that surrounded you started to rattle and lift into the air, crashing into walls.

You saw movement from the corner of your eye, emotions flaring even further. They had found you. Tears streamed down your cheeks, wetting the front of your sweatshirt.  You had already lost everything. They may as well take you now and put you in whatever floating prison they have. They marked you as guilty the moment you walked back into the compound.

“Y/N? Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Bucky approached you slowly, motioning to Steve and Sam to hang back.

You slowly turned to face him. Finally seeing his face broke you, and you started to cry harder. The cot beside you rattled along with desks and shelves, lifting off the floor, quaking violently, erratically. Bucky held up his hands, gesturing to you that he meant you no harm. And you wanted nothing more than to believe him, to melt into his arms.

As your emotions ran wild with fear and anguish, the chaos around you swelled. You shook your head trying to empty it of the intrusive whispers. You were ready to surrender. You just wanted all this to be over, but when you looked past Bucky to see Steve and Sam in their full Avenger gear, a realization hit you. They were here to fight you. Bucky noticed the change in your demeanor. You felt the energy inside you intensifying again. The building began to tremble.

“Y/N. Y/N! Look at me! You’re going to be okay. We’re here to take you home.” Bucky tried to reason.

“No. NO! You’re here to hurt me. You don’t trust me, think I’m HYDRA!”

“That’s not true. We’re your friends. We want to help you,” Bucky insisted.

“Help me? That’s why you brought Captain America and Falcon with you?!”

You were angry now. If they wanted to take you, it would have to be by force. That’s what they wanted. You looked back over at Bucky and noticed the light reflecting off the tears that gathered in his eyes. You felt like you were about to detonate.

“Sweetheart, please,” Bucky pleaded with you; His hand stretched out towards you, beckoning you to take it.

The building shook even more violently with the release of your emotions. Once again, objects cracked and shattered all around you, but this time, the entire building threatened to come down on top of all of you.

“I can’t. I can’t control it….” You looked to Bucky, desperate for all this to end.

As dust and debris rained from the ceiling, you heard the order.

TAKE HER! NOW!

You whipped your head to the side, catching sight of Redwing; you hadn’t noticed it there before, but it was too late. Two darts struck your neck, delivering a powerful sedative. You swayed on your feet for only a moment before going down hard. All the objects flying around the room, uncontrollably, crashed to the ground at once. The building stood still once again. Whatever they hit you with was strong. You couldn’t move, but yet, you weren’t completely unconscious.  You could faintly hear distorted commotion around you and your eyes felt heavy.

“Jesus Christ, Steve!” Bucky kneeled at your side to brush your hair from your face, wiping your tears in the process.

“I’m sorry, Buck. We had to. You heard her. She couldn’t control it.”

Bucky gently picked you up and held you close to his chest. You could tell he was walking, but your vision was starting to blur even more. Then you felt his breath on your ear as he whispered that you would be okay. You were safe now. They were going to fix this. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to sink into the darkness.

THREE WEEKS LATER

“I don’t want to be a prisoner anymore, Bucky.”

“You’re not a prisoner.”

“Well, I can’t leave. That is the definition of prisoner, right?”

“Bruce thinks he’s close to a cure. He just needs a little more time.”

“You’ve been saying that for 3 weeks.”

Bucky offered you a half-hearted smile, but it was tainted with regret.

You were beginning to doubt their ability to fix you. Where would they even begin? You were just the result of another fucked-up half-assed HYDRA experiment.  They couldn’t cure you any more than they could cure Bucky or Steve of being super-soldiers. You know it. They know it. You just wish they’d stop blowing smoke up your ass.

Just then, Bruce appeared behind the reinforced glass doors, pressing his palm to the scanner to gain access to your room.

He approached your bed with the same half-hearted smile Bucky imparted.

“Hello, Y/N. How are you feeling today?” Bruce began, like he always did when starting his examinations.

“Fine. Normal. How’s the cure coming along?”

He hesitated for a moment, ignoring your question before continuing with his own.

“Any more headaches?”

“No. Not really.”

“Good, good. That’s good.” More hesitation.

“Just spit it out, Bruce.”

“Well, uh..” he fiddled with his clipboard, pretending to review his findings. “We did some genetic profiling and it looks like the experiment has altered your DNA in ways we’ve never seen before. Your brain scans are phenomenal.”

“That’s not exactly comforting….” You knew where this was going, even though you didn’t completely understand the science of it all.

“What does that mean?” Bucky leaned forward in his seat, prompting Dr. Banner to elaborate.

“Well, I’m afraid it means we can’t cure you.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair; the atmosphere in the room deflated. He didn’t even look at you. You knew this was coming but hearing it out loud and seeing Bucky’s dejected reaction only solidified your fears. There is no hope.

Dr. Banner continued, “The good news is that you seem to be adapting and stabilizing well.”

“Yeah, yeah…” You didn’t want to hear anything else. You weren’t even listening. All you can think about is how you’re no longer an Avenger and how Bucky won’t even look at you now. You lost him; your best friend, maybe more. Where do you go from here?

“I just have a few more questions for you,” Dr. Banner began again, “Are you still able to hear the thoughts of others?”

“Yes. But I can mostly block it out. It’s gotten easier.”

Dr. Banner smiled. “And there haven’t been any more incidents….” He held up his pen. “Can you move this towards you, please?”

You looked up from your lap and focused on the pen, gently floating it above the bed until it reached your grasp.

“Amazing…”

You wished Dr. Banner would be a little less enthusiastic. Your life, as you know it, is over and you’re not in the mood for this.

“Okay. I’m releasing you from my care.”

“Wait. What? When?” You stared at him in awe. Is he joking?

“Right now.” He gathered his notes and left the room, door unlocked.

You felt Bucky grasp your hand. His smile was bright as he waited for your thoughts to catch up.

“Come on. We have a mission,” he coaxed.

“I-I don’t understand,” you hesitated. “I didn’t think you wanted---I didn’t think anyone trusted me.”

“Sweetheart, we do trust you…and I’ll always want you. No matter what.” He squeezed your hand a little tighter. “We found the shitbags that took you…you ready to kick some ass?”

Your eyes lit up with excitement and determination. “I was born ready.”

#whump #avengers #bucky barnes #reader whump #bucky x y/n #female reader #reader insert #avenger reader #steve rogers #sam wilson #captain america #winter soldier #marvel mcu #bucky barnes x reader #kidnapping tw #experimentation #falcon

[clintbartonswife]

it takes a village

Pairings: Peter Parker & irondad!Tony Stark Summary: tony gets a message from peter's kidnappers and makes a call. read part one first Whumptober prompt #6 : recording / 'it should've been me' Whumptober prompt #20 : 'you will regret touching them' Notes: brief descriptions of torture masterlist   || whumptober2023

"Sir, you have a message."

Tony wiped the sweat from his forehead, pushing his chair back and looking up to the roof of his lab. "Can it wait? I think I'm close to fixing the lagging issue in Rhodey's leg brace."

"You ignored their last message sir. This time they attached a video."

"FRIDAY, is that a yes or no?"

A few seconds passed as FRIDAY inspected the file, Tony stretching and wincing as his back made a loud cracking noise. DUM-E whirred at him with concern, going back to dusting when he shooed it away.

"No sir. It can't wait."

He sighed, twirling in his chair to face the nearest screen, grabbing his coffee from the table. "Put it up."

The mug fell to the floor, smashing and spilling the coffee all over the floor of the lab.

He was looking at Peter being thrown into a room, body limp and bruised. The angle suggested it was from a CCTV feed, though the resolution was surprisingly high. His heart dropped as the video skipped, showing the kid hammering at the door, yelling and screaming.

Tony couldn't tear his eyes away, tears gathering in his eyes as the video skipped forwards once more. Peter was curled in on himself in the corner of the room, rocking slightly back and forth in an attempt to self-soothe. Text popped up on the screen, stating that instructions would be sent in the next two hours.

As the screen switched to black he ran out of the room, grabbing the flip phone he had vowed to never use, dialling the only number saved on it.

"I need your help."

Tony paced across the tarmac, fiddling with the flip phone in his hands.

"They'll be here." Rhodey reassured, moving to place a hand on his shoulder, "Cap - Steve reached out first. He won't go back on his word."

Tony huffed, "I know it's just - they took the kid. I was so busy I didn't even think to -" He ran his hands across his face. "He's been there for three days already."

"We're going to get him."

Tony couldn't speak, settling instead for a tight nod.

His thoughts were stuck on the image of Peter. He was alone and afraid, curled up in the corner with bruised hands hugged in to his chest.

"How did May -"

"She's with Pepper now, at the tower."

"Pepper?"

Tony let out a self deprecating laugh. "No matter how she feels about me right now, she loves the kid almost as much as I do. May needs someone with her so..."

Rhodey just hummed, stepping back at the noise of an approaching quinjet. "We'll get him back. We just... need to get through this first."

Tony nodded, shaking his shoulders in an attempt to shake off some of the anxiety that threatened to choke him. Any dread that he had been feeling over this reunion was nothing compared to the last 8 hours, and with it came hope.

Hope was a dangerous thing, but goddamn did he need all he could get.

--

Tony cleared his throat, doing his best to appear put-together. It failed, horrifically, but he hoped that they wouldnt be cruel enough to point it out.

The quinjet door opened, revealing almost all of the old team. "Welcome back to the States."

Steve nodded in greeting, bearded jaw clenched and hands protectively crossed over his chest.

They stared at each other for a moment, unspoken words thick in the air. Rhodey broke it, stepping forwards.

"Thank you for coming. I'm sure we all... have a lot to say, but now is not the time."

Steve's eyes darkened with guilt as they passed over Rhodey's leg braces, offering another curt nod in response.

Natasha was the first to step off of the platform, offering Tony a tight smile. "Agreed."

"Just -" Tony's fist clenched by his side, "Please. I can't get him on my own."

"We wouldn't let you, man." Sam replied, "You got coordinates?"

"FRIDAY's working on it right now. So far she's narrowed it to Chicago."

"Then lets go."

Steve turned around, heading straight to the controls of the jet. Tony took a deep breath, looking at Rhodey for reassurance before following, door closing behind them.

--

The awkwardness of the jet was almost suffocating, Tony checking his phone every few seconds for any sort of update. Rhodey had positioned himself protectively in front of him, though not in a way that he was completely blocked from the view of the others.

Steve's body language was tight and guarded, eyes flitting over to Tony every few seconds before diverting to the floor, restraining himself from saying the words he had been sitting on for the past few months.

Tony's phone pinged, the man's face whitening as another video appeared on his screen. "They sent another one."

"Tony... you don't have to-"

He brushed Rhodey's concern off, jaw tightening. "No. I do." He clicked play with shaking hands, spare hand reaching up to cover his mouth in an attempt to withhold his shout of shock.

Peter was tied to a chair, head hung low. A woman was stood by a metal tray, picking up a cattleprod and jamming it into his stomach. A tear fell down his cheek at Peter's yell of pain, the other people in the jet jumping to their feet at the realisation of the nature of the video.

Natasha was the first to approach. "Tony -"

"Don't. I need to -"

The abuse continued, though Peter remained strong, refusing to let out another noise despite the attacks. Despite this, the pain was written clearly across his face, guilt eating at Tony like a disease.

"It should've been me" he whispered, throat tight.

Rhodey placed a comforting hand on his shoulder once again, grounding him and saving him from the anxiety spiral that was threatening to drag him down. He spoke in a low tone, attempting to hide his words from the rest of the group. "Breathe. You can't panic now. He needs you at 100%"

Tony choked out an agreement, placing his phone down on the seat and placing his head in his hands, willing himself to get it together. He had to be strong for Peter.

As his phone pinged again, he froze. Sam approached him carefully, picking up the phone and opening it when there was no argument.

"FRIDAY has a location," he said, "warehouse in Chicago, West Chatham. I'll give Steve the full address."

Natasha stood by Tony, close enough for him to feel her body heat, but keeping distance. "We'll get him. He's going to be okay. I promise."

--

The last twenty minutes of the journey felt like forever, Tony's mind racing with a million different possibilities. None of them were good.

As the quinjet began its descent, Rhodey moved closer to Tony, voice quiet. "You know I want to go in with you ..."

"I know. He - Peter will understand."

"Legs don't work the way they used to," Rhodey smiled, "But I'll get the meds out, ready for him."

"I appreciate it, Platypus. I mean it."

"I know its been a while since you've been alone with them, but they've still got your back. They won't let anything happen to Parker."

Tony nodded, fists clenching and unclenching as he pushed down the anxiety, willing himself to be strong. He wasn't allowed to be Tony Stark right now. His kid needed Ironman.

As he stood, he activated his armour, allowing the metal to give him courage.

"We go in quick and do this cleanly." Steve said, authoritative tone bringing Tony back to the prime of the Avengers. "We're still technically on the run. If we stay too long then -"

"They won't arrest you." Tony interrupted, keeping his eyes set on the door. "I've been negotiating since you went off the radar. I'm close to fixing it. Getting a pardon for your boy as well."

There was silence for a moment, uneasy and uncertain.

"Tony..."

He just waved them off. "Yeah, whatever. We don't have time to waste." Clearing his throat awkwardly, he pressed the release on the door.

--

The alarm blared through the building, Tony not stopping as he fought his way down the corridor, visor scanning for any sign of Peter.

"North east quadrant clear" Natasha announced through coms, "I found a map and am on my way to the control room."

Steve's voice sounded a few moments later. "North west quadrant clear. I'm heading towards you Sam."

"There's a lot of them here - I think they're guarding something."

Tony slammed his fist into the last man's face, kicking open another door and swearing as it turned up empty. "I've got nothing. He's got to be with you, Sam."

"The control room is barred from the inside," Natasha reported, exertion clear in her voice, "Door won't budge. The woman's gotta be in here."

Tony's footsteps faltered, not sure where to go. As if sensing this, Steve spoke.

"We're still making our way through this quadrant, we've got it under control. Go to Nat, Tony."

Pushing down the need to rebel, Tony followed the instructions, each step increasing with determination the closer he got.

"Stand to the side." He said, raising his hand and sending a powerful blast through the door once Natasha was safely out of the way.

Shouts of panic from the other side were ignored as he blasted away the rest of the door, barging in and hitting the first person he saw. Natasha was right behind him, carefully controlled fury powering her every move as she tore through the group of men.

Tony used this distraction to corner the woman, kicking her in the knees and sending her tumbling to the floor. "You will regret touching them" he growled, looking down on her in disgust, "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

She laughed, an obnoxious laugh, and attempted to sit up straight. "You know who I am."

He held himself back from hurting her further, the sane part of him knowing that Peter would never forgive him for lashing out in a rage.

Instead, he disengaged his helmet, looking her up and down with disinterest. "I've never seen you before in my life."

At her outraged shout, he stepped back, motioning for Natasha to incapacitate her. "You're going to jail now, where no one will ever know or care who you are. You are nothing."

"You cant - They'll never arrest me! You have nothing -"

"Shut up." Natasha sneered, hitting her once cleanly in the temple, and huffing as she crumpled. Sparing a kind look at Tony, she nodded towards the door. "Go get him - I'll make sure she's tied up and ready for the cops."

He nodded, hoping his gratitude was clear as he raced out of the room. "Cap? Do you have him?"

"We have him - on our way to the jet."

Relief rushed through him, speeding up even more in his desperation to see his kid. He burst out of the building, disengaging the suit as he stumbled up the quinjet ramp, colliding with Sam's chest.

"He's okay - he's okay." Sam reassured, "Take a breath, Tony."

He took a shuddering breath, eyes fluttering closed as he did his best to regulate himself. "Thank you."

"Of course."

Sam stepped aside, letting Tony rush to Peter's side.

"Mr Stark?"

His voice was weak and small, but so so alive.

Tony let out a tearful laugh, cupping Peter's cheek in his hand. "It's me, bud. I'm here."

"Knew you'd come" Peter smiled, blinking weakly, "Knew it."

"Always."

#whumptober 2023 #whumptober #tony stark #iron dad #irondad and spiderson #peter parker #whump #irondad #spiderson #peter parker and tony stark #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #rhodey #james rhodes #war machine #sam wilson #falcon #marvel #mcu #marvel mcu

[jinxquickfoot]

@badthingshappenbingo Prompt: No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Find the fic on Ao3

Sam would like to go on the record that he is not on board with this plan, thank you very much.

He’s always been more of a soldier than a spy, and these days he’s not sure he’s even decent at the former. He’d had to learn fast during his time chasing Bucky and the years after the Accords, taking his lead from Natasha, but the sneaking around has never come naturally to him.

“Maybe because you call spy work sneaking around,” Natasha had teased him. He misses Natasha. If she were here, she’d probably have a much better plan. Or at least the ability to convince Bucky and Zemo that this one sucks.

Sam’s also not above admitting that watching Bucky cozy up to the man who brain-washed him when he hasn’t replied to Sam’s texts for months is a gut punch. Breaking Zemo out of prison was one thing. Having private conversations when Sam is in an airplane bathroom is quite another.

He’d emerged back into the plane cabin to a hastily ended discussion between the two of them. “What?” Sam had demanded. “Swapping more music recommendations?”

“It’s nothing,” Bucky had muttered. “Don’t worry about it.”

Which of course, had made Sam very much worry about it.

Ever since it’s become public knowledge that Steve left him the shield, everyone has had an opinion about it. The US government apparently thinks it should be with some blond-haired blue-eyed golden boy. Zemo thinks it should be destroyed. Bucky thinks it should be protected. And Sam…

Sam doesn’t really know what to think at all. Which is perhaps the least Captain America perspective he could have.

“I’m not saying Steve was always right,” he’d said to Sarah after he’d been mulling over what to do with the shield for a week. “But he at least knew what he stood for. That never wavered.”

Sarah had watched him closely over their kitchen table. “Things were always a lot less complicated for Steve Rogers than they will be for us,” she reminded him. “You were gone for five years. The world’s different, Sam. There’s no harm in putting off that decision while you wait for the dust to settle.”

Sam’s not sure that’s right, but he knows better than to correct his little sister. “And what do you think I should do?”

Sarah weighs her next words carefully. “Steve did a lot of good, but every time he won as Captain America he lost someone as Steve Rogers. And I think that if I could have my brother home instead of off playing hero, I wouldn’t hate that.”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t take up the shield.”

“I’m saying,” Sarah emphasizes. “Even if you did, maybe it’s not about trying to be Steve.”

Steve wouldn’t have hesitated. He wouldn’t have waited to make a decision this important. And he certainly would have figured out how to get Bucky to talk to him without donating the one thing Steve left him to a museum. Or at least, he’d meant to donate it to a museum. Now Walker has it. The person his country apparently wants Captain America to be.

To be fair, considering that Sam is now arriving in the criminal capital of the world with the man who almost succeeded in ruining the Avengers for good, maybe the Powers That Be hadn’t made the worst call in the world. Not to mention that he’s doing so with a plan he would just like to remind everyone, again, that he is not on board with.

Not on board with breaking Zemo out of prison (Thanks for the heads-up, Buck), not on board with playing dress-up with someone named after a big cat, and certainly not on board with Bucky pretending to be the Winter Soldier.

“It’s fine, Sam,” Bucky reminds him for the hundredth time. A (very small) part of Sam doesn’t even mind, at least Bucky’s talking to him. “It will work.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. Well, it’s not not what I’m worried about.” He jerks a finger at Zemo as he disembarks his jet. “We’re really following the orders of the same man who tried to have Steve and Tony kill each other?”

“An event that occurred well in the past,” Zemo reminds them, adjusting his coat as he approaches them. “The appearance of the Winter Soldier is guaranteed to attract Selby’s attention. Once we secure a meeting with her, she will tell us where Karli is sourcing her super-soldier serum.”

“Yeah?” Sam challenges him. “And how are you planning on getting her to tell you that?”

Zemo shrugs, unbothered. “I will be offering her something of great value. She will not be able to resist.”

“You plan on telling us what that is?”

“Sam,” Bucky cuts him off. “We need to find the serum before Karli hurts more people. This is the best way.”

“The best way, or can you just not think of a better plan?”

Bucky glowers at him. “Can you?”

And, since Sam apparently can’t, he’s forced to pull on his heels and set off to Low Town.

It’s cold where they are, his bright costume doing little to keep the chill out. He fiddles with the many layers, trying to become the man who would choose something so damn loud, the way he’d seen Natasha slip into character so easily. Well, he’s no Black Widow, and it’s not happening.

He gives up trying to fix the suit. “We have to do something about this. I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

Zemo huffs beside him. “Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp.” He pulls out his phone, bringing up a photograph. “You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mac, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname.” It comes out more sour than he’s anticipating. He knows he’s not really bothered about the impractical shoes and the too-thin suit, though. No, it’s more that he’s all too aware of Bucky walking on Zemo’s other side, staring straight ahead without a word as they walk. Sam takes the phone, peering at the image. “Hell, he does look like me, though.”

Okay, so maybe Zemo does know what he’s doing. Still doesn’t make Sam feel any better about bringing the fugitive who blew up the UN along on the Sam & Bucky Adventure Hour.

“You smell this?” Zemo nods to the multi-colored lights of the city.

Sam has been smelling it for a while now. “Yeah, what is that, acid?”

“Madripoor,” Zemo corrects him. Their hired car is driving towards them up the bridge, sleek and black with tinted windows. Must be nice to have enough money to not beg for bank loans. “No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There’s no margin for error.”

A fleet of armed motorcyclists flanks them into Low Town. Sam eyes them warily, weighing if he and Bucky would be enough to take them on if Zemo decides he’s not on their side after all. Sam’s not exactly used to fighting in such close quarters, but he could probably make do. Not to mention that he’s got the former Fist of HYDRA watching his six. At least, he hopes so. He’s very much regretting words about going on very long vacations and never seeing each other again right now.

“You good, man?” he asks, voice low. Bucky is still doing his staring thing, not so much watching out the window as looking blankly into the distance. Getting into character, maybe. Sam’s not sure that’s a good thing.

Bucky cuts his eyes sideways, but he doesn’t look annoyed (for once). “I can do this.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Before he can get a proper answer, however, they’re pulling into Low Town, and it’s show time.

Sam can hear the music well before they get out of the car. It’s a pumping, relentless beat that vibrates the ground as he steps into the purple and blue neon lights. The colors wash away the features on the partygoers’ faces, leaving them expressionless silhouettes. Money and drugs change hands, automatic weapons always on display without a hint of law enforcement. Sam follows Zemo’s lead, Bucky watching their back as they traverse the acid-smelling streets until they arrive at their destination.

Zemo speaks then, and Sam’s Russian has never been stellar, but he knows exactly what words are coming out of Zemo’s mouth. “Ready to comply, Winter Soldier?”

Sam wants to punch him. Bucky is free, he shouldn’t have to hear those words ever again. But when Bucky replies, his voice is void of emotion. “Ready to comply.”

The intention of the exchange becomes apparent seconds later, as the people around them begin to whisper and stare. Great. Sam remembers he’s also undercover, scrambling to fix his face. He pretending to be someone who is used to places like this, he can't be caught gawking like a tourist.

Zemo takes point, arranging their meeting with Selby through the bartender, and Sam is (for the first time) happy to let him lead. When the bartender asks if he wants his usual, he has a moment of internal panic because what the hell does a dude called the Smiling Tiger sound like before deciding a curt nod would be the safest bet.

That sentiment is immediately corrected as the bartender retrieves a snake and starts cutting it open.

“Ah, Smiling Tiger.” Zemo gestures to the snake innards as though they’ve just been offered an ice cream sundae. “Your favorite.”

Bastard, he knew. Sam is going to get him for this later. After he gets him for mind-controlling Bucky, manipulating one of Steve’s closest friends into attacking him, and killing eleven people by bombing the United Nations.

Zemo clinks classes with him. “Cheers, comrade.”

Steve would have never done this.

That thought is slimier than whatever the hell ends up in his shot glass. He gets it down—No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it—and tries to suppress the urge to puke all over the bar top. He manages a strangled sound instead he hopes he turns into a sound of satisfaction and then, for reasons only God understands, his body decides to throw the bartender a thumbs up.

However, none of that makes him as sick as watching Zemo order the Winter Soldier to attack like a dog, or by the blank look on Bucky’s face as he complies.

Zemo leans back against the bar, looking completely unbothered as Bucky slams a guy into the floor. “Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.”

Sam’s going to murder him. That is, if the multitude of people cocking guns in this bar doesn’t shoot them all first.

He grabs Bucky’s arm—to pull him off the guy he’s going pinned against the bar, to grab him and run for an exit, to just offer some goddamn comfort to wipe that awful, expressionless mask off his face, he’s not sure—but Zemo leans over to whisper in his ear. “Stay in character, or the whole bar turns on us.”

It’s at that moment he’s sure this was a mistake, and it’s a moment that’s far, far too late. No turning back now, not unless he wants to take half a dozen bullets home with him. And as much as he wants to pull Bucky out of the nightmare of having Zemo control him again, even if it is only pretend (he hopes), he doesn’t want to leave Sarah without a brother for the second time either.

Zemo says something else in Russian, enough for Bucky to release the throat of the guy he’s holding, and the room seems to breathe as one. The bartender nods at them, as though they’ve just answered a question correctly. “Selby will see you now.”

With the attention off of them, Sam takes the opportunity to drop his voice low and ask, “You good?”

Something Sam can’t interpret flashes across Bucky’s face, before the mask is put carefully back into place. He doesn’t answer him, either. Sam really hopes that’s just because Bucky’s much better at keeping his cover. Either way, they’re having a long talk after this, one he’s not going to let Bucky run away from.

They’re led into the backrooms, Sam bringing up the rear this time as Bucky keeps a close watch on Zemo’s back. They pass stacks of cash and guns prepped for shipping, and Sam gets the ridiculous urge to grab the 260-pound super-soldier he’s tailing and throw him behind him. Or maybe just grab his fancy Wakandan arm and run after all.

He does neither. He trails obediently behind, following this plan he didn’t make and didn’t agree to, that places a friend (yes they’re friends, Bucky, admit it) in a position Sam had promised their mutual friend he would never be in again.

The voice reaches him before Sam can see who it belongs to. “You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo sits, as comfortable here as he was in his own private jet sipping champagne. Bucky lines himself up behind him, ever the faithful bodyguard, which leaves Sam to enter last. He takes in the armed man twice his size guarding the door, before his gaze falls on the woman who had spoken.

She looks to be somewhere in her sixties, hair chopped short and styled, her clothing clearly more expensive than her employees’. “A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby takes them all in, eyes lingering for a moment too long on Bucky before she returns her attention to Zemo. “By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

The question is loaded, but Zemo steps elegantly out of the blast range. “People like us always find a way, don’t we? I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”

People like us. An arms dealer and a terrorist. The kind of people Sam works with now, apparently.

Selby raises a finger, still looking at Zemo, so Sam jumps a little when the next question is directed at him. “You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.”

She flicks her head towards him, and Sam decides a stoic nod is probably better than trying to speak right now. She stares him down, and for a moment Sam is sure he’s messed this up—surely Zemo would have told him if the Smiling Tiger was chatty?—before Selby smirks and makes a purring noise at him. Ew.

She snorts, turning back to Zemo with a broad smile like she’s just told a joke. “What’s the offer?”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum.” Zemo stands, and Sam’s heart rate picks up as he crosses the room to Bucky. “And I give you him.”

It takes everything in Sam not to react. Or at least, react strongly. He’s sure the expression his face just made has given them away—soldier, not a spy—because this was not the plan he was informed about. If he didn’t agree to any of this to begin with, he doubly didn’t agree to using Bucky as a bartering chip.

Zemo’s hands are on Bucky’s shoulders, tracing a line across his spine, and Sam has to remind himself that launching across the room to break his fingers would probably get all of them shot.

“Along with the code words to control him, of course,” Zemo adds. “He will do anything you want.”

Those fingers Sam so desperately wants to break climb higher, grabbing Bucky by the chin. Sam can’t decide what horrifies him more—the delighted, almost hungry look on Selby’s face, or the resigned one on Bucky’s. No surprise. No reaction.

He’d known this was coming.

Sam’s memory jumps back to exiting the plane bathroom, sure he’d just witnessed the shutting down of a conversation he wasn’t privy to. They’d gone behind his back. Bucky Barnes, Steve’s best friend, had decided to make a pact with the man who’d used him as a chess piece to topple the Avengers over the one who had searched for him for two years.

He clamps down on the rising anger, he cannot break character, not here. He’ll give Bucky a piece or ten of his mind later. It horribly occurs to him then that he does not know when later is. Surely to make this bluff work, Bucky has to stay behind? And then, what, break out of Low Town by himself?

Yeah, Sam is going to murder him right after Zemo, the idiot.

Selby leans forward on the couch, significantly more on board with the situation than when they’d walked in. “Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. But I’m sure you’ll understand that I’ll need to test your generous offer.”

Zemo does that stupid head tilt thing, feigning confusion. “Please, elaborate.”

Selby sticks her finger in Bucky’s direction. “All sorts of rumors about that one. That he’s been rehabilitated.” She spits out the word like it’s garbage. “The States pardoned him and everything.”

“American propaganda,” Zemo answers smoothly. “You know how attached they are to their war heroes. They could not have Captain America’s closest ally being branded a serial killer.”

Selby isn’t convinced. “If you want the location of the super-soldier serum, I’m going to need some proof you’re not selling me a faulty product.”

Zemo acknowledges her words with a nod. “Fair enough.” He switches to Russian. “Soldat na koleni.”

Thank god no one is paying attention to Sam anymore because he full-on flinches when Bucky’s knees hit the floor. He doesn’t use his hands to reduce the impact either, that must have hurt, but Bucky doesn’t even blink. With a sick feeling in his stomach that has nothing to do with the snake guts residing there, it hits Sam that Bucky is far too well-practiced in this. Don’t show pain, don’t show humiliation, don’t show anger. Just complete the mission.

“Cute,” Selby remarks. “But party tricks aren’t worth much when you're the one holding his leash.”

Zemo tuts her. “Ah, now you know I cannot hand over the code words without something in exchange.”

Selby sits on that for a few moments, gaze focusing on Bucky. There's hunger written all over her face, and what Sam wouldn’t give for the ability to Doctor Strange them a portal out of there. “The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor,” she says finally. “Dr Wilfred Nagel is the man you want to thank. Or condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum but things didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo presses.

“Oh, the breadcrumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is going to cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” She cocks her head (way too much head tilting going on tonight for Sam’s tastes) and considers Bucky. “Tell him to come over here.”

Zemo barks another order, and Sam waits for Bucky to stand. He doesn’t. Without even being prompted, he fucking crawls over to Selby’s feet.

Steve is going to clamber out of the 1940s just to slug Sam in the face. Sam had promised that yes, Steve could go live the life he never got to, Sam would keep an eye on Bucky and make sure he was safe. So how the hell did Sam let them get here?

Selby takes her turn grabbing Bucky by the chin, way tighter and rougher than Zemo had done. He lets her wrench his head up, eyes focused somewhere around her knees, and Sam has the awful thought that the Soldier probably wasn’t allowed to make eye contact with his handlers.

“The Fist of HYDRA,” Selby muses. Her other hand runs through Bucky’s hair, tugging on it. He doesn’t wince. “I liked the long hair better.”

“It was impractical for battle,” Zemo answers. If any part of him is bothered by this, he isn’t showing it. Sam wonders just how far Bucky had agreed they could go while Sam was out of earshot in that damn bathroom. If he’d even set a limit. Again—idiot.

Idiot or… just someone who doesn’t believe they deserve better.

Selby stands abruptly, and Bucky’s abused chin drops back to his chest. “Russia’s bogeyman,” she continues as she makes her way over to one of the back shelves, retrieving a long, flat box there. It clinks and clatters as she tugs it towards her. “Known to complete any mission, under any conditions.” She flips the lid open, considering the contents. “If I’m going to trade Nagel’s location, I’m not doing it for a broken toy.”

And she brings out a pair of brass knuckles.

Oh, hell no. They’re not doing this. Sam isn’t watching this. He starts forward, only for Zemo to cut him a sharp look. It lasts a fraction of a second, too quick for Selby or her men to notice, but it’s enough to freeze Sam in his tracks. Right. Stay in character or they all die. Both of them are so getting an earful about letting their Captain in on their little plans after this.

But you’re not their Captain, are you? a nasty voice whispers in his head. You turned that title down. Maybe that’s for the best.

Yeah, Sam doesn’t really think letting your friend get beaten right in front of you in an arms dealer’s lair is Captain America-approved behavior.

Selby slips the brass knuckles over her fingers with practiced grace, looking far too excited for Sam’s comfort level. He tries to swallow the rising nausea. Bucky can take a few hits. He shouldn’t have to, but he can. Then they’ll get Nagel’s location. They’ll find out where the Flagsmashers are sourcing the serum. They’ll (hopefully) save a lot of lives.

It’s that last thought he clings to as Selby smashes her fist into Bucky’s jaw.

Sam is going to be thinking of that crack of metal on bone until he’s in his grave. For his part, Bucky barely blinks. He absorbs the blow without even a sound, before returning his head to his original deferent position. Then Selby swings at his other cheek.

To save lives, Sam thinks desperately. Bucky signed up for this because he knew it would save lives. If Sam interferes now, all of this was for nothing, and they’re probably all going to get shot.

For a petite older woman, Selby must be hitting the gym between weapons deals, because she continues to pummel Bucky’s body without mercy. Arms, lower back, ribs. And every time, Bucky takes it, expressionless, and then places himself right back in her line of fire.

Sam never thought he’d be relieved to hear Zemo talk, but it’s music to his ears when he finally steps in. “As you can see,” he says. “His programming is perfectly maintained. I am not so foolish to try and trick one of the most influential names in Madripoor.”

Selby grins, clearly enjoying herself. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Baron. But I’m not quite satisfied yet.” And she returns to her little box of tricks.

Sam uses her momentary distraction to lock eyes with Zemo. Enough, he tries to communicate.

Stay. In. Character, Zemo radiates back and, great, Sam and Zemo are on can communicate with just a look terms now.

Sam takes a deep breath, trying to maintain his I am a stoic criminal persona. A little bit more. Bucky volunteered for this. Sam didn’t, but there’s not much he can do about that now. He can play the long game, endure some pain in service of the greater good. It’s what Doctor Strange pulled on Titan, and it inevitably saved half of the universe.

And lost Sarah her brother for five years.

That greater good mindset is immediately tested when Selby raises a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire out of that box.

For the first time, Bucky reacts. It’s so subtle that Sam’s sure everyone else misses the tiny flinch. Everyone else except Zemo, that is, who is still staring at Sam, commanding him not to mess this up. Well, Sam’s never particularly enjoyed taking orders.

Selby takes her sweet time making her way back to where Bucky’s kneeling, the colored lights glinting off the razor-sharp barbs. Sam forces himself to still, reminding himself of all the logic that’s been keeping him rooted in this spot. If he breaks character, they don’t get information on the serum. If he breaks character, Karli continues to make super-soldiers. If he breaks character, all three of them are going to get shot at.

Selby raises the bat, preparing to take her first swing, and it happens.

This time, even Zemo seems to miss it. It’s so quick, Sam would have been sure he was seeing things if he wasn’t watching Bucky’s every tiny move. Bucky’s eyes dart to the side, looking right up at Sam, and Sam sees it. Not resolve. Not a warning for Sam to stay out of the way. A plea.

Help.

He’s moving before he’s even registered how dangerous this is. All he knows is that he can’t be a spectator anymore.

He goes for the man on his right first, lunging for the automatic rifle. He has surprise on his side, the man yelling out in shock as Sam wrestles him for his weapon. The room explodes around him, yelling and gunfire, as Bucky launches upright, smashing his fist into the bottom of Selby’s jaw. Good.

What’s not so good is the armed man on the other side of the room turning his gun on Sam.

There’s no time to get out of the way. Sam’s body freezes, tensing for the hit. Bucky’s seen it too. He lunges towards the gunman, but Sam can already tell he’s not going to make it in time. Hopefully, he’ll get out of here alive. Maybe even tell Sarah that Sam died being a hero and not an idiot.

A shot rings out and he flinches, but the pain doesn’t come. The gunman’s chest bursts in a spray of red, collapsing to the ground, and then there are hands tugging him to the exit. “Come, Sam. We cannot linger.”

Sam wrenches himself out of Zemo’s grasp. “Bucky! Let’s move!”

More shots are fired by the mysterious sniper, giving them an opening to run to the exit. Bucky’s managed to acquire a gun of his own, covering them as they run for the door. He looks like hell, blood and bruises covering his face. No doubt there are more injuries too, buried below the surface.

Bucky notices him looking. “I’m fine, Sam.”

Sam can’t quite read his tone—if he’s exasperated or straight-up furious with Sam for ruining the plan—but he has bigger fish to fry. “That other shooter.” He turns on Zemo. “Another plan you didn’t let me in on?”

“Not mine.” He sounds distinctly put out by the thought as he pulls out his phone. “But we have a real problem now, so leave any weapons and follow my lead.”

After what he just tried to pull with Selby and Bucky, Sam wants to do anything but, but Bucky almost immediately lowers his pilfered gun to the floor. “Zemo knows Madripoor,” he reminds Sam. The words reveal his bloody teeth. “If we’re getting out of this, it’s his way.”

Getting out of this turns out to be getting shot at as they sprint through the rain-slicked, neon-lit streets, and Sam’s footwear is not designed for dodging bullets. Bucky’s not doing much better, his myriad of injuries slowing him down even with the serum.

“Come here.” Sam dives sideways, throwing his arm under Bucky’s and half-hauling him onto his shoulder.

“I’m fine—”

“If you tell me you’re fine one more time I’m telling Dr Raynor on you. You’re slow, this’ll help, let’s move.”

They stumble into a side alley, the roar of motorbikes hot on their heels. Two behind them, one approaching. They’re being hemmed in.

Another figure approaches—Zemo, gun out, ready to take out one of their enemies. But before he can fire, a crack of a bullet erupts from one of the upper-floor windows. Another two cracks, and the pursuers behind them also fall.

Zemo approaches them, gun lowered, looking as confused as Sam feels. “Seems you have a guardian angel.”

“Well, this is too perfect.”

They all spin towards the new voice. A figure in a hood with her gun raised stalks towards them, slightly out of breath but determined as she points her weapon at them.

“Drop it, Zemo,” Sharon Carter says. “You cost me everything.”

.

An hour later, he’s showered and perched on a couch that feels like it costs more than his and Sarah’s house. The Smiling Tiger clothes are gone, and he’s swaddled instead in a soft turtleneck pilfered from Sharon’s closet. Bucky’s vanished elsewhere in the apartment, and the only reason Sam hasn’t chased him down yet is because he saw him scoop up Sharon’s offered first-aid kit before he ditched them.

Sam takes in the fancy apartment, the stolen art, the brisk and icy way Sharon carries herself. Not exactly what he pictured from the woman who once helped Captain America on a noble quest. “What’s going on, Sharon? You don’t ever want to come back home?”

Sharon offers him a drink. Sam knows he shouldn’t, but he takes it anyway. Anything to soften the images of Bucky passively kneeling at Selby’s feet. “They’ll lock me up if I ever step foot back in the States,” she explains, her tone resigned. “Madripoor doesn’t allow extradition.”

Sam exhales, a fresh wave of guilt rising to the surface. First, he lets Bucky get the shit beaten out of him, and now he’s being confronted with a reminder of another one of Steve’s friends he let down. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call, but after the Blip and the chaos I just—”

Sharon cuts him off. “You know the whole hero thing is a joke, right?”

He freezes with his hands clutched around his drink, the chill from the ice cubes seeping into his fingers.

She makes one herself, double the size of his. “I mean, the way you gave up that shield, deep down you must know it’s all hypocrisy.”

“He knows. And not so deep down.” Both of them turn to see that Zemo has appeared in the doorway, looking entirely unruffled by that night’s escapades.

Sam turns on him. “You planned to trade Bucky to Selby and, what, didn’t think to give me a head’s up?”

Zemo shrugs, unbothered. “You would not have agreed and we would have wasted time arguing. James was more than willing to acquiesce and it would have worked had you not interfered.” He fixes Sam with a long look. It’s not angry. If anything, it’s curious. “Tell me, what did you hope to gain from stepping in? We do not have Nagel’s location. Your friend suffered pain for no reason. A strong leader cannot end up in such middle ground and hope to live a long life.”

A sharp laugh makes them both look at Sharon. “The entire world’s a middle ground,” she argues. “You know that more than anything, Zemo.” She cocks her head to Sam. “Looks like our new Cap is still learning, though.”

“I’m not Cap,” Sam mutters. “I gave up the shield, remember?” And after tonight, he’s seriously questioning Steve’s judgment in giving it to him in the first place. “And tonight wasn’t a waste, we got a name. Wilfred Nagel.”

Sharon’s cold smile slips away. “Nagel works for the Power Broker.” She says that as though it’s the end of an argument.

Sam disagrees. “We need your help, Sharon. I can get your name cleared. I’m sorry I didn’t try earlier, really, I should have—”

“You haggling with my life?”

“Not like that.”

“I don’t buy it. You pretending you can clear my name. What, because I made out with your bestie once upon a time, you think it's your job to rescue me?”

“Steve has nothing to do with it. I want us to help each other because I consider you a friend.”

Sharon stands, pouring herself another drink, and Sam is all too aware of Zemo listening to their every word. No doubt looking for more holes in Sam’s armor to use against him later. “Funny,” Sharon comments. “How I’m only your friend when you need something from me, and not when I’m being exiled by my own country for helping save your ass.”

“That’s… not an unfair comment,” Sam admits. He stands, setting his own drink down. “Okay, maybe it is hypocrisy. But I’m willing to try if you are.”

“I don’t trust charity.”

“It’s not—” Sam cuts off, frustrated. What is it with the people from Steve’s life not being willing to accept his help?

“She wants a deal,” Zemo offers from behind them. “Not pretty words, Cap.”

Sam jabs a finger in his direction. “You don’t get to call me that. And stay out of this, you’ve done enough damage for one night.”

“I’ve done damage?” Zemo lounges against the couch, totally at home amongst the opulence. “Need I remind you why we need to strike a deal to find Nagel in the first place.”

“We are not doing anything,” Sam snaps at him. He turns back to Sharon. “I don’t make deals with friends. We help each other out.”

Sharon snorts. “Well, thanks for all your help the past year, Sam.” She takes a long sip. “How’s this? I’ll throw out a few hooks, see what tips I catch on Nagel’s location. You take him in, you weaken the Power Broker, and that strengthens my position. How does that sound?”

“Cold,” Sam replies.

“It’s a cold world.” Sharon finishes her drink. “I have a meeting with clients in an hour. You’re welcome to crash here to let Bucky recover.” Her eyes slide over to Zemo. “Although that one is being locked in his room.”

Zemo shrugs, nonplussed. “Fair enough.”

All Sam wants is to collapse into one of Sharon’s super-soft beds and sleep, praying that he doesn’t dream of brass knuckles and friends he’s let down. But he still has work to do, and rest can wait. He makes his way to Bucky’s room.

He doesn’t get a reply when he knocks on the door. “Buck,” he calls out. “It’s me. Can I come in?” No response. “I’m going to take silence as a yes. Three… two…” Nothing. As quietly as he can in case by some miracle Bucky’s asleep, Sam eases the door open.

He’s not asleep. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, shirt long since discarded, and Sam winces as he sees the bruises blossoming on his pale skin. “They’ll heal,” Bucky says before Sam can comment. “Barely be there by tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t mean they don’t hurt now.” Sam pads his way over to the bed, gently shutting the door behind him. For the first time in a while, they’re alone. No Zemo, no Sharon, no Dr Raynor. Just the two of them. “Did you at least use the icepacks?”

Bucky doesn’t reply, which is an answer in itself.

“Come on, man.” Sam reaches for the first aid kit, only for Bucky to shake his head. “It’ll help. You’re allowed to get help, Buck.”

Bucky is quiet for a long moment before he murmurs, “Don’t like ice.”

Oh, shit. Sam replaces the ice packs. “Right. Makes sense.” He rakes his eyes over Bucky’s various injuries again, and takes the plunge. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky shrugs it off. “You’re just trying to help. Even when it’s annoying.”

“Not sorry about the ice.” Bucky’s jaw is a mess of black and purple. “About what happened with Selby. That… that shouldn’t have happened.”

Bucky looks as though he’s tasted something sour. “We could have gotten the serum location.”

“I don’t care.”

“I care.” Bucky twists his fingers together, turning the knuckles white. “Could have done some good, for once.”

Sam frowns at that. “What do you think we crossed the pond into Asia for? We’re here to stop Karli.”

Bucky shrugs that off. “Just one more on the list.”

“List?” Sam looks around the room, and spots Steve’s notebook on the bedside table. “The names.”

Bucky shrugs again.

Pieces are starting to come together. “Buck, come on, you know all that talk about making reparations is just government bullshit. You have nothing to make up for. You didn’t have a choice.” Unlike Sam. He had a choice to step in earlier, with Bucky tonight, with Sharon a year ago. He hadn’t. “You know it’s bullshit, right?”

The next words are almost a whisper. “I don’t know, Sam.”

Sam forces himself to take a couple of breaths so he doesn’t take his frustration on Sharon’s luxury bedding. “This is why you should have texted me back.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

The ghost of a smile appears on Bucky’s face. It would put Sam at ease if it didn’t stretch and contort the bruising there. “Makes me miss the forties. Easier to avoid people.”

“Hey.” Sam turns serious again. “You going to tell me why you sided with Zemo over me?”

Bucky shifts, uncomfortable. “That’s not what happened.”

“No? Dreaming up schemes with your new bestie and not letting me in isn’t what happened?”

“You wouldn’t have gone along with it.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t. So instead you dropped me into a plan I had no idea was happening when we were already in the lion’s den.”

Bucky considers that. “Okay, maybe keeping you in the dark wasn’t a good idea.”

“Maybe?”

“But we needed Nagel’s location. It would have worked, Sam.”

“And how would it have worked? We leave you behind with Selby? So she could do even worse to you? No, no way.”

“Sam—”

“I should have stepped in before she hit you even once, Buck. That’s on me.” He feels the fresh sting of Sharon’s words. You know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? “Alright, maybe it blew our cover. I don’t care. I couldn’t watch anymore.”

The words seem to slam into Bucky like a train. He blinks rapidly, as though trying to translate them into English. “Sam…” The word is a croak.

“I mean it. We’re never doing that again. I’m not watching something like that again.”

Sam’s not sure what he’s expecting. A brush-off, probably. For Bucky to dig his heels in, growl out one of his classic I’m fines, to be hurried out of the room so Bucky can mope in peace. The last thing he expects is for Bucky’s eyes to go shiny.

He goes very still, as though trying not to startle a stray cat. He can almost hold the window of opportunity for them to actually talk in his hands, so delicate that one wrong word is going to shatter it. So he doesn’t risk saying anything. Some of his most productive meetings at the VA have been when he hasn’t said a word, and just gave the vets space to speak.

“When I was with HYDRA…” Bucky swallows, darting a nervous look at Sam as though he’s worried he’s going to bolt from the room. No way. Sam’s going to put down roots in this very nice carpet until Bucky’s finished talking. “They, um… they did a lot of bad stuff to me. Really, really bad.”

Sam’s all too aware. He’s seen the files. Even then, he’s sure the worst of it was never recorded.

“And there was always someone…” Bucky swallows again, gripping the bedsheets in an iron fist. So much for protecting Sharon’s bedding. “There was always someone in charge. A scientist or a handler, it didn’t matter. There was always someone to deal out pain.”

Sam forces himself to take a deep breath. And Bucky has spent the past few months being told he has to make reparations for this.

“But that was okay,” Bucky continues. He’s picked a spot somewhere near Sam’s socked foot to stare at. “Well, not okay, but there was a part of me that could understand it. Especially early on, before I was all…” He waves a vague hand around his head. “Before they figured out the Chair, and I was still me. Whoever was working on me that day, it was easy to label them as evil.”

They were, Sam thinks, but he doesn’t dare break his silence. He knows Bucky doesn’t talk to his therapist, not really. He’s not sure how much he told Steve. But this story feels fresh, raw, as though it’s the first time Bucky’s said it out loud.

“They weren’t even what broke me, in the end.” Bucky’s voice is hoarse. “Because it was easy to label them as bullies. Steve’s word.” A beat of grief crosses his face. “They couldn’t get to me, because it was just pain. I could take pain.”

Sam takes in Bucky’s injuries anew. Just because he can take pain, doesn’t mean he should. Still, Sam decides to save that lesson for another day.

“No, what actually got to me was…” Bucky chokes up on the words, and still Sam doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. “There were always other people. Not the people doing the torture or the surgery. Other people just… just watching.”

Sam’s almost afraid to breathe now in case he causes Bucky to shut back down again. The man’s gone back to clutching the sheets, a haunted look on his face that’s definitely going to enter Sam’s nightmares along with those brass knuckles.

“They didn’t care.” The words are so low they’re almost inaudible. “They’d just be observing, making notes or comments, while I was screaming two feet from them. Or, sometimes, they wouldn’t be paying attention at all, and that was even worse. I’d be bleeding on their shoes and they’d be talking about the weather.”

A chill penetrates Sam’s core. Turns out he’d been right about the worst parts of Bucky’s imprisonment not being in the files.

“So, with Selby…” Bucky bites his lip, finally managing to look in Sam’s direction, even if he’s not able to meet his eye. “Thank you. For not just watching. Even if it did really screw up a perfectly good plan that would have—”

Sam’s composure finally breaks. Careful not to jostle any still-mending bones, he slides across the bed to throw his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky goes rigid, and for one terrifying moment Sam’s sure he’s messed this up after all, before all the air seems to drain out of Bucky at once and he slumps against Sam’s chest.

“I’m sorry I watched for as long as I did,” Sam murmurs in his ear. He recalls the look Bucky had thrown him as Selby had brought out the bat. Help. How many times had he looked at his captors that way, praying for someone to step in, for just one person to say stop, this isn’t right, to end it? “She shouldn’t have hurt you. It wasn’t right.”

His response is the tiniest hitch in Bucky’s breath.

“It wasn’t right,” Sam repeats, willing those words to soak into Bucky’s skin. “I should have stepped in sooner. Steve wouldn’t have even let her throw the first punch.”

Bucky leans away from him then. “No, he wouldn’t have,” he agrees after a beat, and Sam feels his heart sink. I mean, the way you gave up that shield, deep down you must know it’s all hypocrisy. Sam doesn’t know, deep down or not. He just knows that if he’s trying to be Steve’s replacement, he’s failing miserably.

Then Bucky continues. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing, though.” He seems to gather himself. “The moment there was trouble, Steve would be there throwing punches. And that includes before the serum. Punk.” Bucky scrapes a hand across his furrowed brow. “The whole incident with Stark and the Accords happened because he jumped in without considering other options. We had a chance for the plan to work, with Selby.”

“We still ended up getting shot at."

“We got a name,” Bucky reminds him. He stares straight ahead, apparently searching for the right words. “I’m just saying… maybe it’s not a terrible thing. That you’re willing to look at all the options. Steve’s sense of justice was one of his greatest strengths, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t bite him the ass too.”

“Maybe,” Sam allows. “Seems everyone has an opinion on who Captain America should be except me. I know you’re mad at me for giving up the shield, but I just… it’s complicated. Trying to follow in Steve’s footsteps.”

Bucky picks at his pants leg. “I don’t think he meant you to,” he says finally. “He gave you the shield because you’re you. Not because he thought you were going to be just like him.”

Sam sits with that. “Me taking up the shield would still be insanely complicated.”

“I know,” Bucky says softly. “And we should have thought of why. Steve always had a habit of seeing the world as how he thought it should be, not how it actually was.” He glances at Sam. “Maybe someone who’s more of a realist is an advantage.”

“Careful, Buck, you’re getting awfully close to a compliment there.”

Bucky lets out a low laugh, before his brow furrows again. “It’s your choice whether you want to take up the mantle or not,” he says finally. “And I know everyone is telling you what you should and shouldn’t do.”

“You about to be one of them?”

Bucky shrugs. “All I know is, after nearly a century of this,” he gestures at his body, “exactly two people have stepped in instead of just watching. Steve. You.”

Something swells in Sam’s chest. Not pride, and not confidence, but he feels a little more like he’s on stable ground than before. “I’m not promising I’m going to take up the shield.”

Bucky draws in a shuddering breath. “I know. I’m just saying… I don’t think Steve was wrong about you.”

Sam reaches out to gently take his wrist. “Maybe. He wasn’t wrong about you either. But also…” Words are rising to the surface that taste a little of rebellion, but something in Sam tells him they’re right. “Who cares what Steve thinks? He’s not here anymore.”

Bucky starts, as though he’s never considered that idea before. Sam’s right there with him—this is new to him too. It lifts a little of the weight that’s been hanging around his neck since he’d first told Steve the shield felt like it belonged to someone else. Steve had an idea of who the next Captain America would be. And so apparently did the US government, Sarah, Karli, Walker, Zemo, Sharon, everyone. Sam could take on their perspectives, he could listen to what they had to say, but at the end of the day, he could choose what kind of hero he decided to be. Not a joke, not a hypocrite, and certainly not a bystander when someone he cared about was getting hurt.

“We’re a mess,” Sam says out loud, and Bucky lets out a surprised laugh. Sam squeezes his wrist, standing. “Sharon’s hunting down Nagel’s location. When she gets it, let’s make a plan to get him together, okay? I can’t be your partner if you keep things from me.”

“Who says we’re partners?” Bucky flops back on the bed, looking like he’s laid down a little of the weight he’s hauling around too.

“No one,” Sam fires back. “That’s an impossible idea.”

“I agree.”

“Ah, so you can agree with me.” Sam stands, hovering in the doorway. “Can I get you anything?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Just need to sleep it off.”

“Alright. See you soon, Buck.”

Sam steps out of the bedroom. He still doesn’t feel like Captain America. But maybe he feels slightly more in control of things than he did a few hours ago. And if Bucky’s finally opening up to him, and he can get Sharon’s name cleared, and stop Karli from hurting anyone else…

It’s a long road ahead of him. But at least he knows he doesn’t have to walk it alone.

#bad things happen bingo #bthb card #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #helmut zemo #selby #sharon carter #whump #whump writing #bucky barnes whump #sam & bucky #marvel #mcu #no holds barred beatdown

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Sam on the drip. (Sam signs pt. 2)

Taglist: @vickytokio @ashintheairlikesnow @thefancydoughnut @malcolmisthebrightestboy @redwingedwhump @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @finder-of-rings @orchidscript @hackles-up @generoushelpingofwhump @sad-boys-anonymous @whump-it @whumpsday

CW: weird wru fuckery, creepy handlers, nudity

Mister Wilson enters the tiny back office Sam finishes the paperwork in, a plate of pretzel rolls in one hand and a can of coke in the other. 

“Here, eat up little one.” 

Sam stops writing. The pen bleeds a tiny spot of blue ink into the cheap printer paper, right in the middle of a half finished word. 

Designation preference: Plat   Romant-

There is a spot of ink next to the brown flaky blood stain from early tonight. “I’m not hungry.”

Mister Wilson puts the plate down in front of him, right atop the questionnaire. “Trust me, little one. You’ll want to have something in your stomach when we start the drip. A wipe is no walk in the park.” 

“I thought- I-” Sam swallows, his throat suddenly sandpaper dry. “Will it, uhm, will it, like- hurt?”

With a scrape of table legs over the linoleum floor, Wilson sits down, eyebrows raised in a comical customer service smile. “All the products wru uses in training are tried, tested and one hundred percent cruelty free. Is what I’m supposed to tell you, but to be honest kid- I have no bloody idea. The only thing I do know is that your body will fight it. No matter how bad you wanna get rid of your past, turns out the subconscious is a little bitch latching onto existence, no matter what.”

“Hey there, little one, don’t cry. Tell you what, no matter how rough it gets, once you wake up you won’t remember a thing of it. We will have a great time training together and then it goes straight to your new life. Destination happiness with no pit stops, alright?”  

Sam rubs at his eyes furiously enough an eyelash comes loose and sticks to his thumb. 

“I’m not crying.” he sniffs and adds, hesitating, “Do you promise? That it’ll be alright, after.”

He feels stupid, like when he was small and stuck in summer camp, too afraid to join the night hike so a counselor had to comfort him, holding his hand during the entire hike. 

“Pinky promise.” Mister Wilson beams and taps the pretzel roll plate. “But now, eat up.”

When Sam reaches for the plate he notices the eyelash. Face growing hot with embarrassment he closes his eyes, purses his lips and makes a wish.

Please let me be happy.

When his eyes flutter open, Mister Wilson's face is so close to Sam’s,  his breath tickles the tip of Sam’s nose. 

“Good, you’re adorable.” 

Flushing a deeper shade of red, Sam grabs a pretzel roll and stuffs it into his mouth, choking on the too large bite. 

“M not.”

Tossing his head back, Mister Wilson erupts in warm rich laughter that does nothing to help calm Sam’s nerves. “Let me decide what you are.”

Guess, that's the idea here. Sam stuffs his face with another pretzel roll, flushing his meal down with the coke. After the last crumb is dutifully eaten, Mister Wilson puts the contract down in front of him. 

“Sign here and we can get going.” 

Barely looking Sam scrawls his signature onto the dotted line and gets up. A shaky inhale. “Kay. Let's do this.” 

They have to switch elevators twice until they finally reach the ground level, where the training rooms are. The hallways are a winding maze of white walls and cold air. Every step they take echoes, Sam’s sneakers a soft pat next to the harsh click of Mister Wilson's boots. 

More clicking comes from behind a corner. Another handler emerges, grinning at the sight of Sam.

“Wilson. You got another trainee?”

“Sure do.”

Halting in front of them, the handler smiles down at Sam: “Number and designation?”

“Uhm.” Sam falters and sees the smile slip from the handler's face.

“He doesn’t have a number yet.” Wilson interjects. “We’re just on our way to the wipe.” 

“Oh, well that explains the clothes.” The handler yawns. “My bad, shorty. Guess my brain’s still half asleep. Have fun.”

“Ah, uhm, thank you?”  

Chuckling, Wilson tells Sam not to mind his colleague while they make their way down the hall. When they enter the room where Sam will be erased for good, his heart beats so fast he fears to pass out. 

It’s oddly warm in the near empty room. The entire thing is tiled in white ceramic, glittering under the fluorescent lights. There are some cabinets on one wall, and a small freezer.  In its center stands a padded stretcher, restraints dangling from it to fix someone's feet and hands in place. Next to it, the drip. Mister Wilsons hits the power button on it and gestures to a bench near the entrance. 

“Strip and put your clothes there. I’ll give you a uniform in a sec.”

Sam does as he’s told, hands shaking as they pull his cat shirt up over his head. The kitty's face in its center is weirdly deformed, staring up at him one eyed from where he tossed it on the bench.  Everything had happened so fast after that fight, Sam had really run to WRU still wearing his pajama shirt. Headless, panicked. He hadn’t thought this through at all. 

Behind him, Wilson pulled a bag from a freezer, hooked it up to the Iv-machine. 

Sam really just signed his life away in a frumpy, fucking cat pajama. A hysterical laugh bubbles up his throat but all that comes out is a sob. 

Tears roll down his eyes as he yanks down his shorts and tosses them on the bench. 

Mister Wilson looks at him, eyebrows raised. “Do you want a sedative to take the edge off?”

Fists shaking at his sides, Sam nods, earning a humoring smile from Mister Wilson. It doesn’t escape Sam how Wilsons eyes linger on his crotch. 

“What?”Sam hisses, shame and rage and panic chasing each other in circles inside his head until the room spins around him. He flops down on the bench, knees pressed together to hide from Wilsons curious eyes.

“I’m only surprised you have a dick and a-”

“I’m inter.” Sam snaps, curling up on the bench, protecting his naked body from Mister Wilson's eyes. Boots click click click over the tile floor and a warm hand finds its way into Sam’s hair, down behind his ear, where it starts to gently rub over soft skin.

Sam blinks up, new tears falling.

“Hey now. It’s a really great surprise, if that's any relief.”

A watery laugh escapes Sam upon the absurdity of it all. 

“I’ve never trained an inter pet, but I’m looking forward to it. What makes you tick,” his hand brushes over Sam’s cheek nearly touching his lips, wanders further up, gently tugging a curl behind his ear. “What makes you feel good.”

Breath catches in Sam’s throat.

Smiling, Wilson hands Sam a pair of black shorts. They are soft under Sam’s fingertips as he slips into them hastily. He eats a tiny white pill from Wilsons fingertips and the harsh white world of WRU’s training facility grows fuzzy around the edges. His thoughts slow down, flashes of fear and anger getting lost in the fog. 

A warm rough hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him forward. Climbing onto the stretcher is difficult with his limbs hanging by his sides like heavy noodles but with Mister Wilson's help, he manages. 

When Wilson grabs one of the Mitts with a rattle of chains, Sam whimpers and pulls his hands under his chin.  

Wilson smiles. “These are only to protect you from hurting yourself when the drug hits.”

Another whimper. Wilson grabs one of Sam’s hands, gentle but steady and forces them into the Mitt. 

“Don’t forget little one, you signed up for this.”

Head lulling Sam mumbles: “Though’ forgettin’ s the point of t’is.”

Grabbing Sam’s other hand, Wilson grins. “I can’t wait to start our training.”

With his feet buckled in tightly and his arm cleaned, the preparations are done. The needle glints in Wilsons now gloved hands. Sam turns his head, eyes shutting so tight stars dance behind them.

His arm is grabbed, hands squeezing in gentle affection. “Ready?”

A shaky nod. A quiet whimper. 

Steel breaks his skin, the needle slides home. 

A heartbeat, freezing liquid floods his veins. Another, his brain melts into weeping white. 

No past.

No future.

No dreams. 

No self.

White noise. 

#whump writing #whump #pet whump #facility whump #box boy whump #box boys #drugs #drugged whumpee #boxboy universe #box boy universe #sam the medic #pet whumpee #medical whump #wru #bbu #Mister Wilson

[cricket-reader]

Teddy

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox

Summary: The Avengers find a biological experiment from HYDRA. The problem? She’s only a child. The other problem? The thing she calls a stuffed animal will not leave her side. It can’t be that hard to separate a child from their toy, right?

Warnings: Language, HYDRA, Torture (Implied), angst, naïve (unnamed/not described) OFC

Word Count: 712

A/N: this is based on a post I found by whumpndump

Read Part Two Here

It unnerved them. It unnerved them a lot.

The fact that such a young child was in the clutches of HYDRA. Born and raised. Nothing but an experiment for them to use.

The only grant of normalcy was the stuffed animal she kept in her clutches.

She held onto that thing like it was her saving grace; in a way, it was. It was the only thing she had. The only semblance of comfort she had ever received. It stuck with her through thick and thin. Every night upon returning to her cell she would hold it tight against her lacerated skin.

It was sad, really. The poor little thing clinging onto her stuffed animal, refusing to let go—almost as if somehow it would rescue her from any danger she may encounter. Even though the creature was mangled beyond recognition, matted with blood and heaven only knows what else, she never let it out of her sight.

The Avengers shared their worries about the item. Steve and Wanda even tried to offer the girl a new one. That only led to her clutching it tighter and avoiding them so her stuffie didn’t get taken away.

There was no separating her from it.

“We have to at least wash the damn thing,” Tony grumbles, still convinced that thing is going to give someone a disease.

“She won’t let us even touch it, Stark,” Sam deadpans. “How are we supposed to get it away from her to last an entire cycle?”

“We could just wash it once she falls asleep,” Natasha suggests, taking a sip of water afterwards.

Steve shrugs, “sounds like a good enough idea. She barely moves when she hears us talking, so I’m sure she won’t even notice it being gone.”

It is movie night with the team again. This is the second time they did it with her and her Teddy. Last time Steve had to carry her sleeping figure to bed. They can only hope for the same outcome.

Much to the team’s relief, she had fallen asleep halfway through Moana.

Steve gently pried the plushie from her grasp. He silently made his way to the laundry room as the other team members left to go to bed. Putting the wash on a gentle cycle, he sighs. He’s glad that’s taken care of.

Rubbing her eyes, she takes a while to come to. The first thing she notes is that she is alone. The second thing she notes is that the television has been turned off. Yawning, she reaches down for her teddy.

Breath stopping, she frantically whips her head around. It must have fallen onto the ground. No. Maybe someone accidentally kicked it under the couch? Nope. It could have fallen in between the cushions. Yet again, her search is fruitless.

Tears welling up in her eyes, she stumbles into the kitchen. Maybe she accidentally left it here when she was watching the popcorn maker with wide-eyed fascination.

It’s nowhere to be seen.

Continuing to shuffle around the common floor, she searches for her companion. She accidentally bumps into Steve at the door to the laundry room. Shocked to see her awake, he moves his body to block her from entering the room.

Eyes squinting, she swiftly slips past his large figure to enter the laundry room.

To her horror, she finds her best friend. The stuffie is being submerged under water spinning slowly around and around and around. She can make eye contact through the clear surface blocking her from reaching it.

Collapsing to the harsh tile of the floor, she sobs. Her pleading voice sends a sharp pain through Steve’s heart. She almost has him crying too.

“Please! No! Stop hurting Teddy! She can’t breathe. Please, stop hurting her! She doesn’t deserve it—I do! Please I’ll do anything, just–just stop hurting her!”

“Sweetheart, I just-”

“-if you wanna drown someone, do it to me! She didn’t do anything wrong!”

Steve has to stop the cycle, pulling the soaking wet toy out. He couldn’t stand having to see her cry—especially because of him. Before he can even attempt to dry it, she snatches it away from him and runs.

Steve can’t even find it in him to complain about the massive trail of water she leaves behind.

Part Two ->

#marvel fic #avengers x reader #mcu whump #iron man #tony stark #steve rogers #captain america #natasha romanoff #black widow #sam wilson #falcon #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #domestic avengers #avengers angst #avengers fluff #sort of #stuffed toy #oneshot #steve rogers fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu fic

[ddringo]

Someone Take Me Home

It isn’t until the dust settles on the battlefield and the world around you goes quiet that you truly know the end of the story. Your actions always have consequences, those that you are aware of, and those that you are not. You have to take the chance and do what you believe is right, even when that could potentially destroy your life.

When he starts coming to, the first things he’s aware of are voices. He knows those voices, but for some reason, his brain can’t quite put names and faces to them. “Whatever drug they gave him, they overdid it.” Someone comments, and Peter’s sure that he has to be Peter himself.

“Wait, guys… think the kid’s waking up” someone – closer – comments. He feels somebody grab onto his shoulders, shaking lightly, “You with me kid?”

***

After the Civil War, Peter is captured and brought to the Raft together with the other Avengers.

Prompt: Homesickness

#peter parker #sam wilson #tony stark peter parker #tony stark #Peter Parker Sam wilson #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #read on ao3 #fanfiction #whump #raft #ao3 writer #bad things happen bingo #bad things bingo #writing prompt #prompt: homsickness

[whumpdrivethru]

Hello! Can I get a Sam Wilson using his badass parescue skills to patch up Bucky after a mission gone wrong? Thank you!

Heyyy! Thank you for choosing the whump drive-thru! Enjoy!

Stitches for a Deeper Wound

Characters: Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, mentioned Steve Rogers and mentioned original unnamed villain. Characters are property of Marvel and not me; otherwise, I'd be pretty damn rich. Words: 1.2 k

TW: Blood, gunshot wound, death mentions, general angst, stitches, pain

Saying the mission had gone wrong was a gross understatement. 

Sam Wilson was not exactly the most optimistic person around. And with an operation as risky as this one, there were at least a million and one unpleasant outcomes plaguing his thoughts, but none of them could even so much as hold a candle to this.

Aside from the fact that a highly dangerous crime lord who was running illegal experiments on humans and was wanted by every country and their mother had just escaped their clutches and seemingly disappeared into thin air, Bucky was down, and he’d called Sam for help.

He’d called him for help.

Bucky was the very definition of the word stubborn. Requesting assistance had never really been his cup of tea, only something he’d do out of dire necessity, and in better circumstances, help meant backup. And this wasn’t it. He had a nasty habit of toughing out his injuries, but he could mostly handle himself. 

But when Sam heard that horribly ragged breathing, the weak, desperate “Help,” over his communicator, he’d feared that his worst nightmares were coming to life. Bucky may have been a pain, but Sam couldn’t lose him. 

That kind of suffering was one he could only survive once, and even then it left scars that even eons of time could not hope to heal.

Thankfully, Bucky wasn’t too far away, and Sam spotted a dark figure lying by a tree. . .with a pool of crimson around him, his uneven breaths seeming to get shallower by the moment. 

“Bucky!” he whispered curtly, rushing over to his fallen teammate. “Don’t you dare die on me, you bastard,” he snarled, trying to hide the concern in his voice that Bucky easily discerned, flashing him a weak smile on bloodied teeth. 

If he wasn’t grievously injured, Sam would have at least tried to strangle him.

“How’d he do this to you?” he asked. It wasn’t such a common occurrence that someone could beat a supersoldier, and their enemy, while formidable, didn’t possess any superpowers or extremely powerful gadgets. 

“He drugged me. The experiments he’s running, they’re insane,” he rasped out, wincing slightly as his chest rose and fell with his ragged breathing. 

“He shot you, but the bullet went straight through,” Sam attested, reaching into his backpack for anything that could help. There was a gaping hole near Bucky’s heart, but not quite at it, which was good, except the bleeding was crazy, the skin around it red and angry, muscle pierced through and torn. Sam needed to get the wound clean, having to pour some of the faint-scented cologne that he’d brought for no reason as disinfectant and a piece of his already tattered shirt as a rag. 

No matter how badly he wanted to tough it out, Bucky couldn’t hide the sharp hiss that escaped his lips. 

“Hold still,” Sam commanded through gritted teeth, applying pressure on the wound. 

He couldn’t exactly make out what his friend and absolute royal pain was saying because his weak, tormented voice was barely above a whisper, but he knew it was a swear. Definitely meant for him, but he currently didn’t have enough brain power to reply or even be slightly offended.

He pulled out a needle and thread, thanking God a hundred times over that he’d remembered, in the haste they were in, rushing to leave, unsure they’d packed exactly everything.

“What the hell were you thinking, Bucky? Going after this nutcase alone, and you knew full-well how dangerous he was. You should’ve called for backup! Is that so hard to understand?” Sam cried, exasperated, stitching up the other man’s wound. 

“Well, I didn't die. How the hell was I supposed to know he had that stupid drug? And you know I always catch bastards like him. And me getting hurt is a goddamn occupational hazard. I let him think I was dead, anyway. This isn’t the first time I get shot, Wilson. And if I had the necessary materials with me right then, I wouldn’t have even asked you to show up,” he retorted.

Raising an irritated brow at Bucky, Sam continued stitching the wound. “Listen up. You asked for my help, even being the stubborn bastard that you are, you still did. Which means you knew you screwed up. And he got away. All because you wanted to prove something stupid to yourself,” he seethed, eyes now slits and his tone dangerously calm. Oh, he was pissed at Bucky, and he was going to let the idiot know.

“I’m entitled to my own decisions. You’re not my mum, Steve!”

At that, Sam’s eyes went wide, and for a brief moment, guilt flashed across Bucky’s features. He mentally cursed himself for being so impulsive, saying the first thing that came to his mind without thinking. 

“D-don’t call me that,” Sam snapped, finally done with his stitches. 

“I - I’m sorry,” he stated, trying his hardest to sound sincere, to let down the wall of emotionlessness he’d been forcing himself to hold up for years, or whatever it was his therapist said he should do. Sure, Sam’s worrying and mother-henning was irritating on a good day, but he cared, he was Bucky’s best friend, his brother, and he was right. He’d asked him for help, relied on him. This was supposed to be a team effort. But deep down, he really didn’t want Sam to get hurt. It was part of the reason he’d make sure to go after the criminal alone. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Sam’s diamond-hard gaze softened. “It’s alright. Just don’t pull any of that crap again, good? Or I swear, I will give you a reason to be sorry.”

“Deal. Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he helped him up, shaking his hand, and then he didn’t even register how or when Bucky had hugged him. It was for an extremely short amount of time, but still, Bucky wasn’t really a hugger, unless you were a stray cat, which he most definitely was not. 

Still, it meant that the ice was melting just a little bit. That their disastrous team-up was finally starting to work out. 

They went back to their current shared residence, a small apartment in a quieter part of the city, so that they could come up with a better plan with more efficient execution. They still weren’t sure exactly where to start, but something told them both that they’d catch this bastard, one way or another.

He gets on your nerves without trying. He finds a way to disagree with everything you say. It feels like you’ve been arguing with him from the beginning of time. But he is your best friend, your brother, your family, the kind that teaches you that blood never mattered in the grand scheme of things, more about a fate you do not choose, simply a circumstance. So you bear whatever it is he does because you know just how far he is willing to go with you, the precarious road he’s willing to tread. You trust him with your life more than you do yourself. And if anything were to happen to him, you’d be truly lost. A friend you live, die and kill for, without hesitation. 

♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧

This fresh whumpy meal has been prepared by Natalia.

#whumpdrivethru #hurt/comfort #sam wilson #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #captain america #mcu fanfiction #blood tw #death mention tw #angst #whump #gunshot tw #whump community #marvel #Natalia #nat's writing

[cherriontop]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Joaquín Torres, Sarah Wilson (Marvel), Redwing (Marvel) Additional Tags: Bucky Barnes Whump, Guilty Sam, Sam Blames Himself, Injured Bucky, Hospital, captain america sam, ex winter soldier bucky, Post tfatws, Canon Compliant, Mentions of Riley, sam has ptsd, snappy sam, Worried Sam, redwing is a pal, so is torres, sam cares a lot about bucky Summary:

Sam wakes up falling.

Usually it’s the other way around. Usually, he falls when he goes to sleep, eyes closed and at the mercy of his brain. Usually he dreams of falling, right there beside Riley, helpless and all too aware of the fate that awaited below him.

Now, though, his eyes open sluggishly, and wind whooshes around him as he spins in the air, wings hanging uselessly on his back. The ground is still far away, and somewhere above him, there’s the whooping of helicopter blades, and then there’s someone else careening towards the ground just like him, though far less graceful without wings.

Bucky.

Written for the @allcapsbingo Square I4: Salvage yard

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #fanfic #allcapsbingo #allcapsbingo2023 #ao3 #my writing #bucky barnes whump #injured bucky

[alidravana]

Fandom: TFATWS

Ship: Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson

Length/Rating: ~1K, Teen

Tags: Imprisonment, Missing Scene, Past Torture, Past Violence, Self-Reflection, Emotional Whump, Developing Friendships

Summary:

Bucky doesn't handle being arrested that well. But he doesn't resist, doesn't run. He waits...for Sam.

Written for Day 2 of @febuwhump: Solitary Confinement.

Can be read here on A03!

#TFATWS #febuwhump2024 #day2: solitary confinement #bucky barnes #sam wilson #emotional whump #S01:E02 #missing scene

[aelaer]

⛓

Okay so. THREE YEARS AGO, back in early 2020 before The World Went To Shit, I posted a "whump prompt request" thing with icons to basically request fics based on the whumpy icon. I answered 2 or 3 of them before I basically stopped writing for like, over a year.

This year I'm doing my damnedest to finish the 6 whump prompts I have from early 2020 and the last (anon) prompt I have from 2019. That's my goal. (If I can get to the 2022 user-submitted prompt as well this year, that's an extra bonus).

I don't think this user is even in the fandom anymore (possibly not even on tumblr), but I'm still doing the prompt fics. As always with tumblr prompts, my tumblr followers get them first, and I'll post it on AO3 at a later time.

Obviously the prompt is chains. For 2 years I was trying another fic to fill this, but when it just wasn't happening, I threw out the original idea for this new one below.

So I've done alternate meetings between Stephen and various Avengers before, but I wanted to try something different and have a different set of Avengers meet him in different circumstances. Well, not that different because I just enjoy seeing Stephen suffer. Sorry love. But it's a different crew of Avengers, so it's at least a little different. I don't think I've seen this particular group meeting him before in this timeframe, either.

This fic stars Steve, Nat, Sam, and Stephen, and is actually written from Steve's POV! First time writing from Steve's POV so it was a lot of fun. Not betaed, but this is still about 7,000 words long, so enjoy!

—--

Ever since aliens attacked New York in 2012, alien technology was a major part of the arms dealing scene in the black market. Nuclear missiles were old school; Chitauri-powered weaponry was the cream of the crop. And as the United States' Department of Damage Control seemed to have done a very lousy job at controlling all the weaponry leaving the country the last several years, Steve Rogers figured he'd put his time out of the country to good use and clean up for them.

From all the people that came back from the Raft, only two were with him now. Clint and Ant-Man—Scott, nice guy—had families back home and went for a plea bargain. Wanda asked to be dropped off in Europe and Nat provided her with a new ID and enough money to get by for a couple months without any sort of job. Bucky—well, Bucky was getting help in Wakanda.

That just left him, Sam, and Nat. When he told them what he planned to do, they were fully on board. Nat even had some old KGB connections to get them started.

And that's how they had spent the last year, going from city to city, country to country, chasing leads on illegal alien weaponry across Asia. They started in Yemen and Oman, then went north to Syria (where they got into a tight spot and found Nick Fury of all people waiting for them. How he got to Syria in the first place, Steve had no idea.) After a tense conversation with him, he parted with him in Lebanon, then they started their way east to Iraq, Turkmenistan, and Afghanistan.

It was another old contact of Nat's that pointed them to their next destination: the state of Uttar Pradesh in northern India.

With most of their hits, it was clear that terrorists, insurgents, and other sorts who dealt with black market arms were getting types of Chitauri weapons. With their information out of India, it was less clear what the nature of the weapon was.

"From how they're discussing it, it sounds alien," Nat said as she read over her contact's notes. "And they're guarding it fiercely. But it appears they don't know what to do with it."

"Who has the weapon?" Sam asked. "Lashkar-e-Taiba? ISIS?"

She shook her head. "It's a small splinter group of revolutionists. No household names here."

Steve frowned; these small groups were more difficult to determine how to respond to. "Are they considered terrorists by the United States?"

Nat shook her head once more as she looked through the notes. "Strictly Indian. This group doesn't go beyond their borders."

"Then let's go for a nonlethal encounter, as much as possible. We're not here to say who's right and wrong about such things, so long as they're not hurting anyone in their actions."

She half-smiled. "They do have a weapon, Cap." They've likely hurt people, she didn't say.

He quirked his lips in return. "And that's why we're going to relieve them of it." In the end, it was up to the local authorities to take care of the people themselves and to put them through due process. If Steve could, he'd do the same for every terrorist, too—but he didn't have that luxury when they were caught in the middle of a gunfight, or when it was just the three of them versus dozens in enemy territory.

He wasn't happy with the fact, but he made do with what he could. He didn't particularly enjoy killing others in the war, either—and the fact that he still had to from time to time was an unhappy reality.

So when he could get through an incident without death, he gladly took it.

"All right," Sam said. "Next stop, India."

—--

Nat's connections made getting the quinjet from country to country actually possible. From there, they paid someone enough cash to both keep an eye on the jet and to keep quiet about it. These people made a living on such gigs, so after a year of seeing such deals, Steve was a lot less worried about it than when they first started.

Their contact got them a van and from there, they fit everything they needed into it to get to a safehouse and gather more intel from there.

Uttar Pradesh was a land of extremes. As the most populous state of India, it also saw some of its richest and poorest citizens, some great beauty and great ugliness, and both wondrous joys and terrible suffering. Steve didn't interact with the locals—Nat did all that if they had to, as she somehow knew Hindi as well—but he could see it in the people's faces as they went from city to village, and back again.

It took them a couple days to secure their safehouse to their liking, then another few days to find the location of their target. It took Nat and Sam another 48 hours to break into their security and tap their communications, and it wasn't too long that they got the location of the weapon.

"They're not giving any further description on what this weapon is," Nat said with a grimace as she leaned back in her chair. "I don't think the guys we bugged actually know what it is, just where it is as they were guarding the building. On the second floor, so that narrows it down further."

"That's annoying," Sam said. "I'll look up the address and see what I can find on the building. This city's large enough to have blueprints."

"Not sure how much you'll find," Nat said. "I'll drive out there and scout it out tonight."

"You can add it to what I do find," Sam said, grinning.

—---

When Nat came back from her scouting just before dawn, Steve woke up to find her thoughtful. "What happened?"

"The building was unusually busy, considering the time of night," she said. "The good news is that I found the most likely room in which they're keeping the weapon."

"Should be an easy snatch and grab?"

"Absolutely; this is a group of amateurs. You and Sam can probably stay in the car."

Steve snorted. "Well, if we would just get in your way."

Nat smirked, then went to get herself some breakfast. "I'll listen in today to see if anyone says anything more about the weapon."

About two hours later, Sam and Steve were mapping out their route away from the building once Nat had the weapon. From the corner of his eye, Steve saw her frowning as she listened to the tapped broadcast. He did not like that frown. "What is it?"

She listened for about ten more seconds. "It sounds like they have a prisoner."

Sam jerked his head up. "What?"

She paused as she listened, then after two minutes she shook her head. "These idiots know nothing. They think he was after the weapon, naturally, but for all they know he could be a political prisoner or hostage." She sighed. "Should've bugged someone more useful."

"This changes things," Steve said.

"A rescue mission makes this more complicated," Nat pointed out.

"Are you suggesting we leave him?"

Nat smiled slightly. "Just making sure you were aware."

"Well, I've never been one to back down from a challenge." He looked at Sam. "You'll be fine alone in the car?"

Sam shrugged. "I can keep the engine running. You sure you won't need help with sneaking in?"

"No. Show me what blueprints you found again, Sam." He had learned several things about subterfuge and stealth over the last year from Nat. He had to.

With their combined intelligence gathering, Steve was able to map out his own route to search for this prisoner. It was likely he was being kept in the basement level of the building, so Steve would start there and work his way up, if need be. As decided before, Steve wanted to go for the non-lethal route, and they had just enough drugs to knock people out to make it happen (one of the good things of running into Fury all those months ago was getting supplies of that nature).

With their plan set, all they had to do now was wait until nightfall.

—----

Nat was right: these guys were amateurs. Steve was certain that she'd be in and out of the building in five minutes, tops. He had the longer route here just because he had to find the room this prisoner was actually being held.

Half the people in the building were asleep on the second floor; those awake were either guarding the mysterious weapon (Nat had them handled) or posted around the perimeter. He only encountered one other guard on the first floor before making his way into the basement. Those he did encounter he stashed away in dark corners so they weren't easily spotted by anyone passing by.

The basement was a little busier. The stairwell led to a long hallway filled with several tiny rooms, one of which was easily seen as occupied the moment he came to the floor. Steve took out two guys in a room at a pair of computers and kept them propped in their chairs. The other rooms in the hall were empty of people, largely filled with storage and detritus.

At the edge of the corridor was another hallway and Steve carefully peered beyond the corner to see if anyone was there. There was a man sitting outside of a door playing on his phone; that was very likely the door Steve was looking for. It was child's play to sneak up at him and jab him in the neck just as he had done with the rest. 

He lowered the guard to the floor before he could fall out of his chair, then peered through the small window—hole, really—within the door to take a look inside.

Well, he had definitely found the prisoner. While the light in the room was dim, he could tell that their prisoner didn't appear Indian; his skin was just too light. Steve frowned; what was a foreign national doing dealing with a group that largely dealt with Indian affairs?

It appeared that he had crossed them in some way because the man looked terrible. Bruises and bloody scrapes blossomed across his face; they appeared to be recent hurts, gained in hours or days rather than weeks or months. His dark hair was pressed damp against his head, though from sweat or water, Steve did not know. His clothes were unlike anything Steve's seen in the future so far, at least outside of movies. 

Despite his poor state of being, this group had considered their captive enough of a threat to chain him to the wall itself. Steve had no idea wall fetters like that still existed. The man was leaning his head against one of his arms pulled up, though sleeping or unconscious, he couldn't say.

Steve soon discovered neither. As soon as he took the cell door key off the unconscious guard and slotted it into the lock, the man's eyes snapped open and he straightened his position as much as he was able to. And he didn't appear afraid at all. Resigned, perhaps, but not afraid. Interesting. Nat would have quite the analysis on him from just this.

The man's grim resignation turned into outright confusion as Steve opened the door to reveal himself.

"Keep your voice down," Steve warned as he dragged the guard's body from the hallway and into the cell. He carefully shut the door to make it look closed, but left it open a crack in case it locked from the inside. He turned back to the hostage. "We'd rather avoid a full on confrontation if we can."

"Captain America?" Disbelief dripped through every syllable, but he kept his voice low. And he sounded American; that wasn't expected at all.

Steve could not help his unhappy smile. "Not so sure I can call myself that anymore."

The man remained still as Steve closed the distance between them. "Let me get these off," he muttered as he brought up the key again. But he could see the problem immediately—the key was too large for the manacles.

The man was watching him and seemed to catch his realization. "I imagine that one of the leaders has that key," he said, voice flat. Not panicked at all like many others would be if they thought they were so close to freedom and were stuck.

This man was no normal civilian, that much was clear.

Steve, though, had another idea. "Hold on." He took hold of the left manacle and chain, then paused as he caught long scars on the hand accompanied by a tremor that certainly wasn't fear. "This might pinch. Brace yourself."

The man said nothing, but hissed softly as Steve snapped the chain from the manacle as the rough metal scraped against him, despite Steve's best efforts.

"Okay?" Steve said as he slowly let go of the manacle still around his wrist, allowing the man time to gain control of his arm.

"Fine. Don't worry about it."

Steve moved to the other manacle and saw the same patterns of scars on his right hand, as well. He broke the chain with as much care as he could, and this time the man remained silent at the break.

"Can you stand?"

The man was already standing—or at least attempting it. He managed to get up to his feet, but he was leaning heavily against the wall. His eyes were focused on the corner where Steve had deposited the unconscious guard near the door. Steve followed his gaze and saw that beyond the guard was some sort of red fabric in the corner.

"I need that," the man said, leaving no room for argument in his voice. With some bemusement, Steve gathered the long length of red fabric in one hand (a coat?), and with the other dragged the guard to where the hostage once sat so anyone looking in the dimly lit room would make out the figure of a body. So long as no one took a closer look, it would hold until morning.

The man took the red fabric as soon as Steve offered it to him and slung it over his shoulder. Steve caught the glint of silver of what he assumed was some sort of clasp on his coat, and while he was no expert, it looked like the real deal. 

"Surprised they didn't take those," Steve said as he nodded to the ornamentation. "Lean on me."

The man did so without protest. Steve couldn't see what was causing the other's inability to fully stand, but that would have to be examined later. He did mutter, though, "They couldn't rip the clasps off. Then they thought they were maybe cursed." For some reason this seemed to amuse the man.

Right, then. "Follow my lead," Steve murmured.

He locked the door behind them and dropped the key in one of the storage rooms within the basement. Steve was slower going out than coming in, but he had been thorough in jabbing everyone and placing them in either hidden areas or in discrete positions, should anyone pass. But for all the rumors of having a powerful weapon, as their security personnel was not what Steve would consider top-rated, he wasn't expecting any change of guard anytime soon.

The building was thankfully small enough that the journey from the cell to the exit was less than five minutes, even at the slowed pace they were forced to go. From the corner of his eye Steve saw the man turn his head at the sight of one of the men stashed on a chair, positioned as if he were asleep rather than drugged.

It wasn't until they were past the building's outer fencing and around a corner that Steve breathed more easily. Perhaps the man sensed it, because he spoke for the first time since they left the cell. "Did you kill them?"

"The guards?"

"Yes."

"No. Just drugged."

Steve felt the man exhale beside him. "Good."

That… wasn't expected. But then again, nothing about this man met any of the preconceptions he originally thought about the person he would be rescuing. "What's your name?"

"Strange."

They turned another corner. "Your name is Strange?"

"Yes."

Fair enough.

"How far are we going?" Strange asked. Steve was supporting more of his weight now, his hidden injury seeming to do a number on him.

"Not far," he assured him. "I've got a car waiting."

"Great." The 'great' sounded oddly sarcastic.

The van was only a couple minutes further, which was good because Strange only seemed to be getting weaker with every step. By the time they turned the final corner to meet it, Strange's left leg fully gave out on him. Steve caught him before he could totally collapse, but he noticed Strange's attention was fully on the van.

"I'm not the only thing you're taking from that building, am I?" he asked between clenched teeth.

How could he possibly know? Steve didn't know how to answer, but before he needed to, Sam was stepping out of the van to assist him. He took in Strange's interesting fashion choices with a raised brow, then took on the role of medic immediately. "Where are you injured?" he asked as he took Strange's other arm. He spared a look at the hand and the manacle, then gripped him on the forearm as he slung it over his shoulders.

"It's complicated," was Strange's cryptic answer. "Nothing you can—" He sharply inhaled, "—help right now."

Once they loaded Strange into the back seat (with his coat on his lap—though it was rather large to be a coat, now that he took a longer look at it), Steve asked Sam quietly as they rounded the car, "You found the weapon?"

"Well, we definitely found what they were hiding, though I'm not so sure I'd call it that," he replied.

What on earth did that mean? Steve sent Sam a look, but held off on any further questions until they were out of immediate danger.

Nat had slipped into the driver's seat as soon as Sam was out of the van, and Sam gave it up with the roll of his eyes. Steve decided to sit in the back with Strange to keep an eye on him as they drove back to their safe house about thirty minutes away. Somehow Strange seemed worse resting in the van than moving. Yes, the road was bumpy and unpaved in many spots, but he would have thought walking from his prison would have been more taxing on him. 

As he eyed Strange's clenched fists, tight eyes, and pallor face, he wondered where these hidden injuries lie—and if they were all physical in nature.

Perhaps more importantly, he was wondering what on Earth another American was doing all the way out there in the middle of Uttar Pradesh and far away from any sort of tourist destination (and they had done their research—this was absolutely not an area for tourists). 

Apparently he wasn't the only one wondering about him. "So, you gonna tell us who you are and what on earth you're doing all the way out here?" Sam asked, turning himself partially around to look at him.

"If we could save the interrogation for when we're stopped, I would greatly appreciate it," he said without moving his eyes from the center of the windshield.

"Carsick?" Nat asked in that casual way that was anything but casual. 

"Yes," Strange said, but Steve wasn't sure if he fully believed him. It was the tight anxiety in his gaze that pointed to something else. 

But what it was wasn't important for him to know. Every man had his demons. So Steve said, "His name is Strange."

Sam looked between the two of them, gaze settling on Strange. "Seriously?"

"Yes," Strange said, curt and tense.

"Right," said Sam. He cleared his throat. "Well, Mr Strange, when we get to our little base, we'll take a look at you and see what we can do for your injuries."

At first, Strange didn't seem like he would reply. Then a moment later, after Sam had already turned around and Steve was getting ready to settle in for a long, silent trip, Strange said, "Doctor."

"Pardon?" Steve asked. Sam slightly turned his head.

"It's Doctor Strange."

Well, that just created more questions than it answered. 

—---

Doctor Strange could barely walk by the time they made it to the safe house. His lips were pressed tight as he contained what appeared to be excruciating agony. Steve had seen that look on men's faces before in war as they lost limbs and burned from napalm fire.

What sort of wounds was he hiding underneath all his clothing?

"He can take my cot," Sam said. The cots were in a separate, smaller room to the side of the larger room that held their base of operations. Their vital equipment didn't exceed what could fit in a single van should they need to leave fast, but at this point they had acquired decent bedding, more fresh clothing, and a mini-fridge alongside the basic necessities of the trade: their tech, a well-stocked first aid kit, non-perishables to last for several weeks, and a few weapons.

Sam already had their first aid kit by his side as they got Strange to the cot, and Strange collapsed as soon as they let him go. However, when Sam started to undo his belts to his—robes, Steve guessed—to get access to whatever hurts he was hiding, Strange stopped him by grabbing at his arm. But the grip was minimal; Strange's hand was shaking badly enough to continuously jiggle the ugly manacle still there. 

"Not—not hurt—physically," he panted.

Sam raised his eyebrows incredulously at the comment. "You've got bruises all over you. Look, with this weakness, you could have a bad internal bleed—"

"No," he hissed. "Listen." His weak grip readjusted itself on Sam's arm. "Move the statuette—away from me."

Steve turned a confused look to Sam, but Sam had stilled and was looking at Strange with narrowed eyes. "How did you—"

"200 feet," he interrupted. "For an hour. You'll see." With that, he finally passed out.

"Statuette?" Steve asked. 

"It was what they were protecting." Nat appeared at the door and frowned at Strange as Sam, obviously, ignored his protests and started stripping him down to both attach him to a BPM and to look for any signs of massive trauma. "He shouldn't know that we took it."

Steve frowned. "He said something of the same just as we got to the van."

Nat's eyes narrowed. "Did he, now."

Steve shook his head. "But that doesn't make sense. They were supposed to be holding onto some powerful weapon."

"Whatever our intel, the statuette was definitely the only thing they were truly guarding," Nat said. "Had two men at the entrance and one on the ground below—even more than last night." She kept her narrowed gaze upon Strange. "Maybe he is what caused all the disturbance last night, too."

Steve frowned at the information. "Did anything about it seem suspicious?"

Nat shook her head. "Not from a cursory look. It's just a rather ugly statue made out of stone. Weighs no more than 10 pounds. I was saving the closer examination for when we got back here, though."

"This makes no sense." It was Sam this time, and he was looking at the diagnostics on his small handheld that he had hooked up to Strange.

"What is it?" Steve asked. 

"His vitals are not what I was expecting. His blood pressure is higher than normal, which is opposite what you'd see with internal bleeding, and none of this bruising is severe. I mean, he should still get himself to a hospital when he can to double check, but I'm not seeing any obvious signs of hemorrhaging."

Nat looked back at Strange. "He's not faking it. He's out."

"I know." Sam worked on cleaning up some of the cuts on Strange's face because they were, apparently, the worst wounds they found. "But from what I can see, he shouldn't be unconscious. I found no head trauma, no major blood loss, and his temperature's stable."

Steve pursed his lips together in thought. The world had gotten very weird the last few years.

Nat read him like a book. "You're going to entertain his idea?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, the world isn't exactly what it used to be," Steve said. "We can try for an hour. Just to see what happens."

Nat canted her head, then nodded slowly. "I know a spot. Be back soon."

—--

Fifteen minutes later, Steve had his chair at the doorway between the beds and the rest of the space as he kept an eye on Strange. Sam was working on repairing some of their surveillance tech while Nat was looking up something at the computers after having returned just a couple minutes ago.

"He said Doctor Strange, right?" Sam asked. "You think, being an American with robes and a cape and all, that he's playing at being some sort of superhero with a secret identity or something?"

Steve blinked and took another look at the red pile of cloth resting at the foot of Strange's cot. Huh, yeah, he supposed it could be a cape. A red cape like Thor's, to boot.

"I'm not so sure," Steve said as he eyed the man. "He didn't act like a civilian playing hero that got in over his head when I found him."

"Not a fake name, either," Nat said, causing the both of them to turn her way. She recited, "Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange, MD, PhD. Neurosurgeon. And yes, I found images. It's him, just without the beard and a little less grey hair."

For some reason the name sounded familiar, though Steve had no idea why. He definitely hadn't met the guy before; he was pretty sure he'd remember him if he had.

Sam raised his eyebrows high. "What in the world is a neurosurgeon doing dressed like that in the weeds of Uttar Pradesh?"

"Former neurosurgeon, actually," Nat said with a thoughtful frown. "Last news I can find of him is from early 2016 after he got into a bad car accident. His hospital doesn't list him as a doctor there, anymore."

Steve frowned softly as he looked back at Strange. That would explain his hands. But as Sam said, it didn't explain what he was doing all the way out here. Then he narrowed his gaze as he saw Strange stir—or he thought he saw him move.

Then Steve blinked as he saw the edges of the red cape start rising upward. It reminded him of a cobra. He blinked again, and yea, it was definitely moving a bit like a snake. It was slinking.

"Hey uh, Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Clothing generally doesn't move on its own in this century, right?"

"Uh, what?"

"You better come see this."

Steve felt both Sam and Nat beside him as they watched the cape—definitely a cape, not a coat—extend itself upwards until it was no longer a bundle of cloth at the edge of the bed, but fully extended and covering Strange from the bottom of his neck to his feet.

This cape might've been bigger than Thor's cape.

"So that's definitely not normal, yes?" Steve reiterated.

"Yes, Steve, that's not normal," Nat repeated. "You two sure there wasn't any sort of tech embedded within it?"

"Surveillance would've picked up something," Sam said, which Steve knew that Nat knew.

"Right," she said. "I'd ah, I'd keep my distance from it, gentlemen."

"Right."

"Yep."

—------

Another twenty minutes passed before Steve heard a groan coming from the cot. He looked up from his sketch to watch a minutiae of expressions cross over Strange's face before it settled on the blank expression of a man who woke up in unfamiliar, potentially dangerous situations. Steve saw that expression all the time once, a lifetime ago.

Strange was not just a neurosurgeon, no matter where his internet trail ended. Nearly two years had passed since early 2016, after all—and much of the world had changed since then.

Steve pushed away the troubling, all-too-personal train of thought before it went somewhere dangerous. "Welcome back, Doctor Strange," he said. He kept his distance.

Strange glanced his way with a furrowed brow before a light of understanding came to his eyes. "Ah. Right." He slowly sat up, grimacing softly, frowning down at what was obviously rumpled, disturbed clothing. Speaking of clothing—the cape was floating a bit more now, its collar at the same level as Strange's head.

"Oh, good, I'm glad you're starting to feel better," Strange said, and he was definitely talking to his cape. Steve was certain about it.

"Uh," Steve started, causing Strange's eyes to focus again on him. They were no longer clouded in pain, and he could see the man had an unusually sharp gaze. "Nat was going to remove those manacles off you, but then your cape started moving…" He trailed off.

"It's a cloak," was Strange's absolutely absurd reply.

Steve was saved from replying by Sam joining him. And just out of sight of Strange, Nat lingered, listening. "Hey, doc. How're you feeling?" Steve was pretty sure Sam was mostly staring at the half-floating cape—cloak.

"Much better. Thank you for moving the statuette." He frowned at the manacles on his wrists before making something of an effort to straighten out his robes. The red cloak moved behind him and settled itself upon his shoulders with Strange saying nothing about it.

"Uh, you wanna tell us what that is?" Sam jerked his chin to the cloak as it moved.

"It's a cloak," Strange replied. With eyes that sharp, Steve knew the man was being purposefully obtuse.

"Funny." Sam crossed his arms. "You wanna tell us why it flies?"

"It's called the Cloak of Levitation. That's what it does."

Steve wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or amused by the obfuscation. He settled for something around the realm of exasperation. "Doctor Strange, please." Strange stilled his adjusting and settled his gaze on Steve. "If you would sit down with us," he gestured past his shoulder to the main room, "Natasha can remove the manacles while you answer a few questions."

Strange pursed his lips. "I don't suppose you'll let me go without answers," he said dryly, but he stood up. Steve stood as well to give Strange ample room to pass.

Steve could feel Nat stepping into line of sight just behind him. "Consider it payment for us getting you out of there."

Strange huffed as he stepped through into the main room; with his so-called cloak, his whole ensemble had an odd feeling of completion that was missing prior. "I thought the Avengers were meant to be altruistic." Steve had been pretty certain that Strange knew who the other two were, but that at least confirmed it.

Nat smiled. "Some of us are more altruistic than others." She nodded to the table where the laptops were sitting a minute ago, but were now closed and set aside. "Sit."

Steve was more than happy to leave the bulk of the interrogation to Nat. He retook his chair and Sam went back to his tech maintenance corner while Strange sat adjacent to Nat at the center table.

With her left hand, Nat slid her fingers underneath the manacle to offer some cushioning between the metal and Strange's skin, certainly raw from the metal and more sensitive with whatever lay underneath his skin now. Steve knew, only after being with her for so long, that it was yet another way she could better tell truth from lies by being right on top of his pulse.

She had never forgotten her years and years of training.

"Why were you being held in that building?" she started as she flicked open the pick.

Strange narrowed his eyes at the question. "The same reason you were drawn to it."

"And you were caught trying to take it."

"Well," Strange said, "I was not expecting to have such an adverse reaction."

Nat kept her gaze on the manacle, seemingly. Steve wouldn't doubt that she was looking up at Strange through her lashes at pertinent moments. "We came because we heard there was a powerful weapon being held there," she said slowly, "but it seems only to affect you."  

Strange didn't reply, at first. "Was there a question in that statement, Miss Romanoff?"

Nat smiled. "You know my question, Doctor Strange."

Strange, again, considered his words. "And what would you do with that knowledge?"

Something that looked like true confusion flickered across Nat's expression. Steve doubted Strange caught it, but after all these years, he did. "What do you mean?"

"Don't be obtuse," Strange said, and there was an edge to his voice, suddenly. "After all, it was not even four years ago that the very agency you worked for created a weapon to kill millions. What am I to think of a person who worked for such an organization?"

The flash of something real crossing through Nat's eyes was so fast that Steve wasn't entirely sure that he hadn't just imagined it. "And all of us here were part of the team that exposed that plot." The first manacle clicked open, and Nat removed it, allowing Strange to take his wrist to rub it. "And when the worlds' governments tried to force us to sign a document that we believed endangered the world's freedom, we ran. And here we are."

Strange stared at her wordlessly, and they held a battle of wills. He had seen this expression on Nat very few times. The first she started showing it to him was when they really started working together, when—

Steve suddenly remembered. "Hydra!" At his exclamation, the battle of wills was dropped as everyone looked to him, but his eyes were again on Strange. "During Project Insight—one of their high level goons mentioned your name, your name and a few others—as he explained exactly what the algorithm was written to do." He looked at the other two. "Sitwell on the rooftop, remember?"

Realization came to them and they looked again at Strange, perhaps in a different light. "He did mention you," Sam said, pointing a screwdriver his way.

Strange cleared his throat. "That was in 2014, years before… this. They couldn't have known this would happen to me."

"And what is 'this', Doctor Strange?" Nat asked. She gestured for his left hand, and Strange gave it to her wordlessly. As she slipped her fingers underneath the metal and against his wrist, she asked, "What makes you different from us that the statue would only be an effective weapon against you?"

The silence sat. Strange said nothing, and it remained steady until the second manacle clicked open. Natasha removed it and stared at him for a moment, but when he remained still, she simply nodded and stood. "Steve can help you make arrangements to get back to where you need to go," is all she said, and turned to leave.

"Magic."

Nat stopped mid-step.

"The statuette has an adverse effect upon people who practice what you would call magic."

Sam was the first to break the silence. "Wait, do you mean 'You're a wizard, Harry,' type of magic?"

Strange's carefully blank expression fell away into a look of distaste. "The preferred term is sorcerer."

"A sorcerer is just a wizard without a hat," Sam said in return, and Strange's expression went through the whole range between gobsmacked and irritation, and back again.

Steve stepped in before Sam was completely eviscerated. "Right, so the statuette's bad news. What did you want to do with it?"

Strange seemed surprised by the question. "If it were up to me, I'd have it destroyed; were that impossible, burying it several miles deep or throwing it into the Mariana Trench is a good alternative. I'd say it could be placed in another dimension, but I'd be worried about another intelligent species potentially coming across it."

Right, dimensions. That was—something. Steve just nodded, as if all of that sounded perfectly reasonable and not completely insane.

Still, there was something Strange wasn't saying, and Steve had to make sure. "And these adverse effects—they're not permanent?"

"They're not."

"You sure?" Sam asked. "You were pretty badly off there for a time."

Strange cleared his throat. "I had been within near proximity to the object for almost a day, and the car ride's enforced closeness simply exacerbated the symptoms. They were unpleasant, but not permanent for the length of time I was exposed."

Steve narrowed his eyes; 'unpleasant' was a soldier's word for 'agonizing, but it didn't kill me so I'll be fine.' And Strange had the gaze of a man who had seen battle.

The other two noticed, naturally. They were both soldiers too. But it was Nat who prodded, to see just how much she could glean. It was almost instinctual for her to do so, Steve thought. "Sam is right to be concerned. You were near catatonic by the time the drive was through."

Strange's lip twitched upward in displeasure. He would allow some prying to establish—what? Some sort of basic trust? Whatever it was, it only went so far, and when Strange said, "I'm fine, thank you," Nat laid off with a raised hand and a slight smile.

Steve switched topics. "If you knew this statuette was so dangerous, why did you go in alone?" At Strange's quirked brow, Steve explained, "I assume there's more than one sorcerer around. You had to learn it from someone. You needed backup." Steve allowed a tone of disapproval to shine through his last sentence.

Strange heard it and rose up to it. "The statuette hasn't been encountered for quite some time, so its intensity wasn't known to any living sorcerer. Besides, we thought it was something else entirely here. If we'd known it was the statuette, we would have used a completely different strategy in retrieving it. On that note," he said, tone moving to decisive and unrelenting, "I'd like my phone call, now."

"Your what?" Sam asked. 

"Well, Miss Romanoff said you'd be assisting me in getting out of here," Strange said. "To do that, I need to call somebody."

Steve nodded, though that statement led to more questions as to how Strange got out here in the first place. Did that mean there were other sorcerers in the vicinity?

They had several burner phones as part of their stash. Nat selected one not on their persons, so not yet in active use. Depending on what happened here would determine if they kept it or threw it out after this.

Strange nodded in thanks and dialed a number slowly enough that it didn't take a spy to read his movement, should he decide to steal the phone for some reason. Steve didn't think he would. Besides, if he was more concerned about keeping the number private, he certainly wouldn't have dialed it in front of Nat.

Regardless, it took about ten seconds from Strange lifting the phone to his ear for him to start talking. He stood as he did and began to slowly pace during the conversation.

"Wong, it's Stephen. I have good news and bad news." A pause. "The good news is that it wasn't the Jade of Antioch. The bad news is that it's the Empirikul Statuette."

Another pause. "Oh yeah, it's as bad as the books say it is. Can't say I recommend the experience." His cloak was swaying quite a bit. Was that natural? "The Avengers. Or, well, three former ones, I guess." Another pause. "Yeah, them. And yes. Where do you think I found a phone?" Pause. "Why would I have my wallet on me? That's an awful idea. It would've been taken from me if I had brought it."

Strange paused mid-stride as the response on the other side went for a few seconds longer than the other replies. "It wasn't—you're exaggerating. No, it wasn't that bad. The issue was the Empirikul Statuette, not the guys holding onto it. It wasn't even a day. I'm fine. But they did take my sling ring, so."

Strange rolled his eyes after another pause. "Look, it could have happened to anyone. It was just my luck that I went searching rather than someone else." He huffed in annoyance. "I just need someone to pick me up. Can you do that?" Another pause. "It's not in my immediate vicinity, but it's still too close. Give me ten minutes to walk—not going to chance the Cloak right now." A beat. "Yep. Right. Bye." He snapped the phone shut and looked at Steve. "If that's all, I should be on my way."

That phone call had only made him more curious about Strange. And when Steve exchanged looks with Sam, he could see the same on his face.

And apparently Nat wasn't going to let it go so easily, either. "This area can be dangerous at night," she said. "We'll escort you to a safe spot."

"That won't be necessary," Strange said. He set the phone back down on the table. "I can take care of myself."

Sam asked, "Your powers are fully back, then?"

Strange pressed his lips together at the question. He answered, "As I said, I can handle myself."

"So that's a no," Sam supplied.

"We wouldn't want anything to happen to you," Steve added.

Strange looked between the three of them, then exhaled in resignation. "You'd follow me regardless, wouldn't you?"

Nat smiled at him. "Wouldn't want our hard work to go to waste."

Strange rolled his eyes and gestured to the door. "Lead the way to this 'safe spot', then. Away from the statuette, if you would."

"Gladly." Nat headed to the door and Strange followed. Sam followed and Steve did as well because of course he wanted to see where this went. Before leaving, he swiped the burner phone Strange had left and slipped it into his pocket.

Nat led them through the dark back alleys southward of their hideout. In a few minutes, they were at a dead-end corridor nestled between three silent industrial buildings. "How's here?" she asked as she looked at Strange.

Strange's brow furrowed and he looked at his hands and made a gesture, then suddenly a bunch of golden sparks appeared on the tips of his fingers. "Here is far enough," he said.

Steve exchanged a look with Sam, and the latter asked, "So… what exactly can you do with magic?"

"Many things," Strange said as lowered his hands again.

Steve frowned at the vagueness of the answer. "And what is it that you do use your powers for, doctor?"

Strange looked at Steve again, his gaze considering. After a moment, he said, "When I was still learning the Mystic Arts, I was told that the Avengers handled physical threats to the world, while sorcerers handled more mystical threats—a countless number of them."

Sam folded his arms. "And that statuette is one of these so-called mystical threats?"

"In a way. In the wrong hands, it could cause a catastrophe." Strange waved his hand. "But I was thinking more along the lines of extra-dimensional entities that would enjoy consuming the Earth."

Nat tilted her head. "And do you come across those often?"

"More often than you would think," said Strange. 

Suddenly, golden sparks appeared in the air behind Strange up against the wall. Nat took a step back, hand on her holster, and Steve felt Sam tense beside him. Strange, however, just turned and said, "And here's my ride."

The golden sparks widened into a circle large enough for anyone to walk through it. On the other side was a room and another man, Asian, dressed in brown robes and looking exasperated. "Strange."

"Wong." Strange stepped through the circle to the other side.

This so-called Wong glanced at Steve, then Nat and Sam. "Thank you for the assistance. We'll take care of the relic from here."

"Relic?" Sam asked.

"The statuette. You won't find any use for it, I assure you."

Nat narrowed her eyes but didn't argue. Steve decided to keep it simple. "Happy to help. You can, uh, call on us if you ever need assistance." He held the burner phone up.

Strange shot him a raised eyebrow. Wong's expression, however, remained even. "You should hope that day never comes, Captain." With that, the golden circle closed, leaving the three alone in the dark once more.

"Are we just gonna let them take the statuette?" Sam asked.

Nat's lips were pursed. "They may already have. He was able to get to Strange without knowing where he was physically. And if they were able to find the statuette in the first place without any sort of scouting and they now know it's in this area, I suspect that they could have moved it since they can travel with portals like that."

"He was right in that there's not much we can do with it," Steve said as he opened up the burner phone. "We can take a look to see if it's in the hiding spot or not anymore." He pulled up the last called number. "Either of you know what country code +977 is for?"

Nat was faster with searching. "Nepal."

"Huh. They're right next door." Steve closed the phone. "Still, I'll keep this phone handy. They may prove to be useful allies in the future."

Sam sighed. "So I guess it's now the big three rather than the big two that we gotta keep an eye out for."

"What?" Steve asked as they headed out of the alley.

"Well, it was just robots and aliens before. Now it's robots, aliens, and wizards. Or at least magical 'entities', whatever that means."

Steve huffed in amusement. "Well, we certainly do live in interesting times."

"Can't argue against that."

—----

The history of going after weapons in Syria then Lebanon, and getting picked up by Nick Fury are actually from the MCU Prelude comics! Those are considered backstory canon so I definitely recommend giving them a read, they're really interesting and fill in some holes for a lot of Avengers-related stuff around AOU, CW, and IW. (The Doctor Strange ones are really great, too.)

According to Wiki, Nat spoke *at least* 11 languages. I'm not sure how much of this is from the MCU or not. But I figured her having another language under her belt wasn't the most insane thing in the world.

The "jab to instant unconsciousness" isn't a thing in the real world, but it was established as existing in the MCU in FFH, so it makes these non-lethal special ops missions much easier. It's a fun trope so I certainly don't blame Hollywood for having it.

Finally, the Empirikul Statuette is a made up item, named as a nod to the Empirikuls, who in the comics kill all magic—items, books, users, etc. So an item that makes magic inert and makes magic users suffer in its presence seemed an appropriate item to name after them.

#stephen strange #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #sam wilson #doctor strange fanfiction #whump #a bit at least #prompt fill #mcu #my writing #my fanfiction #fanfic

[hearts-are-connected]

Got bored and decided to throw this together for my story "Family".

#bucky barnes x sarah wilson #falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes #sarah wilson #sam wilson #whump fanfiction #found family #archive of our own #moodboard

[betterthanworse]

It's effortless, really, for Bucky to slip once more beneath the blanket of Hydra’s conditioning; old patterns slipping back into place, nice and easy, as natural as breathing.

Or,

In Madripoor, Selby gets to name her price. Sam and Bucky must keep up the charade for a little while longer.

#bucky #bucky barnes #winter soldier #fatws #my fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #mcu #helmut zemo #sam wilson #sharon carter #angst #whump #ao3

[jinxquickfoot]

Marvel Fic Masterlist

Completed Projects:

Weaknesses (Whumptober 2022 Collection):

The One Where Natasha is Tony's Weakness (Day 1 Prompts: Unconventional Restraints/“This wasn’t supposed to happen”, Day 14 Prompts: Desperate Measures/Failed Escape/“I’ll be right behind you”, Day 20 Prompt: Fetal Position)

The One Where Clint is Wanda's Weakness (Day 2 Prompts: Cornered/Caged/Confrontation) 

The One Where Clint is Sam's Weakness (Day 4 Prompt: Waking Up Disorientated, Day 16 Prompt: “No one’s coming”, Day 24 Prompt: “I don’t want to do this anymore”, Day 31 Prompts: Comfort/Bedside Vigil/“You can rest now”)

The One Where Tony is Clint's Weakness (Day 5 Prompt: Running Out of Air, Day 11 Prompts: Sloppy Bandages/Self-Done First Aid/Makeshift Splint)

The One Where Scott is Sam's Weakness (Day 10 Prompt: Waterboarding) 

The One Where Yelena is Natasha's Weakness (Day 15 Prompts: Lies/New Scars/Breathing Through the Pain)

The One Where Sam is Bucky's Weakness (Day 21 Prompts: “You’re safe now”/“Take me instead”)

The One Where Peter is Kamala's Weakness (Day 22 Prompt: Allergic Reaction)

The One Where Peter is Peter's Weakness (co-written with @spagbol99​, Day 23 Prompts: Forced to Their Knees/Tied to a Table/”Hold them down”)

The One Where Sam is Clint's Weakness (Day 25 Prompts: Duct Tape/"You Better Start Talking")

The One Where Kate is Peter's Weakness (Day 26 Prompts: Separated/Rope Burns, Day 28 Prompts: Anger Born of Worry/Punching the Wall)

The One Where MJ is Peter's Weakness (for the @spideychellebigbang, art by @bignerdhours, Day 27 Prompts: Muffled Screams/Stumbling/Magical Exhaustion)

The One Where Marc is Steven’s Weakness (Day 29 Prompts: Defiance/"Better me than you")

The One Where Clint is Bucky’s Weakness (for the @winterhawkbigbang​, art by @rufferto9​, Day 30 Prompts: Manhandled/Hair Grabbing/“Please don’t touch me”)

The One Where Clint is Kate’s Weakness: (Day 3 Prompts: Say Goodbye/Gun to Temple, Day 7 Prompts: Shaking Hands/Silent Panic Attack, Day 17 Prompts: Breaking Point/Stress Positions/Reluctant Caretaker, Day 18 Prompts: “Just get it over with”/“Take my coat”, Day 19 Prompts: Knees Buckling/Repeatedly Passing Out/Head Lolling)

Mayday: A Civil War Fix-It that spans 2012-2017. No character bashing, no sides taken.

The One Where Rhodey is Steve's Weakness (Day 9 Prompts: Sleeping in Shifts/Tossing and Turning/Caught in a Storm) 

The One Where Steve is Sam’s Weakness (Day 6 Prompt: Ransom Video, Day 8 Prompts: Head Trauma/Back from the Dead, Day 13 Prompts: Fracture/Dislocation/“Are you here to break me out?")

The One Where Bucky is Tony’s Weakness (Day 12 Prompts: “Mayday, mayday!”)

Let’s Whump the Spider-Kid and Friends! (Whumptober 2021 Collection): A “Everybody Lives/No One Dies” AU set post-Endgame. One-shots featuring Peter Parker and the Avengers that lead into a larger story. TW: puns.

Down to the Wire (Peter & Tony, Day 1 Prompts: "You have to let go"/Barbed Wire/Bound)

You're One to Talk (Peter, Tony & Scott, Day 2 Prompt: Gagged)

Bully For You (Peter & Natasha, Day 3 Prompts: Taunting/Insults/"Who did this to you?")

Trust Fall (Peter & Tony, Day 4 Prompts: "Do you trust me?"/Taken Hostage)

Intruder Window (Peter & Sam, Day 5 Prompts: Misunderstanding/Broken Nose)

A Lot On Your Plate (Peter & Tony, Day 6 Prompt: Hunger)

Eye See What You Did There (Peter & Clint, Day 7 Prompts: Helplessness/Blindness)

That's Cold (Peter & Vision, Peter & Wanda, Wanda/Vision, Day 8 Prompts: "Definitely just a cold"/Exotic Illness)

Something Blue (Wanda/Vision, Day 9 Prompt: Tears, art by @jacketpotatoo​)

Shield (Peter & Bucky, Peter & Sam, Day 10 Prompt: Hospital)

Just When You Thought There Wasn’t a Pun for This One (Peter & Tony, Day 11 Prompts: Adrift/Dehydration)

Switch (Peter, Sam & Bucky, Day 12 Prompts: Torture/Made to Watch/Begging)

Not Cool (Peter & Rhodey, Day 13 Prompts: "This is gonna suck"/Burns/Cauterization)

Driven to Succeed (Peter & Happy, Day 14 Prompts: Crash Injuries/Beaten/Force)

Trip Hazard (Peter, Tony, Rhodey, Steve & Bucky, Day 15 Prompt: Delirium)

Scar. Scare? Scar. (Peter & Bruce, Day 16 Prompt: Scars)

You Game? (Peter, MJ, Ned, Flash, Betty, Shuri, Cassie, Lila, AJ & Harley, Day 17 Prompts: "Please don't move!"/Dread)

Frame-Up (Peter & Clint, Day 18 Prompts: "Now Smile for the Camera"/CPR)

Catastrophe (Peter, Sam & Bucky, Day 19 Prompts: Bitten/Bleeding)

You’re Suffocating Me (Peter & Shuri, Day 20 Prompts: Trunk/Trapped Underwater)

Stacked Odds (Peter, Tony, Sam & Bucky, Day 21 Prompt: Pressure)

I'm Your Biggest Fan! (Peter & Scott, Day 22 Prompt: Obsession)

Not Quite Sold (Peter & Bucky, Peter & Clint, Day 23 Prompt: Auction)

For the Record (Peter, Sam & Bucky, Day 24 Prompts: Self-induced Injuries to Escape/Revenge/Flashback)

In Hiding (Peter & Morgan, Peter & Cassie, Day 25 Prompt: Hiding)

It's Just A Stage I'm Going Through (Peter & Stephen, Peter & Ned, Day 26 Prompts: Trapdoor/Fallen)

Collapse (Peter/MJ, Peter & Pepper, Day 27 Prompts: Passing Out/Collapse)

In Your Dreams (Peter & Thor, Day 28 Prompts: "Good. You’re finally awake.”/Nightmare/Panic)

Mine (Peter & Steve, Day 29 Prompts: "You're Still Not Dead?"/Too Weak to Move/Overworked)

Didn’t Mean to Ghost You (Peter & Ben, Peter & Tony, Day 30 Prompts: Left for Dead/Ghosts)

Punstoppable (Peter & Tony, Peter/MJ, Peter & Avengers team, Day 31 Prompts: Hurt and Comfort/Disaster Zone/Prisoner/Trauma)

Bonus Chapter: Not Quite Sold Part 2 (Bucky & Natasha, Bucky & Steve, Febuwhump 2022 Day 20 Prompt: Caged)

Bonus Chapter: Not Quite Sold Part 3 (Peter & Tony, Febuwhump 2022 Day 27 Prompt: Shower Breakdown)

Whumptoberverse Fics (Whumptober 2020 Collection): A Civil War Fix-It that begins with Zemo kidnapping Tony and Peter in Siberia after the fight with Steve and Bucky. An attempt to consider all sides, perspectives, and mistakes made in Civil War with understanding rather than judgement. Currently being edited. 

'Til the Fight is Done (Peter & Tony, Day 1 Prompts: Waking Up Restrained/Shackled/Hanging)

What Makes A Captain (Steve & Bucky, Day 2 Prompts: "Pick Who Dies”/Collars/Kidnapped)

Not Your Sidekick (Rhodey & Sam, Day 3 Prompts: Held At Gunpoint/Manhandled)

Man in a Can (Tony & Rhodey, Day 4 Prompt: Buried Alive)

A Quiet Place (Natasha & Sam, Day 5 Prompts: On the Run/Failed Escape/Rescue)

Amendments (Tony & Bruce, Day 6 Prompts: “Get it Out”/No More/“Please…”)

Choices (Natasha & Bucky, Day 7 Prompts: Support/Enemy to Caretaker)

Dollhouse (Clint & Wanda, Day 8 Prompt: Isolation)

You're Always Spider-Man (Peter & Harley, Day 9 Prompts: "Run!"/"Take me instead")

There Will Be Blood (Peter & Bruce, Day 10 Prompts: Trail of Blood/Blood Loss)

Room 101 (Tony & Clint, Day 11 Prompts: Defiance/Struggling/Crying)

Safe Space (Rhodey & Steve, Day 12 Prompts: Broken Down/Broken Trust)

Hair is Everything (Tony & Natasha, Day 13 Prompts: Delayed Drowning/Chemical Pneumonia/Oxygen Mask)

We Didn't Start the Fire (Steve & Natasha, Day 14 Prompt: Fire)

Episode 15 AKA Mind Control (Clint & Bucky, Day 15 Prompts: Science Gone Wrong/Possession)

Budapest (Clint & Natasha, Day 16 Prompts: Forced to Beg/Hallucinations/Shoot the Hostage)

Project Cassandra (Bruce & Natasha, Day 17 Prompts: Dirty Secret/Wrongfully Accused)

We Forgot to Break Up (Tony & Steve, Day 18 Prompts: Paranoia/Panic Attacks)

Pile Up (Sam & Peter, Day 19 Prompts: Survivor's Guilt/Grief/Mourning Loved Ones)

Droney, I Have A Feeling We're Not in Queens Anymore (Peter & Wanda, Day 20 Prompts: Lost/Medieval)

Just A Little Stuck (Rhodey & Bucky, Day 21 Prompt: Chronic Pain)

Help (Sam & Tony, Day 22 Prompt: Drugged)

Mole (Peter & Natasha, Day 23 Prompts: Sleep Deprivation/Exhaustion)

On the Tip of My Tongue (Sam & Bucky, Day 24 Prompts: Blindfolds/Forced Mutism)

Original Weaknesses Series: A thirty-day writing challenge that helped me through COVID-19 and got way out of hand. Ranging from one-shots to multi-chapter fics to mini-series, these are stories where the Avengers and Guardians rescue each other from danger. OR: I just really liking writing hostage situations. 

The One Where Rhodey is Tony's Weakness

The One Where Tony is Steve's Weakness

The One Where Bruce is Natasha's Weakness

The One Where Wanda is Clint's Weakness

The One Where Tony is Natasha's Weakness

The One Where Thor is Loki's Weakness

The One Where Natasha is Clint's Weakness

The One Where Clint is Steve's Weakness (co-written with @16woodsequ)

The One Where Scott is Tony's Weakness

The One Where Tony is Thor's Weakness

The One Where Sam is Tony's Weakness

The One Where T'Challa is Shuri's Weakness (co-written with @fluencca​)

The One Where Clint is Natasha's Weakness

The One Where Tony is Stephen's Weakness

The One Where Bruce is Thor's Weakness (co-written with @onwardmeteors​)

The One Where Scott is Steve's Weakness

The One Where Peter is Thor's Weakness

The One Where Tony is Vision's Weakness

The One Where Groot is Rocket's Weakness

The One Where Tony is Bruce's Weakness

The One Where Wanda is Tony's Weakness

The One Where Brunnhilde is Carol's Weakness

The One Where Peter is Tony's Weakness

Cutting the Wire: A canon divergent retelling of 2014-2015 Avengers, as HYDRA comes after Steve to make him the new Winter Soldier.

The One Where Steve is Bucky's Weakness

The One Where Sam is Steve's Weakness

The One Where Bucky is Steve's Weakness (co-written with @usaonetwothree​)

The One Where Steve is Tony's Weakness

Heart of Stone: Currently features one Tony & Rhodey at MIT fic dealing with a stalker, Tiberius Stone, and an sequel set years later that kicks off a canon divergence from Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

The One Where Tony is Rhodey's Weakness

The One Where Clint is Tony's Weakness

The Fence and the Ambulance: Misunderstandings abound when Bucky is framed for Peter’s kidnapping, and both Tony and Steve rush to the rescue. Civil War Fix-It, canon divergent.

The One Where Peter is Bucky's Weakness

Whumping the Hawk: A collection of six horror/thriller stories focusing on Clint Barton. OR: I beat Clint up a lot in horrible and creative ways.

The Worst Thing

Dollhouse

Budapest

The One Where Natasha is Tony’s Weakness

The One Where Clint is Sam’s Weakness

The One Where Sam is Clint’s Weakness

Upcoming projects:

Team Iron Man (Current WIP): Isn’t it great to be the good guy who has never made a single mistake? How horrible and nasty are Team Cap for making poor Tony so sad and hurt. Well, at least he has Peter and Rhodey. They’re not acting weird. Don’t worry about it. Everything is perfect. This fic has been in my outline folder forever, and even though the time for it has probably passed, I think about often enough that I still want to write it. This is a Civil War Fix-It that’s intended to be a loving parody of the Irondad fandom, and a not-so-loving parody of the more extreme anti-Team Cap fics. No sides taken, no character bashing, happy ending.

Whumptoberverse Completion:

Barton Luck (Clint & Peter, Day 25 Prompts: Disorientation/Blurred Vision/Ringing Ears)

Seeing Red (Tony & Wanda, Day 26 Prompts: Migraine)

The Fine Print (Steve & Sam, Day 27 Prompts: Earthquake/Extreme Weather/Power Outage)

Untitled Wanda & Vision fic (Day 28 Prompts: Hunting Season)

Untitled Steve & Peter fic (Day 29 Prompts: Intubation/Reluctant Bedrest)

Untitled Bucky & Peter fic (Day 30 Prompts: Wound Reveal/Ignoring An Injury/Internal Organ Injury)

Untitled Tony & Bucky fic (Day 31 Prompts: Experiment/Left For Dead)

Heart of Stone Completion:

The One Where Phil is Clint’s Weakness

The One Where Peter is Tony’s Weakness

The One Where Bucky is Clint’s Weakness

The One Where Kate is Clint’s Weakness

The One Where Stephen is Tony’s Weakness

The Fence and the Ambulance Sequel to The One Where Peter is Bucky’s Weakness. When Steve and Tony fall into trouble, it’s Bucky and Peter’s turn to team up to rescue them.

#marvel #fanfic #masterlist #fanfic masterlist #tony stark #peter parker #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #clint barton #natahsa romanoff #whump #hurt/comfort #hostage situations #kidnapping #mcu #avengers #ao3 #winterhawk #irondad

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Sam signs up.

Taglist: @vickytokio @ashintheairlikesnow @thefancydoughnut @malcolmisthebrightestboy @redwingedwhump @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @finder-of-rings @orchidscript @hackles-up

It's three minutes after midnight and there is blood on Sam’s hands. 

It glimmers red under the neon shine of the streetlamps Sam hastes past.  His face is damp with tears and sweat. Tears that won’t dry even in the oppressive summer heat, they are falling too fast, too numerous. A well of pain flowing over. 

I can’t do this anymore.

Sam’s hand throbs. Sam’s head throbs

His heart throbs. 

I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE! 

Somewhere in the distance a car alarm goes off.

He stumbles on the crossing into the nice part of town. The great hall of the central station is enclosed in thick steel beams and looms over Sam like the industrial carcass of a whale. It’s silvery bones illuminated by floodlights. Behind it, the fashion shops and restaurants of the city's shopping district tower high into the sky. Technicolored neon lights sparkle in their glass facades. 

At the end of the currently deserted strip lies Sam’s goal. WRU. 

Old sneakers against pavement. His footsteps echo between the empty buildings, growing faster, faster, in his haunted desperation. 

If he slows down enough for the oxygen to catch up with his brain, long enough to think about this, to doubt this-

No!

He can’t chicken out. Not now. The blood on his hand has almost dried, color shifting from red to brown. It's too late to stop. All his dreams and aspirations, he smashed them up alongside his sewing machine. Ripped them apart as he shredded his midterm project to tiny pieces of golden fabric. Even if he had the money to re-buy the materials, replace his machine, there wasn’t enough time to re-do that dress from scratch. 

Good! I don’t want this shit anyway. I just want out! Let me get out!

He bursts into Wru’s reception hall, its glass doors opening with a quiet ‘ding’.

The receptionist startles awake from where she’d dozed off behind the counter. Perfectly rose painted lips curve into an apologetic smile. She brushes a lock of honey blond hair back behind her ear. 

“”How can I help you?” 

Sam’s ragged breathing fills the silence between them as he just stares, for a moment. Suddenly remembering where he is, Sam straightens, fumbles with his shirt to make himself look half decent, not sweaty and flushed with his old cat shirt stuck to his back.

“Good-” he gulps down a breath. “Good evening. I, uhm, I wanna sign up.” 

“Oh.” The receptionist musters him, eyes scanning him top to bottom. Sam’s face is burning from more than exertion now. 

“Am I wrong here?” 

“Oh, no no. It’s only- Are you of age?”

“Twentyone.” Sam mumbles, deflating with every second he stands in the shining emptiness of this fake marble hall. It had to be fake, right? 

The woman smiles, pleasant but empty. "Alright. I do need your ID information for our records nonetheless and-” she put a clipboard and pen on the pristine counter, “These are some additional information we need for your check in.”

Check in.

As if signing your very life away was as easy as simply checking into a hotel. Three nights as a pet please. Yes, with breakfast and room service, thank you.

Suppressing a snort Sam fumbles his wallet out of his pocket and plugs his ID from it with shaking fingers. He holds it out to her, arm straining over the counter and on his tiptoes.

“Here.” He says, short but polite, before snatching the clipboard and pen from the counter.  

“You can sit in our waiting area to fill this out.” She gestures to the right without looking up, already typing away one handed, eyes scanning his ID.

The area reminds Sam of a doctor's waiting room, only far more luxurious. Three leather couches stand around a low wooden table, dark and polished. Pet magazines are neatly laid atop it. The tv in the corner plays wru ads on mute. In the corner stands a water dispenser that looks more expensive than all of Sam’s possessions combined. If he would try to drink from it now, Sam knows he would throw up.

He sits down with a soft squeak of leather. The pen scratches over the paper with every word. 

Known allergies: None.

Known  pre-existing illnesses: None.

He is halfway through the first sheet, medical history,  when the dialing of a phone number catches his attention.

“Yes. We have a new acquisition, yes. I need a handler to pick him up, finish the check in. Quickly. Yes.” 

Why quickly? Sam finishes the first sheet in a scribbled hurry. 

“Samantha Higgens?” Sam cringes at his deadname. Whatever, soon it’ll be gone for good right? “Have you informed family or friends about your decision?”

Sam bristles. “How’s that your business?” 

She smiles, very patiently. “We offer a service to inform your bereaved about your choices and answer any questions they might have. Most people find it reassuring to know that no open questions remain for the people- that might have them.” 

 The people that might- worry about him. Miss him.

There is no oxygen left in Sam’s lungs, all of a sudden. The room is way too big and his hands are shrinking, skin too tight over his bones. His brain sloshes around inside his skull. 

“No.” He hears himself say, voice high and tight. “I- I’ll text her myself.” 

The elevator door dings and boots clip over the marble floor with each approaching step. Sam fumbles his phone out of his pocket, hands shaking so bad he nearly drops it. 

Warm fingers steady his own.  When Sam looks up he finds himself face to face with a man near his forties, smiling down at him. He grips his phone tighter. 

“There we go.” The man flops down next to him, eyes crinkling. “The last message, hm? I can’t imagine how brave you have to be to write those.” 

“Huh?” Sam’s face crumbles in confusion, his impending panic attack stopped dead in its tracks. “Who, who are you?” 

The man's brown eyes grow serious without losing their warmth. He is handsome in a way Sam rarely finds in a middle aged man. Dependable looking. Save. “I’m your primary handler. Call me Mister Wilson.”

Sam shakes his outstretched hand on instinct. “I’m- well that won’t really matter once this whole pet thing starts, right?” 

Mister Wilson hums, pleased. “A quick learner I see. I think we will have a great time together. The smart ones are my favorite.”

Heat floods Sam’s face and he drops his gaze, pressing the start button on his phone repeatedly to do something with his hands. 

Mister Wilson lets him fumble until his nervousness morphes back into despondency. He opens his messenger app, closes it again. Opens it. Closes it. Sam stalls for time and they both know it. 

“Little one,” Mister Willsons begins softly, “you’ve gotta be brave one last time now. And after that, I promise you, you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

With a big sigh and his heart beating against his throat so violently he wonders if Mr Wislon can see it, Sam pulls up his aunt's chat. There are at least five voicemails she must have sent after Sam stormed out the door, after their fight. And after demolishing the room, she never stopped complaining about giving up for him. 

Whatever is on there he won’t listen to it. They’re just gonna be a continuation of her never ending accusations anyway. Telling him what a burden he is. How he should give up his dreams of becoming a designer and get a proper job. Whenever she hits a bad mental health spot she turns into a broken record player of soul crushing bitchery!

But when she has a good streak she-

Sam shakes his head so abruptly Mister Wilson startles beside him. 

Fingers shaking with anger punch in the first word. 

Delete it. 

Type a new one.

Delete it.

Try a third.

His fingers aren’t shaking from anger when he finally hits send. His phone screen is slippery with tears. 

I’m sorry. 

I can’t do this anymore. 

I’m becoming a pet. 

I love you.

Forgive me.

#whump #whump writing #boxboy whump #box boy universe #boxboys #box boys #pet whump #pet whumpee #wru #bbu #sam the medic #emotional whump #handler wilson

[cricket-reader]

Hi!

If it's not too much trouble, I would really like to see a part 2 of "Side of the Road"

Hope you're having a good day!

I would love to (sorry it’s so late)! Hope you are having a good day as well

Side of the Road (2)

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox

Summary: the mystery woman is rushed to the infirmary. Now only one question matters: will she make it out alive?

Warnings: probably incorrect medial info/jargon, needles, hypothermia, injury, near-death incident

Word Count: 886

Series Masterlist | Part 1

Exiting the vehicle, Bucky gently picked up the woman covered in their winter jackets. The cool wind nips at the woman in Bucky’s arms. She shivers and unconsciously nuzzles closer to Bucky, seeking his furnace-like warmth. His stone cold heart breaks hearing the little whimpers she lets out. Wasting no time, Bucky rushes her inside to the heat.

Pepper is waiting at the door and catches a glimpse of the trembling woman covered in coats. Her attention is diverted when her inebriated boyfriend stumbles through the door. Muttering under her breath, Pepper drags Tony to bed.

Sam and Steve are hot on Bucky’s heels as he makes his way to the infirmary.

The group startle Dr. Cho, who has been busy working on Avenger’s paperwork. Her eyes grow wide upon seeing the young woman in Sergent Barnes’s arms. Helen shoots up from her seat and rushes over to the woman. “Barnes, set her on the table, take off those jackets. Wilson, get me Banner. Rogers, get me some blankets and a warm compress from the med kit” she rattled off, quickly washing her hands.

Bucky removed the coats from her body, his heart breaking as the woman moaned in protest. She tried to get the, now wet, coats back from him, but Bucky threw them aside. Cho grabbed a few towels and threw them at Bucky, ordering him to dry her body off. It was still damp from the snow she was lying in. Helen wasted no time in hooking up electrodes to her body to get the cardiac monitor set up. She is relieved to see the green spikes followed by the infamous beeping of the monitor. The woman has a pulse, albeit weak.

Sam returns with Bruce striding into the room. Sam had explained the whole situation to him on the way there. “Banner! Get me a warm saline solution now!”

Bruce hustles to get the solution as Steve enters the room with a mountain of blankets he could find nearby. Cho tells him to help her envelop the patient’s body in the blankets, needing to insulate her body to prevent further heat loss.

Dr. Banner returns with the solution and a kit. He quickly yet efficiently washes his hands and puts on clean medical gloves. He hangs the bag and fills the tubing with the saline solution. Taking her arm out from under the blankets, he secures a tourniquet above the vein he’s going to insert the solution into. Bruce cleans the skin before inserting the plastic tube into the vein using a needle. Once the needle and tube are in, he removes the needle and unsecures the tourniquet. Taping the tube in place, Banner wraps the area with Coban to ensure that the patient wouldn’t try to remove the line when she wakes up. He looks to Cho for further instructions when he’s done wrapping her arm.

“We need an ECG when her vitals are stable. Get a finger-stick glucose, I think she might be hypoglycaemic. We need to prepare for a CMP too.”

“You got it, boss.”

Dr. Banner returns with the supplies needed hastily. He takes the patient’s left arm, his brows furrowed, and inserts the small needle into her vein to draw some blood. “I’ll take the blood to the labs to process the CMP, I trust you can handle the finger-stick?”

“I’ve got it.”

As Helen predicted, her glucose levels are below 70 mg/dl. It doesn’t surprise her given how malnourished the woman looks. She would just have to monitor her levels closely.

“She has some injuries on her back too,” Bucky informs her, restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He wants to help, he needs to do something to help her.

“I know, I saw them. I was planning on putting her in the cradle as soon as her vitals are stable.”

“Is she… gonna make it?” Steve questions, breaking the silence in the room. Cho sighs, worry-lines etched into her face. She isn’t sure quite yet. It’s hard to tell until she can get her body temperature back to normal.

“I don’t know yet. Where did you guys find her?”

“It seems like she was just dumped on the side of the road on the way to the compound. We don’t know where she could have come from in a state like this.”

“Who would do something like this?” Helen mutters, tears threatening to form in her eyes. As a medical professional, she didn’t often cry during work, especially in a patient’s room, but just thinking of how horrible the situation overwhelmed her. She honestly doesn’t know how this woman is still alive. With wounds like those and being left in the cold so vulnerable, she should probably be half-dead.

Bucky just watches in silence. As if on repeat, the moment from the car plays in his head. It really bothers him. The more he thinks about it, the worse it is. Disgust churns in his gut, twisting violently. Just what exactly has this poor woman been through?

All four of them stay in the room, keeping close watch over the woman. Her heart rate is slowly elevating and her temperature is normal. That’s a good sign, at least. When her body temperature is stable, Helen puts her in the cradle.

Ssries Masterlist | Part 3

#avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu fic #avengers angst #domestic avengers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #mcu whump #bucky angst #cricket-reader #marvel fic #bucky fic #helen cho #sam wilson #steve rogers #pepper potts #tony stark #past whump #whumpee #recovery whump #whump fic #whump writing #marvel fanfic #avengers #james bucky buchanan barnes #steven rogers #hypothermia #the avengers