They had Steve. Bucky had seen his capture on the news because Steve had assured him that he didn’t need to come with. That this mission was an in and out, he had the Black Widow and Falcon watching his back, he’d be fine. And Bucky had listened.
But then Sam had been locked in a fight with five of the enemy and Natasha had taken a hit and had fallen down into a ravine and Steve had been surrounded by agents, his shield had been stripped off his arm, and then the camera lost sight of him as he was dragged away.
Bucky had crushed the TV remote in his metal hand when he had seen the blood darkening Steve’s blonde hair before the footage ended. He had sat there, stunned, for a moment, before he was springing into action.
He sprinted down the stairs because his running was faster than the elevator. He ran past the infirmary, where Natasha was just being carted in and people were bustling around her, working to get the slug out of her side. Bucky fleetingly hoped Natasha would heal quickly. Then he focused again. They had Steve. Not Hydra. A different enemy. But still. They could hurt Steve, torture him, kill him.
And suddenly the stairs were taking too long.
Bucky swung over the railing and dropped four flights, then caught himself with his metal arm and repeated the process until he reached the level of the Avengers Tower that he kept his weapons on. Granted, he had hidden weapons on all the levels he had access to, but this floor was his. His own armory, with knives and rifles and even a bazooka if he so desired.
He changed into his tactical gear and began to strap on weapons. By the time he was finished, he could destroy a small army.
Which was exactly the plan.
Although for Steve, he would walk in armed with just his metal arm and his teeth.
He rushed to the garage where his motorcycle was parked next to Steve’s. He felt his stomach lurch as he looked at it, but pushed down the feeling. He had to focus. He had to save Steve.
Bucky was about to pull out of the spot when another bike screeched next to him. Barton looked at him with the same fire in his eyes that Bucky was sure was mirrored in his and together they sped out of the garage.
It took them fifteen minutes to get to the enemy’s base, and in Bucky’s opinion that was at least fourteen too long.
Together, he and Barton got into a high position and started to snipe off the outside guards. The alarm was raised, but both of them didn’t care. The more men that came out of the building, the more bodies that fell. After a bit the men seemed to realize that they were going to run out into a slaughter and closed the gates.
As if that would stop them.
As one, Bucky and Barton strapped their rifle and bow across their backs before climbing down and moving towards the base. Barton drew his bow as they moved, scanning for any threats. But Bucky was focused on the entrance. Metal, probably thick, and one of the many obstacles between him and Steve.
Barton smirked darkly when they were right next to the door. “Think we should knock?”
Bucky grinned, but it probably looked more like a snarl, all teeth and no humor. “On it.”
He brought back his metal fist and put his arm behind the punch. The door dented. He drew it back again and threw another punch, putting all of his body into it. The door groaned at it hinges. Bucky pulled back his fist one more time and thought of Steve, his smiles, the way he looked at him even when Bucky was broken, how much Bucky loved him, the fact that Bucky could see him again if he could just get through this fucking door. And with a roar he punched the door one last time and it flew a dozen feet away from him, taking out the men that had been waiting for them.
He and Barton went from room to room, looking for Steve while taking out the enemy. Barton had claimed one kill in particular, taking out a familiar looking handgun and putting it right between the man’s eyes before snarling, “This is for shooting Tasha, you asshole,” and pulling the trigger.
Then finally, finally they found Steve. He was strapped to the wall, gagged, and looked a little worse for wear. Bucky didn’t have time for a very close inspection before his was fighting what remained of the enemy, but the bruises that were fading on Steve’s face and the blood that was still in his hair made Bucky all the more vicious as he tore through the few men that were between him and Steve.
When Barton dropped the last one, Bucky rushed to Steve’s side and tore the restraints from the wall with his bionic arm then undid the gag.
“Heya, Bucky,” Steve said weakly, leaning a little more weight on Bucky than usual.
“Steve,” Bucky sighed before pulling him into a hug. Steve’s arms came around his waist and for a moment they just stood there and held one another.
“Um… guys? I’ve got an angry Black Widow asking why we aren’t at her bedside yet and how long could it take to destroy one enemy base so… maybe that later?” Clint said from behind them, breaking them apart.
Steve looked at Clint, concerned. “Is Natasha alright?”
Clint nodded, then said, “Nothing she can’t handle, Cap. She’s just pissed she didn’t get to come to your rescue too.”
Steve chuckled, then winced.
“You okay, Stevie?” Bucky asked concernedly, checking Steve over for injuries more closely. Apart from the bruises on his face and the cut on his temple, Steve seemed to be favoring one side.
“I’ll be fine, just a few cracked ribs,” Steve muttered. Bucky went momentarily rigid before he drew one of his pistols and shot one of the men lying on the floor.
Steve gave him an unimpressed look. “You already killed that one, Buck.”
“I know,” Bucky declared. “But he has the most bruises on his knuckles, so it made me feel better.”
Giving Bucky a small smile, Steve gestured to where Clint was talking on his phone, making flamboyant gestures with his hands as he tried to explain why they weren’t there yet. “We should probably go.”
Bucky nodded and the three of them left the base and the bodies behind.
“Thanks for coming for me,” Steve said into Bucky’s neck as they drove back to the tower.
Bucky felt Steve’s body flush against his, his heart still beating strongly, the breath that brushed against Bucky neck every time Steve exhaled, Steve’s arms around his waist.
“Always, punk,” he murmured, unsure if Steve heard him over the wind until he heard his response.