A/N - I consider this to take place shortly after the end-credits scene from Ant-Man. Any feedback is appreciated and I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own Marvel. If I did there'd be a Black Widow movie.


Bucky should not have been surprised that he was in the midst of another war. It had been the one constant in what he knew of his existence; from the raining gunfire and trenches of his old life to the Winter Soldier's discreet political killings in the aftermath. While his memories existed merely as shattered fragments, he at least knew exactly how to fight, how to kill, how to die should he have to. The building tension of this so-called Civil War should have suited him better than trying to survive in peacetime ever could.

And yet, he had only ever been a pawn in those wars. A loyal soldier who had fought to the death and a weapon designed for more powerful men to aim and do their bidding. Perhaps that much was still true, but he could not ignore the uncomfortable fact that this war was being waged partly as a result of him.

Steve had tried to save him from that knowledge, he knew. The Captain and his partner had the good grace to treat him with more humanity than Bucky had seen in years, but that seemed to involve concealing information and hiding him away in an underground safehouse in a feeble attempt to keep him safe. Bucky would rather have the cold, hard truth and know exactly what the outside world knew about what he had done and why hiding away was such a necessity in the first place. He could have forgiven the secrecy, perhaps, if Steve were not suffocatingly protective; always insisting he eat and sleep and talk to Sam instead of doing something useful like he yearned to. Inactivity didn't suit him, which was why he'd struggled on the streets, and the lack of objective meant the stirring of memories in his mind that he'd rather not dwell on.

Sam was better. He had no protective instincts towards Bucky and, while he was kind, he also refused to shy away from what he had done in the past. If anything he encouraged Bucky to talk about it, like he'd realised that the building images of murder and orders and The Chair were turning him into a ticking time-bomb that needed to be diffused before he snapped and hurt everyone in their pitiful base. Sam didn't flinch on the occasions where his charge felt able to talk, no matter what horrors he heard, and he allowed Bucky to vent without being judged or pitied. Bucky was grateful for the man, although part of him still hated the fact that no matter how much he told the veteran, he was still unlikely to receive any outside information in return.

He knew the basics, he'd seen the headlines litter the streets when everything had started. He knew that Rumlow had killed civilians out in the open; that that occasion had only deepened the public's distrust after the catastrophic aftermath of Ultron's creation; that the government had suggested a registration act for anyone with superhuman abilities.

On the surface it almost sounded sensible and might even remove some carelessness from the actions of groups such as The Avengers. And yet Bucky could remember how men in power had treated him throughout his life; how his serum and metal arm had made him something to be feared and controlled. For every Tony Stark, whose actions were already so public the Act would have little effect, there would be people like him who'd been experimented on against their will and who would receive only malice and pain from being publicly outed.

Not that the anyone cared about them, however. The public wanted its scapegoats, the men in power wanted their mindless soldiers. Steve and Sam and the small, scattered gathering who agreed with them wanted the freedom to make their own choices. Apparently all were willing to fight and cause yet more damage for those beliefs, and all the while Bucky waited in an underground base wanting either to fight or to go to a home that no longer existed.


Steve returned after being absent for three days looking considerably more miserable than usual and sporting an impressive gash across his forehead. He threw a glance over to Bucky's corner – the area where he slept and generally existed these days as there was nowhere else for him to go – but quickly looked away as if the sight hurt him and wandered over to discuss something with Sam in a low voice. Bucky tried to ignore it as he wrote in the tattered journal Sam had given him, recording his most recent nightmare in an empty attempt to advance his recovery (it wasn't helping). His mind had tortured him enough with images of a smaller, more stubborn Steve being interwoven with a metal hand closing around a frightened victim's neck, and he did not need the outside world to torment him as well.

He was curious, however, and the sight of people talking as if he were not there was something he'd grown sick of long ago, so he shifted closer to the small dining area where his protecters stood, not caring if his movements were obvious.

It didn't work. The pair were being careful, their voices barely whispers, and all Bucky managed to catch was Sam's concern over the already healing wound on Steve's face and a brief mention of Stark before Steve noticed Bucky had moved and froze mid-sentence. He felt the rising urge to snap 'I'm not a child!' at the man but talking to Steve in any manner was difficult. The captain had a habit of letting his guard down around his old friend and letting his emotions show without meaning to; Bucky had realised that regardless of whether he sounded too much or too little like his past self, Steve would respond with expressions of hurt. Staying quiet would infuriate both parties but at least it wouldn't add more confusion to the mess that was his mind.

Sam seemed to have picked up on Steve's silence and turned to face Bucky himself, although at least he seemed unsurprised to see that he had moved. He shook his head in slight exasperation and muttered to Steve, "Look, you should tell him something about this. You're driving him mad here."

Steve looked torn and as small as one designed specifically to be strength incarnate could look. He whispered something to Sam that sounded like "he told you that?" before sagging at the veteran's answering nod. Bucky wondered if Steve begrudged the fact that he spoke to Sam far more easily than someone who had once been his best friend, but the super-soldier was too good a man to bring that up if it were the case.

Instead Steve wandered over to the small living space in the centre of the room and collapsed into one of the three armchairs, rubbing his tired eyes while Bucky wandered over to a chair of his own. "There's been some developments with the government. They say they're willing to relax the conditions of the SRA slightly to allow more flexibility for those opposed to it."

Bucky knew that wasn't everything. Nothing that made Steve return looking exhausted and like he'd been in an intense bar-fight could ever be that favourable. Even with his memories of their lives together being scattered and confused at best, he knew that on instinct; it was the same instinct that had changed his mission objectives from 'destroy' to 'protect' two long years ago.

Steve took a breath and looked at Bucky with an expression that was almost fury. "But they're demanding we hand you over as a token of our support. They want you to be some mascot they can parade around as a symbol of the Act. They say it's either that or they demand a trial."

Despite Steve's obvious anger, Bucky found that he wasn't surprised by the proposal. People wanting to use him was nothing new and it made sense that some penance for his actions as the Winter Soldier should be expected. He was too dangerous to be left dormant; either he fought on their side or they assumed he was making an enemy of them and demanded he be brought to justice. Not that he particularly appreciated either of those options.

"What would they want of me?" Bucky asked, in spite of himself. If Steve was surprised at him speaking up he didn't show it, too wrapped up in his own musings.

"I don't know. Even Stark was vague on that front," Steve admitted, almost mournfully. Sam had told him once that 'Stark' and Steve had been friends and that neither particularly wanted to be at odds with each other, although circumstance demanded it. "I can't bring myself to trust them though. Not with you. I'm sorry Buck, but it'd be better to hide for now until we figure something out."

Bucky simply nodded in silent agreement and picked at a tuft of fabric on his chair. He despised hiding and a small, dangerous part of him was itching to fight. But in a choice between hiding away with people who seemed to have his best interests at heart and being in the hands of people with power similar to those who had hurt him in the past, the choice was simple.

A few moments of silence followed, in which Steve seemed to be considering something while Sam, stuck for something to do, set about making coffee in the small kitchen space. Bucky would have been content to sit there thinking of nothing but he perked up at what sounded like a distant thud beyond the door. It was so faint that he assumed he must have imagined it, until he realised that Sam too had stopped what he was doing and was sending careful glances at the thick metal door to their base. Bucky knew from the time he'd arrived here that outside there was only a long, cramped stairway that ended underneath the basement of what appeared to the outside world to be a run-down clothes shop. Nobody should be outside, unless...

"Steve?" Sam whispered as loudly as he dared, leading the captain to acknowledge the tension in the room as well. "You didn't notice anyone tailing you on the way here, did you?"

Steve shook his head but rose anyway, reaching for the shield leaning against the worktop. "Not that I know of," he uttered back. "I took a different route, same as always."

They held their silence for a while, Bucky's eyes fixed on the imposing metal of the door. Beyond seemed quiet now; perhaps the earlier thud had been activity in the shop. Bucky had vague memories of himself as a child wandering into abandoned buildings and entertaining Steve with tales of the monsters that dwelled within. Perhaps similar children had done the same to the shop with the massive 'CLOSED' signs that loomed above them.

The quiet lingered for so long he thought he saw Sam take a breath of relief, before the door blew forwards in a shower of smoke and brick and a loud blast followed, throwing Bucky from his chair and into the wall, stunning him. A chunk of debris almost smashed into his skull but he hurriedly blocked it with his metal arm which screeched in protest at the impact. Ash and dust clogged the air, making it difficult to breathe; there was a persistent ringing in his ears and a pain in his back that made getting up difficult. From the shadows he saw black shapes emerge but their shouting was muffled and in the panic he had lost all sight of his friends.

He tried to get up and groaned at the effort, pain blossoming from wounds he hadn't realised he'd received. There was a trickle of blood running into his eye but his free hand was covered in so much dust he couldn't wipe it away. Instinct took over in his brain, reminding him that he had to get away and that the stairway was only a few steps away from him, but the route was blocked by armed strangers and his path littered with debris. "Just get up," he told himself, trying to ignore the fact that his vision was swirling. "You've faced worse than this, get up."

Before he'd even made it a couple of steps, the butt of a gun slammed into his back and he fell, his metal arm useless to stop him from collapsing onto the rubble. A childish part of him tried to crawl away but he felt something else jamming into his back and all of a sudden the familiar bite of electricity caused his body to spasm and he could hear himself screaming amongst the chaos. The taser provided several more jolts before he could feel consciousness escaping him and he thought he heard a familiar voice shout his name before blackness replaced ash.


He woke in a white, tiled room with a heavily bolted door and a single latrine on the far wall. Comfort did not seem to factor into the room's design; he awoke curled on the floor with his back aching and his head throbbing but there was no bed or even a chair to settle himself on. Instead he dragged himself up and leaned against the wall, his metal arm dangling uselessly at his side. When he tried to move it, the fingers only twitched weakly and it still bore the scrapes and cracks dealt to it by flying rubble.

His flesh hadn't escaped the explosion unscathed either. He could feel bandages wrapped tightly around his forehead and, when he pulled his plain black shirt up, his abdomen was littered with purple bruises from being thrown across the room. Nothing seemed to be broken but as he had no way of knowing how long he'd been out, there was a chance something had been and had simply healed as he slept.

A rattle turned his attention to the door and he watched as a tray of food and water was pushed through a small one-way flap onto the floor. Likely he'd been labelled as a threat so dangerous that the less human contact he received the better, but he couldn't help thinking that even if someone had walked in his body ached too badly for him to even get to his feet, let alone fight. He was hungry enough that the food tempted him, and was only a short distance away, but the broth didn't look particularly appealing and he knew better than to eat anything when he had no idea of whose clutches he was in.

It was only then that he remembered that Steve and Sam had also been caught up in the explosion. Had they been captured too? Were they nearby, in an adjacent cell or being questioned elsewhere? Bucky hoped not. He had so little friends that it would serve him better if those two acted as outside help, and it might delay the government's wish to expose him to the world as the killer he'd become. Besides, Steve had still been conscious enough to shout his name as Bucky blacked out; he must have been able to put up a good fight. He couldn't speak for Sam though.

Time passed slowly in the white room; the lights never went out and there was a suspicious lack of outside noise that made the ringing in his ears seem that much more pronounced. There was no way to sleep comfortably and even if there was, he was not tired enough to expose himself to night terrors, and the dead weight of the metal arm started to weigh him down and caused the entire shoulder joint to ache painfully. In order to calm his racing mind, he tried counting every tile in the room as if it were simply an exercise Sam would have set but he got bored when every tile had been counted twice. Eventually he reached over to the tray of food but by that point the watery broth was cold and he gave up after four mouthfuls.

Bucky wondered if this was to be his prison. Had the government taken Steve's silence as a refusal of their proposition, and therefore felt obligated to lock him away for good? But no; it had been a trial they'd threatened, not imprisonment. That would come after his name and reputation had been publicly dragged through the mud.

By the time a guard did arrive he'd dozed off twice (and each time been jolted awake by flashbacks to his time in cryo) and four more meals had been passed through the door. He looked up at the imposing guard with bleary eyes and imagined he must look a sight, curled up in a heap in an empty room, but the man said nothing and simply marched forward, gun at the ready. Bucky resisted the urge to flinch back and simply watched as the guard crouched down beside him, took his arms and fastened them tightly into handcuffs before dragging him to his feet and shoving him out the door into a dark grey corridor. Bucky took the whole thing as he would have done as the Asset. Although the forced restraint made him want to punch something, he imagined that going along with what was expected of him would be easier until he at least figured out what was going on.

The guard led him wordlessly down the corridor and up two flights of stairs until they reached a room set up for interrogation, with a two way mirror on the opposite wall and a table in the centre complete with tape recorder and camera. Bucky only spoke once on their journey to ask where he was, but the guard seemed sworn to silence and wordlessly led him into the room and cuffed him to the table by his metal arm so that he was facing the mirror. The man had probably been told that the limb was damaged, otherwise Bucky knew he could easily have pulled himself free and made his escape then and there.

He was left alone for a few moments after that and passed the time by staring into space. The temptation to try to break free or show any signs of rebellion was overwhelming but he knew that people would be watching him right now and trying to judge how unhinged he was. He had no intention to add fuel to their case against him.

The door finally opened and a dark-haired man dressed in a suit stepped in, deep in conversation with the outside guard. It seemed he was refusing the man's protection. "I'm pretty sure I can defend myself against someone who looks like a kicked puppy, relax," he said finally and, defeated, the sullen guard closed the door behind him.

The new arrival seemed familiar to Bucky, although there was something about the face that was wrong. It seemed like the echo of someone Bucky had once known, from the intelligent brown eyes to the moustache, but memory hadn't served him well enough recently to provide a name. Although, now that he thought about it, he had seen this particular man strewn about newspapers and posters and the name from Steve and Sam's many discussions came back to him.

"You're Stark?" It made sense now. Tony Stark was a supporter of the Superhuman Registration Act and him being here meant that Bucky was in the government's hands. Steve had never really had a choice in the matter it would seem; they were intent on claiming the Winter Soldier no matter what happened. At the very least, he was glad they weren't Hydra.

"Tony's fine," the man said flippantly as he took the seat opposite. There was an air about him that Bucky instantly disliked, and he doubted he'd ever be on a first-name basis with him regardless of his wish. "Now, Barnes, I'm going to assume that you're not an idiot and you know why you're here."

Steve's words came back to him. "You want me to come out as a supporter of this Act."

"Sort of," Stark started, glancing back at the two-way mirror before continuing. "Those of us who recognise that brainwashed people probably can't be held responsible for Hydra's actions want you to do that. And believe me, there's less of us than I'd like. The Winter Soldier's actions aren't highly publicised yet but James Buchanan Barnes is a historical sweetheart who died for his country. People might be more sympathetic if..."

"If I do what they want and parade myself for people like you to use as they please," Bucky continued, bitterly. He'd heard this song and dance before, and performed it. The Winter Soldier had always been more a symbol of terror than a living, breathing assassin; besides his training he'd only been used around two dozen times over seventy years. Only two people in all that time had thought of him as a person, and Bucky had no idea if they were even alive. "Where's Steve and Sam Wilson? Do you have them?"

Stark ignored the question, although he didn't seem particularly happy about having to do so. It occurred to Bucky that he must be on the spotlight just as much as himself. "Look, it's as good a deal as you're ever going to get. We can even make up a different backstory for you. All you need to do is come out in support of the Act for as long as its a hot topic and then you're free to go. There are people here who have suggested a lot worse for you."

"People always want a lot worse." Bucky could handle any punishment they threw at him, he decided. When he'd left Hydra it was in search of the person he'd once been; in the hope that he could become whole again, or close. He was not about to agree to be used as a pawn all over again, acting in the best interests of powerful men who couldn't give two shits about him. Especially not for something that would persecute those who had suffered in similar ways to himself. "This Act of yours is going to hurt a lot of people, Stark."

"It'll save a lot of people," Stark replied insistently. "People like us, we've done a lot of damage without anything there to keep us in line. The public wants some assurance that we won't snap and blow up the planet." He tried to smile but it wasn't nearly as convincing as he was aiming for. He cast another glance at the mirror before lowering his voice. "Look, Steve is a friend of mine as much as yours. There are people here who want to hurt and use you for their own means, but I have no desire to put either of you through that again so do me a favour and think on it. For his sake if not your own."

Bucky only took away one important message from his plea; Steve was alive. Stark worrying about him ensured he must be. He felt himself smiling, in spite of the situation. When he looked at Stark again he realised why he'd seemed so familiar. A fleeting memory of a science fair came to mind; of a pretty girl with dark hair and Steve wandering off and...

"Your father promised us flying cars." Bucky hadn't meant to say it, but he'd remembered his younger self's excitement in the heat of that moment and felt a surge of disappointment on the behalf of that ghost. It felt better to remember that than focus on the present.

Stark seemed taken aback by the statement, something which Bucky noticed and took as a victory. He gathered himself quickly enough, however, and gave a small smile. "Well, he got a bit distracted." Despite him trying to make light of the topic, his expression had darkened slightly and Bucky noticed that the smile never reached the man's eyes. "Will you consider what I've said?"

Thinking it best not to refuse, Bucky nodded and Stark seemed satisfied enough with that. He rose to his feet and knocked four times on the door, which was opened for him by the waiting guard. He lingered for a moment as if indecisive before turning back to face Bucky. "Do you remember much of my father?"

Bucky considered this for a moment. He knew from his visit to the Smithsonian and subsequent visits to libraries that Howard Stark had worked closely with Captain America and had had a hand in equipping the Howling Commandos, but he could scarcely remember any encounters with the man himself. Not enough to consider researching him further at least. "Not a lot," he admitted. He looked up at the younger Stark, who seemed almost disappointed. "You look like him."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Stark quickly dropped his gaze and followed the guard out of the room, leaving Bucky alone once more.


That night, Bucky dreamed he was waiting at the side of a country road with a rifle at the ready, waiting patiently among tall grass for a target's car to approach. The road was quiet at this time of night. Only two cars had come this way but neither had been part of the mission so he let them pass and instead kept constant watch for headlights to break the darkness. A faceless man was whispering instructions into his earpiece but they were orders he'd heard countless times before and the Asset tuned them out, intent on his mission.

Soon enough, two headlights approached through the darkness and Bucky used the scope on his rifle to get a closer look at the license plate. Confirming the match, he shot at the front tyres and was rewarded with a screech of brakes and the sight of the car swerving wildly out of control and flipping as it slid across the road.

Something that may have been a compliment sounded in his ear but the mission wasn't finished yet. He finally emerged from his hiding place and approached the shattered, overturned car as quietly as a ghost, inspecting its occupants when he was close enough. The passenger was clearly dead, her neck lying at an unnatural angle and her eyes staring at nothing. The driver wasn't so fortunate; he was gasping for breath and scrabbling to free himself from his seatbelt but his grip was too weak. He looked up at the new arrival and his eyes widened with something other than fear, and for one strange moment the Asset thought it felt recognition.

"Barnes?" the old man rasped, but the Asset couldn't focus on that. It had a job to do.

The man's neck snapped easily under his metal grip and Bucky woke with sweat dripping down his face, his breath catching in his throat, and with the very sudden conviction that he had to get away from this place.


It was around a week before he finally did anything about that. Planning an escape when his only assets included a metal arm that barely moved and a door flap that only opened one way and had barely enough room for his head, let alone the rest of him, wasn't as simple as he would have liked. In the end it came down to waiting until his serum took care of the damage from the explosion and hoping his strength and willpower would be enough when the time came. He also made a show of eating all the meals provided for him and being a model prisoner, refusing to kick up a fuss even when his boredom levels rose significantly.

When he felt as ready as he was ever likely to be, he waited patiently by the door for the daily tray to be pushed through and hurriedly shouted out "Wait!" before the flap had closed. Whoever waited on the other side seemed curious enough to heed his request and he continued. "I've considered Stark's proposal. I'll do it, I'll talk to someone about it. Could you pass that on?"

The metal flap stayed open for a few seconds but no reply came. When it slammed shut again, Bucky slumped against the wall and hoped he'd done enough. Until the opportune time he knew he would need to be constantly on his guard; listening out for even the slightest noise and willing to strike at any moment. However he was also aware that there were likely eyes on him right now so he put on a show of being nonchalant in the hopes that his building tension wouldn't be obvious.

It felt like hours before he heard muffled footsteps from the other side of the door and he tensed, preparing to get up the minute the door showed any signs of opening and clenching the fist of his good arm to strike at the right moment. When the tell-tale click of the bolts unlocking sounded he sprang to his feet and launched himself at the unsuspecting guard – a younger man than the last – and slammed his head against the metal surface of the door. Bucky thought he heard a crunch before the guard went down but he couldn't dwell on that and he sprinted down the corridor towards the stairwell, constantly alert for the shouts of other guards or witnesses. He only passed one man on the way but he was too slow in his reflexes and Bucky had punched him into unconsciousness before he'd had the chance to reach for his gun.

By the time he reached the stairs, someone had sounded the alarm and Bucky knew he would just have to run for it and hope. He doubted a full-on escape was even possible as too many eyes were on him, but he needed to get far enough away that he could get some sense of what was happening on the outside. He needed to know what was happening on Steve's side of the war.

Ignoring the twinge of pain on his left side due to the useless weight of the prosthetic, he darted down the steps four at a time, ignoring the blaring alarms as best he could. Eventually he was aware of the rush of feet on his tail and one look down the side of the bannister showed him several guards making their way up to meet him. Swearing under his breath, he quickly exited the stairwell onto the next floor, running past what seemed to be offices and ignoring the screams and curious looks until he came out onto a balcony. Looking down he saw that he was only three floors above the ground floor and was looking out onto a spacious atrium with wide, open windows showing off a bright summer's day. He was so close to fresh air, to the glimpse of a newspaper headline that told him what he needed to know...

More footfalls were approaching now from both directions and he looked up just in time to swerve and avoid a bullet aimed for his thigh. Not having the time to think and knowing he couldn't take out so many armed men at once, he leapt from the balcony onto the atrium and was met with the startled cries of the crowds on the floor. He landed on his left side and felt the metal screech in protest and dig painfully into his ribs and for a heartbeat he was in too much pain to get up. However, he knew he had to or he'd be at the mercy of bullets raining down from above and, ignoring the sharp pain every time he inhaled, he rose shakily to his feet and ran into the crowd as quickly as he could. Most people scattered but he was still surrounded to such an extent that to shoot him would put civilians in danger, and the guards would not risk that. Or so he hoped.

There was an open door at the other end of the hall, past the reception desks and security checkpoints, and Bucky made his way towards them until a sharp pain in his leg along with the struggle to breathe caused him to stumble. An inspection of his leg was enough to tell him that a bullet had nicked his thigh but he couldn't dwell on that, he was so close...

However by the time he rose to his feet, more armed guards were heading his way from the exit he'd been aiming for and the crowd had scattered enough that he was fair game. He wanted to continue fighting and was almost tempted to run uncaring towards their gunfire. Perhaps the serum would protect him long enough to at least make it outside. That temptation vanished when he heard men approaching from behind and he froze, his body aching all over and his lungs screaming.

"Put your hands on your head and get down on your knees!" shouted a demanding voice from behind him and Bucky cast one feeble look at the guards standing between him and brief freedom before slowly obeying, careful not to make any sudden movements that could lead to a trigger being pulled out of panic. He was aware of the crowds watching him from the sidelines, the frantic whispers labelling him as dangerous but he couldn't bring himself to care as he felt a gun rest against the back of his head. "You gonna try something stupid like that again, Soldier?"

He shook his head, and the unseen guard snapped, "Good!" before calling for assistance and, in a move that shouldn't have surprised Bucky at this point, using a taser to ensure his charge wouldn't fight back.

Perhaps it was the pain from the fall or the fact that he was too exhausted to protest, but it took the guard a lot less effort than usual before Bucky slumped forwards and blacked out.


It was a long while before anyone came for him again after that.

Bucky couldn't particularly blame his captors for that. Although he had not yet been told of the fate of his previous guard he could still remember the sickening crunch he'd heard as the man was slammed up against the door and his nightmares had run wild with adding more detail to that memory. His body still ached from the fall and the sensation of electricity coursing through him but he could not move even if he was whole; his captors had had the good sense to chain him to the wall by his metal arm and they seemed to have tinkered with it in his unconsciousness to ensure it was truly useless. He did not have the strength to break free.

The extra security and silence did not seem optimistic. Even his meals had stopped, although water was still pushed through the flap on occasion. It was likely that the next person he saw would be his executioner; chances were his sentence was being decided right this minute while he could not speak up to defend himself. He found that he didn't mind that prospect. Death had been chasing him for many years now and he'd lived too long. Better to die as version of himself than as a weapon. He just hoped he'd receive some news of Steve first.

There was an ominous click at the door and, with a screech, it pulled open to reveal Tony Stark once again. Bucky was almost glad to see a familiar face until he noticed his grim expression and the heavy bags under his eyes. There'd been another fight judging by the look of him; there was a fading yellow bruise on his right cheek and he had a cut on his left brow that had required stitches. Any concern Bucky may have had for him was overwhelmed by curiosity however; had Steve been involved, was he hurt too, was he in any of the surrounding cells?

He thought it best not to ask as Tony wordlessly threw over the key to his chains so that it clattered by Bucky's feet. It did not seem that there was any notion of helping him escape however, as two armed guards stepped into view beside Stark, looking down at him as if they'd happily put their guns to good use. Likely they would get their wish sooner rather than later.

Accepting that Stark was here as an escort rather than a friend, Bucky grabbed the key and quickly unlocked the chain. Upon its release his arm flopped uselessly to the ground with a clunk and despite his efforts to move it, it remained a dead weight by his side. Sighing, he rose to his feet and cast a final look back at his white cell before making his way to the door. While neither of the guards shied away from his gaze, he noticed that Stark seemed to be actively avoiding him and had found some curiosity with the floor. Bucky tried not to let his mind linger on that.

"We're to take you," Stark said, actively avoiding mention of a location. Bucky gathered he had little choice but to follow and set off after the first guard who'd started leading the way down the grey corridors. He thought he heard Stark whisper something that sounded like 'forgive me' but he had no wish to dwell on what that meant.

The walk was long and tortuous; nobody spoke a word to him and the few people they passed barely cast him a single glance. Endless corridors eventually gave way to stairs that took them to levels so deep Bucky knew they must be far below ground by the time they chose another corridor. It didn't take long for him to accept that he was going to his death; a fact that he accepted relatively calmly in his mind but had his heart thudding uselessly in his chest to the extent that he started to feel sick.

The guard ahead of him turned a final corner into a cold room packed full of men in suits, all of whom turned to stare at the new arrivals. Their accusing eyes burned but Bucky had noticed that they'd all been gathered around something before they'd been interrupted and that concerned him far more than their judgement. He looked beyond the crowd, expecting to see a firing range or maybe even Steve...

It was neither.

Sat in the centre of the room was a sickeningly familiar machine streaming with wires and attached, along with several vices, to a chair.

Bucky's heart seemed to have sunk into his stomach and he froze even as the guards tried to push on, his voice smaller than he intended when he asked, "What is this?"

A tall, thin man in a black suit whose pale eyes seemed to be devoid of life stepped in front of the machine and refused to even look at him as he replied, "It will all be over soon if you co-operate." He had a bored manner that one would expect more of a doctor taking a reluctant patient's blood, but his reply sent a chill down Bucky's spine and he shook his head frantically before instinctively backing away...

The barrel of a gun stuck into his back but he hardly cared and continued trying to push his way out of the room, punching anyone who touched him with his working arm. With a twinge of satisfaction he felt someone's jaw crack under his fist, but that was broken when he felt something stab into his neck and within seconds his limbs felt weightless and he was forced over to the chair. Despite his best efforts, his arm simply flailed uselessly and his legs dragged across the floor, powerless to take him away from the device of his nightmares.

Bucky was aware that he was frantically protesting but was barely in control of what he was saying; all he heard was his own voice yelling variations of 'stop' and 'please' but he sounded so panicked he could barely believe it was him. He was only dimly aware of the pale man tightening the vices around his arms and locking him in place before turning away without a single glance and working on the machine by his side. The two guards who'd escorted him here were trying to conceal smirks while everyone else looked either bored or only mildly interested in the proceedings. Only one person in the room seemed to have the courtesy to look unhappy by what was going on.

"Tony! Tony I'm sorry, I didn't know what I was doing..." Images of Maria Stark slumped brokenly in her seat and Howard's surprise at his murderer's identity flashed across his mind and the nausea returned. Behind him, the machine was whirring with activity and like a frightened child, Bucky tried to shy away despite being trapped. "Tony, please!"

For the first time, Tony's eyes raised to meet his. The shadows under his eyes seemed exaggerated from this distance and his mouth opened as if to say something and for a fleeting moment Bucky felt a surge of hope.

However if Tony made any move to help after that it was too late for Bucky to notice. He felt a pressing weight at his temples and heard the buzz of electricity and at that point there was nothing left to do but scream.